#it only took like 70% of the hair off and now my forehead is bright red

[flamejob]

i tried to wax my eyebrows completely off tonight and failed miserably pathetic faggot injury...

[redflagshipwriter]

Halfa Cass 9 part 3

Masterpost

TW for canon-typical violence under the read more, minor character death

Unfortunately, there was so only so much Danny could stretch out his production process when Brick started hovering over his shoulder. Brick didn’t seem that bright, if Danny was honest. But he was clearly on the lookout for foot-dragging. 

That meant Danny was mostly done with the outer casing on the second cannon when Brick looked up abruptly and cursed. Brick pulled a gun out of his pocket and pointed it at Danny.

Danny was still busy soldering metal and it took him a few seconds to parse that he was supposed to be under threat right now. He blinked at Brick. “...Sorry, what?”

“Sack of shit!” Brick cursed, lip curled up. His silly little mustache rotated and stuck out at a weird angle. His eyes were wild. “Who did you tell?”

Danny shrugged awkwardly. Should he like, pretend he was afraid of the gun? Should he defend himself? He looked down at his soldering gun. Um. He probably, uh, shouldn’t… use that on Brick, right? It wasn’t like the guy could do anything to him.

Brick jabbed the gun further into Danny’s personal space. Brick’s head exploded with red mush.

Danny blinked.

Brick slumped to the floor. The gun clattered away. Blood gushed furiously across the floor and immediately ruined Danny’s shoes. Fuck. Brick’s soul sputtered in consideration of evolution. It pulsed, once, twice, and then harmlessly dissolved, passing onto the next life without all the drama of becoming restless dead.

…Lucky.

Danny turned off the soldering gun and pushed up the protective eye mask he had on for work with a disgusted grunt. Between that and the breathing protection, there wasn’t much of Brick on him except in his hair. Oh. No. He made a face and wiped at his forehead with the back of a sleeve before anything could get into his eyes. Brick was dripping down his forehead, nasty!! 

A gun cocked. “Yeah, yeah,” Danny acknowledged. He huffed and leaned over to grab at a shop rag. “Ugh!” He did his best to clean up. “This is gross. Just plain gross,” he bitched.

Footsteps walked down the metal stairs. “You work for me now,” said someone else that Danny had never seen before. Bigger guy. Older, ugly. He was balding and slightly gone to seed. Danny wasn’t exactly charmed.

Danny grunted. “My rate is 70 an hour,” he said. It had been 50 for the last group, but clearly his reputation had gone around enough for him to be recruited.

The gun pressed up against his forehead. “No, it’s not.” 

“Yeah, it fucking is, and I need $14 right now to go to the laundromat.” Danny made a gimme gesture. He ignored the gun to his head and jutted his chin out, ready for an argument. “You’re going to get rid of that, right? I do not do body disposal. I don’t have relevant expertise. That would be a sucky reason to get caught by the cops.”

The thug laughed. He put his gun back in his pocket and casually kicked at the recently emptied body. “I like you, kid,” he said genially. “Sure. I’ll tell the boss your rate. And I can get your laundry done. Don’t want your Mom to see you covered in blood?” He laughed again, like the thought of a teenager having to hide their criminal involvement was somehow funny.

Danny shrugged, not quite willing to lie that the feeling was mutual. This guy seemed like a dick.

“What’s this?” The new guy started nosing through the worktable, getting his grubby hands all over Danny’s beautiful new bazooka. He hefted it up and pointed it at Danny with a mean little smile. “What’s this do?”

Danny tried very hard not to go stiff. For the very first time, it occurred to him that he might be walking a little too close to the fire by making weapons that he could be harmed by. “Matter displacement tech,” he said casually. “Works on shit like doors.”

“Doors, huh.”

“Yupp.” 

At this range, it would displace most of Danny’s torso. He tried not to calculate how many days it would take him to regenerate from a hit like that.

The man lifted his eyebrows, but he put the bazooka back down. “You’re pretty unflappable, kid,” he commented. He rifled through Danny’s odds and ends with a careless hand, messing up the neat organization. “Once you’ve finished that, I’ll come back and pay you for it… How many work days is one of these things?”

“Takes about two days to do one solo, can get two done in three days,” Danny said tonelessly. 

His new contact grunted. “We’re going to need weapons from you next,” he said, as if it was just a fact.

“I don’t do weapons,” Danny said. He shrugged. “Sorry, it’s just not my specialty. I can get you the list of specs for what I can do, though, I–”

“You can do weapons,” he got cut off. The older man gave him a disdainful look. “Your girlfriend’s a co-ed, yeah? Cutie. Gotta work like a big man to keep her paid up.” He clapped Danny on the shoulder. “Be smart. I'll send someone to clean up.” He turned on his heel and left.

Danny stood there, taking a few moments to buffer that bullshit. The penny dropped.

‘Ew. Jazz?! They think I’m dating Jazz? That’s nasty.’

…Wait.

‘Oh, fuck. He knows about Jazz. They’re threatening Jazz.’

[yespolkadotkitty]

Helloooo! So I’m a sucker for sadness. Sometimes when work/ family gets bad, I go our building’s rooftop and just look at the night to hit pause on life🌖💫 What would Zach do when he sees you up there and how would he comfort you? 🌙Thank you! 💛

Words: 1200 ~ Pairing: Zach Wellison x gn!reader

Warnings: swears, sleeplessness

The night sky stretched above you, an endless carpet of blue-black, punctuated by pinprick stars. In the distance, the light of an airplane blinked, moving over the horizon.

It all looked blurry through your tears.

Thank goodness this building had a rooftop you could retreat to.

Not that you were technically allowed up here but - you were pals with the maintenance guy.

You gazed up at the sky, angrily swiping at your eyes. You came up here often when things got too much; when it felt like the universe was shitting on you on a daily - sometimes hourly basis.

You pulled your cardigan around you - the late Spring air still had teeth - and drifted off into your thoughts, only jerking around when the door shut behind you.

The man was silhouetted in the evening light, but you’d recognise those broad shoulders and that tufty hair anywhere.

“Hey,” he began, crossing the rooftop to you.

“Hey.” You suddenly thought that he might have come wearing his Superintendent hat, rather than in the form of a friend. “I can go.”

“No, no…” He gazed at you, his eyes softening. When you’d first met six months ago, when he’d come to your door to fix a faulty radiator valve, his exterior seemed prickly, walls up around him everywhere.

Slowly, the ice had thawed, and you’d done your part to chip away at the frost, offering him cookies and tea when he had to come attend to issues in your apartment.

Then, one day, he’d come in with his master key. You’d said you’d be out, but - the news had arrived and everything else had fallen away, and you’d lain on the floor, sobbing.

That was how he’d found you.

And he told you about the rooftop, and how he sometimes went there to let off steam, to be alone, to think without the noise of the world interrupting; and he’d cut a key for you.

“Are you okay?” He shoved a hand through his hair, and the movement of his arm made his t-shirt sleeve ride up, showing the bottom half of an intricate tattoo. “Of course you’re not okay - you’re up here.”

“I’m okay. Kind of.”

He took a half step forward. “Should I - leave?”

“No - please stay.” 

Zach slipped his hands into his pockets and for moments that stretched, you both gazed up into the starry sky as the world revolved, six storeys below.

“You wanna talk about it?” he asked, at length.

As always, the low rasp of his voice made your stomach fill with butterflies.

“Not really.”

“Okay.”

He never pushed; you liked that about him. You suspected he had his own demons.

“Anything busted in your place?”

You shook your head, smiling. “Stuff doesn’t have to be broken for us to hang out, Zach.”

“That so?” He considered this, and you heard the smile in his voice.

“Can you show me your tattoo?”

“Sure.” He used his left hand to push the right sleeve of his t-shirt up, revealing the large eagle perched on a world, an anchor and rope winding underneath. The Eagle held a flag in its beak, the words Semper Fidelis weaving within.

“It’s.. beautiful.”

“Thanks.”

He let her look a little longer, then dropped his sleeve.

“Do you have any more?” you asked, curiously.

“Nah.” The corner of his mouth crooked up. “Were you hoping for some a little… lower?”

Heat crept up your neck. “Maybe.”

He chuckled softly.

“What?”

Zach lifted his shoulder in a habitual half-shrug that you’d seen him perform a lot. “It’s been a while since someone showed any… enthusiasm for me. Like that. Not since I was a Marine, anyway.”

You shut your mouth as soon as you realised it was hanging open. “Seriously? But you look like - have you seen yourself?”

He dipped his head for a second, an unruly lock of hair falling across his forehead, and he rubbed a hand over the back of his neck.

“Zach…”

He looked up then, meeting your gaze, and you took his hand, tangled your fingers.

“I always assumed you were seeing someone. Or married.”

A rueful chuckle escaped his lips. “No. I mean, one day, maybe. But I needed to get my shit in order. When you live on the street for two years, you forget how to function in society.”

You squeezed his hand, looked into his cocoa-brown eyes. “You’re doing fine from where I’m standing.”

Zach sighed your name. “I didn’t come up here for- for this. I just came to see if you were okay.”

“And I am. Just needed to press pause.  You know?”

“I get it,” he said solemnly

“But now....” You lifted your free hand and cupped his cheek. You watched his gaze dart to your mouth, then back to your eyes-

And then finally he kissed you, a testing, questioning kiss, just the butterfly-wings brush of his lips on yours. You heard yourself groan his name, an encouragement, and then his arms slid around you, pulling you close, and holy shit he could kiss.

He ravished your mouth, his talented tongue dancing with yours, his patchy scruff tickling you deliciously, every nerve on fire from his ministrations. His hands clenched on the small of your back and you leaned into him.

“I’ve wanted to do that for a while,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

“Why didn’t you?”

“Well. You know. Not everyone wants to make out with the guy who empties the garbage disposal when it gets busted.”

Oh, Zach. You cupped his sweet face. “I’m interested, and that’s never going to be contingent on how you pay the bills.”

He dropped his forehead to yours and you held each other for a moment.

“Honey, I think I’m meant to be comforting you,” he muttered, at length.

“You are.”

Zach tugged your hand and led you to the big brick chimney - blocked up and out of use since the building got converted to apartments in the 70s. He sat down and patted the ground between his legs.

You wiggled in, pressing your back to his front, and he rested his chin on the top of your head, his thumb stroking idly up and down your arm.

“Cold?”

“Not with you here.” You pulled his other arm around you, bent to press a kiss to his knuckles. “I mean it, Zach. I don’t care what you do for a living. I like you.”

He let out a long sigh. “I like you, too. So much. You willing to take a chance on a jarhead with semi-unresolved PTSD and only six t-shirts to his name?”

You smiled, kissed his hand again, as the moon rose, high and fat, in the sky. “Don’t feel you have to wear a t-shirt for my sake.”

He chuckled, and squeezed you, and the future felt bright, unravelling before you like pages of a book, just waiting to be filled.

********

Zach Pit: @gamingaquarius @knittingqueen13 @astroboots @holographic-carmen @idreamofboobear @nelba @agirllovespancakes @sarahjkl82-blog @lilangeldevil006 @restingnurseface @pedropascalito @alienprincesspoop @absurdthirst @tardisfangurl @synystersilenceinblacknwhite @songsformonkeys @disgruntledspacedad @lcl7867 @thestrawberry-thief @littlemissthistle @kindablackenedsuperhero @mrsparknuts @myoxisbroken @lunaserenade @filthybookworm @abuttoncalledsmalls @dornish-queen @aeryntheofficial @thirstworldproblemss @chicken-ona-stick @chicken-nugget-puta @miulola @fromthedeskoftheraven

[gojology]

Fine Dining and Roses.

back to homepage pairing : nanami kento x gender neutral reader warnings : cursing (i think), i didn’t proof-read, fluff i guess? wordcount : 1600 a/n : this is my first nanami related anything and omg the way i headcanon him makes him appear as some sort of old man asuhjdnsajkdnsa LOL ████████████████  100% Complete. Enjoy your game.

        Crossing your legs, you nervously tap your foot against the table’s legs, you weren’t used to such a professional atmosphere. This certainly wasn’t commonplace, after all, you even saw some top names from the Japanese filming industry chatting and eating, and you swear you’re sweating bullets. Nervously wiping at your forehead with the handkerchief graciously gifted to you by the waiters, you straighten your back.       “Relax.” you hear your boyfriend say, and you look up to stare at his eyes. Striking, one would almost say dead, but you see a lukewarm smile on his lips that someone would otherwise call scary, but you knew Nanami like that.      Wearing a black dress suit, alongside a crisp dress shirt- not even a wrinkle in sight- he paired them with casual black slacks. The whole thing that brought the outfit together? You were almost sure it was the belt, but you wondered why he was always so over the top, no matter for what occasion.       “Sorry.” you breathe out, and he chuckles dryly before taking off the black dress suit, neatly placing it over the cushioned chair.       “Why would you apologize for that?” he asked, a hint of sarcasm sprinkled in his voice, and you swear your heart is just about to burst.       “...I don’t know, okay?!” you reply, your cheeks warming up, you would never hear the end of this for the rest of the night, but you didn’t mind. When Nanami teased you, it made your heart flutter. Maybe it was because he was serious and cold with everyone else, and so playful and bright with you, you weren’t entirely sure.       “How cute. Do you want a drink?” he questioned before picking up the menu, eyes briefly scanning it. You too pick up the menu, and your eyes damn near bulge out of your head.       Expensive alcohol, expensive casual drinks, expensive everything. Was it even legal to charge 70$ for a simple bottle of sake? You weren’t even going to get into the wine, that was on a whole other level.       “Well, my love? You don’t need to worry about the expenses.” he placed the menu down, calculating eyes boring into your soul. “I work a boring job just to spoil you, after all.”       “These are really expensive...” you don’t lock eyes with him, even though you had dated him for a long time, you still found those eyes to be sort of scary. Not in a bad way necessarily, but just... Scary.       “I’ll just have a water-”       “No. You will not be having water. You always worry too much about money.” he leaned over the table, thumb placed onto your chin, slightly tipping your head upwards. The rest of his fingers caressing your skin in any way possible.       His fingers were cold to the touch, and you shiver, eyes darting left and right before you build enough courage to look at him back. He’s not looking at you, rather, the menu you were holding- and he was looking at it upside down.      Did this guy have anything he was bad at?      “Hm, darling, didn’t you say you like sweet tea? This is fairly inexpensive, 25 dollars?” he pointed at the inscription, a picture of sweet tea right next to it. You had to admit, it did look yummy, and you swallow just now realizing how dry your throat is.       “No.. I think I’ll just have water-”       “Listen, love.” he looked back up into your eyes. “I know you want it, just say it already.”        That was also something you always loved about Nanami, he was persistent and stubborn. You didn’t mind water, but you also didn’t mind sweet tea, you just didn’t want to create a deeper hole in his wallet.       “Let’s skip appetizers.” sitting back down on his seat, he yawned before placing an arm on the table, arm rubbing against the white stainless cloth.       Looking back up from your menu, you look at his sandy blonde hair that you found yourself to comb with your hands mercilessly every single night, he always was annoyed when you did it, and you can’t help but question what he would do now- especially since he had brushed it to look perfect.       “I know what you’re thinking. No. You’re not going to do that. Did you pick anything yet?”       “How’d you know?- You know what, nevermind.” shaking your head, you giggle. It was like he could read your mind.       “Uh, this sounds good. The grilled salmon?” you were talking out of your own ass, to be truthful. Fancy restaurants weren’t your thing, and nor was the food. Salmon was familiar enough.       “Wonderful choice. I knew I picked well when I started dating you, my sweet.” crossing his arms, he had an arrogant smile that he couldn’t quite hide from you, it just showed how much you mattered to him, as he didn’t hand out compliments like candy.      “May I take your order? We have a special Valentines Day sale, so every dish is 10% off.” the waitress whipped out a notepad, pencil behind her ear. Even the work uniforms here were formal.      “Yes, thank you ma’am.” Nanami licked his finger before flipping the page of his menu. “May we have grilled salmon, for the both of us, sweet tea, and champagne?”      God, you found his polite tone so attractive for little to no reason.      The waiter quickly jotted everything down, before nodding. “Alright, I’ll be back with your drinks! Please let me know if you need anything~” before walking off, and you can still hear the clacking of her heels against the floor.       Once the waiter was gone from both of your vision’s, Nanami turned back to look at you, as he was admiring the architecture of the establishment.      “You’re adorable.” was all that left his lips. Blushing, you awkwardly smile at him back, you weren’t good with compliments, and he knew you weren’t. He just found you so endearing.      “Shut up, Nanami.” his arm reached out to touch yours, and so did yours. Briefly touching each others hands, he stared lovingly at you, and you did so back.       “Ahem.”       Immediately jumping up, you look at the waiter, who had a smug all-knowing grin plastered onto her face. Two drinks sat on top of a silver platter, one had a lemon slice on the side, and the other was obviously champagne.      “Your sweet tea and champagne, your food will be coming out shortly.”       Nodding, you turn to face Nanami yet again, praying that he didn’t see you jolt up like that, but his sly smile says otherwise.       “Are you that embarrassed that the world knows your mine?” he had a neutral look on his face, and you take a second to marvel at his cheekbones and defined jawline before snapping out of your daze.       “It was only one person! That’s not the whole world, Nana!” you say, growing more comfortable in your seat, surprisingly it was pretty fun being here. Taking a light sip of your sweet tea, you savor the slight lemon-y taste.       “Nana. That’s a new one.” scoffing, he too took a sip of his beverage, smacking his lips together. “I like it.”       “The drink or?”       “Both, but I think I like you more.”       Not knowing how to respond to that, you look down at your lap, and you hear him laugh a little before feeling him plant a kiss onto your forehead, whipping out his phone as he sat back down on his chair.      “Hmmm... The stock market isn’t doing so well right now.” he turned his back on you, whispering to himself. The guy swore to every God out there that he was not interested in his job, but you just knew he had an interest in finances in general, which you also liked about him. He was dorky, in his own way, and it was adorable.     “Blegh... Nerd talk, nerd talk.” Placing your arm on your table and resting your hand on your chin, you use your unoccupied one to have your hand seem to yap away- 4 fingers repeatedly tapping against your thumb so that it looked like a mouth.       “It reels in copious amounts of money, but I fucking hate it, haven’t I told you this multiple times?” he tsked.      “Language, Nanamin!” you warn, as if you could place a finger on him, ignoring his previous comment.      “Yeah, yeah. Oh hey, look, she’s back with our food.”       Looking back up, the first thing you realize was how god damn delicious the salmon looked, and your stomach grumbles with excitement, the other? A bouquet of roses that she was holding, rogue rose petals dancing down onto the floor, a bow loosely wrapping the flowers together.       It takes a while to recognize what Nanami had done prior to this.       Looking at him, your mouth opening and closing, eyes wide open, you try to speak but you can’t. He gazes back unanswering, but his eyes tell you everything you need to know, he probably doesn’t regret it.      “Nanami Kento-”      “Shhh...” he shushes you up, crossing his legs, before letting his sneaking smile go free. “Happy Valentines Day, darling.”       “Fuck you! Is this why you didn’t let me take you out for a date this time around?” you whine.      Nanami covered his mouth, but you can still hear him laughing. Truthfully you gave no fucks, and was just happy that Nanami was so romantic, but the guy was gonna be the death of you.      “Love you too, darling.”      Yeah, he definitely was going to be the death of you, but at this point, you didn’t care.     

[thatslikely]

Fred Weasley’s Day Off (Part 1) - F.W.

Fred Weasley’s Day Off- Fred Weasley x Gender Neutral!Reader [Ferris Bueller’s Day Off AU]

Warnings: only occasional mild language

Word Count: 4.2k

A/N: this is Part 1 of my new 5 part series, Fred Weasley’s Day Off! You can find the series masterlist here. This part is going pretty similar to the movie, but as the story unfolds, I promise it isn’t a carbon copy of John Hughe’s masterpiece. Hope you guys enjoy :)

Just a reminder: Y/N is Your Name, Y/L/N is Your Last Name, and thoughts are in italics.

Taglist: @amourtentiaa @anchoeritic @probably-peeves @horrorxweasley @weasleywh0r3s​

if you want to be added to be added to my general (or this series!)’s taglist, send me a dm or ask!

If you haven’t seen Ferris Bueller’s Day off or just need a refresher, HERE all all the scenes included in this part in chronilogical order! I HIGHLY reccomend giving these a watch, for they make the situations a lot easier to understand (and they’re hilarious).

----

It’s a beautiful day today, temperatures in the upper 70’s. You can expect plenty of sun and not a cloud in sight. Right now, it’s 75 at lakefront, 74 at Midway, 73 at the O’hare.

“Arthur!” Molly Weasley screeched, beckoning her husband to Fred and George’s messy bedroom. The walls were plastered with large posters of their favorite bands and sports teams (mainly Fred’s), and an expensive computer sat on the desk in the corner. The door to the room was ajar, a frantic mother feeling a haggard Fred Weasley’s forehead.

“What's the matter?” Arthur asked, briefcase in hand.

“It’s Fred, for Merlin’s sake look at him!”

Fred laid slumped under the hand-knitted quilt like a corpse, his hair tousled and his chin unshaved. She continued, “he doesn’t have a fever, but his stomach hurts and he’s seeing spots!” Fred peeled his pained, umber eyes open, his weak gaze pointed to his suit-clad father.

A sympathetic Arthur reached for Fred’s cold and clammy hands, feeling them with a shudder. He’s got a bad cold, he thought, poor boy needs to stay home and rest.

“I’m fine, I’ll get up. I have a test today.” Fred leaned up slightly, his stuffy nose attempting to breathe. His baggy eyes drifted around the room, glazing the empty bed parallel to his’. “No!” Molly and Arthur Weasley stated firmly in unison, pressing his aching chest into the soft bed.

“I have to take it. I-I wanna go to a good college, so I can have a fruitful life.” Fred kept attempting to get out of bed, only for Molly’s gentle hands to guide him back down.

“Oh fine, what’s this? What’s his problem?” Ron leaned against the untidy bedroom’s door frame, his arms crossed, his face donning an unamused expression tinged with jealousy. He was looking daggers into Fred, who reciprocated nothing but a wink.

“He doesn’t feel well,” Molly stated, not pleased in the slightest with Ron’s distasteful demeanor.

“Yeah, right,” Ron rebutted with a scowl. The tips of Ron’s ears seared with resentment for his brother and anger at his naive and biased parents.

“Ronnie? Is that you?” Fred asked, his blurry vision making the outline of his brother near indistinguishable from the rest of his room. “Ronnie? I can’t see that far.” Fred leaned up in an attempt to see his brother, before falling backward with a dramatic moan.

“Dry that one out, you could fertilize the garden,” the younger ginger spat, tapping his toe furiously.

“Ronald, you get to school!” Molly demanded, vehemently gesturing for him to leave.

“You’re letting him stay home? If I was bleeding out my eyes you’d still make me go to school! This is so unfair.” Jealousy oozed from Ron’s clenched jaw like venom.

“Ron, please don’t be upset with me. You have your health, be thankful,” Fred said coolly. His eyes remained glinted with mischief, causing a furious Ron to storm off in a huff.

The concerned mother and father turned back to a wheezing Fred. Molly tucked him in tighter, cooing, “Now listen, I’ll be showing that new family some houses today, so I’ll be in the area. The office will know just where to find me if you need anything, okay?” A wave of gratefulness swept over Fred’s face.

“It’s nice to know I have such loving, caring parents. You’re both very special people.” Molly caressed Fred’s ashen cheek before planting a compassionate kiss on his warm forehead.

“G’bye champ,” Arthur said to his son before carefully shutting his door and walking to the garage.

They bought it.

Incredible. One of the worst performances of my career, and they never doubted it for a second. Fred peeled back the curtains blocking the beautiful view from his large windows with a smirk. He looked out the panes, admiring the gorgeous weather. How could I be expected to go to school on a day like this?

This is my ninth sick day this semester; it’s getting pretty tough coming up with new illnesses. If I go for ten, I’ll have to barf up a lung, so I’d better make this one count. Fred carefully adjusted his extortionate stereo, his fail-proof plan slowly piecing together.

Fred then stepped over to his desk, reaching for an old, hefty soccer trophy of his and some rope. The key to faking out the parents is the clammy hands. He started knotting the rope around the shiny golden award methodically. A lot of people’ll tell you to go for the old ‘phony fever’, but if you’ve got a nervous mother, you could wind up in the doctor's office. That’s worse than school.

“It’s a little childish and stupid, but then, so is high school.”

He scrupulously placed the trophy contraption behind his door with a satisfied nod, proceeding to the bathroom dressed in his grey and maroon striped bathrobe. Life moves pretty fast. If you don’t stop and look around once in a while, you could miss it.

Fred undressed and stepped into the steamy shower, quickly shampoo-ing his ginger mop into a spiky mohawk. He gave some thought about his plans for the leisurely day before removing the showerhead, gripping it like a microphone, serenading an imaginary audience, “I recall Central Park in fall. How you tore your dress, what a mess, I must confess…”

----

“Spinnet?” A greasy Mr. Snape drawled, spectacled eyes darting around the dingy classroom, illuminated with corporate fluorescent lights. “Spinnet?”

“Here!”

“Smith?” Silence. “Smith?”

“Present.”

“Weasley?” Snape asked, scanning the room for any signs of the irresponsible redhead.

“Weasley?” he repeated, uninterested and monotone. “Weasley?”

“Um, he’s sick,” a perky Cho Chang cut through the tense silence with a smile, “my best friend’s sister’s boyfriend’s brother’s girlfriend heard from this guy, who knows this kid who saw Fred pass out at Florean’s last night! I guess it’s pretty serious.”

“Thank you, Cho,” Snape said impassively.

“No problem, whatsoever!”

----

A robotic ring emitted from the phone next to Lee Jordan’s bed, disturbing the perturbed ambiance of the inert bedroom. The hypochondriac occupying the sheets clicked the silver ‘answer’ button with a shallow sigh.

“Hello?” George Weasley asked, his voice deep and groggy.

“Georgie, babe, what’s happening?” Fred’s exuberant voice questioned from the other end of the line, starkly contrasting his twin’s nonbelligerent energy.

“Very little,” he responded in a trance-like state, eyes spacing out at the blank ceiling, his mind nearly detached from his aching body.

“How do you feel?”

“Shredded.” Half-empty pill bottles and antihypertensive drugs lined the bleak nightstand to his left.

“Get dressed and come on back home. I’m taking the day off,” Fred imposed. He sat in a lounge chair, next to the turquoise pool, soaking in the bright morning sun, which starkly contrasted George’s dark atmosphere. He held a Brick to his ear, sipping an iced Hawaiian drink from a swirly straw. The only thing covering his body was a pair of floral swim trunks; plastic sunglasses rested in the ginger nest atop his head.

“I can’t stupid, I’m sick. I think I got food poisoning from Lee’s awful cooking.”

“It’s all in your head, George, come back home,” Fred said more firmly, taking another sip of the fruity drink in the souvenir cup.  

“I feel like complete shit, Fred. I can’t go anywhere.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. Now come on over here so I can have a fun day off!” Fred demanded, hanging up the phone promptly. “Sheesh.”

George remained stiffly on the sheets, still as a statue, muttering, “I’m dying.” The phone chimed again with another call. Click.

“You’re not dying, you just can’t think of anything good to do!” Fred’s voice echoed through the dimly-lit room before the tone of an ended call took its place.

“Pardon my French,” said Fred to no one in particular, “but George is so tight, that if you stuck a lump of coal up his ass, in two weeks, you’d have a diamond.”

Fred quickly abandoned the pool deck, instead continuing random antics around the vacant house, whether it was (horribly) playing his centuries-old clarinet, or prank calling gullible freshmen claiming he had an impending kidney transplant. This was the life.

“I’m so disappointed in George. Twenty bucks says he’s sitting in his car debating whether or not he should go out.”

Fred had hit the nail on the head. George sat in his four-wheeled hunk of junk for minutes, muttering to himself, “He’ll keep calling me. He’ll keep calling me until I go home. He’ll make me feel guilty. This is ridiculous! Okay, I’ll go, I’ll go, I’ll go, I’ll go.” He turned the key of the run-down car, only for the engine to cough and heave. “Goddamn it!”

----

“Molly Weasley,” Molly introduced herself to the caller from her desk at the local real estate office. She held the landline phone in one hand, the other scratching numerals and figures onto some spreadsheets.

“This is Dolores J. Umbridge, Dean of Students. Are you aware that Fred is not at school today, Miss Weasley?” she asked punctually, her voice laced with irritation.

“Yes, I am. Poor Fred is home sick.”

“Are you also aware that Fred does not have what we consider an exemplary attendance record? He has missed an unacceptable number of school days.” Umbridge looked icy and collected on the outside, but deep down she was fuming with anger. “I have no reservation whatsoever about holding him back another year.”

“This is all news to me,” Molly replied, taken aback by Umbridge’s blunt threats.

“It usually is.” Dolores turned her attention to the hunky computer opposite her, ready with Fred’s academic profile, scanning the pixels signifying his number of absent days. When she finally opened her jaw to announce the number to Mrs. Weasley with a devious grin, she was horrified to see the number of days slowly ticking down to two.

“I asked for a car, I got a computer,” Fred said with an unamused but smug smirk as he typed lines of code into his computer back at the Weasley household, “how’s that for being born under a bad sign?”

“I can appreciate how this time of year, children are prone to taking the day off. However, in Fred’s case, I can assure you, he’s a very sick boy.” And with that, Dolores hung up on a sympathetic Molly, her tight brunette curls gradually frizzing from aggravation.

“I don’t trust this… Fred Weasley,” Umbridge confided to her secretary, Augustus Filch. “What’s so dangerous about a character like Fred is that he gives good students bad ideas. The last thing I need is fifteen-hundred Fred Weasley disciples running around these halls. He jeopardizes my ability to effectively govern this student body.”

“Well, he makes you look like a bitch is what he does, Dolores,” Filch said with a smirk.

“You’re wrong,” Dolores asserted, fiery gaze piercing through Filch’s soul.

“Well, he is very popular. The sportos and motorheads, geeks, wastoids, dweebies, dickheads, they all adore him. They think he’s some righteous dude,” Filch said astutely.

“That is why I’ve got to catch him this time. Show these kids that you can’t just skip school nine times a semester like he has and get away with it!”

----

Mr. Binns, a prehistoric-looking man with novel-thick glasses, stood at the head of the classroom, giving his usual dull lecture. While he etched utter nonsense onto the chalkboard, you couldn’t help but release a bone-cracking yawn.

After years of sitting in your uncomfortable plastic chair, drowning out Mr. Binn’s boring babble, your saving grace arrived in the form of a grave Nurse Pomfrey.

You quickly slipped on your pale, leather jacket and stuffed your blank notebook into your backpack at the sight of the frail woman donning white scrubs like a dove, eager to escape class. Nurse Pomfrey had on a solemn face as she quickly whispered something into Mr. Binns’ ear before announcing to the uninterested class, “Y/N, Y/L/N, may I have a word with you?” You painted a look of surprise on your face before stepping into the hallway with the disturbed grey-haired woman.

“My dear, I’m afraid I’m the bearer of bad tidings,” she said sorrowfully once out of the earshot of the small lecture hall, “your father called. Your grandmother has just passed.”

Your eyes welled with artificial tears, face drenched with heartbreak.

----

The landline echoed through Umbridge’s dreary, pale pink office.

“Dolores Umbridge,” she said pseudo-cheerfully into the handset held by her thulian claws.

“This is Phil Y/L/N,” a middle-aged man said, his voice slathered with a thick Chicago accent.

“How are you today, sir?” Dolores asked suspiciously.

“Well, today we’ve had a bit of bad luck. It’s been a tough morning,” he croaked, “now if you wouldn’t mind excusing Y/N, we have a lot of family business to attend to.”

“I’d be happy to, just produce a corpse and I’ll release Y/N. I want to see this ‘dead grandmother’ firsthand.” She peeled the phone away from her face, smiling valiantly at a mortified Filch, saying slyly, “It’s okay, it’s Fred Weasley. I’m setting a trap for him.”

“Dolores, I’m sorry, did you say you wanted to see a body?” an ill-tempered Mr. Y/L/N questioned in disbelief through the speaker.

“Yes. Just roll her old bones up here and I’ll gladly retrieve Y/N for you. That’s school policy.” Dolores looked so pleased with herself, a devilish smirk resting on her lips. The telephone in Filch’s office chimed, and he quickly dashed to answer it.

“Hello, Dolores Umbridge, Dean of Students’ office,” his gravelly voice answered.

“Hi. This is Fred Weasley. Can I speak to Miss Umbridge, please?” Filch’s mouth went desert-dry in horror, his aged, grey eyes bulging out of his skull. He dashed to a taunting Umbridge, jumping and waving for her to shut up.

“I’ll tell you what, if you don’t like my policies, you can come down here and kiss my-”

“Fred Weasley’s on line two, Dolores!” Umbridge’s eyes went as wide as saucers; her whole face, even her bright fuchsia lipstick, turned as white as a sheet.

She was quick to switch to line two, listening to Fred Weasley’s voice which filled the otherwise silent room.

“Miss Umbridge, I’m not feeling too well today,” Fred started, a smug and valiant grin on his face. He adjusted his clean and gelled hair, which perfectly complemented the perfectly-tailored suit he donned. “Would it be possible for Ron to bring home any assignments from my classes? Have a nice day.”

The only sound left in the office was the droning disconnect tone.

The ‘line one’ buttoned flashed bright red like a siren. With a shaky, wrinkled pointer finger painted with a coat of magenta nail polish, she hesitantly pressed the button, sucking in a breath.

“Mr. Y/L/N, I-I think I owe you an apology,” she said, mortified.

“I should say you do!” the deep voice on the other line boomed. Umbridge peeled open her lips for an apology, only to be cut off with, “Well I think you should be sorry for Merlin’s sake! A family member dies, and you insult me! What the hell’s the matter with you?”

“W-well I really don’t know. I didn’t think I was talking to you, I thought you were someone else,” Umbridge barely managed to spit out. “You know I would never deliberately insult you like that!”

“Find out where she is!” Umbridge hissed to an idle but nervous Filch, her palm covering the phone’s mouthpiece. He promptly scrambled around the surrounding metal filing cabinets, reaching for various binders and manilla folders.

“This isn’t over yet, do you read me?” The infuriated voice’s threat yelled into the frantic principal’s ear.

“Loud and clear, Mr. Y/L/N!” she responded while scouring the various sets of drawers for Y/N’s schedule.

“Call me sir, goddammit!”

“Yes sir!”

----

“That’s better. Mind your P’s and Q’s buster, and remember who you’re dealing with!” an exasperated George Weasley shouted into the kitchen’s phone, his voice at least an octave lower than usual. His look of fury was soon replaced with a smile from ear to ear, quite proud of the convincing-ness of his impression.  

A dashing, suit-clad Fred Weasley soon strutted into the lemon-yellow kitchen, charismatically introducing himself, “Weasley, Fred Weasley.”

George held his palm over the mouthpiece of the phone, asking, “I’m scared. What if she recognizes my voice?”

“Impossible. You’re doing great.”  

The self-conscious redhead brought the phone back to his ear, shouting “Umbridge!” furiously. Groaning echoed from the other end of the line. “Umbridge, calm down!”  

“I don’t have all day to bark at you, so I’ll make this short, and sweet. I want my child outside of the school in ten minutes by themself!”

Fred gave George a harsh tap on his shoulder, hissing, “That’s too suspicious! She’ll think something’s up!”

“You do it then!” the other twin whispered back.

“Talk.”

“You!”

“Talk.”

“Fine!” he fizzled. “Umbridge! Pay Attention!” The magenta-suited principal was scuttering around her office, frantically searching for your schedule and something to repair the escalating situation.

“Umbridge! Changed my mind. I want you out there with them, I’d like to have a few words with you!” Fred swiftly slapped the phone from George’s clutches, causing it to fall on the tile carelessly. The identical gingers both scrambled for the phone, ending up in George’s grasp once again.

He yelled to the mouthpiece rapidly, “On second thought, we don’t have time to talk right now! We’ll get together soon and have lunch!”

Fred kicked George’s rear hard, causing a small yelp to escape George’s lips. “What the hell’s wrong with you?” he spat at Fred, who quickly slammed the phone back to the base.

“Where’s your brain?” he harshly asked his irritated brother.

“Why’d you kick me?” George retorted, hurt.

“Where’s your brain?”

“Why’d you kick me?”

“Where’s your brain?”

“I asked you first!”

“How are we gonna pick up Y/N if Umbitch is out there with them?” Fred rhetorically asked, seething.

“I- I said for them to be alone and you freaked,” George stated, reverting back to his timid tendencies.

“Now, I didn’t… I didn’t hit you. I lightly slapped you.”

“You hit me.” Tension sliceable with a butterknife filled the kitchen.

“Look, don’t ask me to participate in your stupid antics if you don’t like the way I do it. You make me get out of bed. You make me come over here. You made me make a phony phone call to Dolores Umbridge? That woman could expel me, expel us, and then, you deliberately hurt my feelings!”

“No… I didn’t deliberately hurt your feelings,” Fred said, his words tinged with guilt. “What’re you doing?” George grabbed his red hockey jersey and keys that previously laid on the island.

“I’m going back to Lee’s, Fred. I need some rest. Have a nice life.”

“No, no, c’mon. Don’t do that, George,” Fred pleaded ruefully, “George, come back. I didn’t mean to lose my temper. I’m sorry.”

“You serious?”

Fred gave a slow and sincere nod. George swiveled back around, setting his belongings back on the counter, his face lightened slightly.

“Now, to fix the situation, we’re gonna have to do something you’re not going to like.”

----

Fred and George peeled the sliding glass doors of the luxurious garage apart, revealing the interior, which was mainly lined with thousands of dollars worth of vintage car memorabilia, save for the treasured vehicle in the center.

“The 1961 Ford Anglia 105E Deluxe,” George said, his eyes pointed down at the prized pompadour blue car resting idly in front of the duo. Fred's eyes were also fixed on the vehicle, though his’ were illuminated with awe and mischief.

“Dad spent 3 years restoring this car,” he continued, hands behind his back, not daring to leave fingerprints on its shiny surface, “it is his love, it is his passion…”

“It is his fault he didn’t lock the garage,” Fred smirked, sauntering around the exterior of the automobile, slobbering all over the surface like a dog with fresh meat.

“Fred, what are you talking about?” George asked nervously, already knowing what Fred was plotting, “Dad loves this car even more than he loves you!”

“Fred, no.” Fred swiped his fingers over the perfect coat of paint, occasionally posing with the car as if he was a model on the front cover of a magazine.

“Que Bella!” he said with a chef’s kiss, still drooling over the car’s magnificence.

“Remember how insane he went when I snapped my retainer? And that was a tiny piece of plastic!” Fred paid an anxious George no mind, instead continuing his admiration for Arthur’s most valuable possession.

“George, I’m sorry, but we can’t pick up Y/N in that piece of scrap. He’d never believe Mr. Y/L/N would drive something like that!”

“It’s not a piece of scrap.”

Fred opened the driver’s side door, slowly sitting down in the comfortable cushioned seat, his umber eyes never breaking contact with George’s identical ones.

“He knows the mileage, Fred.”

“Look, this is real simple. Whatever miles we put on, we’ll take off.” Fred said, barely giving George the time of day.

“How?”

“We’ll drive home backwards.”

“No,” George said firmly, almost like a mother. Fred turned the key of the Anglia, its restored engine roaring ten times better than George’s hunk of junk’s.

“How about we rent a nice Cadillac, my treat!” He yelled as Fred slowly drove away, the revving of the vintage engine drowning out his voice. George stood frozen in disbelief, before Fred slowly backed up, beckoning George to join him.

With a heavy heart, George warily climbed into the back seat of the vehicle. And with that, Fred floored the gas, speeding off towards the Shermer High.

----

“I had a grandmother once,” Umbridge awkwardly stated, in an attempt to soothe your heart overcome with (fake) grief. “Two, actually.”

The suburbs outside of the Windy City lived up to their name today; Umbridge’s frizzy brown curls swayed in the strong breeze. The temperature today was the best it had been since last Autumn; it was a given that Fred would skip.

You patiently waited on the concrete steps outside the school, Umbridge continuing her “comforting” words, attempting to stitch the wounds caused by your grandmother’s staged death. You weren’t focused on the thulian tyrant, however, instead, your eyes waited on the road for the sight of a ruby-red-haired boy.

“Between grief and nothing, I’d take grief,” Umbridge said flatly.

“Great,” you replied softly, eager to shut the toadish old lady up. She opened her magenta-tinted lips to add something else, but she decided against it, promptly shutting her mouth without a sound escaping.

The stentorian roaring of the engine residing in cerulean Ford Anglia filled the silent air and idle parking lot, lightening your spirits instantly. While you didn’t doubt that Fred would’ve shown up eventually, his timing was impeccable. It didn’t hurt that he showed up in a killer ride, either.

A tall, lanky man drenched in a long beige trench coat, horn-rimmed sunglasses, and a businessman-looking fedora, which masked his fiery orange hair, emerged from the car, leaning against its body.

“Oh Y/N honey, hurry along now,” the stranger in disguise bellowed, his voice slightly higher pitched than ‘Mr. Y/L/N’s’ from the phone, a thickly-slathered Chicago accent present nonetheless.

“I guess that’s my dad.”

You grabbed the annoying principal’s wrinkly, cold hand, reciting, “Miss Umbridge, Dolores. You’re a beautiful woman, I wanna thank you for your warmth and compassion.”

A furious Ron watched from the scene play out from the large front windows of the school, immediately recognizing Fred and his infuriating antics with a scowl. Why should he get to skip while the rest of us have to stay? I’ve gotta catch him.

Umbridge looked near disturbed at your counterfeit words on thankfulness, before you eagerly stepped down to the car, giving ‘Mister Y/L/N’ a quick hug.

“Do you have a kiss for Daddy?” Fred jokingly asked with a smirk.

“Are you kidding?” you replied, leaning into his soft lips for a passionate kiss, which maybe would have escalated a little further if he didn’t drag you in the passenger seat of the Anglia.

“So that's how it is in their family,” Umbridge uttered as she watched the nearly-French kiss perched from her spot at the top of the stairway. She swiftly pivoted around walking to the front entrance to the school, when Fred floored the Ford again, its loud engine roaring off into the distance.

“Hi Georgie, you comfortable?” you asked, eyes towards the crampted back seat.

Once the three of you were out of Umbridge’s eyeline, a compact George sprung up from the lonely backseat, saying, “Hi, Y/N. No.”

“So, what're we gonna do?” you asked the dashingly handsome driver next to you with a smile.

“The question isn’t: What are we going to do? The question is: What aren’t we going to do?”

“Don’t say we’re not going to take the car home. Please don’t say that we’re not going to take the car home,” George mumbled, hopeful that Fred would comply, though he already knew that Fred would be doing the exact opposite.

If you had access to a car like this, Fred mentally narrated, gesturing to the amenities-rich Anglia, would you take it back right away? Me neither.

And with that, Fred recklessly rounded the bendy road, speeding off towards downtown Chicago.

[thefallennightmare]

Vas Prizrak-Nineteen[END]

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x Reader. Slight Steve Rogers x Reader

Words: 2140

Warnings: swearing, some smut if I’m feeling frisky, tiny bits of fluff, and a whole lot of angst.

Summary:  Bucky and Reader’s life in Wakanda had been everything they ever wanted. But when they are told about the fight that was on it’s way to them, they fear that life would be dusted away for good.

A/N:  I can’t believe the end is here for this trilogy! I loved writing it all so much and I’m thankful for everyone that took time out of their busy lives to read it. It means so much <3 Thanks again to @lovelyladymayyy​ for all of the amazing ideas! Please enjoy the ending of something that means so much to me as it does to you! 

TAGS: @mggpleasedontlookhere @grey-force-jedi @austynparksandpizza @lovelyladymayyy

Loud music echoed throughout the empty home and I moved my head to the music as I walked inside from my previous spot outside. Bickering voices yelled at the far end of the house so I followed while a huge smile spread to my lips.

“I don't have it! You were the last one to use it.” 

“It was right there on the table and now it’s gone!” 

I leaned up against the doorframe, the smell of fresh paint engulfing my senses, and chuckled at the two men who continued to bicker not noticing I had been watching them. 

“Bucky?” I finally spoke. 

When he looked my way, I merely pointed to his back pocket. “The paint brush is in your pocket.” 

“I told you I didn’t have it,” Sam grumbled. 

“Sorry,” Bucky muttered, continuing to paint the wall in front of him now that he had his brush back. 

“I can’t believe how great it’s all looking,” I marveled at how well the house started to look with only a fresh coat of paint. 

“I can’t believe you convinced Bucky into painting your walls black,” Sam said. 

Shrugging, I walked towards Bucky and left a soft kiss on his cheek.  “That’s what people in love do.” 

It had been a long month with us fixing up our house. We were here every day, all day, restoring it to its former glory. You could tell in the way that Bucky’s eyes lit up that he was ecstatic that our plans were starting to come to life. 

Sam offered to help on one condition; I would buy him lunch and beer every day and at the end of the work day he could ‘kick back on the couch and watch T.V on our 70 inch in the living room’. I agreed, more than thankful for his help. 

Our long list had almost been crossed off, two more things on it; paint the master bedroom and build the deck. The last one on the list wasn’t important, knowing that it would be a long task. I was happy enough that the inside of our home was almost finished. 

Today was the last and final day, Sam and Bucky nearly finishing painting the walls in our bedroom. Furniture had started to fill our home, giving it a more homey feel then the day prior. All we had left was to put our bedroom furniture together. 

“How’s it going outside?” Bucky questioned. 

“Good,” I nodded. “Majority of the trees are cut down, only a couple more and we’ll be able to see the lake when we wake up tomorrow morning.” 

“Can’t wait,” he smiled while placing a kiss on my forehead. 

Strands of his hair kept falling out of the low bun so I quickly fixed it for him, which only earned an annoyed sigh from him. 

“Are we sure we trust him with a chainsaw?”

Bucky and I looked from Sam to the man outside, who had spent all afternoon cutting down the trees. I offered to help but he merely waved me off. He could do it on his own. 

“I trust him more with a chainsaw than painting my walls,” I admitted with a giggle.  

Our old grandfather clock in the entryway rang six times, indicating that it was just after six o'clock and it was time for dinner. 

“The usual?” I asked the two men, who nodded eagerly. 

“Let him know that I’ll be back with food from Izzy’s in twenty.” I nodded to the man outside. 

“Love you!” Bucky called from behind me as I walked down the hallway. 

“Love you sugar bear!” 

I laughed loudly at Sam’s voice, letting the yellow front door shut behind me. 

A deep loud belch erupted from Bucky’s chest and I snapped my head over to him, a disgusted look on my face. 

“Gross.” 

Bucky simply smiled before placing a kiss on my lips. His open arms was an invitation which I took, cuddling closer into him. Our bones were tired from all of the work, finishing putting our bedroom furniture together, so we celebrated with beers and Chinese on the couch. 

I looked around our home with a very proud smile on my face. We did such a great job fixing up the old home that no one would have guessed that there used to be a giant hole in the room Bucky and I now share. 

“I cannot wait to sleep in an actual bed tonight,” I mused. 

Bucky and I had been sleeping in a pile of blankets on the floor for the last month and my back had been screaming for the memory foam mattress that I had purchased yesterday. 

I felt Bucky tense next to me, knowing that he would rather prefer to sleep on the floor. It was something from his past that we were slowly working on. Even though we both felt we were in a good place in our lives and our relationship, there were a lot of issues that we needed to work through; together. 

He felt that if he slept on something soft, that it would be more uncomfortable for him than the floor. So I made a deal with him; if he gave the bed a shot tonight and still didn’t like it, I would make him a comfortable bed on the floor. 

I even mentioned that clothes were not allowed in the bed, hoping that would help ease his concerns. 

“Doll?” 

Snapping back to reality, I looked back towards Bucky. “Hm?” 

“I need to grab some beers.” 

I gently pushed him back towards the couch. “You relax. I’ll get them.” 

My bare feet trekked along the new floors, still creaking along with the old bones of the home. I quickly grabbed three beers and headed back into the living room, hearing the men bicker about what movie to watch tonight.

I handed one to Sam, Bucky, and the blonde that sat comfortably on the recliner chair. 

“Thank you,” he smiled at me. 

“No problem, Stevie.” I returned the smile as I sat down back in my previous spot next to Bucky. 

A soft knock sounded on the open door but my back was facing the door so I called over my shoulder. “Come in!” 

“Y/N?” 

I spun so fast on my heels that the hammer fell from my hand, bouncing loudly to the ground. His blue eyes shined from the setting sunlight and his blonde hair was brushed neatly back so I could see his face clearly. 

“Steve?” I breathed, unsure if he was actually standing in front of me. 

“I was in the neighborhood so I figured you guys might need some help.” 

I never ran so fast into his open arms, ecstatic that he had decided on coming back to me, to us. 

“You didn’t stay?” I asked while pulling away from his arms. 

Steve shook his head. “The more I thought about it, the more I realized that I had more to live for here than I do in the past. Bucky, Sam, and you.” 

Our smiles mirrored one another and I pulled him in for another hug. 

“Thank you, Stevie.” 

“Are you sure you guys don’t want to crash here again? It’s late and I would hate for you guys to drive across town to the hotel.” 

Sam and Steve both nodded. 

“It's your first official night in your home, we don’t want to interrupt whatever is going to happen,” Sam suggested with a wink. 

“Goodnight you two,” I rolled my eyes at his comment before giving them a hug goodnight. 

Once the door was shut and locked, I called out for Bucky and heard him yell back from our bathroom. 

He stood in front of the sink, shirtless, and I could see in the mirror that he had a troubled look on his face. I then took in the variety of tools on the counter, knowing exactly what he was going to do. 

“Are you sure about this?” I questioned, leaning against the door frame. 

Bucky nodded. “I can’t handle it anymore. I need a fresh start.” 

“Want any help?” 

Turning his body towards me, he pulled me into his chest and my hands sprawled on the bare skin of it. We shared a deep, loving, kiss and when he pulled away, Bucky nodded towards the brand new tub. It was filled with bubbles and unlit candles surrounded it. 

“It would be more romantic if I could light the damn candles but I can’t find a match anywhere,” Bucky admitted with a sigh. 

“Want to see something cool?” I asked with a smirk.

When he nodded, I stepped back from Bucky and closed my eyes. The thought of the unlit candles were heavy on my mind and when I heard him gasp, I knew it had worked. 

The candles around the tub were now lit with bright flames. 

With the help of Bucky, I striped down in front of him and once I sunk deep into the tub I groaned out in pleasure. The warm water immediately eased my sore muscles. As I enjoyed the hot waters, the sound of a hair buzzer played in the background.

“How does it look?” 

Opening my eyes, I marveled at the new look of Bucky, a gasp falling from my lips. Gone was the long hair, the old strands littering the bathroom counter and sink, and Bucky stood in front of me with short hair. A look on him that I had never seen but one that I found myself falling in love with. 

“You know there is a reason why I chose a double person tub,” I expressed while lifting my bare chest out of the water. 

Bucky lips spread wide in a smile and hastily stepped out of his pants. The water sloshed around when he sunk his body deep into the waters. I squeaked out a large giggle when he wrapped his vibranium fingers around my ankle, pulling our naked bodies together. 

“Which one are you thinking?” I pondered as we walked together down the long halls, metal cages surrounding us. 

Bucky’s lips were pressed in a thin line, the decision weighing heavy on his shoulders. We were nearing the end of the hall and I had a gut wrenching feeling that we wouldn’t find the one he was looking for. 

“Wait,” Bucky grabbed my hand to stop me. “This one.” 

I looked from the cage to him a couple times. “Are you sure?” 

He nodded eagerly while bending down in front of the cage, the tail smacking hard against the walls of his cage at the possibility of a new friend. Bucky’s vibranium fingers scratched happily at the ears of the furry pup on the other end of the metal cage. 

Bucky woke this morning, wanting to adopt a dog from the local shelter. He grew up with one so not hearing nails running down the halls were so foreign to him. 

The dog was a mutt, mixed with a bunch of different breeds but we didn’t care. We wanted to give him a loving home. There was something special about this pup that drew Bucky to him. 

The dog was a tripod, missing his left front leg. 

“Let’s bring Ivan home then,” I smiled brightly down at the two. 

“Bucky?” I called out while entering the house. 

A gasp left my lips when I took in the scene around me. Lit candles were scattered throughout the living room along with the fireplace. The lights were off but the flames were enough to cast the room in a deep orange glow. At the sound of my voice, Ivan came running down the hall happy to see me. 

He never let having only three legs slow him down. 

“Hey you, where’s dad?” I cooed while bending down to give him his usual greeting. 

Two scratches to his ears with a kiss on top of his head. 

“Dorogaya?” 

Hearing the deep voice behind, I stood while spinning on my heels. Bucky was standing in front of me, short hair slicked back. 

“What’s all this?” I asked. 

Suddenly, the tune of our song sounded throughout the home and Bucky extended his hand towards me. 

“Can I have this dance?” He asked. 

“Always, Bucky. Always.” I answered, accepting his hand. 

Our bodies swayed together along with the music. It was still so foreign feeling his skin under my fingers, his lips on mine, and his breath against the skin of my neck. For years, I had been dancing with his ghost in my dreams or thoughts but now I had his actual body in my hands. I laid my head against his chest, letting the tune of our song guide us in our dance. Our first of many dances in a home that we created together; our home.

[silverstarsheep]

Oh man, it’s a fic for the “Coffee Shop AU,” which is lead by @doodledrawsthings​.

I started this really early on and wrestled with it a lot, so things changed and shifted a bit since I started writing it. Looking at the new stuff vs. old, I’m surprised what details I got accurate, and not at all surprised at what I got wrong. Quite a lot of it is super super SUPER inaccurate, sorry.

This is more or less my take on Luka’s transformation, so... Take it for what you will, haha.

I also finished it a while back, but never had the guts to actually post it for one reason or another--I may as well post it anyway, since it’s gotten this far.

Word count: 6,749

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Luka nearly flew out of the restaurant and into the cooler-than-normal evening air, stumbling down a few of the steps leading to the door. The sound of rain could be heard all around him--it hadn’t let up since he arrived. Standing underneath the awning with his umbrella cradled in the crook of his right arm, he stuffed both hands into his pockets, puffing out a frustrated sigh. His face was burning hot, and his chest was tight with indignation.

He should have known that a call to “make amends” from Vanessa was going to be a big, fat lie. Luka’s brow creased, and he stared at the damp pavement beneath the bottom step, silently wondering why he had ever thought that such would have been the case. During the legal battles of divorce and custody, that vile woman more than demonstrated her ice-cold and vitriolic feelings towards him.

Maybe, deep down, he still felt something for her... And he did truly want to make amends. Too bad the same wasn’t true for Vanessa.

Popping his umbrella open, he finally trotted down the rest of the stairs and to the sidewalk. It was about time that he went home, but along the way he needed to pick up little Harriet from her friend’s house. Hopefully she wouldn’t mind walking in the rain, but somehow he doubted she would.

As he turned the corner, he couldn’t help but shiver. Frown creasing his features further, he thought to himself, “Wasn’t it supposed to be in the 70′s tonight?” If only he had worn a thicker sweater... If it got any colder, he would have been able to see his breath!

To make matters worse, in the corner of his eye Luka could make out little white dots bouncing around on the ground. Pace slowing a bit, it wasn’t long before he was hearing heavier objects hitting his umbrella. Hail?! For pity’s sake, can’t he catch a break for just a second? Holding the umbrella tight, he started to run down the sidewalk, having to skid to a halt when he realized that he had nearly overshot his friend’s house.

Bounding up the porch, he knocked on the door, drumming his fingers against the umbrella’s handle. The door opened, however instead of being met with her caregiver, he was instead met with the very small, curly-haired Bonnie. She stared up at him with her big, purple eyes for a moment, then gave him a toothy grin.

“Hi!” she chirped. She looked over her shoulder, “Ms. Tina! Mr. Luka is here!”

“Tell him to come in, please!” he could hear a woman’s voice call from inside. Tina must have been making dinner.

The smell of steamed vegetables hit his senses in just the right way, causing his stomach to growl a little. However as he took in a deep breath, Luka’s throat felt rather sore. Not wanting to assume the worst, he simply brushed it off as him having raised his voice a bit too much when he spoke with Vanessa. The conversation did get quite heated, after all--but with Vanessa, one could say that she was always chilling.

Bonnie motioned for him to come inside as she skipped into the living room herself. The home was comfortably warm, a welcome change from the cold, wet outside. She flopped back onto the floor right next to Harriet, who was lying on her stomach and holding a purple crayon in a crab-like vice grip. She looked up and smiled.

“Oh, hi, dad!” she kicked her legs up into the air and drew both arms to her chest, “Did it go okay with mom...?”

“Hey, kiddo.” Luka replied with a sigh. He didn’t reply at first, trying to think over his response. Standing in the door frame he shook his folded umbrella off over the porch, then placed it inside beside the door. He could feel Harriet’s eyes piercing into him.

“Sorry to say, it didn’t go so well,” he finally stated, his shoulders slumping significantly. His daughter was young, but he knew she was smart. There was no sense hiding it, but the look of disappointment on her face made him feel regret tweak at his heart.

Bonnie spoke up, “She didn’t use any of her,” the girl wiggled her fingers in a “mysterious” fashion, “Eeevil magic on you, did she?”

Blinking, Luka couldn’t help but smirk, “Oh, no... She didn’t!” he grinned, “But if she did,” he grabbed his umbrella and brandished it like a sword, droplets of water scattering about, “I would’ve fought her off!”

When the two girls giggled at his display, Luka relaxed a bit. For Harriet, laughter was a powerful tool in these harsh times. First and foremost, making her happy and keeping her healthy was his biggest goal.

Just as he set the umbrella back down, Bonnie’s caregiver, Tina, stepped into the living room. She gave Luka a warm smile, “Hey! It sure sounds like it’s coming down out there, did you manage to stay dry?”

“I’m mostly dry, but it started hailing on the way here!”

Tina blinked, her dark brown eyes wide, “Hail?” she asked in a doubtful tone, “This time of year?” she made way towards the still open door and peered through it. Her eyebrows rose in surprise, “Wow! Isn’t that something...” she squared her shoulders and placed her hands on her hips, “Well, I can’t let you walk home in that...”

“It surprised me, too,” Luka huffed, rubbing the back of his neck, “Would it be too much to wait it out here?”

“Not a problem at all!” she flashed Luka a bright smile, “I can add some more to the dinner if you’d like to stay! Once Honey gets here, we can have a nice, big meal!”

Closing the door, Luka shot a glance to his daughter, “What do you think?” he asked, having to clear his throat, “Wanna eat dinner here?” his throat was starting to feel worse. Was he suddenly coming down with a cold, or something?

The girl threw both arms into the air, nearly tossing her crayon in the process, “Yeah!! Ms. Tina’s food is the best!”

Tina laughed in a merry way, then started for the kitchen once more. She muttered quietly to herself as she thought about how many more vegetables to steam, how many patties to fry... However she stopped in her tracks when Luka gently flagged her down.

“Need any help?” he asked. There was a sudden weight on his shoulders, as if someone had put a thick blanket over him. Despite this, he didn’t want to impose on such a good friend, especially after she had so kindly watched his daughter!

The woman smiled brightly and gave a wave of her hand, “Oh no! It’s a real simple meal tonight, but it’ll be delicious all the same,” she motioned to the couch, “Why don’t you watch the girls? That’d be a mighty help.”

“S-sure,” he replied, clearing his throat again, “But can I,” he cleared his throat again, this time ending with a small coughing fit, “Mmh, can I get a glass of water?”

Concern creasing her brow, Tina replied, “Well sure... Are you alright?”

With slow and careful movements, Luka took a seat, “Hm... All of the sudden, I’m not...” he rubbed at his face, it was burning hot, “I’m not feeling so great...”

“Dad, your face is all red!” Harriet remarked in shock.

“Goodness, she’s right!” Tina leaned over him, gently placing her hands on his arm and back, “Maybe you should go home and rest up!”

Brow creasing, Luka rubbed his forehead with the base of his palm. He took a moment to answer, but eventually nodded. Going home would be best... If he was getting sick, he didn’t want to risk making anyone else ill.

“Okay, Bonnie,” Tina said with a clap of her hands, “Get your shoes on.” when Bonnie rushed to her room to grab a pair of socks, Tina turned back to Luka, “Don’t you worry, I’ll drive you over. It’s not far, but I don’t think you’re in any condition to walk there, especially in hail.”

Luka merely nodded in agreement, however he looked to Harriet, “Hey, kiddo... You wanna spend the night here...?”

She shook her head briskly, her ponytail slapping the side of her face, “No! I need to make sure you’re okay, dad!” she said firmly. She went to the door to grab her shoes. Well, looks like that was settled...

Once Bonnie and Harriet had gotten their shoes on, the four of them piled into Tina’s mini van, and were off.

Trying to keep himself awake, Luka attempted to make small talk, “So... How’s it been fostering Bonnie?” he asked.

Tina smiled, “It’s been going wonderfully, but...” she sighed as they reached a stop sign, “We’re nearing the end of the 13 month care...”

Luka gripped his seat belt with both hands, “Have you and Honey... Considered adopting her?” he asked in a hopeful tone

Smile faltering, Tina seemed to hesitate before easing on the brakes, “Yes, but... Getting the paperwork cleared has been a struggle. Honey and I haven’t had any luck...”

“Ah, sorry... Maybe I can help you clear things up a bit?” Luka offered. He was having a hard time keeping his eyes open.

“I’d appreciate that, and I’m sure Bonnie would, too!” Tina chimed with a toothy grin, “You need to put all that law studying to good use, huh?”

With the vehicle thoroughly pelted with hail, and a couple blocks later, they pulled into Luka’s drive. The father-daughter pair said their goodbyes and quickly retreated inside, however the hail was finally starting to subside. Now that they were home, it was time to get Harriet some supper.

Frankly, he wasn’t feeling very hungry himself, but one way or another he had to make sure that his daughter ate. He shambled into the kitchen and pried open the fridge--the seal was oddly tighter than usual--where he produced a frozen kid’s meal. Harriet stood in the door frame, watching him with worry in her eyes. She wrung her little hands nervously.

“Dad, I can make it myself!” she urged. She knew how to use the microwave...! It was just a little hard to know how many zeros to put on it when cooking something, and she often forgot to stir it halfway through... But she didn’t mind eating it a little cold! Honest!

Luka pulled a knife from the drawer and started poking holes into the film. He glanced over his shoulder with a weak smile, “Don’t worry about it, kiddo.” he said with a low voice. Using his head, he motioned for her to go to the bathroom, “Why don’t you kick off your shoes and wash your hands?”

Hesitating, Harriet bit her lower lip. She didn’t want to leave her dad alone... But if she was quick about it, then it wouldn’t be a problem! Maybe she could even grab her stool from the bathroom so she could reach the microwave buttons, and kitchen sink. Then she could make her dad a meal, too! The girl rushed deeper into the house without another word.

In the bathroom, Harriet made quick work of washing her hands, knocking over the soap bottle in the process of dispensing some of the foam onto her hands. She’d pick it up later! As she rushed to rinse her hands, she noticed her dear owl plush, Professor Popcorn, sitting by the sink. She had to rinse off his dear little beak this morning, and she must have left him there when she heard she was going to visit Bonnie.

Wringing her hands dry on a towel, she picked him up carefully, “Professor!” she cried, “Dad’s feeling sick, what do we do?”

She tried to imitate the voice her father would use when speaking for the owl by making her voice sound deeper, “Hm, I say that a hot bowl of soup will fix him right up!” she waved the plush around gently to make it look like he was talking.

“You’re right, Professor Popcorn!” Harriet confirmed with a nod, “Dad loves chicken soup, and we got a can of it! I can heat it up in the microwave!”

“I’ll help you read the instructions!” she had the professor conclude, manipulating his wing to adjust his glasses.

Meanwhile, Luka’s time was starting to get harder. His vision was getting hazy, his head was spinning, and his entire body felt sore. Dark splotches obscured his vision, and it almost looked as though his own arms were starting to turn dark.

Rubbing at his forehead with his knuckles, there was a loud clatter as the knife tumbled out of his hands and fell to the floor. Thankfully it didn’t land anywhere near his foot, however it was curious; he had a tight grip on that between his finger and thumb.

Pain snaked its way through his body as he leaned over to pick it up, causing him to grit his teeth and close his eyes tightly. He froze in place, one hand pressed against the counter top as one reached for the ground. Sweat began to pour from his brow in droves, drip, drip dripping onto his arm and the floor. At that point he had dared to open his eyes, and his stomach did a back-flip when he saw the state of his hand.

It... Wasn’t his hand anymore, or at least, it didn’t look like his hand. It had been replaced with a paw-like two-fingered hand that was a deep shade of purple. Said purple was slithering up his arm with snake-like tendrils. Losing his grip on the counter, Luka only managed to gasp as he fell roughly onto his knees. He looked to his right hand, which was much the same--thumbless and purple. No wonder he had dropped the knife! The purple substance had reached well past his elbow there.

The lights above flickered as fear struck his heart. With clumsy movements he tried to manipulate his new “hands” to try and scrape and push the purple stuff off of him, but all that succeeded in was sending droplets of purple onto the tiled floor. His arms remained unchanged, and the color only seemed to pick up the pace as it soon reached his shoulder and crept up his neck.

Bowling over as pain overtook him, Luka wrapped both arms around his stomach and pressed his forehead against the now-damp floor. His jaw was locked open, his eyes were as wide as saucers, and his vision was filled with a golden light as tears streamed from them.

Fabric ripped and shredded as his form shifted and grew. The lights buzzed as they flickered wildly. A mane sprouted from his neck, ripping and tearing his shirt further. It didn’t take long for his entire body to be shrouded in the purple tone. Finally, when his legs began to twist together, Luka let out a scream.

The kitchen lights burst. The house was shrouded in darkness.

When the lights began to flicker, Harriet clutched Professor Popcorn close to her chest, gasping in fear. She hated it when the power went out! She closed her eyes as the lights buzzed.

“D-dad?!” she cried. That was when she heard his scream, and her heart fluttered. She yelped when the lights went out, and without thinking about it she jumped from her stool and rushed into the hallway. However her pace slowed, her hand gently guiding her along the hall when she heard an inhuman panting from in the kitchen.

It sounded like there was some kind of monster in there... But monsters weren’t real, right? Dad always told her that she had nothing to be afraid of under her bed or in her closet... So the only thing that should be in the kitchen was her dad....

Right?

She tried to swallow the lump in her throat. Her heart was pounding in her ears, and every fiber in her body was telling her to run away, to hide under her bed until the power came on, or her dad coaxed her out... But despite her wanting to scream at her legs to stop, they carried her all the way to the kitchen door.

The house was dark, but there was just enough light for Harriet to see. In the kitchen, however, it was as if something had absorbed all of the light. It was pitch black, and she couldn’t make anything out--even the window had turned black.

Harriet fought back her tears. She was so frightened that she could barely speak, but she just had to make sure her father was ok. She finally managed to speak up again with a squeak, “Dad...?”

Something in the darkness moved. She could hear it shuffling about. Slithering around like a giant snake. Her grip around her plush tightened, and her heart nearly sprung into her mouth. A set of bright, golden eyes appeared in the darkness, illuminating a bit of the kitchen with yellow light. She could just make out the shape of the eye’s owner--big and purple, with a scruffy-looking mane. It had a long, long body, and two arms that propped it up.

Around it were scraps of clothes and little puddles of a dark liquid. In the dim light she couldn’t tell what color those were, but her imagination quickly filled in the blanks--blood.

It was blood. It was her father’s blood. Whatever monster this was had ripped her dad to ribbons and ate him, leaving nothing but his shredded clothing behind.

Harriet’s mouth dropped open, but nothing escaped her throat but air. Tears were streaming from her eyes. The monster opened its own mouth, revealing its wicked, sharp fangs. More golden light spilled out into the kitchen from the beast’s maw. Its breathing was raspy. It shuffled about and moved its mouth as if trying to speak.

“Ha... Harri....” it croaked. It almost sounded like her father. Chills washed through the girl’s tiny body, and her hairs stood on end, “Ha.. rriet...” oh peck, it knew her name!

It reached out to her with inhuman fingers. Frozen in place, Harriet hadn’t a single clue what to do. Her legs continued to refuse to listen to her--now that she wanted to move, they were suddenly cemented to the carpet. She whimpered pathetically.

Hot fingers brushed against her cheek, the tips of claws gently caressing her face. Harriet inhaled. Then she shrieked. As loud as she could she screamed bloody murder, and the monster shrank back in shock. Her legs finally listened to her, and she bolted for the door, which she flung open and didn’t think to close behind her.

“W... Wai... Wait!!” the monster called. But it fell on deaf ears.

Not only did Luka’s body ache, but his heart did, too. He never wanted to frighten his daughter, he never wanted to make her feel unsafe or in danger. But now, it almost seemed as though he had no choice. Whatever form he had taken on mortified the poor child, and now she was running into the late evening streets, completely unprotected.

He had to go after her. He had to make sure she was safe, and he had to let her know that her dad was still here, despite not looking the same anymore. He attempted to push himself upright, however he quickly realized that he no longer had legs. When they had twisted together in such a painful manner, they had fused together to make one long tail. There was no way he could chase after her like this!

He’d just have to drag himself, then. With his arms he began to haul himself past the tile, over the carpet, and through the door. As he lowered himself off of the porch, he realized that his body was remarkably light. He had no issue dragging himself across the ground, and now that he was on the stairs, he felt as though he were...

Floating?! He could float? There wasn’t any time to question it... He’d just have to take it as a blessing in disguise and hope that he could use it to his advantage. He pushed himself off of the ground, and much to his surprise, he remained in the air. Twisting his body this way and that like a snake, he quickly found that this mode of transportation was much faster than crawling around like a newborn. As he got the hang of it, he could pick up the pace.

Man, he hoped no one would see him like this...

Rounding the corner, Luka looked this way and that until he caught a glimpse of Harriet, who was bolting down the sidewalk towards the park. He gasped, “Harriet!” his voice boomed. It echoed and carried throughout the subdivision, causing a few dogs to start barking in shock. Even Harriet was surprised, and she tripped over her own feet and smacked into the pavement.

Luka clapped a hand over his mouth. Goodness, did his voice carry! He was sure to be seen now. Before he could catch up to her, his daughter had picked herself up and was running with new strength across the road to the park. Her beloved owl doll lay limp on the cracked pavement.

“W-wait, please, wait!” Luka called, pathetically trying to moderate his voice, “Hatty, please!” he hoped that the fond nickname would cause her to pause, but she kept on running. If he could have seen her face, he would have noted that her eyes were screwed shut. Thank goodness no cars were coming...

Making haste to pick up the doll, Luka was hot on Harriet’s tail. He could hear a few people poking out of their houses nearby, which only made him speed up. He quickly hopped over the brick wall and started his search for Harriet, looking in, around and under anything that she could have been inside of.

Finally, he found her huddled in the corner of one wall, concealed by a bush coated in flowers. She was shaking like a leaf and trying her hardest to hold back terrified sobs. Coiling himself inside the bush, he hoped that it would be enough to hide himself as he tried to console his daughter.

“Harriet?” he cooed. His voice was still too loud, even as he tried to whisper. It didn’t sound right, “Harriet, it’s me--it’s...”

She pushed herself further into the corner, turning her head towards the wall. She sobbed quietly, and Luka’s lower lip trembled.

“Sweetheart, please--please don’t be...”

This time Harriet sobbed louder, hiccuping into her knees. Luka shrank back a little looking at his empty hand. Could he really console her like this? When he looked and sounded like a monster? He then looked to the plush he held in his right hand. Professor Popcorn... Maybe this could help.

Holding the owl out, Luka tried to hide his face behind the plush as he put on the special voice he always used for the dear old professor, “H-hey there, kiddo! It’s me, Professor Popcorn!” the owl waved his little wing, and Harriet lifted her head. Luka dared to crack a weak smile, “I know things are really scary right now... But I just want ya to know that everything’s gonna be O-KAY!”

Harriet turned, staring intently at the doll. The way he moved, the way he spoke... It was exactly like how her dad would talk when they played together. Sure, his voice sounded a little... Scary, but the tone, the inflections... They were all the same.

“And that I love you...” Luka’s voice started to seep into Professor Popcorn’s, “Very, very much...”

Harriet dared to look up. Through the branches and leaves she could make out the monster’s face, his eyes glowing faintly. As he took on a gentle expression and leaned forward, she could almost see her father’s face in its features...

“... Y-you... Dropped him while you were running...” Luka continued, “I know how much you hate it when his beak gets dirty.”

Tears were spilling from her eyes again, and she shuffled about anxiously. Was it? Could it be?! Her eyes darted up and down his body, doubts still sprouting in her mind. But all the same, she wanted to believe it. She wanted it to be true, because it was an awful lot better than her dad being gone.

“Da... aad??” she hiccuped. Luka smiled weakly and nodded. With a loud sob she jumped into his arms, pressing her face into his scruffy-looking purple mane, which was surprisingly soft. She buried her nose into it, drinking in his smell. He looked different, he sounded different, but now she knew, this was her dad.

Wrapping his hands around her tiny frame, he gently rubbed the back of her head, whispering into her ear, “Shhh... It’s okay, it’s okay...” he took in a shaky breath, “I’m still here, dad’s still here...”

Harriet continued to sob. She must have been so frightened. Guilt stung at his chest, knowing that he was the cause of her terror... However he nearly jumped when she started to spurt out apologies. He backed away, his brow creased.

“What are you apologizing for?”

Wiping her eyes on her sleeve, Harriet hiccuped again and sniffled, “I... I thought you were a m-monster,” she replied, “An... And you ate my dad... I ha-hated you for a little bit...”

Carefully cradling her shoulders in his hands, Luka shook his head, “No no, you have nothing to be sorry for, Hatty. I... I’d be scared, too.” with one finger he wiped away a tear, “But you know, you’re very brave,” he added, “You looked me in the face now, and realized I wasn’t a monster.”

A little smile appeared on Harriet’s lips as she continued to sniffle, “E-even if you look like a monster,” she whispered, “I... I still love you, dad.”

Scooping up into his arms, Luka gave his daughter a tight squeeze. There was some relief that washed over him, knowing that his daughter still loved him despite all of this, however worry had started to snake its way into his mind. How was he going to care for her when he looked like this? He hadn’t even seen his own reflection yet, but considering how Harriet reacted, he wouldn’t be able to even face his best of friends...

Suddenly, there was a jab at his lower end, as if someone had prodded him with a stick. Crap, he had been seen! Tensing up, the length of his body coiled tighter as he held Harriet closer to his chest, protecting her from sight and harm with his torso. He must not have concealed himself enough. Curse this snake-like body!

“A-alright!” a man’s voice demanded, “Come out, y-you... Beast!”

Luka’s body went cold. What was he to do now?! Fear had pooled in Harriet’s eyes once again, and she clung to his mane as tightly as she could. He could feel her little body trembling.

“Come out or I’ll shoot!”

He realized he didn’t have a choice. He popped out from the bush, scattering leaves and flower petals everywhere. A group of ten or eleven adults had gathered, a few of them with children who were cowering behind their legs and clinging to their pant legs. The group gasped audibly, backing away as they erupted into distress.

“Oh gosh, it’s got a kid!” one shrieked. This caused a few screams within the group, and Harriet to try and hide.

“SOMEBODY CALL THE POLICE!”

“No, get animal control!”

“Roger, just SHOOT the thing, already!!”

The man in front, who was holding a hunter’s gun, was quite literally shaking in his boots. He aimed his weapon, but his moment of hesitation gave Luka enough time to react. He wanted a distraction, a diversion of some kind, and when he screwed his eyes shut he somehow willed it to be. The area was suddenly plunged into darkness as if the sun had been blotted out. Both his daughter and the group screamed, but it was more than enough of a distraction as he leaped over the brick wall and flew off in search of a proper hiding spot.

The two emerged from the darkness as if it were a bubble. Blinking rapidly, Harriet peered over her father’s shoulder, finding it curious that the darkness was in such a concentrated area.

“D-did you do that?” she squeaked.

Glancing over his shoulder, Luka was equally surprised at what he had done. Frankly, he didn’t want to even think about it, “I-I guess so...” he replied. He dreaded the idea that powers came with this monstrous form, but as he lifted them above the treetops in hopes that they’d look like a bird or lost kite, he realized that his say didn’t matter.

Harriet continued to grip his mane for security, her eyes drifting to the land below, “Uh... We’re getting kinda high...”

“Sorry, I don’t want them to catch us,” he glanced at his daughter, “Is it too high?” he tightened his arms around her.

“N-no... I kinda like it.” she admitted. She fell silent for a few moments more, watching the city go by beneath them. She eventually asked, “Where are we going?”

Luka bit his lower lip, “Not sure... Somewhere to hide until the neighborhood calms down.”

“Um... Why not that old movie theater they closed down?” she suggested, “That should be big enough.”

“That sounds good.” Luka whispered in reply. It’d have to do for now, seeing he could sneak in through one of the doors. Or at the very least, they alleyway would suffice as a hiding place.

Locating the old movie theater, Luka had to squeeeeeze his way into the alleyway, between the brick walls. Was it just him, or had he gotten larger? He felt so big and obvious already! There was no way he’d be able to fit inside the theater like this, so he just hoped no one would be coming into the alleyway, especially this late.

He lowered Harriet to the ground, “We’ll stay here for a while...” he whispered.

“Dad, we’ve gotta get some help!” Harriet cried, however she tried keeping her voice down, “We need to find someone who can turn you back to normal!”

Luka’s tail twisted itself into knots, and his expression turned dour, “I don’t know anyone that can fix this,” he sighed, looking at his hands, “And going out now, with everyone in a tizzy about a monster... That’d be asking for trouble.”

“What about Ms. Tina and Honey?” Harriet persisted, “They might be able to help! They’ve got a real big basement you can hide in!” she threw her arms in the air to demonstrate.

“Harriet...” he placed a paw on the top of her head, “... No, I’m sorry. I need to lay low for a while. At least let things calm down. It’s hard telling if anyone would believe me.”

“Bonnie would...” she pouted in reply.

Heaving a sigh Luka paused to think, placing his free hand to where his chin would have normally been. If he was going to be laying low for a time, he couldn’t keep Harriet with him, now could he?

If anyone found out that he was a monster, there would be no chance of him being able to keep Harriet’s custody. After such a long and difficult battle, that made his stomach churn. The idea of Harriet falling into foster care, or even worse, falling into the custody of Vanessa, made his stomach do back flips. What was the best option here? His expression grew grim, a frown etching itself deeper and deeper into his dark features.

“You okay, dad?”

“Hey,” he spoke up, “Why don’t I drop you off at Tina’s house? She and Honey can take care of you for a while.” he paused, “Until I can get this all sorted.”

“What?!” the girl exclaimed, her eyes widening, “No! No way!” she pushed her father’s paw off her head and pressed her hands against his chest, “I’m staying with you!”

“Harriet--”

“I don’t want to leave you!” her fingers wrapped around his fur, “And, and--you’d be lonely without me!” tears welled in her big blue eyes again, “You need someone to scout for you, to see if there are people around! What if something happened, and I never saw you again?!” the tears spilled over her cheeks and down her chin.

“Hey, hey...” Luka cooed, placing his all-too-massive paws on her shoulders, “Okay... Okay, you can stay with me...” he hoped that he wouldn’t regret that decision.

Smiling, Harriet wiped her tears away, “Mean it?”

“Yeah.” Luka nodded, “I mean it.”

Lying on the ground, Luka allowed Harriet to climb into his crossed arms. They remained silent for a time as he waited for enough time to pass. He wondered if anyone would be checking out their house. He certainly hoped not, but he could imagine that most of his neighbors would recognize Harriet as the “hat kid from down the street” without much problem. He sighed.

Harriet’s stomach growled, “Dad,” she gently tugged at a tuft of fur, “I’m hungry.”

Lifting his head, Luka frowned. Shoot, he didn’t finish making her that frozen meal, did he? And he didn’t have his wallet, either, “Ah, sorry kiddo... You’ll have to wait a couple more minutes before we can try to go home.”

“Hm...” her little face scrunched up in thought, “Oh, I know! There’s a restaurant nearby, I think! I can dig out some food from the trash!” before her father could object, she jumped out of his arms and ran off.

With a quick motion, Luka grabbed her by the back of her shirt and lifted her in the air, “Oooh, no you don’t, kiddo!” she squirmed a little but quickly gave up, “I’m not letting you get a stomach bug, or eat a rat or something.” he couldn’t help but chuckle.

Folding her arms over her chest, Harriet pouted, “Aw... What if I wanted to eat a rat?”

Lifting himself into the air, he plopped her back into his arms, “Well, you’re not gonna.” he glanced to the sky, which had gone completely dark, “It ought to be late enough for everyone to go back home...” . At least he’d be able to hide fairly well in the dark of the night.

There were a number of police cars around the neighborhood. Luka’s body had gone cold again, not wanting to think about what would happen if one of them spotted him. Closing his eyes, he took in a deep breath, and then slid across the subdivision, keeping low to the ground and hiding in any shadows he could find. He crawled over fences, through backyards, and around houses until they finally reached their destination.

Their house was still pitch dark. A few police cars had just pulled away from the front--had they investigated the home? Luka chewed on his cheek, hoping that they had gotten everything they needed by now and were all gone.

“Dad,” Harriet whispered, “There are people in the front, how will we get in?”

Eyes drifting along the back wall, he decided that they’d just have to break in. How odd was that? Breaking into your own house... Well, it had to be done. Hovering to the windows, he attempted to peer inside of one, however his glowing eyes were all that reflected back at him. He scoffed in disgust.

“You ok?” Harriet asked.

“Hey, can you do me a favor?” he asked. When she nodded, he held her up to the window, “Take a look inside, and let me know if you see anyone.”

Cupping her hands around her eyes, Harriet looked through the window with a scrutinizing stare, “All clear!” she said. The pair repeated this process a few more times until they eventually concluded that the house was empty. What a relief!

“Okay, hold onto me,” Luka said. Once Harriet’s arms were wrapped around him, he located her room’s window, and pried his fingers underneath the frame. It took a bit of work, but he eventually managed to pry it open with a loud grunt, “Okay, go inside, and get your clothes.”

Harriet frowned, “We can’t say here anymore...?”

Drooping a bit, Luka shook his head, “Sorry... We can’t. Not with everyone suspicious of it, now.”

Despite her feelings, she complied and crawled through the window. As she went to find her suitcase, she turned to the window, “Can you help me...?” she asked.

Narrowing his eyes, Luka wasn’t sure he’d fit in her room, let alone through the window. But, he’d give it a shot. Pressing his head through the window, he found it to be quite the tight squeeze, but after a few attempts, he managed to get inside, knocking over a lamp in the process. The bulb shattered upon impact with the ground.

“Oh!” Harriet cried. Realizing she rose her voice a bit too much, she shrank back a little and lowered her voice, “Did you get smaller?” she asked. It wasn’t a significant change by any means--he was still massive--but he fit in her little room better than he did the alleyway.

“I don’t know,” Luka shrugged with a furrowed brow. Picking the lamp off the ground, he didn’t really know what to make of this. But there was no time to dwell on it! They had clothes and food to pack!

Harriet passed her favorite outfits over to her father, who carefully folded them into a purple-colored suitcase. A tight fit, but Harriet managed to find space for a few toys by cramming them in the pockets. They grabbed her back pack, dumping Harriet’s kindergarten books unceremoniously onto the floor. With a larger duffel bag in tow, the pair went into the kitchen to pack more supplies.

Harriet’s bag was filled with the lighter supplies--money, bandages, Luka’s phone, a lighter, and a number of other necessities. As he took a few items, such as bandages, from the bathroom, that was when he finally got a good look at himself in the mirror. He stared at his reflection blankly at first, then his expression twisted into one of disgust. He turned away, not wanting to look at it any longer.

Back in the kitchen, the duffel bag was filled with whatever non-perishable foods Luka could find, as well as a pot or two. He double-checked everything in the bags, then slung the duffel over what shoulders he had. He had to tighten the strap to make sure it stayed in place.

Luka couldn’t think of anything else to pack, especially anything that wouldn’t weigh them down too much. He was certain that he’d think of more on their way out of the city, but at this point it was best to just get the both of them to someplace safe.

With everything in tow, Luka scooped Harriet into his arms, and slipped into the night, his sleek purple body blending perfectly in the dark. As he rose into the air, he ran a few options in his head; where they could hide, where they could find shelter, where they could get food... It was going to be terribly difficult for his little daughter, and he so desperately wished that he could have simply left her with a trusted friend instead.

Harriet spoke up when they were high enough to soar over buildings, pulling him from his thoughts, “Hey... Dad?”

“What’s up, kiddo?”

“... Do you think mom was the one that did this to you?”

Luka fell silent, his tail jerking a bit. It was odd; until now, that hadn’t even crossed his mind. But as his stomach churned, he could only conclude that it was true. The drink Vanessa offered him, the sick feeling he got after leaving the restaurant, the horrific transformation. It all added up. Narrowing his eyes, he frowned deeply.

Five years later, Vanessa was just as petty as when Harriet was born.

“You know, I think you’re right.” he finally sighed, “Somehow I don’t think she’d be very willing to reverse it. For now, let’s just... Get somewhere safe.”

A pang of guilt flashed in Harriet’s eyes as she gently placed her hand against her father’s chest. She slowly nodded in reply, her shoulders slumping ever so slightly.

Solemnly and in silence, the pair flew to the horizon, uncertainty following them like a storm cloud.

[cassiopeiasara]

Westallen 52+70

Marriage of Convenience+Locked in a Room (so this def got away from me and turned into a full fic that’s also on ao3 here).

Here’s the thing about Iris West, she never breaks a promise. Even one made at nine years old before Barry loses everything.

They’re at his house. His mom smiles from the kitchen telling Iris of course she can stay while her dad works late. She likes Nora’s smile, it’s bright and warm just like the Allen’s home.

They’re in the middle of math worksheets when Barry asks.

“Iris?”

Iris tilts her head. “Yeah?”

Barry fidgets with his pencil. “Do you want to get married one day?”

Iris laughs. “Yeah but dad says I’m not allowed till I’m 35.”

Barry’s eyes go wide. “That’s a long time.”

Iris nods. “It is, but I’ll probably find someone before that.”

Barry nods in return. They’re silent for a little while longer before he speaks up again. “If you don’t find anyone, would you marry me?”

Iris considers him a moment. “That’s forever from now, Barry. What if you find someone?”

He shrugs. “If I don’t? And you don’t?”

Iris holds out her pinkie. “I promise.”

Barry’s cheeks go pink as he links his pinkie with hers.

A year later when he’s crying in her lap and she’s stroking his hair, he whispers “would you still marry me one day, Iris?”

She wipes his cheeks. “Sure, Barry.”

Neither one of them expects their thirty-fifth birthdays to arrive with no spouses or children but as with many other millennials, the future never quite looks how they expected.

Barry is over one evening helping repair Iris’ kitchen sink because her super is useless and Joe’s back won’t allow him to do tasks like this anymore.

Iris blames the latest lifestyle article for why she brings it up at all. CCPN has been running a series on women and how much their lives have improved but also the struggles of modern times. Though thirty-five feels nowhere near old, Iris has been made all too aware that her statistical odds as a well educated black professional are not as much in favor of a spouse as she would like.

She swings her legs on the counter after she hands Barry the wrench he asked for. “Hey, Bear?”

There’s a small grunt of acknowledgement below her.

“You remember that time we were nine doing homework at your house and you asked if I’d marry you?”

There’s a clang of tools and a curse as Barry slides out from under the sink. She feels bad as she watches him rub his forehead, a small red spot appearing.

“Yeah,” he says quickly. “W-what made you think about that?”

She shrugs. “Well we’ve hit our time limit.”

He shakes his head. “Iris, we were nine. Thirty five feels ancient at nine.”

She crosses her arms and peers down at him. “You backing out on me now, Barry?”

He stares at her a moment. “Are you serious?”

“I don’t give out pinky swears lightly.”

He tilts his head up at her and she thinks, not for the first time, that he’s grown up to be so much more than the scrawny nerd she knew in school. He’s still a nerd of course but he’s filled out and can actually throw a punch almost as well as she can. Not to mention, he’s the director of the CSI division and often travels to consult for departments in other cities. He volunteers in the summers at various science camps, laughs at all her jokes and is so useful at trivia night. He’s still her best friend, she could do a whole lot worse.

“What about that Eric guy you were seeing?”

She rolls her eyes. “It only took one drink to realize he’s not worth my time. What about Tina?”

He scoffs. “She left with our waiter.”

Iris hops off her counter and pats Barry on the shoulder. “Look, I know we actually have time but why waste it on these losers when we could be with our best friend?”

Barry looks at her a long time and she’s sure he’s going to say no. In fact, she resigns herself to it when he slips back under her sink to finish fixing it. She shouldn’t be disappointed nor surprised really. Maybe it was a stupid idea anyway. Barry has always been a romantic and Iris’ practical appeal isn’t exactly the most enticing.

She wonders if he’ll leave as she opens the door for the takeout she promised in exchange for his labor.

“I’m assuming you’ll come live with me then? You’ll have a handyman at your beck and call and you’ve already waxed poetic about my floor plan.”

Iris drops her chopsticks. “Really, Bear?”

Barry smiles bright and warm and Iris can’t help but think of Nora. “Yeah.”

***

Barry really should have warned her about the laundry room. It hadn’t occurred to him of course because the faulty lock always meant he kept the door open.

She’s in the middle of pulling on his Millennium Falcon t-shirt when a breeze slams the door shut.

“Damn,” he whispers.

“What?” She asks as she flips her hair from the collar of the shirt. 

It’s curly today. CCPN is under new management and with the recent round of legislation around hair styles, Iris has opted for more time with her curls both at home and at work. Barry, of course, has no complaints. He’s loved her hair ever since he heard the soft clink of the beads at the end of her braids when she approached him in kindergarten.

He points behind him, trying hard not to linger on the vision that is his wife in his clothes. Wife, he’ll never get over that.

“The door. It doesn’t open from this side.”

Her eyes go wide as she rushes to pull the handle to no avail. “Damn,” she mutters.

“Yeah,” he says as he scratches the back of his neck.

She knits her eyebrows up at him. “What are you doing home so early?”

“I had court this morning,” he gestures at his suit, “and I haven’t switched out my bag with fresh clothes yet so I swung by so I could have something for the lab.”

Her eyes linger on his tie, a hint of a smile playing at her lips and he hopes she doesn’t read too much into his choice. Six months into their marriage and Barry is still terrified Iris might guess the depth of his feelings. There had been countless times over the years he wanted to share how he felt.

That night on her dad’s couch as he cried and asked if she might still marry him. Middle school when he had the good fortune of a foster family that lived in Iris’ neighborhood and didn’t judge him for his anger or his desire to see his dad. High school when he broke up with Becky and hoped Iris’ concern was less friendly consideration and more because she’d prefer to be his girlfriend. The time she confessed she thought no one might love her the way Eddie had.

Yet, he’s stayed silent, sure that if Iris felt anything close to him, she’d say something. He never forgot his childhood proposal but he’d been so sure Iris had.

Call him a fool for settling but no woman could ever match his best friend so when she’d called him on their old promise, he couldn’t resist. Thus here he was locked in a room with the woman he’d always dreamed might be his wife and nervous she might finally see the truth.

“I’ll call Dad,” she says before she looks around and sighs. “My phone is in the kitchen.”

Barry pats his jacket, thankful he finds his phone there. “He got called to a scene but Cecile was on her way to pick up lunch for the both of them, I’ll see if she can swing by.”

Iris sighs in relief. Cecile thankfully picks up but it’ll be two hours and Barry’s phone dies shortly after. He leans against the wall while Iris hops up on one of the machines. Barry tries not to think of the activities they’d get up to if they had gotten married for more typical reasons but it’s hard when Iris is drowning in his shirt and pouting her lips as she looks around the room.

“So, what should we do?”

He shrugs. “Well, um-“

“What was your case about?”

He relaxes slightly, thankful for a subject that will definitely distract from his irrespirable wife. He starts to explain the case, leaving out any confidential details and Iris gets that look on her face where he knows she’s listening but slightly lost in the science of it all. He used to think it annoyed her but she confessed a couple years back that while she didn’t understand it all, she did find it fascinating.

“Barry?” She whispers after he’s done and a comfortable silence settles between them.

“Hmm?”

“You think we should have kids?”

He stumbles slightly against the wall. “Um, do you want to?”

She bites her bottom lip and he finds that after an hour in such a small space, he can’t resist the image that pops up in his brain of kissing it free. “I think so. I know there’s always adoption and I think I’d be down for that if you are but we could try the biological way first.”

He assumes that like their marriage this might be a practical arrangement. After all, they sleep in separate bedrooms, careful not to let their family see that part of their house often. They decided the particulars of their marriage were no one’s business but their own and they let their family and friends stay blissfully ignorant.

“So did you want to try a fertility specialist or something? When did you—“

“Hey, Bear?”

He watches her slide off the washing machine and inch closer to him, fiddling with the edge of his tie. “Yeah?”

She smiles in a way he’s always dreamed of but never seen. She tugs at his tie to bring him closer and leans up bringing them close enough to kiss. “Why don’t we try it the traditional way first?”

Barry raises his eyebrows and squeaks out “you mean like now? Together? Here? Like right now?”

She chuckles darkly. “Yeah, we could—”

“Barry? Iris?”

“In here!” Shouts Iris. He expects her to jump away but she waits until they hear Cecile jiggle the doorknob and only then does she step away slowly.

Barry can barely catch his breath as Iris thanks Cecile and sends her on her way. He walks into their living room on shaky feet and wonders what to do next.

Iris leans against the door after seeing Cecile out and winks at him. “Why did you wear that tie, Barry?”

He tilts his head. “B-because you gave it to me.” And told me I look nice, he thinks. And smiled at me.

She smiles and saunters toward him. “Why did you marry me?”

His heart races as he considers denying the truth. The same truth he’s been so afraid to reveal for years but Iris wants children and is looking at him as if he should hope and so he does the brave thing. “Because I love you and I’ve never wanted to marry anyone else.”

Her smile melts from seductive to just soft. “Yeah?”

He nods.

She leans up and kisses him, chaste but lingering, the second kiss since their wedding day. “Me too, Bear.”

His heart leaps in his chest as he leans down to kiss her the way he’s wanted to for years.

When they part, she whispers, “you’ll be late for work.”

He shrugs and wraps his arms around her waist. “They’ll live.”

[loving-daisy]

Cry For Me | George Weasley x Reader

Masterlist | Cry For Me Masterlist 

Chapter 5 - Eiffel For You 

Words: 4.9k

Warnings: fluff, gossiping, insults, threatening, surprises, confessions, secrets getting spilled

"I’ve been yours since the beginning.”

The golden hour visibly announces its presence on the elite Slytherin 5th year. Her facial features are illuminated by the descending sun, as she faces one of the most mischievous Gryffindor in Hogwarts. The couple stands at the snow covered ground, eye to eye as they wrap themselves in each other’s warm embrace. 

“Y/N Icestone, I fancy you.” George repeated for the second time. 

The girl beams at him, her wide smile revealing her pearly-white teeth, making the ginger’s fluttering heart beat faster. Y/N played with the ginger hairs situated at the back of the boy’s neck, nodding a few times. “George Weasley, I fancy you.” She answered. 

Once again, both of their lips were pressed against each other for a short passionate kiss. 

“Be my girlfriend.” The boy muttered after they pulled away, a small gap between them remaining, together with their arms around each other. 

“Is that an order or a question?” Y/N questioned, an eyebrow raised towards the ginger, trying to hide the giddiness in her voice. Similar to the scenario after the twins’ holiday party, she examined the look on the boy’s face.

George only looked at her, his face an expression of expectation and hesitance, his heart beating from all the adrenaline as his mind became full of different scenarios as to what the Slytherin will answer. Searching his eyes, the girl only saw hope, admiration, and fear, to which she was pleased as the boy really did seem to have his eyes only for her, 

She pressed a hand on his cheek, carefully caressing the visible freckles as he leaned into her hand, still not breaking the eye contact. Y/N gave his rosy lips a peck, the bright smile on their faces returning. 

“I’ve been yours since the beginning.” 

____________________

The following Monday, it seems like the controversial Slytherin-Gryffindor relationship rose from its dying noise, as it was temporarily replaced by the news about the first wizard to ever escape Azkaban, Sirius Black, getting nearer and nearer the wizarding school. The news of the elite stone-cold heart Slytherin taking her relationship with the warm and funny Gryffindor to the next level was now the talk of the whole school. 

Those sorted in the house of Salazar were divided to 70-30. 70% believing that the girl doesn’t really have feelings for the boy and that it was just a scheme to make him fall in love with her. 30% believed that her feelings were genuine, ashamed of the fact that the girl from the noble family associated herself with the blood-traitor, Weasleys. 

Those from the same house of the ginger were surprised. Amazed even. Majority giving even more respect to the notorious twins for being able to steal a girl from their opposing house’s heart. However, those of the house of Godric had clashing opinions as well. Some girls were envious, defeated, and heart broken, seeing as both of their lovely twins were off the single market (Although Fred was still single, everyone knew who he had his eyes focused on). Some were happy, but for different reasons. Some thought that it was just another scheme to trash on the rival house while a couple were genuinely happy for George, finally getting a partner after how many moments of being his twin’s wingman. But some were reluctant and scared that they were the ones being played by the Slytherins. 

Meanwhile, the majority from the house of Helga were happy for George and Y/N, thinking that the rivalry between the two houses would finally evaporate. In the house of Ravenclaw, most fully believed that the two wouldn’t last long, betting that they’d probably wake up from their trance and realize that they’re too different from one another.  

Back when it was only Y/N Icestone that was being talked about, the girl never gave attention to the big mouths as they only said all the good things about her, praised her and envied her, for being the next heir to the Icestone family’s wealth. Back when it was only their friendship that was being talked about, her ears only perked up only for her to shoot daggers towards those who questioned her decision. But now that their romantic choices were being talked about, it seems as if the Slytherin’s patience deflated like a balloon. Always opening her mouth to give the big mouths a piece or two of her mind. 

“Have you heard? It seems like Icestone and that one Weasley boy are officially together!” A boy wearing green robes, who seemed to be in a higher year than Y/N, informed the rest of the students present in their little circle. 

“What?!” A girl from the house of Rowena asked in disbelief. 

This time, a different girl from Ravenclaw spoke. “It’s true! I heard this girl from Hufflepuff talking about how she saw the both of them snogging during that one Hogsmeade weekend!” 

“She could do so much better, honestly.” The boy from Y/N’s house muttered, fully not aware how the subject of their conversation was close, pretending to read her potions book as she consciously eavesdropped after hearing that they were talking about them. 

“Both of them, actually.” The Ravenclaw said, causing her to turn her eyes towards her, memorizing her distinct looks as she faked a cough, making sure that she was heard. The three Slytherins froze on their spot, recognizing the voice, while the two Ravenclaws seemed like their eyes were about to pop out of their head after seeing who the cough belonged to. 

Y/N moved her eyes back to her open book, feigning a smile. “Having fun talking about other people’s lives?” 

“Icestone-” one of the Slytherins spoke. Y/N slammed her book shut, rising to her feet as she gave the group a glare. “Don’t you have other things to do instead of gossiping about me?” She spat, making the group become fearful. 

Y/N examined them one by one. 1 group, 5 people, 2 girls from Ravenclaw, and 3 Slytherin boys that she recognized after a few moments of searching her head. She crossed her arms, smirking at those at the same house as hers. “Let’s see, Heather, Hampton, and Henderson. The H’s of year 7 Slytherin. H for humiliation, as it seems like all of you still ask for some Ravenclaw's help to do your homework for you.” She insulted before turning her attention towards the girls. “How about you, girls? Is your life too boring for you, that you have to speak about mine instead?” 

All in the circle had a very unpleasing look on their faces, however, unable to say something to defend themselves from Icestone, who was fuming on the inside but very cold outside. She feigned a frown, pretending to be completely disgusted. “Close your mouths, sweet hearts. Your mouths really stink.” Y/N stated before walking away. 

____________________

A few hours before the Great hall serves its mouth-watering feast, the fresh and hot couple of Hogwarts were found to be seated under a tree, with the tall and ginger Gryffindor presenting a big orange box to the doe-eyed Slytherin. 

Y/N took a hold of the neatly wrapped box, carefully shaking it from left to right in an attempt to figure out what its contents were. Her eyebrows went close to each other, her forehead creasing as she faced the smiling boy. “What’s this?” She asked. 

The smile on George’s face didn’t leave his face as he gave the girl a small shrug as an answer. “Open it.” 

The Slytherin turned her attention back to the box, carefully unwrapping the black ribbon before muttering “I bet you didn’t tie this yourself. It’s too neat.”, getting a snort and a “you’re so smart.” from the ginger. 

After getting the ribbon out of the way, Y/N examined the box, her heart rapidly beating in expectancy and anticipation. She got rid of the lid that blocks the content from her view before wrapping her hands around her boyfriend’s neck. “You got me a scarf? That’s so sweet of you, George. Thank you!” She cooed, placing a small sweet kiss on the ginger’s cheek. 

George laughed, the weight on his shoulders being lifted, thankful for the girl’s joyful reaction. He placed his hands on the sides of Y/N’s face, pressing his lips on her forehead. “Yeah, Ron bragged to me the other day that he was able to enter the Slytherin dungeons when he was in second year - ” 

“What?!” Y/N cut off the ginger, shocked by the delivered information. “How did he do that?” 

“He wouldn’t tell!” George exclaimed. “But he did tell me that the dungeons get really cold even if it isn’t winter.” 

“So I got you this because you’re really cold easily. At least that’s what you say to me when you blush because of my compliments.” He said, giving the girl a wink that made her groan in response. George only gave a sheepish smile before continuing. “It's not made with the finest tendered wool but it was made with love! My mum...she knitted it herself! I just thought that you needed something extra to keep you warm in case you’re cold. It’s not much but —“ 

Y/N, once again cut him off, this time by placing a finger on the boy’s lips before whispering “Shut up, George. I love it! I really do! Thank you, really.” 

George removed the girl’s hand in front of him. He placed his forehead against hers, kissing her nose. “I’m glad you love it, Y/N.” He said, matching the softness and tone of Y/N’s voice.

____________________

A few hours later, the couple found themselves in their usual midnight escapade, seated at a soft blanket at the Astronomy tower as they looked up the various stars and constellations enveloped in the night sky. 

“Ooh~ Chocolate chip cookies! How did you know that these were my favorite?” Y/N questioned as she divulged the snack, her doe-like eyes sparkling as she looked up the ginger. Truth is, Fred and George thought that it would be a good idea to head to the kitchens to ask for the house elves for some snacks. Fred’s reason was completely different from George’s as he meant to bring apple pie for him, Lee, and Ron’s friends for a little game. George just took the cookies because he thought that the pie would not pass as edible once he took it out of his robes. And no, George did not, in any way or form, know that the Slytherin loves her cookies. 

“Of course, I know. I am George afterall.” He answered, grabbing a piece for himself as well. As he carefully munched on his snack, he took a look at Y/N’s glistening features under the stars. If she looked gorgeous under the sunset, she still looked good under the stars. Her eyes were illuminated with sparks, as if it were stars. George also noticed the hairdo of the girl, her hair put together by the black ribbon that came from his gift. 

“I like what you did with your hair.” He complimented. 

Y/N carefully stroked her locks, twirling some on her finger. “Thanks. I actually used the ribbon that came from your gift.” 

“Very resourceful, you are.” “I’m a Slytherin. It’s part of our nature.” 

After a few moments of silence, a thought popped out the girl’s head. “So…” Y/N began. “it seems like Slytherin and Gryffindor are gonna rival once again in the championship match for quidditch.” 

George replied. “Yup! Reckon I’ll get your support?”

Y/N gave him a teasing smile, sipping on her glass of milk. “Oh you have my support, alright. At least, only you.” She said, shrugging smugly. George furrowed his eyebrows, crossing his arms against his chest. “Not Gryffindor?” 

“No! I’m not a Gryffindor, I’m a Slytherin!” 

“But your boyfriend is in Gryffindor!” George argued. 

“Boyfriend,” Y/N repeated, smiling. “I love the ring of that.” 

“I love you.” The ginger blurted out, taking the girl a back. “What?” She asked as if her ears deceived her, wanting to confirm what spoke out of the boy’s mouth. 

“What?” George repeated, an innocent look on his face. 

“You said something.” Y/N commented. “Yes, I did.” George answered. 

“So…” The boy began, changing the subject. “Are you gonna watch the match?” 

Y/N raised a brow towards the ginger before mentally pushing her thoughts at the back of her head, grabbing another cookie. “Of course! I need to show my house some support you know.” 

George placed his hands on the sides of the girl’s head, pinching her cheeks after giving her a small peck. “Well, your house needs to get ready because this Gryffindor beater will not hesitate to do his best.” 

“Just because his luck is going to be watching at the stands.” He declared, giving the shocked girl a wink. 

____________________

The next three weeks, the couple barely saw each other as both their schedules clashed. The only time and place where they get to talk to each other, one on one, was during potions class, as they were partners. However, they only spoke of academic things, with Y/N instructing George on what to do next most of the time. 

Oliver Wood, the Gryffindor quidditch team captain, was keeping all the players from leisure as he scheduled practice every day, seven days a week, to make sure that his game plan was being executed properly. 

“Wood has been keeping us because he wants to win the cup so bad. Reckon it’s his last year in Hogwarts. What better way to end it than winning the Quidditch cup?” Y/N remembered George quietly telling her during one potions class, careful to not get caught by Professor Snape. 

As for their usual midnight escapades, even if the ginger insisted to continue on with it, the girl opposed, saying that it was better for George to just go back to his room and rest after a long night of flying around his broom, beating a bludger. 

“But I want to spend time with you!” George whined as if he was a child who got his sweets taken away. 

“Me too. But you’re gonna be too tired tomorrow. You need some sleep, George.” Y/N reasoned as she stroked the boy’s hair. “We’ll see each other soon. Tell you what, let’s make a bet.” 

George’s ears perked up at the word, suddenly interested in how the conversation is getting. 

“If you win the quidditch cup, you get to spend time with me 24/7. If you lose, then...that’s unfortunate.” Y/N said, attempting her giggles to come out after saying that last sentence. George groaned, muttering a small “fine.” before resting his head back on the girl’s lap. 

“Where’s your stupid lover boy, Icestone?” Y/N’s thoughts were cut off after hearing an obnoxious voice speaking out to her as she quietly read her book on the couch in front of the Slytherin fireplace. 

She gave the sour looking boy a small glance before turning her attention back to her book. “Why is a filthy git like you speaking to someone like me?” She expressed distaste on her voice. “So unfortunate for me.” She added. 

The boy scowled. “Watch your words, Icestone.”

Y/N feigned a laugh, piercing a threatening stare on the speaker. “Or what, Malfoy?” 

“Or I’ll tell your father how you’ve been associating yourself with a blood-traitor like him!” He replied, a smug look on his face after seeing the effect of his words. Y/N slammed her book shut, earning the attention of the other students in the area. 

“Why don’t you just mind your bloody own business?!” She bellowed. 

“Because you’re tampering the noble house of Icestone!” Draco exclaimed. 

“What is it to you? You’re not even an Icestone!” The girl argued. 

“But I’m Draco Malfoy.” He began, his voice calmer than before in order to not let their conversation be heard. “Associated with the house of Black and the house of Malfoy. One of the remaining wizard families that remains to be pure, that includes you. Y/N Icestone, the heir. Generations from generations, your royal name has been passed. You should protect that, don’t you think?” He suggested. 

Y/N shook her head in disbelief, crossing her arms against her chest as she replied under gritted teeth. “What you’re saying is pointless.”

“Haven’t your parents taught you about how important it is to remain pure? To carry on family tradition?” Draco asked, adding more fuel to the fire that is Y/N Icestone, who rolled her eyes.

“Why are you acting as if the Weasleys are not purebloods?” 

“Because they love muggle-borns and adore muggles! They’re blood traitors!” Draco answered, frustrated. “And what’s so wrong about being friendly to other people? At least they have basic human decency unlike you. Grow up, Malfoy.” She answered, spatting at the boy. 

“I-”

“Not another word, Draco.” She ordered. “Or I’ll hex you. You wouldn’t want to miss the quidditch match wouldn’t you?” Y/N threatened, her wand out and pointed at the boy’s chest, scaring him. She scoffed at his frightened look, pressing her wand against where it’s pointed. 

“Now, shove off, shine your stupid broom or something, and leave my business out of yours.” 

____________________

“Hey, hey, hey, it’s your boy, Lee Jordan here and today, we are about to witness Hogwarts’ Quidditch finals with the famous house rivals, Gryffindor vs Slytherins!” Lee, the school’s commentator announced from his mic. 

The quidditch field was full of students in anticipation, the stands filled with the two house colors, red and green. Although students from Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff we’re also in attendance, those who belonged in the said houses put on clothing around themselves that symbolized which team they were rooting for. Majority of it being red for the house of lions. 

Y/N Icestone found herself seated at one of the front rows in a Slytherin stand. Beside her was Daphne Greengrass and her sister Astoria, who was talking to each other about who knows what. On the other side of Y/N was Pansy Parkinson and her flock, to which she gave no attention to, even if the girl tried (and failed) to be in her acquaintance. 

“First off, we have the Gryffindors!” Lee announced. “Bell, Johnson, Potter, Spinnet, Weasley, Weasley, and their team captain, Oliver Wood! Woohoo~! Let’s go Gryffindors! Let’s go!” 

The crowd present in the stands cheered with their hearts out as the Gryffindor team players’ names were called. Except for Slytherin and Slytherin supporters, of course. Otherwise, they’d be thrown off the stands. 

Even if the whole school knew about Y/N Icestone and George Weasley’s not-so-friendly relationship, Y/N thought to still keep in lowkey and not show the public some displays of affection as she wanted to keep her privacy, in which George completely understood. Additionally, Y/N Icestone comes from the house of loyalty. It wouldn’t be such a great image for her if she openly supported the opposing team. 

Therefore, Y/N Icestone tried to control her face from showing any sort of support to her boyfriend’s team, even if the boyfriend in question flew in the stand in front of her, blowing a kiss. Y/N rolled her eyes in response, giving the ginger a thumbs up, only to turn it upside down and mouth a “you’re gonna lose so bad.” 

George feigned a hurt expression, his hands on top of his chest where his heart was placed, then suddenly changing it into a smug look and holding up a “2” and “4” on each finger and then “7” before zooming away with another wink. 

____________________

The score was currently 120-90 with Gryffindor in the lead. An hour and a half has already passed but neither of the team’s respective seekers have caught the snitch to end the match. Y/N usually would want to have ended the match in an instant for her to go back to the book she’s been reading but this time, she was actually enjoying herself. It was just this match where quidditch suddenly felt very interesting to her. Maybe it was because of a certain ginger beater but who knows right? 

“Gryffindor! Gryffindor! Gryffindor!” The crowd chanted like a beating drum. Y/N’s heart was beating in anticipation too. Even if she did not show it, she was actually rooting for Gryffindor to win, chanting with the majority of the crowd inside her head. Her face however, feigning distaste as her house’s team was losing. 

A bludger was zooming towards George when his eyes suddenly caught on it. Looking towards the stands to make eye contact with his girlfriend, he pointed his bat towards her as he mouthed a “this one’s for you.”, before hitting the bludger away. The Slytherin crossed her arms against her chest, attempting to hide the blush that’s creeping on her cheeks as she mouthed a “show off” in response. George only gave a wink before flying away. 

“Seeker Draco Malfoy with a newly recovered arm has got his eyes on the snitch as he plummets down towards it. What is this?! Harry Potter chasing him! They’re side by side, ooh the nimbus two thousand and one is really a no-match for the firebolt- okay Professor McGonagall, back to the game.” 

“Harry Potter took both his hands away from his broom, reaching the fast little snitch, he’s getting closer, closer, a little more closer, and he’s caught it! He’s caught it! Harry Potter has caught the snitch! Gryffindor wins the cup!” 

The crowd roars in celebration after the house of Godric has been declared as the champions. Students of Gryffindor were jumping up and down, chanting “Gryffindor! Gryffindor! Gryffindor!” as both team players from the two houses flew down and dismounted their brooms. 

Oliver Wood held up a hand towards Marcus Flint as a sign of sportsmanship, who was harshly rejected as the Slytherin team captain slapped his hand away and retreated towards their changing rooms together with the rest of the Slytherin players. 

Fred and George had Harry resting on top of their shoulders, who was holding the cup in his arms, surrounded by people from the same house, congratulating them. Katie Bell, Alicia Spinnet, and Angelina Johnson, the Gryffindor chasers, were huddled around crying, hugging each other in delight. 

As the three houses came together to celebrate the defeat of the winning streak the house represented by a serpent, the Slytherins decided to skip that part and head towards the dungeons instead. Nonetheless, even if the Slytherin did or did not win, there was a party going to be held. It included firewhiskey and chips. Who doesn’t like a cold underground party with firewhiskey and chips? 

After putting Harry down, George thanked every single student who came to congratulate him but he was rather distracted, as his eyes were looking for somebody else. The privilege of height was very useful for him as he caught the girl’s eyes in delight, who was beaming at him at the sides. George grinned in return. 

Attempting to push past the ocean of crowd he was stuck in, Y/N held out a hand to halt him, her wrist flicking as she levitated a small piece of ripped parchment towards the ginger. 

Meet you at the tower later.

George read. Giving a thumbs up to Y/N, who turned her heels away and left the field. 

____________________

“Where you off to, mate?” Fred asked, blocking the Gryffindor common room exit away from his twin. 

“Nowhere.” George replied, grunting. 

“Then why does it seem like you’re up to something? Without me? Why are you keeping things away from me? I thought we were best friends.” Fred rambled, his words slurring as he was starting to get bat-shit drunk. 

“Fred, how much did you drink?” The younger twin questioned, mentally slapping his forehead as he observed the bottle of firewhiskey in his twin’s hand, which had about ¼ of it left. “Don’t answer. You need to stop, mate. Or else you’re going to humiliate yourself in front of Angelina.” He commented. 

“Angie?! Where is Angie?!” Fred shouted, finally moving away from the portrait as he headed towards Angelina. 

“Bet you 5 galleons that he's going to puke in front of her.” Ron muttered from the side. Oh great, another one. George thought. 

“Where are you going? I thought you enjoyed parties.” The youngest Weasley boy interrogated. 

George sighed, his hands digging his pockets to grab a couple of gold. “Listen, if you don’t ask, move away, and not tell everyone, I’ll give you 5 galleons right away without having that stupid bet you’re proposing.” He negotiated, holding out his hand full of coins in front of Ron’s face. 

“Deal!” Ron exclaimed, immediately grabbing the gold and running away. 

When George arrived at the Astronomy tower, he was greeted by a red and white picnic blanket settled around his and Y/N’s usual spot. On top of it was a candle lit on the center and a big brown picnic basket. 

He felt small and cold hands wrapping around his waist from behind, the owner’s hair tickling the back of his neck. George grinned before turning around to face his girlfriend, his hands resting on the sides of her face as he planted a small and sweet kiss on top of her forehead. 

“You really did take your time, huh?” Y/N muttered, raising a brow towards the ginger who smiled sheepishly in return. “I had...obstacles.” He said, shrugging. 

“What is all this?” George asked, pointing at the set-up in front of him.

“Your reward.” Y/N answered, pulling him towards the blanket and grabbing the contents of the picnic basket. 

“How exactly did you manage to prepare all these?” The ginger questioned, secretly popping a biscuit in his mouth as the girl continued to set-up their night. 

Y/N halted her actions, facing the boy, in which she caught divulging the biscuit that made him look as if his eyes were about to pop out of his head. She giggled at the sight, shaking her head from side to side. 

“I owled home, asked my mom to bring me some of my favorite snacks. Or maybe it was the house elves. I’m not really sure if my parents are home right now. Oh, now I’m sure. There’s a postcard.” 

Y/N, me and your father are currently in Paris. He craved some bread and pasta last night and so we decided to stop by a bit. Your owl came to me so I sent it home to order the house elves. But included are these French toast that you like. X Mom 

“Ooh~ French toast. That sounds fancy.” George commented. Y/N digged through the basket, pulling out the toasts before handing one to the ginger. 

“So...Paris, huh? Have you ever been to Paris?” The ginger asked. Y/N took a bite of her toast. 

“Yes...and no.” She answered, making George confused. “What do you mean?” 

“Well, my mother and father were into 4 months of expecting me when they were in Paris. But as you know, obviously, I wasn’t born yet so that doesn’t really count.” Y/N began. “Father told me that Paris holds a special place in their hearts because that’s where he proposed to my mother. In front of the Eiffel tower. Papa said that’s also where he realized how he loved her.” She explained. 

“Bet he said ‘Eiffel for you’ in front of the Eiffel tower.” George punned, earning a small shove from the grinning girl. “That was such a bad joke.” She convinced. 

“Nah~! If it was bad, you wouldn’t have been trying to suppress your laugh.” He teased. “But guess what, Y/N?” 

“What?” She asked, curious. 

“Eiffel for you too.” George declared, earning a loud laugh from Y/N which caused him to get infected too. 

“Godric! This is so much better than watching Fred humiliate himself in front of Angelina.” 

____________________

Approximately 4 in the morning, Y/N and George separated ways as they sneaked back into their house common rooms. As the Slytherin turned to the next corner to the hall, she was greeted by the sight of her cat’s tail, Lixie on its way back to her quarters as well. 

“Lixie!” She called out, rather too loudly, making her flinch and look around the halls to make sure that no one caught her. After concluding that the coast was clear, she turned her attention back to the Siamese cat, questioning him, this time in a much more hushed tone. “What are you doing here? What did I say about leaving the quarters without my permission?” 

“I was with little Ginny! You didn’t bring me to the quidditch finals! Good thing she took me.” Lixie replied, suddenly jumping on Y/N’s arms. “Now carry me to make up for it.” He demanded, nuzzling his body to the girl’s warm embrace. 

“Even so! You should have had Mira to tell me or something. You know how worried I get.” She scolded. 

“No, you’re too busy with a lover boy to be worried about me.” Lixie commented. “Besides, if I didn’t leave the quarters, you would have gotten your heart broken.” 

Y/N stopped in her tracks, looking down at Lixie as confusion flooded her mind. “What do you mean?” 

End of Chapter 5

____________________

Taglist: @abrunettefangirlnerd​ @gloryekaterina​ @lilypad-55449​ @memekingofwwiii​ @leovaldez37

[invaderlynx]

Booker and La Campagne de Russie

I just watched The Old Guard and honestly, it was one of the best movies I’ve seen in a VERY long time. Of course, now I’m having all sorts of thoughts about the whole thing and particularly about Booker because his backstory intersects perfectly with my historical interests. I know that all the immortals in The Old Guard have experienced all sorts of terrible trauma, but because I am a history major with an affinity for the Napoleonic period, especially the Russian Campaign (and because Booker is my favorite character), I’d like to give you guys an idea of just what sort of torture he faced even before the pain of losing his family (also for fair warning, I have not read the comics):

Please place yourself in Booker’s shoes. You are one of over 600,000 men mustered to march into Russia. You’re serving in an army you never wanted to join, taking up arms for the glory of an empire that’s never done anything for you. You’ve been separated from your three beloved sons and your wife whom you love more than life itself, and have been sent off to fight in a foreign land that’s nothing like the home you’ve left behind. That much becomes evident immediately. 

The invasion starts in the summer of 1812 and it is hot, unseasonably hot. You feel it, laboring as you are under the thick heavy materials of your sweat-soaked uniform. Each step is its own torture in the heat as you struggle through mud left behind by hard summer rains. More than a few men kill themselves at this point and although this is just the beginning, you can hardly blame them. Some of your comrades get the bright idea to start discarding some of their extra layers of clothing—underthings and the like. Perhaps you join them, anything to lighten the load. You can’t be expected to carry all this over the long miles ahead. You’ll live to regret that decision.

The fighting itself is worse than the conditions. You never quite get used to the violence. No matter how many times you’re thrust into battle, your mouth still goes dry, your heart still thunders as loud as the military drums’ tattoo, you still choke on that thick gunpowder smoke. You nearly threw up the first time you killed with a bayonet. You remember sticking the man in between the ribs, a swift stab and he is bleeding out. It is only then that you see his face and realize just how young he is. He is a boy, maybe a few precious years older than your eldest. He cries as he falls. You didn’t speak Russian at the time but you didn’t need to to recognize the word “Мама”.

The only thing that makes it possible to keep putting one foot in front of the other (besides your family, of course) is your comrades-in-arms. Against all odds, you’ve found friendship here, men with whom you can share stories and jokes and drinks. You find a few men of around your own age with families, wives and children that they lovingly speak of, but many of these soldiers are young, young enough to be your sons, far too young to be out here slaughtering and being slaughtered. Over your meager meals you tell stories of home and it is enough to hold off the impending horror, at least for a moment. When that doesn’t work, you turn to drink. You drink an awful lot.

The conditions of this foreign land are mercurial at best and your woes are only compounded by your lack of proper supplies. The Russians have been scorching nearly everything in the wake of their retreat, making it difficult for you to forage for food. Your search parties turn up very little by way of provisions and your food supply continues to fall in tandem with the temperature.

Borodino is hell. You see the man to the right of you receive a cannonball to the chest and fall in a spray of red, you see the man to the left crumple as a shot rips through his handsome, hard-lined face. One of your friends, one of those boys that you’d come to regard as a surrogate son who was barely old enough to grow hair on his chin, catches a bullet in the leg. He dies in agony four days later, one of the thousands of casualties of that damned battle. In your lowest moments, you wish you would have joined him.

You were never a particularly happy man, even before the war. Prone to fits of melancholia, they would have said back then. Your darling wife and your three sons certainly helped to alleviate that heavy, aching emptiness that resided in your chest, but it never went away, not fully. It resurfaces with a vengeance now. Sitting with your gun in your hands and far too much liquor in your belly, you think about ending it all. How easy it would be to put a bullet in your brain and finally die. In the end, it’s your family that saves you again. You may not want to live for yourself, but for them- for them you can keep fighting. Besides, Moscow is only 70 miles away and once you take the ancient capital, Russia will have no choice but to surrender. That’s what everyone is saying and you force yourself to believe that it’s true.

Moscow was a lie. You took the capital but there was no peace. There was no food either. The Russians took it all when they abandoned the place, leaving almost nothing for your starving army. Nothing but liquor, which you are very grateful for at least. Your superiors probably aren’t, you think wryly as you raise the bottle to your lips and drink, drink, drink.

Moscow passes in a drunken haze for you. You drown yourself in Russian booze, drinking yourself absolutely insensate. There are entire days you spend propped up against the wall of some ramshackle Russian establishment, surrounded by empty bottles, too drunk to even stand. You remember bits and pieces, shattered memories drifting in and out of the fog. The looting and the things you took (a fine scarf, a silver flask, maybe more), a ladies’ fur shawl wrapped about your shoulders to keep out the chill, the burning heat of a terrible fire and the screams in French and Russian, the acrid taste of bile in your mouth as you splutter sick all over yourself only to raise the bottle to your lips again for another drink. In the end, you’re forced to leave Moscow as the position becomes untenable, the abandoned city burned to a shell of its former self. You never do learn who first started the fire, even years after the fact. 

The retreat is hell on Earth, worse than anything else that came before. La Grande Armée is hardly an army any longer, you’ve lost practically all discipline. By now, you’re just a bunch of exhausted, cold, starving men who want nothing more than to just make it home alive. Most of them won’t. The temperatures have dropped to below freezing at this point and you are wishing more than anything that you still had those infernal layers that caused you so much pain in the summer months. The clothing you and your comrades drunkenly plundered in Moscow—silken scarves stolen from abandoned trunks, heavy furs pilfered from store inventories, ladies’ shoes that hurt your feet but do a better job of keeping out the slush than your tattered boots—help, but not enough. Your fingers stiffen to near icicles in the cold as you try your damnedest to massage even a little warmth back into them, your face is wind-chapped and scabbed. You feel as though your very marrow has frozen, and you are one of the lucky ones. Men freeze to death in their sleep in less than an hour. Fifty men will sit down at a fire and only the twenty or so closest will ever get back up again. You all begin to loot the bodies of the dead and—as you grow more desperate—the dying as well. Corpses are stripped naked and left in the snow as the survivors squabble over their threadbare uniform pieces. Sometimes the corpses still twitch and moan but you try to ignore that.

There’s no food either. In addition to freezing, you’re starving too. The lot of you fight and quarrel over moldy crusts of bread, and in some cases even kill each other for them. The more clever turn to other sources to fill their writhing, empty stomachs. Some eat their boots, but there isn’t much leather left in any case. Some carve their meals off the horses as they walk, tearing bits of bleeding flesh off of the warm, moving flanks in a short-sighted attempt to get even a few morsels of meat in their bellies. Others, in mad desperation as the march (if you can even call it that any longer) wears on, turn to each other.

Perhaps you take part in this, perhaps you don’t. Perhaps you sidle a man out of the way to get closer to the fire, perhaps you take a coat off a corpse that you don’t know for sure is dead yet, perhaps you accept a piece of meat that you do not quite know the origin of. Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps…

In the end it doesn’t matter. You die anyway. You don’t really remember how it happened the first time. Maybe you were finally picked off by the advancing Russians, maybe it was exposure, exhaustion, starvation, sickness, any of the hundred ways that you could die in this frozen wasteland. All you know is that one moment you were on your feet, shambling mutely forward, the next you were lying on the icy ground, gasping air back into lungs that had fallen completely still. Four faces are burned into your memory and from one you can still hear the gurgling, watery screams.

That’s when the dreams start, after that first death. Though, you wouldn’t classify them as dreams, they’re far more alike to nightmares. You see that screaming, drowning woman often. You feel her fear as she slams her body against her metal coffin. Even awake you can’t get the sound of her choking out of your head. Sometimes there are soft moments interspersed with the horror. You see a woman with short hair (it reminds you of a coiffure à la victime) laughing, you see two men resting in each others’ arms, foreheads pressed together gently, blissfully happy. To be quite honest, these ones hurt worst of all because they make you regret ever waking up.

You die a few more times before you finally decide to desert. You can’t take it anymore. That tyrant Bonaparte has abandoned this army, why can’t you? You take flight under the cold cover of night, trying to get to the Russian border. You don’t make it very far. You are dragged back—aching, tired, and hungry—and are hanged by the road as a deserter. Perhaps there still is a little discipline left in these ranks, at least enough to allow these soldiers to kill their comrades in the name of orders. You have to wait three days for the road to clear before you can finally run. In that time your body is almost entirely picked clean by looters. You continue your desperate trek back home in spite of it all and die many more times in the weeks (or was it months?) that follow. It never gets any easier.

 It’s near the border into Prussia that you finally meet one of the figures from your dreams. Perhaps it is the woman with the short hair who offers you a drink and a coat to put around your shoulders, and tells you bluntly but not unkindly that you’re immortal. Perhaps it is the curly-haired man who helps hold you upright when you stumble and is careful and caring with his words as he gently explains the situation. Perhaps it is his lighter-haired lover who catches you when you fold in on yourself from the weight of his words and offers you affirmations and condolences in a voice reminiscent of a priest. Whoever it is, they ask you to come with them and explain that there are others like them- like you out there.

“What about my family?” you stutter out, almost unconscious of the words as the tumble from your mouth “My wife? What about them?”

They favor you with a sad smile and try to explain, but you will hear none of it. They do not stop you when you tell them that you are going home, and you are glad for it.

With the supplies they give to you, you manage to hobble your way back home. You’ve been taken for a dead man, you realize, everyone you pass seems to think you’re a ghost. You don’t care. You only have one person on your mind.

Your wife answers the door dressed in black. She starts to cry when she sees you and throws her arms around your neck. You nearly crumple, weak as you are. “Bastien, Bastien,” she sobs against your shoulder “What happened?”

That question fills you with icy dread. Your stomach drops as you realize you cannot explain to her what you’ve been through, not in a way that she’ll understand. Even if you explain the immortality and she believes you, she won’t understand the horrors you’ve seen. No one will. A soldier’s burden.

You stay silent and instead cradle her closer as your boys appear in the doorway. You have them and, for now, that is enough. You won’t forget, you will never forget, but for now at least you have this.

[xmxisxforxmaybe]

1998

Summary: Once your brother left for college, it became clear to you that Rami was going to make you Scott’s replacement. And as his replacement, you could expect two things.

One: Rami would continue spending more time at your house than his own.

Two: It was only a matter of time before Rami Malek talked you into doing something that could get you grounded for the rest of your life.

A/N: This fic is basically porn for the best decade EVER: the 90s. @the-real-ramimalekpeen​ I hope this does your request justice 💛

Wordcount: 7106

Warnings: All the characters are underage (17) so I will warn for drinking, smoking cigarettes, and PG-13 making out. Honestly though, by today’s standards, this fic is wholesome as fuck—welcome (back) to the 90s, bebes 💛

Considering it was after 9:00 pm on a school night, Rami Malek had no business being in your bedroom.

 Except that Rami Malek, one half of the legendary Malek Twins, was always at your house.

 His best friend, who also happened to be your brother, had just gone off to college. At first, you thought Rami still hung around so much because he was scared about doing the same next fall, but then, a part of you began to wonder if he really did miss your brother that much.

 Scott was the first real friend Rami made when he and Sami came to your school as freshmen. At first, they didn’t appear to have a thing in common, but after a few months, Rami and Scott were inseparable. By the end of Rami’s first year at Notre Dame, everyone joked that Scott was actually Rami’s twin, not Sami.

 One thing all three of the boys had in common, though, was their penchant for mischief. It wasn’t that they were bad. They were energetic, charming, and had decided to dedicate most of their high school experience to testing the limits placed upon them by authority figures.

 After Scott had left and the time Rami spent at your house did not diminish, it became clear that to Rami, you were now your brother’s replacement. And as his replacement, you could expect two things.

 One: Rami would continue his tradition of eating dinner more times a week at your house than his own.

 This didn’t bother you because your parents loved Rami—they loved him so much they didn’t protest when he insisted on doing the dishes on the nights he ate with you. That was a win in your book because it meant you had one less chore.

 However, Rami’s new focus on you did prompt a rather uncomfortable conversation with your mother.

 One night after he had gone home, she knocked on your bedroom door and fixed you with that look as she took a seat on the edge of your bed. She sharply inhaled then asked if you and Rami were dating. Because if so, she and your father needed to set some boundaries about the times Rami could and could not be at the house.

 The mixed look of shock and horror on your face made her laugh, but that initial reaction was quickly replaced with anger. Scott had girls at the house all the time and your parents had never said a word. In that moment, it became clear that your brother was afforded more freedom just because he was a boy. It was total garbage!

 So, for the next few weeks, you stewed in quiet rebellion, outraged by the clear gender discrimination being doled upon you by your OWN parents, and when you confessed as much to Rami, he flashed you the famous Malek grin and you knew you were in for expectation number two: It was only a matter of time before Rami talked you into doing something that would get you grounded for the rest of your life.

 A few nights later, you were watching TV in the living room and doing homework (you were doing homework while Rami seemed to be practicing his origami skills) when a paper airplane flew directly into your face and bounced off your forehead.  

 “Hey!” you yelled, glaring at Rami while you rubbed at the spot where the point hit.

 He was already leaning forward, an apology tumbling from his lips which seemed pretty insincere considering he was also trying to stifle his laughter.

 “What is this?” you asked as you picked up his paper airplane from the spot where it had landed, the bright colors of the paper catching your eye.

 After you unfolded it and realized it was a flyer for a local band, your stomach began to flutter.

 You looked up at Rami who looked like the cat that ate the canary. He nodded vigorously at the question on your face, then began to talk in a low, rapid voice.

 “Got it all worked out. I’ll come over for dinner. Sami will meet us with the car after your parents are in bed. You don’t have to do anything other than follow my lead—and not get caught.”

At 17, music was everything.

 You loved listening to live music, and as long as the concert was at an all-ages venue, you were allowed to go unchaperoned. That was great, if you wanted to see mainstream music, but since focusing his attention on you, Rami had turned you on to the joys of underground rock bands.

 Instead of listening to another shitty recording, Rami was presenting you with the opportunity to see a live show.

 Feeling giddy, you slammed your notebook shut and you and Rami spent the rest of the evening ironing out your plan. By the time he left to go home, you felt like it was foolproof.

 * * * * *

 The band was playing at a dive bar just outside of West Hollywood. Rami said the crowd would be fun—mostly college kids, partying it up on Thirsty Thursday. The plan was to hang out, watch TV until your dad gave you the look that meant it was time to kick Rami out, but instead of him leaving, you would call out your goodnights and he would sneak upstairs to your room and hide in your closet.

 After you had said goodnight to Rami, you went back into the living room and tried to swallow all of your excitement. After fifteen minutes of fidgeting, you told your parents you had a big test in the morning and wanted to go to bed early.

 They smiled and said goodnight, your mom following you up the stairs to take a bath and settle in with her book.

 You went into the bathroom and followed your nightly routine, making sure not to rouse any suspicion, and when you finally climbed into your bed and turned off your lamp, Rami popped out of the closet.

 “Are they asleep yet?”  

 “Shhh,” you hissed, clambering to the end of your bed and knocking into him as you stood. “Dad just shut off the TV.” “Sami’s waiting,” Rami said glancing at his watch even though it was too dark to see anything more than a blob of black on his wrist.

 “I’m aware of the plan,” you whispered as you ignored his fretting and flipped on the closet light to pick up the outfit you had set aside earlier.

 You paused in your movement and hurriedly flicked off the light. Straining your ears, you heard your dad walk by your room and you only released the breath you had been holding when you heard his door click shut.

 You flicked on the closet light again, and almost pulled your pajama top off in your haste before realizing that Rami was staring at you. When you turned to look at him, he motioned for you to hurry up, his eyes growing larger as if the bigger they got the more hurried your movements would become.

 You threw up your hands and harshly whispered, “Turn around!”

 Rami blinked stupidly, his mouth popping open as he realized you needed to change. If you could have seen his cheeks, you would have seen that they were the same color of red as the squares of plaid on his shirt.

 “S-sorry,” he stuttered as he turned away, his head hanging down as he shoved his hands into the pockets of his oversized jeans.

 With a tsk of dismissal, you shimmied into your favorite LEI jeans with the flared bottoms tattered perfectly from dragging on the ground. You had opted for a fitted, light blue, long-sleeved tee that just showed off a bit of your stomach because the v-neck also showed off your cleavage. You thought about grabbing the flannel you had stolen from your brother, but it was still warm enough out not to need it. Besides, there was sure to be something in the boys’ car if you needed it.

Sitting on the floor, you pushed down the top of your thong, knowing it was peeking out as you settled in to do your makeup.

 “I’m dressed,” you said as you began to swipe on some frosted blue eye shadow.

 As you pumped your mascara, Rami whined, “Can’t you do that in the car.”

 “In the pitch-black car?” you bit back as you scraped a bit of the eye shadow into one of your empty make up containers before dribbling clear lip gloss in to mix it up. As you dabbed it on your lips, you smiled at the perfectly muted but still-frosty compliment to your eye makeup.  

 Smacking your lips together with a pop, you quickly wrapped two small chunks of your hair up in two messy knots and secured them with tight, clear gumbands. You adjusted your chocker, then slipped into a pair of black, chunky shoes.

 You grabbed your wide, black belt and looped it through your jeans as Rami paced, the swishing of his jeans starting to drive you a little crazy as you rushed over to fix up your bed so it looked like a lump of a human was still in it.

 After situating your colorful hemp purse across your torso, you softly said, “Okay. Let’s go.”

 Rami stopped pacing and looked you over before giving you a half smile. “You look good.”

 “Until my parents catch us doing this and skin me alive,” you countered as you flicked off the light.

 Rami grinned, his teeth flashing in the dark. “They won’t—promise.”

 “Your promises have, like, an 83% failure rate,” you argued as you pushed past him and opened the window as quietly as possible.

 “Fine—I swear on Sami’s life we won’t get caught,” he whispered before he scrambled out of the window and on to the roof.

 He held out his hand and you took it while you climbed out after him. Your eyes looked toward your parents’ room, and your heart hammered as you were sure their light was going to flick on at any second.

 “That mayyybe gives us odds in the ballpark of 70 - 30,” you whispered when you turned your eyes back to Rami, quickly pulling away as you realized you were still holding his hand.

 He stifled a chuckle as he crept toward the farthest edge of the roof, and when a ladder appeared, you knew Sami was below.

 “Go ahead,” Rami rasped, holding on to the top of the ladder as you swung your legs over and began to cautiously climb down.

 When you got closer to the ground, you felt Sami’s hand on your calf as he whispered, “Hey, Y/N—you good?”

 “Yeah,” you whispered back, a wave of ease sweeping through you when you finally touched the ground.

 “Cute,” Sami smiled as he gave one of the twists in your hair a little tap.

 You smiled back before turning your attention to Rami as he hopped off the second to last rung. With a practiced ease, he pulled the ladder from the roof without making a sound and laid it flat behind your mother’s rose bushes. The ladder was completely hidden, and you quickly realized that the boys had done this many times before.

 The three of you jogged to where Sami had parked the car, and since you had followed him to the driver’s side, he opened up the back door so you could climb in. When Rami settled into the passenger seat, he let out a whoop of success. The three of you laughed, and you knew you had to ask, “How many times did you two sneak Scottie out of the house?”

Sami snorted and started the engine, while Rami shrugged his shoulders and turned his hands over, feigning ignorance.

 “I see how it is,” you said, narrowing your eyes at Rami’s profile until he quickly turned and shot you a wink that was more like a blink.

 You giggled, “One eye is a wink, you dork!”

 Sami’s shoulders shook with a silent chuckle as he turned up the radio and you settled back in your seat to bask in the joy of being with your friends; it was well worth the trepidation you had felt about sneaking out on a school night, and as you watched Rami’s smiling profile, lit up by each street lamp you sped past, you felt a sudden flush of pleasure that he had gone through so much trouble to give you this night.

 As soon as you were on the 101 heading out of the Valley, the boys both lit up. Rami offered you a cigarette, expecting you to decline, so when you said, “Why not?” he choked as he was inhaling and Sami’s eyes flashed up at you from the rearview.

 “Um, this is my night of rebellion, okay? I may as well do it right,” you explained as Rami put your cigarette between his lips, lit it, then passed it back to you.

 He watched with interest as you smoothly inhaled, then blew a stream of smoke out in his direction.

 “What? You think Scott and I never partied together when mom and dad went outta town? Who do you think got me drunk for the first time?”

 “How old?” Sami asked, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he smiled, his cigarette dangling from his lips as he relaxed back into the driver’s seat having just switched lanes.

 “14. Got me fucked up on screwdrivers of all things. I couldn’t drink OJ for a month.”

 The boys burst into laughter, then Rami explained that Scott had done the same thing to them.

 “Sami was so hungover mom thought he had the flu.”

 “And you weren’t hungover because you puked your guts out in dad’s hedges. I still don’t think he knows why that one turned brown and died.”

 “Shut up,” Rami grinned as he lightly punched his brother’s shoulder.

 “I’m driving asshole,” Sami murmured around his cigarette.

 “At least I don’t look like one,” Rami countered, making you roll your eyes and take another long drag of your cigarette.

 Because you didn’t smoke often, you already felt the sweet lightheadedness that came after a few pulls. You ashed out of the crack in your window and breathed in the cool air that was flowing from the boys’ open windows, contrasting deliciously with the heat of the smoke as it trailed down your throat.

 “Fight nice, boys,” you called up to the front, before immediately regretting your interruption because they both teamed up to rag on you.

Twins, you thought as you countered their attacks as best you could.

 Maybe it was the effect of the nicotine, or the natural high of sneaking out with the Malek brothers, but watching Rami from the back seat, you began to think of him as more than just your brother’s friend, and now, your friend. There was something about him, something about the way he made you feel that didn’t feel like any of your other friends.

 And speaking of other friends, you looked at the back of Sami’s head and watched his eyes in the rearview mirror, but that thing, that chemical pull of attraction wasn’t there. When you glanced over at Rami, you felt it.

 You let your gaze ping-pong between them, testing out your fledgling feelings. With a frown, you turned away from both of them and watched the cars in the parallel lanes, wondering if it was even worth figuring out.

 “Helloooo,” Rami called, squeezing your knee to pull you out of your thoughts.

 “Huh? What did you say?”

 “I asked what you thought of Stacy.”

 “Stacy Browning?”

 “Duh. She’s like the only Stacy in our English class.”

 “What about her?”

 “She’s supposed to be here tonight.”

 “Rami’s got the hots for Staaacyyy,” Sami sing-songed as he signaled and took the exit for West Hollywood.

 Rami didn’t refute his brother and something mean bubbled out of you as an image of Stacy, laughing and pushing into Rami’s side as he wrapped his arm around her waist, his fingers just resting above the pocket on the ass of her jeans, flashed through your mind.

 “Sami has a better shot than you any day of the week. Isn’t that how it usually works, Ram?”

 You watched as the hurt twisted across Rami’s face, but your attention was drawn to Sami’s laughter as he guffawed, “Ooooh—harsh!”

 You laughed, looking anywhere but at Rami, who half-heartedly joined in.  

 What you said made you feel sick, like an aftereffect of a violent action.

 What the fuck, Y/N? you scolded yourself.

 “Is this the turn?” Sami asked, growing serious as he navigated the crowded streets and started looking for parking.

 “Yeah—park anywhere you find a spot. The bar’s like a block, maybe two that way.”

After a few more minutes, Sami found a spot and parallel parked with an easy precision.

 “Good thing Rami didn’t drive,” you teased, trying to get him to look at you like he had before you’d hurt him.

 Instead, he hopped out of the passenger side and slammed the door shut.

 Sami opened your door, and chuckled as he said, “Fuck—there are at least three trashcans that have unclaimed relatives lying in the morgue thanks to him.”

 You laughed and looked over at Rami who had a soft smile on his face. He shook his head, “Fuck you guys.”

 You skipped over to him and poked at his ribs. “Come ooon—we know you didn’t mean to destroy the entire trashcan-family on Woodbridge Street. It was an honest massacre because you forgot which pedal was the break.”

 “Like the first time I drove EVER!” Rami defended, finally turning to smile at you.

 “And who doesn’t even have their license?” he shot back, his face coming dangerously close to yours as he picked on you.

 “Like, excuuuse me for having an older brother! How keen do you think mom and dad were to let me drive after Scottie nearly got arrested for speeding—twice?”

 “Oh, shit,” Sami said. “I remember that second time—”

 The twins launched into a retelling of the story, one you’d heard a thousand times, but it made Rami laugh, his face back to its normal, jovial disposition. As you walked, your head turning between the boys as they spoke, you relaxed knowing it wasn’t in Rami’s nature to dwell on something negative. By now, he had probably dismissed your comment as a joke.

 The bar came into view and there was no mistaking it for a nice place. The neon signs made it look more sinister than hip, and the trashcans outside were overflowing. However, the crowd queued at the entrance was just as Rami had described—college-aged kids, smoking, talking, and laughing as they paid their cover and ducked inside, the noise spilling into the street each time the bouncer opened the door.

 Instead of joining the line at the entrance, Rami led you and Sami down an alley that was a little too dark for your liking.

 “Rami?” you questioned, and he reached back for your hand, linking his fingers with yours.

 After a few more steps, Rami stopped and released your hand. He reached up and banged loudly on the unmarked, steel door.

 An older man, probably in his 50s, pushed open the door and flooded the backstreet with light. You squinted as you were assaulted with the brightness and the smoke that wafted out.

 “Malek. My man,” he rasped as he fist-bumped Rami. “And Malek Número Dos. What’s up bros?”  

 Sami greeted the man in the same fashion as his brother, and then the man noticed you.

“Switchin’ it up tonight, huh? Bringin’ a girl ‘stead of leavin’ with one?”

 You raised your brow and crossed your arms, that same feeling from earlier creeping through your chest and into your gut.

 “Scott’s little sister,” Rami explained, and the older man chortled and gave you a full, lingering look.

 He nodded with what you deemed to be approval and he fished out three paper bracelets from his pocket.

 “Keep her outta trouble, yeah?” he said with a slow, lecherous grin.

 “You can count on it,” Rami answered, giving him a tight, but still friendly smile as he turned to you, instructing you to hold out your wrist.

 You watched as he positioned the neon orange band, then peeled back the tape.

 “Too tight?”

 “Nah. It’s good.”

 Maybe it was nothing, but Rami’s thumb lightly stroked the spot where he had just stuck the band in place and when you looked up, he was watching your face.

 You smiled at him, a slow, sincere grin and when he returned your look, it felt like you were swallowing honey—sticky and sweet, the warm feeling slid down your throat and made your cheeks feel hot.

 Sami cleared his throat.

 “Someone wanna do me?” he asked as he waved his bracelet in front of your faces.

 Rami shot him a vicious look, but Sami just stuck out his wrist and waited.

 “We meet right out front after the show. Not in the alley.”

 You and Rami both just looked at him, and Sami prompted, “Okay?” as if he were dealing with two teenaged idiots instead of also being one himself.

 “Yeah—meet out front,” Rami said dismissively, his eyes willing Sami to get lost, but he was already slipping away down the hall and out into the bar.

 “You ready for this?”

 “Just—just don’t leave me alone, okay?” you said, thinking about the way Rami’s guy had looked at you.

 “Of course not,” Rami said with a reassuring smile. He lowered his voice and continued, “Let’s put some distance between us and Crazy Carlos.

 “Crazy Carlos?” you hissed.

 “No one calls him that to his face,” Rami assured you, then laughed at the way your eyes widened.

Once you were mixing into the crowd, the noise level ratcheted up and you were forced to yell into each other’s ears.

 Rami’s eyes scanned the bar, once, twice, and you couldn’t help but wonder if he was looking for Stacy.

“Wanna get a drink?” you asked loudly, leaning into his body to get closer to his ear.

 “Yeah! What do you want?”

 “Just a beer!”

 Rami nodded and led you to the bar. You tried to take up as little space as possible and when you spotted a couple leaving their hightop along the wall, you tugged on Rami’s flannel to get his attention. He turned back to look at you and you pointed to the table. He nodded and watched as you darted over and took a seat.

 Instantly, your hand landed in the waste of someone’s spilled drink and you huffed in disgust as you wiped your hand on your jeans. You looked around for Sami, but it was impossible to see through the throng of drinkers and the haze of smoke.

 “You okay?” Rami yelled, taking the seat across from you and sliding your bottle toward you.

 “Stop treating me like a baby! I’m the same age as you!”

 Rami rolled his eyes, but his lips were drawn into a smirk as he took a swig of his beer.

 You took a drink, too, and watched him comfortably lean back into the wall so he could face the room and check out the crowd, your mind immediately flashing back to that image of Rami and Stacy, laughing, touching.

 “She’s not good enough for you,” you said through gritted teeth.

 “What?” Rami asked, leaning forward as much as the table allowed.

 “She’s not good enough for you!”

 Rami shook his head, still unable to hear you. With a huff, you slid off your chair and rounded the table to stand between his spread legs. You rested one hand on his thigh as you leaned into his ear and yelled, “Stacy! She’s not good enough for you!”

 Rami moved back, raising his eyebrows, as he sat up straighter on his stool.

 “Not exactly what you said in the car,” he answered, your eyes watching his lips so you could make out what he said.  

 Scanning his face, you wondered if he could see that you were sorry.

 Just as you leaned in to apologize, the lead singer whistled into the mike and made you jump. Rami’s eyes danced with laughter as he took another swig of his beer, and both of you turned your attention to the band.

 “Hey, you drunk motherfuckers—you ready to put a little shimmy in your jimmy? A little rock in your cock?”

 The crowd cheered, and you felt Rami stand, his front pressing into your back as he lightly pushed you into the crowd. He kept moving until you could see the stage, then he moved to stand beside you, his arm resting against yours.

 The first two songs were great, and you knew that sneaking out had been completely worth it. The band was good, really good, and you expected you’d be able to say you’d seen them live before they made it big.

 As the songs played, you and Rami both moved along to the music, heads bobbing and bodies shifting as much as the limited space allowed. Every now and then, you’d shoot a grin at each other, and when the third song began, you realized your beer was long gone.

 You thought about shoving the empty bottle in your pocket, but Rami read your mild distress and leaned in to tell you to save his spot.

 He shuffled through the crowd to get rid of your empties, and you widened your stance to save his spot, then refocused on the band.

 Before the third song was over, Rami was back, and you mouthed thanks. He gave your hair twist a tap, just as Sami had done earlier, making you smile and shake your head.

 After the next song, the bassist and lead guitar put their instruments down and the drummer disappeared.

 “You’re fuckin’ animals and I love it! But those guys need a drink so I’m gonna slow shit down with a song I wrote a few years back.”

 When the acoustic number began, you were shocked the lead singer’s gruff voice was so low and smooth. As he crooned, people swayed lightly with their faces trained on the stage. You don’t know whether it was you who moved closer to Rami or Rami who moved closer to you, but somehow, you found yourself standing partially in front of him, just close enough for his hand to creep around your waist. You smiled without looking at him and stepped into his touch, pulling his other arm to wrap around your waist as you leaned back into his chest. He laced his fingers across your stomach and leaned into your hair, both of you swaying in time to the soft music.

 As you stood together, like a couple, your mind began to race. Everything became too much and not enough at the same time. Rami’s grip was too loose and too tight. The singer’s words were too soft and his guitar was too loud. The shadows cast on the stage were too dark and the spotlight was too bright.

 And when you felt Rami’s chest vibrate into your back as he sang along under his breath, it felt too harsh, but when his pinky lightly stroked the exposed flesh on your stomach, it felt too sensitive. Your body was a tingling mess at his touch, so you took back some control. Your arms were already resting over Rami’s, but your thumb found his and you touched him gently, back and forth, in a mirror of the way his little finger was still sliding over the exposed skin of your midriff.

 Rami’s mouth crept closer to your ear and you shivered as his breath rustled your hair. You wanted to crane your neck, turn into his body and give him the angle he needed to kiss you, but you were still at war with feeling too much and not enough at the same time.  

 When the song ended, the singer thanked everyone, then encouraged you all to grab another beer while he took a piss. You felt a profound loss when Rami relaxed his grip and let his arms slide away from your waist and to your hips.  

 “Want another beer?” he asked into your ear as he gave your hips a squeeze before he dropped his hands.

 “Sure—yeah,” you lied.

 You turned to watch him disappear into the crowd and almost immediately, Rami’s warmth against your back was replaced with a new but identical one.

 “Having fun?”

 You whirled around, your mouth popping open slightly before snapping shut.

 “Wipe that shit-eating grin off your face, Sam—are you drinking?” you asked, bending slightly to sniff at his cup.

 “It’s water, dumbass. They only have two more songs.”

 You narrowed your eyes at Rami’s twin as he continued to look at you, clearly waiting for you to confess your secret. You didn’t know if he had seen the two of you during the last song or if he was just acting on a hunch, but you were not about to confess your feelings to Sami before you told Rami.

 Even though that was exactly what Sami wanted.

 The same blueish eyes as Rami’s bored into yours, but neither of you spoke.

 You decided to answer Sami’s original question in a breezy tone, “By the way, yeah, I’m having fun. Are you having fun?”

 He narrowed his eyes in response.

 “Because I think this is the most fun I’ve ever—"

 “Just tell him!” Sami interrupted with a huff.  

 “There’s nothing to tell,” you insisted, crossing your arms and stepping toward him as someone bumped into you.

 “Stop lying.”  

 “There isn’t,” you insisted, hating the way Sami was smirking at you over the rim of his water cup.

 He took a drink, then said, “Guess I’ll let Stacy know she’s free to come ov—”

 “She’s here?!?” you panicked, your eyes darting in the direction Sami had been looking.

 His laughter rang out over the din and you whipped your eyes back to his.

 “Nothing to tell, huh?”

 Your nostrils flared as you pinched at his side, knowing he was ticklish. He jumped away from your fingers, chuckling as he made his way back to his friends. You watched him go, making sure he was lying about Stacy.  

 Right before the band packed back onto the tiny stage, Rami shuffled back into his spot beside you and handed you a beer.

 You greedily drank, thirsty from the smoke and eager to unwind your nerves after Sami’s taunts.

 Rami watched you drink and smiled at you over the lip of his bottle in an identical grin to his brother’s earlier teasing smirk.

 “Easy, killer.”

 Swallowing, you reminded him, “This is still my night to let loose, right?”

 Rami pulled his bottom lip between his teeth and bobbed his head in a slow nod, his eyes filled with something you couldn’t read.

The band started up again, actually playing three more songs so you got to bask in a silent satisfaction that Sami had been wrong about one thing. As the band bid goodnight, you were wired.

 The set had been incredible, and you wanted to say so to Rami, but he was already nodding his head toward the exit. As you navigated through the crowd, you grabbed on to the edge of his flannel. It was last call, and as you passed by the bar, it was almost too crowded to toss your empty bottles on to.

 When you were finally outside, you couldn’t stop babbling to Rami about how great the music was, even though your ears were severely ringing. He punctuated your excitement with several toldja sos, his eyes watching the crowd for Sami.

 “I just love this feeling, ya know?” you exclaimed, bouncing on your toes and taking a cigarette when Rami offered.

 “Imagine how it feels for them—the performers.”

 You looked at Rami through the haze of his exhaling smoke and your eyes danced over his familiar, yet altogether new face. How could you have never seen just how attractive he was?

 “Rami. I . . .” you dropped your gaze and flicked your cigarette nervously, wondering if you should just confess like Sami told you to do.

 “Wanna thank me for draggin’ you out on a school night? Making sure you had a great time? Being the perfect friend? I assure you, all this I know,” Rami finished with a smug look, his round cheeks hollowing as he pulled on his cigarette.  

 “That’s just it. Are we . . . friends? I mean,” you floundered for a moment, your eyes landing anywhere but on his. “Don’t you just hang with me because you miss Scott?”

 Rami laughed.

 “Are you for real? In case you haven’t noticed, you don’t exactly look like your fuckin’ brother.”  

 Your eyes landed on Rami’s just in time to catch the way they dragged over your body, top-knots to toes and back again.

 “You like the way I look?” you asked, your voice so low you almost couldn’t hear it over the ringing in your ears.

 Flicking your cigarette to the ground, you stepped toward Rami, wetting your suddenly dry lips.

 “Yeah. Thought that was obvious,” he said, his eyes half-lidded but still commanding as his blue-grey irises darkened when his pupils grew just a bit wider.

 “Not to me,” you answered, shaking your head slightly as Rami’s hands came up to your waist, his ring and pinky fingers settling against your bare skin.

 His eyes were almost shut. Your faces moved closer and Rami’s tilted slightly to the right—

 “Ready to go?” Sami asked, jangling the car keys obnoxiously next to your ears, startling you and Rami apart.

 “Jesus Sam you fucking cocksucker,” Rami cursed, running a hand through his curly hair as he glared at his brother.

 “Not interrupting, am I? Because there’s nothing to interrupt, right?” he questioned you with an arrogant lilt.  

 “Nope! Nothing at all!” you shot over your shoulder as you stalked off in the direction of the car.

 The boys quickly followed, and Sami snickered, catching you and slinging his arm around your shoulders.

 “Have a good night, Y/N?”

 “For the most part,” you grumbled.

 Sami released you and you fell into step next to Rami.

 His hands were buried in the pockets of his jeans and he kept his eyes to the ground as you walked. You kept checking your peripheral to see if he was looking at you, but he wasn’t.

 The drive back was relatively quiet, Sami turning up the radio to drown out the ringing in his own ears. As you leaned back in the seat and watched the blurry skyline, Sex and Candy came on the radio and you tried not to think about Rami as John Wozniak’s deep voice reverberated through the car; you tried not to think about how close you’d come to kissing him and about how badly you didn’t want this night to end before you did.  

Mama this surely is a dream Yeah mama this surely is a dream

 * * * * *

 “Need help with the ladder?” Sami asked as he put the car in park.

 “Nah. We’ll manage,” Rami answered as he got out.

 “Goodnight, shithead. Thank you for driving,” you snapped before you opened your door.

 “Better kiss him goodnight before Stacy does,” Sami said, looking at you in the rearview, puckering his lips so he could make a loud smooching noise.

 “Stacy doesn’t live on my roof!”

 “You ne-ever knooow,” he sang.

 “Oh my god,” you said, smiling in spite of wanting to slap him.

 Sami cackled as you opened the door, his lighter hissing as he lit another cigarette.

 “I hate your brother,” you muttered on the walk back to your house.

 “What did he say?”

 “It’s not the what. It’s the way. Like he knows every fucking thing there is to know in the world.”

 “Well . . . usually he does.”

 “I know,” you sighed in defeat. “So can I hate him for that?”

 “Absolutely,” Rami chuckled.

 The streetlamps lit your way, but once you reached the edge of your lawn, Rami made sure you stayed on the perimeter of the dusk-to-dawn light. He wedged the ladder out from behind the roses, then set it up, stepping on the bottom rung to make sure it was steady.

 “Go ahead. I’ll follow to make sure you can get your window open.”

 Climbing steadily, you had to stifle a laugh thinking about how often your brother had done this, and done it stinking drunk. The effect of the two beers you had drank were long gone, but the thrill of what you were about to get away with still hummed beneath the surface of your skin.

 That . . . and Rami’s presence.

 As he stood up when he stepped off the ladder, your eyes locked and sent a fresh wave of butterflies to assault your stomach. Clearing your throat, you shuffled to your window. Rami followed, slowly and quietly working it open. As you waited, you were overwhelmed by the scent of him—the remnants of the bar, his fading cologne, the shampoo he used in his hair—all of it swirled together into something that was more intoxicating than a hundred beers.

You ducked into your room as soon as the window was open, and the sleeve of Rami’s shirt brushed against your arm as he helped you, his fingers featherlight on your shoulder before trailing down to the exposed skin of your lower back as you moved away.

 You kicked your discarded pajamas from earlier toward the gap at the bottom of your bedroom door, made sure it was locked, then flicked on the light in your closet, pulling the door mostly shut so there was just enough brightness to see Rami as he stood in front of your window, hands back in his pockets as he crossed and uncrossed his feet while leaning against the window sill.

 “Thanks for tonight,” you whispered, closing the distance and letting the last energy of the band spur you on to make your move.

 “Yeah. Of course,” Rami murmured, his eyes finally meeting yours.

 You were so close now, all one of you had to do was lean into the other’s lips, and somehow, you just knew it had to be you.

 Your hands shaking slightly, you rested them on the top of his chest, the smooth fabric of his black long sleeve shirt warm under your touch.

He shuffled, awkwardly pulling his hands from his pockets so he could rest them on your waist, his fingers nervously ticking over the skin on your lower back.

 You glanced from his lips to eyes, and when your eyes flicked back to his lips, he sucked in a breath.

 Then, you kissed him.

 He was stiff and uncertain at first, but as you leaned into him, your body flush with his, he relaxed, opening to exhale as he kissed you back, his tongue the first to swipe over your lips. You opened for him and when your tongues twined, it was electric—a culmination of everything that had been building between the two of you.

 Moaning into his mouth, you grabbed the sides of his flannel and pulled him toward your bed, backing up until your legs hit against the mattress. You broke free from the kiss with a smacking sound before you pulled Rami on top of you.

 You both silently giggled as he settled between your legs, his weight heavy, warm, and so fucking welcome on top of you.

 Rami’s lips pressed into yours again, and soon you were exploring each other’s mouths with fervor. One of your hands had snaked around his torso while the other was thrust into his thick curls, urging his mouth to keep moving against yours.

 He held himself up with one arm, but his other hand was roaming—sliding under your shirt to clutch at the soft skin of your side, then moving up to cup your breast over your bra.

 With a sighing moan, you wrapped your legs around his waist and slid your own hands under his shirt to clutch at his hot skin. You rubbed across his abdomen and over his chest before moving around to lightly scratch across his back.

 Only when you felt the hardness underneath his jeans grinding into your crotch did you regain some semblance of what the hell you were doing.

 With one final buck of your hips that drew an obscene, entirely too loud moan from the back of Rami’s throat, you gently pushed him away.

 Both of you were panting, swiping at your mouths to clear away the excess saliva.

 Rami sat back and slid off your bed, adjusting himself as he stood.

 “Holy shit,” he breathed.

 “I think we better say goodnight,” you said as you scrambled up.

 Rami moved back to your open window and turned before he ducked out.

 “Goodnight,” he said with a megawatt grin that lit up his entire face.

 “Goodnight,” you said, your face split into the same grin.

 He leaned in and sweetly kissed the smile from your face.

 Your eyes had only just barely opened again, and he was on the roof, ducking down to whisper, “See you at school,” his face lit by that grin again as you watched him shuffle to the edge of the roof and down the ladder.

 When the top of the ladder disappeared, you shut your window then dove onto your bed and gurgled with excitement into your pillow.

 Senior year was definitely going to be a year to remember.

[starr-fall-knight-rise]

Humans are Space Orcs, “Acting.”

A continuation to the Hybrid arc. Hope you all enjoy this morning. 

Adam dropped her hand as soon as they were through the door reaching down with one hand to engage the augmented hearing from his open implant. He leaned his head to the side listening with his eyes closed. Sunny covered him from the side.

Straining to hear down the hall, he tilted his head and turned up the volume.

“So, what do you say?”

“IS that even legal?”

“And how long have you two been in a relationship….” There was silence, “exactly, excuse us for thinking legal wasn’t your thing.”

“Look I get what you’re doing, and I’m not going to stop you, but the people around here have enough problems as it is without you going around and giving them hope like that just to scam them out of their money.”

‘It isn’t a scam, we can do exactly what we told you we can do.”

“Yeah, and I’m chairman of the galactic assembly.”

Footsteps and protests.

Commander Vir turned to Sunny a rather disconcerting expression spreading across his face, “You ready?”

“Ready for what.”

“Now, Don’t freak out ok.”

Tilting his head he could hear footsteps moving up the hall and annoyed muttering voices.

Sunny watched in confusion as the man lifted his head to stare at the ceiling, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment, and then with a single breath  he just burst into tears face in his hands.

Sunny took a step back in complete and utter confusion.

Sobbing the man slid down the nearest wall head in hands, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry I… I’m a h-horrible partner.”

Sunny stood nonplussed at the center of the hallway for a second before regaining her senses.

What the hell was he doing?

She walked over and knelt next to him a hand on his arm, “What are you talking about.”

“I’m-m s-sorry my brother….he-he's having another…. Baby and I. You and I…. Will n-never.” He choked off. 

The hell was happening, Adam wasn’t this good of an Actor as far as she remembered.

“What started all this? Why-”

“Because I kn-know how important having a large family is in…. Your culture and I. I just feel like a failure because…. I-its not fair.”

The footsteps from earlier had stopped, but they were still close by.

Adam raised his head tears streaming down his face, but looking into his eyes, Sunny watched as he motioned towards the hallway with them. Shit, he really was faking it.

When the hell had he learned how to face like that.

She scooted closer and wrapped her arms around him as he continued to sob into her chest, “Shhh, it's alright. If I really needed that there is always…. Adoption is it?”

HE choked out a bitter laugh, “The GA would never allow that. They hate us.” He broke down into sobs again.

“Things can change, you of all people should know that.” She paused glancing towards the hallway, “What brought this on anyway.” 

Sniff, “Just, got a text from my brother-another ….p-picture of his new baby, I-I’’m so sick and tired of being the black sheep in the family. Mom always wanted grandkids and, and I’m the screw up son that just can’t….”

Wow, she would have felt sorry for him if she had been watching. 

How the hell was he doing that.

“Come on Adam, you’re drunk, lets get you home.”

Still had to make this authentic.

She pulled him to his feet arm around her as he leaned against her shoulder, “I’m sorry.” He muttered again.

“Me too.” She added slowly walking them down the other end of the hallway.

Glancing over at Adam, she could see he still had the tears flowing, but the expression in his eyes was one of concentration, head tilted towards the noise behind them. The two traits thrown together like that was more than  a little unsettling.

“We have a tail.” He muttered quietly leaning his head against her and wrapping an arm around hers. His gate was uneven as if he were slightly inebriated, and she did her best to support him. They stepped out onto the street walking slowly. He allowed his breathing to slow and relax and the expression on his face moved from one of exhaustion to one of intent focus as he listened behind them.

“Close?” She whispered.

“Yes, hold on.” He staggered a bit more letting his legs give out as he sat next to the wall.

“Adam!Are you ok!”

“Yeah…. I.” He put his head in his hands, “Just nauseous. I’ll be ok in a minute.” 

Sunny turned her head towards the end of the alley where a pair of figures were now backlit against the neon blue lighting of the nearest club.

She recognized them.

The two Tesraki approached slowly as Adam rocked back and forth next to the wall, “Is your companion well?” One of them asked, sounding worried.

“Do we need to call someone for you?” Another asked

She patted his back, “No he will be alright in a minute. Just drank too much, I think.”

Adam lifted his head slowly tilting his head as he looked blearily up at the Tesraki, “Hey…. haven't we seen you before. Earlier tonight at the club?”

The two of them nodded, “Yes we did happen to be leaving at the same time.”

“I… thought it was kind of weird to see two Tesraki, since, you know it's an interspecies club and all.”

They glanced between each other, “Well, yes, but we were there for a bit of business, you know some advertising. Your friends happen to be a target demographic for our market.”

Adam wiped at his face, “And what is your market.”

“Here let us find you some water, and then maybe we can talk more openly.” 

***

Midnight at a 24-hour diner. Adam had some water and the two Tesraki sat across from them.

“To start off with, you are under no obligation to agree to anything of course, this is simply a pitch meeting of our…. Service.”

“And what is your service.”

The two glanced between each other, “Well have you ever heard of genetic splicing.”

“Uh no, can’t say I have.”

“Well it is a very complicated procedure which requires the careful integration of genetic material…. From two species into one cohesive hole.” 

Adam blinked and leaned back, “W…. what are you saying.”

“I am saying that we can make hybrids. The procedure is admittedly very expensive as it has to be done with the utmost care and consideration, but it is something we have recently perfected with a little help.”

“Hybrids…. like …. like “

“Like Drev human hybrids.”

They glanced at each other with wide eyes, “Say again?”

“Drev human hybrids.” 

He turned to look at Sunny grabbing her by the arm, “You hear that.”

“Yeah yeah, but let's not get our hopes up just yet.” She turned to look at the Tesraki “And how do we know you aren’t lying?”

“Well we have a few images, but of course those could have been doctored. Still, if you are interested we would be wiling to bring you in to tour the facility.” One of them reached into his bag and pulled out a set of photographs which he passed across the table.

Sunny and Adam leaned in together to look at the images.

The first one was a picture of a sleeping baby, it looked human, except for the bright purple tint of its hair and nails, and a slight shimmering about the skin. Two little holes at the base of it’s neck indicated a possible auxiliary breathing system just like a Drev.

“Sweet Jupiter.” Adam muttered turning to the next picture.

This one was a baby Drev, but missing a pair of arms and with five fingers on either hand. It’s open eyes were clearly very human.

They kept turning through the pages.

“Other companies have tried this before for various reasons. However, the mistake them often make is trying to make a fifty, fifty genetic variants. Try blending DNA at a fifty-fity split and the child turns out to be deformed, in pain and unable to sustain itself in order to live. The key is to bring it to a 80 20 or 70-30 split or some other variation. They tend to look more like one species than the other, but they do still have the genetics of both the parents.

Adam’s eyes widened, “Wow… that’s amazing, but…. Is that…. illegal?”

“Should it be illegal to keep people from having happy families?”

“I suppose not.”

“Very well.”

Sunny crossed her arms, “I would have to have more proof than this.”

“Of course, of course you would, and that can be done. We can bring you to the facility as long as you sign some nondisclosure forms 

‘Or you could simply be kidnapping us.”

“And you could be cops.”

“I guess that leaves us at an impasse.” Sunny said crossing her arms. 

Adam leaned forward, “But Chalan…. please. If they can help us…”

“Adam, I don’t trust it.”

She watched him pause for a minute second conjuring up his acting skills from earlier as tears welled in his eyes, “But what if this is our only chance….” His chin trembled 

Shit, he was good 

She sighed, “Ok, ok,what do we do?”

“Give us your contact information, and we will come to you.”

They did and the  four of tem stood shaking hands in the traditional human way before stepping to walk outside. Sunny could see the Tesraki watching them, so she grabbed Adam by the hand and pulled him in close to her, a fact that seems to surprise him.

They walked out and the Teraki waved a farewell to them walking down the street.

Adam tried to let go, but sunny shook her head, ‘They’re still watching us. I swear those guys are suspicious.”

“Wouldn't you be.”

She huffed, and instead of talking more she grabbed him by the arms keeping one eye out for the Tesraki as she pulled him closer and gently pressed her forehead against his. He grew very still, but she took one hand of his and pressed it against the side of her face.

He was very stiff 

“Don’t blow our cover.”

She muttered 

She watched his eyes turn back to hers, and he took a deep breath relaxing.

A thumb bushed over her cheek.

They were looking straight into each others eyes now.

She pulled him just a bit closer.

Out of the corner of her eye she watched the Tesraki disappear behind the nearest building. She gripped Adam tighter holding the position for a good twenty seconds just in case.

Eventually she let him go keeping a hold of his hand.

He was blinking rather faster than normal.

His hand was slick with sweat.

He was terrible at undercover work.

She tugged hi up the street, “So do you want to tell me when you became such a good actor.”

He snorted, “Oh no, fake crying is about the only thing I can do. Thomas taught me when I was a kid. I can cry on command.”

“How?”

“Well I t sort of involves thinking about how we had to put down our old family dog. I really don’t like to think about it. Gets me every time.”

She shook her head,  “You are a well of surprised aren’t you.”

“Just a little.” 

She sighed, “Now all we have to do is stop a genetic tampering ring.”

“Just another Monday.” 

[wlntrsldler]

F&MU (Bucky Barnes Imagine)

A/N: 18+!!!!!!!! SMUT WARNING! This is based off the song F&MU by Kehlani

-

We both know it's never really goodbye

I swear it’s like we do this all the time now

That shit be turnin' me on, I cannot lie, lie

You hate Bucky Barnes. You hate how entitled he was and how he blamed all of his terrible traits to him being frozen for over 70 years. You hate how Steve always pardoned him for his mistakes. You hate how you both preferred the same cereal in the morning and he ate food like he was feeding a small village in his stomach, never leaving enough for you. You hate how he always switched the Netflix show you were watching because he hated your taste. You hate how he always argued with you over the smallest things, arguments that lasts for hours. You hate how he was a decent person to everyone else but you.

But somehow, here you were, under him, a panting mess as he kissed up and down your body. You didn’t really know how you got here. Maybe it was because of one of the many compromising positions you both found yourself in while training. Or maybe it was because of one of his threats against your life that, in all honesty, sounded more like a good time than a punishment. Or maybe it was because you both figured that your mutual hatred towards each other would subside after you fuck the living shit out of each other. Whatever the reason may be, here you were. For the second time this week.

“Y/N,” Bucky groaned. “I’m close.”

You clawed at his muscular back, leaving bright, red marks down until the curve of his ass. You heard him hiss at the pain, but deep down you knew he loved it. You wrapped your legs around his torso, pushing him deeper into you, earning a moan from the two of you. You knew he was close when you felt him twitch inside you. You weren’t far behind, especially when his metal arm reached up and wrapped itself around your neck. 

You gave him a lazy smile, too tired from your activities to give him a full one. “Choke me out, Barnes.”

You didn’t have to tell him twice. His cold, metal fingers slightly tightened around your neck, causing you to whimper at his touch. “Like that?”

You didn’t answer him, you just pushed him onto your body, his larger one almost collapsing on you as he finished inside you. You trapped him inside you, strengthening your grip on his body with your legs, finishing as well. He stayed inside you for a while, out of breath, resting his forehead on top of yours. His body was covered in a layer of sweat, glistening under the soft light. His eyes were closed and for a minute you had forgotten that you hated him. 

“Thanks for that.” Then you remembered who he was. You pushed him off of you, “You can go now.”

From beside you, you heard him groan in disappointment. “Come on, Y/N. It’s late and I’m tired, let me rest for like two minutes.”

“Whatever,” You tried to get up but your legs felt like jell-o. You had to grab onto your nightstand to keep yourself from falling to the ground. Bucky tried to keep himself from laughing but failed. He loved that he got you like that. “You just better be gone by the time I get back from getting some water.”

“Get me some?” 

“I hope you die of thirst.” You flipped him off as you limped to the empty kitchen.

And can't nobody else do that for me

Know I make it hard to ignore me

Cut the attitude, and put it on me

Put it on me, yeah

“I just don’t understand why you dislike him so much, Y/N.” Steve sighed, running his fingers through his blonde hair in utter frustration. “I don’t see anyone else having that big of a problem with him as you do.”

“False,” You pointed out, darting your eyes to meet Sam’s. “He gets me.”

Sam raised his hands up in protest, “Hey! I may not like the guy, for good reason. He tried to kill me but I can tolerate him. You, sweetheart, just straight up hate the guy and for no goddamn reason too.”

“Mornin.” 

You looked over your shoulder and saw a sleepy Bucky entering the lounge room. He was wearing a white tank top, showing off his chiseled muscles and when he turned around- What a piece of shit, you thought. He knew it turns you on when you see the marks you left on him, same way it turns him on to see the marks he leaves on you. Unlike him, you took the time to conceal his love, or hate, whatever you were feeling like that day, bites. 

“Jesus Christ, Bucky,” Sam snickered, pointing at his back. “Who did you sleep with? A fucking werewolf?”

Bucky looked up at you, suddenly fully energized. He snuck in a wink directed to you when the two boys were too busy looking at the scratches down his back. “Somethin’ like that.”

You rolled your eyes, taking a sip from your coffee mug. Sometimes you wondered if the pain of seeing his sly smile and smirking, cocky, yet beautiful, face the morning after your many rendezvous was worth it. Then you’d start thinking about him, between your thighs, eyes shining and lips quivering from looking at you gloriously. Or how he looked from under you when you decided to take control on some nights, the nights where he was tired from missions or workouts but he knew you wanted a release. 

The answer is yes. Yes, the few minutes of his cocky self was worth the hours of utter pleasure that came before it.

"I hate you" turns into

"I love you" in the bedroom

We fuck and make up like it’s Maybelline

We do petty things

Then mess up the sheets, yeah

You be runnin' back once we let it go

I already know

Here you were again, the third time of the week. This time you were on top of him, your hips grinding down on his groin, feeling him grow thicker and thicker after every sway. His hands were gripping your waist, the flimsy piece of underwear the only thing separating Bucky’s dick from entering you. You wanted to take things slow, drag it out as long as you could, as punishment for the scene he caused with Sam and Steve earlier. 

You could tell he was getting frustrated. His grip on your waist tightening by the second. You were certain you’d end up bruised for the next few days but you didn’t care. Seeing Bucky, a famous ex-assassin, who pride himself in being this dominant figure, undressed, vulnerable, and dare you say it, a bit submissive to your touch, was worth a few bruises. 

“You like parading my work on your back, don’t you?” You whispered, leaning on him, pressing your chest on top of his. You started bouncing your ass on his dick. Bucky groaned, hating the feeling of the fabric against his hard dick. “Answer me.”

“Want everyone to know I got it good, doll.” He replied, his lips finding your earlobe, making you shiver. “Want everyone to know I got a freak with me.”

You felt yourself slowly losing your dominance. That’s all it took with Bucky. A soft whisper in your ear, a slight touch of his stubble against your neck, or a swift move of his fingers against your area and you were ready to be dominated again. You let out a soft moan, loving the feeling of his cold fingers tracing figure eights on the side of your body. He took this opportunity to flip the two of you over, growing tired of your slow movements. 

“Bucky, that’s not fa-” You tried to argue but stopped mid-sentence when his hands removed your underwear. His fingers moved down to your core, slowly dragging two of his metal digits around you. “Mmm... Okay.”

Bucky chuckled darkly, watching you melt under his touch. “You were taking too long, had to speed things up.”

“Right, this is just a quick fuck.” You didn’t mean any harm from your comment because you thought it was true. You and Bucky were just fucking but to your surprise, Bucky took that comment to heart.

His eyebrows furrowed, eyes shooting you an annoyed look. “Not just that. Just because you said that I’m gonna take my time on you, doll. Might take hours.”

You didn’t argue with him, you just slowly nodded and watched the corner of his lips quirk up to a smile. His face slowly made its way down your body, stopping at the place you needed him the most. He left fluttery kisses on top, not putting enough pressure to get you off, but just enough to keep you wanting more. His tongue drew a line up the side of your thigh and stopped at your hipbone where he sucked on it softly. 

“Fuck, Bucky.” You hated begging but he was really taking his time this time around. He dragged out his tongue everywhere but the place you needed him the most. “Please, Bucky.”

“M’kay, doll.” He finally gave in and placed his tongue inside you, slowly licking, making you go insane. “Mmm... so good. Always so wet for me, aren’t you, doll?”

You couldn’t reply. He settled for your whimper as a “yes” to his sinful question, returning to his work. He pushed your leg up to open up the space some more. “I love doing this to you, love seeing you squirm. I love it, doll.”

You threw your head back in pleasure, your fingers finding the roots of his hair. You were panting, absolute ecstasy taking over your body. “I love you, Bucky.”

You didn’t even realize what slipped out of your lips until you felt him stop for a second. Shit, did I just say that? You slowly opened your eye halfway, hoping that if you acted like you didn’t say it, he’ll think he heard you wrong. You opened both of your eyes to see Bucky, staring at you, mouth slightly agape. 

Then you did what you knew best: mask your feelings by using sex. You bucked your hips up, in an act of fake desperation and closed your eyes again, trying to rid the awkward tension that your words caused. You silently thanked the stars when you felt Bucky’s lips on your core again, eating you feverishly. 

We just fuck and make up like it's Maybelline (Woo)

We do petty things (Ooh)

Then mess up the sheets

Can't lie, the sex fire when you in your feels (Woo)

Spice it up a little (Ooh)

Yeah, you know the drill (Know the drill)

Okay, you were starting to get worried. 

It’s been two weeks since your last encounter with Bucky. Two weeks since you accidentally told him you loved him. But it was the sex talking, you swore to yourself. It was the sex talking... right?

You groaned, freeing yourself from the confinement of your room and joining the others in the lounge. Bucky stopped coming out of his room too. You started to notice that whenever you walked into the room, he would find some lame excuse to leave. 

But, why did you care? Isn’t it better that Bucky leaves whenever you’re around since you hate him so much? 

The rest of the team started noticing the odd energy between the two of you as well. They started to notice that you two couldn’t be in the same room anymore. 

“At least before whatever the hell happened, you two could stand to be in the same room as each other.” Steve said. 

“I miss your bickering, if we’re being honest here.” Sam added. “You used to roast that boy so hard. It was a sight to see.”

You had to admit, you were starting to miss that too. Not Bucky. No, you didn’t miss him. You just missed his touch. You missed fucking him. You missed his fingers and his tongue inside you. You missed making fun of him every chance you got. I don’t miss Bucky, you repeated over and over again to yourself, hoping that if you said it enough, you’d start to believe it. 

Damn, it's so good, I might have to piss you off

I might have to cause a scene just so you can take it off

You handle it different when you really get to trippin'

And I miss it when you hit it like that, that, that

You were growing impatient. You had this extra built-up, sexual energy that was trapped inside you. All thanks to stubborn ass James Buchanan Fucking Barnes, who, by the way, refused to even look in your direction for the past two weeks. 

You were at a bar for a team outing, sipping on your drink. Your eyes were shooting daggers at Bucky, who squirmed under your hateful gaze. He knew you were looking at him. He knew you wanted to kill him for not touching you for the past two weeks. But what could he do? 

You told him you loved him and for a quick second, he thought you’d finally started to reciprocate the feelings he developed for you. But then he realized the compromising position the two of you were in and realized you didn’t mean it when you said you loved him. You just loved fucking him. 

He was doing a good job not looking back at you, despite your intense gaze on him for most of the night. Bucky swore he wouldn’t even look in your general direction. That was until he saw you laughing, fakely, if he may add, at the terrible jokes of the bartender. 

What the fuck are you up to, YN?, Bucky thought to himself. He stopped listening to Tony’s story and looked past his shoulder to stare at you. You tucked a piece of your hair behind your ear, attempting to flirt. You licked your lips slowly, watching the bartender pour you another drink. You leaned over and touched his arm, giving his bicep a quick squeeze. 

Bucky didn’t realize he was staring for too long until Tony called him out. “Uh, Old Man? What are you looking at there?”

Bucky blinked a couple times, lifting his beer up to his lips and shook his head. “Nothing, just daydreaming.”

Tony cocked an eyebrow and looked behind him. He smirked when he saw what Bucky was looking at. Y/N. “Daydreaming about Y/N?”

“Pfft,” Bucky made a disgusted face. Yes, daydreaming about Y/N and the lessons I would teach her if I had the chance to right now. “I’d rather freeze for another 70 years.”

Ain't no cap, cap, cap

I make you mad, mad, mad

Why I gotta fuck you up to make you fuck like that?

Pickin' fights so you can put it down like that

Get in your bag like that, yeah

“What the fuck was that, Y/N?”

You smirked upon hearing the familiar voice. Bucky. You turned around after untying your blouse, holding up your shirt with your hands pressed against your chest, extenuating your breasts. “What are you on about, Bucky?”

“You know exactly what I’m talking about.” He hissed, walking over to you. His arms grabbed you and pulled you closer to him. You immediately felt him hard against your thigh. You sighed in satisfaction, missing that feeling. “That flirting? What the fuck was that, huh?”

Oh, this will be fun, you thought. 

“Oh, I don’t know, Bucky,” You started to say, trying to sound as sultry as you could. “I felt like he could make me scream and make me feel so so good. I haven’t felt good in weeks, Bucky. I just couldn’t help but think about how good it would feel to be under him as he fuc-”

“Shut up.” 

Bucky kissed you, grabbing your hands and pinning them behind your back. Your blouse fell to the floor, leaving your exposed breasts for him and his pleasure. 

Finally, you thought. 

This was a different side to Bucky, one you hadn’t seen before. Was he jealous? He quickly rid you from the rest of your clothing, his clothes not that far behind from being removed. His lips attacked your neck, leaving large marks on your skin. 

“Turn around.” Bucky ordered, getting off of you to allow you to move. “On your knees. Arch your back.”

You obliged, getting on all fours and arching your back. You looked back at him, his bottom lip tugged on by his teeth. He used one hand to push down on the small of your back, forcing you to stay arched and the other hand gripped your jaw to make you look back at him as he entered you. 

“Mmm, Bucky,” You moaned, not being able to hold it in anymore. He felt so good inside you. Bucky was hitting a new angle in this position and it felt phenomenal. “More, please.”

“I bet he can’t make you beg like I can.” Bucky stated, letting go of your face to slap your ass. “Can he, doll?”

Your voice was muffled into the mattress as you pushed your head down to maintain the perfect arch for Bucky. His two hands gripped your hips, colliding them with his own with every thrust. The sound of skin slapping, profanity, and pornographic moans were the only things that could be heard. You missed this so much. You missed Bucky so much. 

He continued to fuck you relentlessly, dipping down to leave loving kisses on your shoulder blades. He grabbed a chunk of your hair, pulling on it as he fucked you from the back. You moaned out in pleasure as he continuously entered you. 

"I hate you" turns into

"I love you" in the bedroom

“Mmm, get on your back, baby,” Bucky stopped, pulling out of you. “I’m close and I wanna cum seeing your pretty face.”

Something about the way he called you “baby” and “pretty” made your stomach turn, and it wasn’t just because you were close. Again, you obliged. You saw him smile, a real smile, once you got on your back and you couldn’t help but do the same. 

Before he entered you again, he gave you a passionate kiss. This one wasn’t heated or fueled by lust or the absolute need to be inside you. This one was fueled by something else, you just couldn’t put your finger on it. 

“I love you, doll.” 

Your heart stopped. Did you hear him right? You took a second to just look up at the man above you. His face was overtaken with concern, eyes glossy, fearing that he messed up the moment by confessing the way he felt about you. His arms were flexed as he held himself up above you. You watched a bead of sweat travel its way down his body. You looked up at his face, so perfect, you wanted nothing else but to wake up next to it every morning. “I love you too, Bucky.”

He let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding and kissed you one more time before entering you again. You both moaned at the contact, missing the feeling of being connected again. Bucky reached over for your hand, intertwining his fingers with yours as he thrusted in you. 

“So pretty.” He mumbled, staring down on you. “Love this view, baby.”

“I can say the same.”

After a few more strokes, you both came undone, a string of “Oh my Gods” and “Fuck Y/N or Bucky” ending your sexual encounter for the night. Bucky pulled out and plopped on the bed next to you, chest rising up and down. You rolled over, resting your head on his bare chest. He threw his arm around you, his lips finding the top of your head to leave it a kiss. 

“I mean it, you know.” Bucky confessed after a few minutes of comfortable silence. “I really do love you, Y/N.”

“I know you do,” You replied, twisting your head to look at the beautiful man in your bed. “I love you, Bucky. And I mean it, too.”

-

My Last Imagine: Shawarmas (Bucky Barnes Imagine)

MASTERLIST

Requests are open! Request HERE!

[hopinglimelight]

The Night We Met pt. 1 (D.S)

WELCOME TO MY FIRST FIC! Whoooo! I’m sorry if it’s trash, but you know, this is for fun. Why Don’t We isn’t a band in this. Just in case you forgot from the masterlist, this is a Daniel Seavey imagine. Part two will be hugely based off of the song, but this one is more of just a general theme. The flow of this is also kinda trash, but we’ll just ignore that. This also might get lowkey sad, especially in part two, but it’s okay because I have a few happy drafts too (;

TW: A few swear words, and a general sad theme. Mentions/ implied death of a major character. Maybe implied sexual theme, but it depends on how you view it.

“Hi.”

“Hi.”

That was the most important moment in my life. One of the last things I ever expected was to be at a party tonight. The other was a timid boy approaching me. I could tell he was looking for a friendship and not a fuck for once. His brunette hair was gently falling over his forehead, but not covering his bright blue eyes. I never forgot those eyes.

“Do you mind if I sit?” He gestured to the spot beside me on the couch. When I nodded he smiled at me. I took note of his tooth gap, I thought it was cute but I could tell he didn't agree with me.

“So, what's your name?” I asked, trying not to sound awkward.

“Oh right, sorry. I’m Daniel Seavey.”

“You don’t have to apologize,” I silently giggled. “I’m Luna Grant.”

“That's such a cute name,” He gasped under his breath, but I heard it. I didn't bring any attention to it.

Somehow we managed to talk, and talk, and talk. We went through a whole party without either of us having any alcohol, which was okay. I hated alcohol anyway, and so did he. Even though we are both 21. I don’t like how it makes me feel. By the time we noticed how long we talked, it was already two in the morning. My friend texted me and told me she left.

“That little bitch was my ride,” I quietly groaned out under my breath. I’d be fine walking, I guess. My house was about 15 minutes away on foot.

“I can drive you if you want.”

“A guy I just met wants to drive me home?” I laughed, while he scratched the back of his head. “Yeah, let’s go.”

“I don’t want to get out.” I groaned after I took off my seatbelt.

“Why not?”

“I don’t know. I guess I feel happy with you, safe even.”

“Then don’t go. Want to go get ice cream?”

“It’s two am, Daniel.”

“Walmart exists, silly.”

I put my hands up in defense. “Then to Walmart we go.”

I put my seatbelt back on, before motioning to the radio. He nodded before I turned it on.

“-you for tuning in. Now, Perfect by Ed Sheeran.” The radio host announced while I sat up.

“You like this song, don’t you.” He laughed.

I nodded, before realizing he might not see it since it was dark. “Yes. This is weird, but can I put the window down?” At this time in California, it was 70 degrees, even at night.

“No, I have a better idea.” He took one hand off the wheel and pointed it up.

“Ah, a sunroof.” I smiled as he opened it.

“So what flavor of ice cream?”

“Uh, a pint of vanilla. Aren’t I coming with you?”

“Do you want to?”

“Touché, Daniel Seavey. Touché.”

“I just met you, what are you doing to me?” I mumbled, shaking my head after he left and was inside.

As we drove, he silently reached out and our hands brushed. I opened my hand and he took it in his. We both sat there, silent. It was just us enjoying each other's touch and company. We spent the night at his place, eating our ice cream in his backyard. We talked, and stargazed. It was amazing. Never once did we fall asleep, and I didn't even think about it at all. As we sat in my driveway (again), we finally traded numbers and all of that stuff. After I finally went inside I noticed how tired I was. So I trudged up the stairs and went to bed, bringing an official end to the night.

Daniel and I’s friendship only blossomed from there. We’d spend endless hours on facetime, hanging out at each other's places. I met his friends, and he met mine. My life was perfect until it wasn’t. My friend from the party, Jessica, and Daniel had been growing close. Almost too close. It didn't affect our friendship, but I was confused now with my feelings. Did I only see Daniel as my best friend? Do I want a relationship? Now? With Him?

The day Daniel and Jessica told me they were dating absolutely shattered my heart.  I knew I had to try and push my feelings for Dani away. I forced my heart to look for a new trial. Their relationship was slowly killing me. Jessica wedged her way in between me and Daniel. I had all of Daniel's attention at the beginning of summer. After two months of being friends, I only had most of his attention. That's when he began looking at Jessica differently. By the fall we had almost completely fallen out. I only had some of his attention and that was breaking me. I often went to Corbyn to talk about my feelings. He somehow understood me. I needed Daniel, and not even in a sexual way. I just wanted him to look at me again.

“I want my best friend back.” I cried to Corbyn.

“It’s okay, bubs. He’s being a dick. He’ll come around eventually.”

“He better,” I sobbed. Corbyn moved across his room to hug me, but I just kept crying. The pain I felt from this was horrible. My heart physically ached.

“Hey, I wanted to kn- Oh.”

It was Daniel and that almost made me sob harder. Instead, I sucked in the tears as best as I could and wiped my eyes. I couldn't stop the trembles in my lip though. I looked down as Corbyn pulled away and turned towards him.

“What were you saying, Daniel?”

“Oh, it’s uh. It’s fine Corbyn. I’ll just ask Jonah or someone.”

“See? He hates me, Corbyn,”

“It’ll be okay.”

“No, it won’t.”

“Luna Noelle. Look at me right now.” I looked up into his eyes, seeing care. “It will all be okay soon. I promise.”

Whelp, Corbyn lied. I know he didn’t mean to, but he did. After that, everything got worse. We became more distant than ever. We still texted occasionally. We hung out whenever I came to see Corbyn, but neither of us made any effort to set up a day for ourselves. Whenever Jessica was around, I could feel her glaring at me during every one of the rare conversations between Daniel and me. They say you never forget your first love, and that is what Daniel was to me. I loved him, more than life itself. Sure I had been in 2 relationships in the past, but neither of them had been love. They were just a few months of fooling around before we convinced ourselves that we’d never work out together. I had to hide my feelings, all because of Jessica and Daniel. As much as it pains me, I think that I have never seen Daniel happier. Maybe she gives him something that I never could. Despite our dramatically huge falling out, I never thought that I would have completely none of Daniel. But oh, was I completely wrong.

[rataltouille]

HOUSE PLANTS, UPDATE 1

this has been long overdue. typical, really. [novel intro found here.]

the story is currently eight chapters in but it's also a very strange eight chapters. i’m not really happy with half of these words because they're unnecessary ™ and dull ™ and serve no purpose whatsoever ™. i’m simply choosing to ignore that i need to cut them out. :’] here’s a note i made that perfectly captures my feelings so far:

before we go into the excerpts, i want to talk a bit about how house plants is structured because the format is whack. each chapter ranges from 3000-4000 words. A few vignettes, around 500 words, are sprinkled between these chapters. the chapters narrate events from the fictive past, while the vignettes are snippets into the fictive present [the point from where lilith is retelling the story]. additionally, an important plot thread is told entirely in the form of an epistolary [through letters] and so there's a bit more of confusion to navigate through. fun times.

and now for the excerpts. they're from the first three chapters and are very weird out of context. i think that each update will feature excerpts from three consequent chapters, but that may change as we get closer to spoiler land.

excerpts:

chapter one

the novel kicks off with an odd vignette featuring an unhinged willow and an innocent lilith. chronologically, this is set way back, the earliest scene ever, around when lilith was ten or eleven. it’s meant to establish a sense of unease and to thread the unsettling undertone i’m going for. it's also major foreshadowing but we don't talk about that here. i’m not giving away much because there's not many excerpts to scrape out from a dialogue-heavy vignette like this.

”Here, let me help, mother.”

I tried guiding your palms to the rim of the pot, but you moved them away. From the brief touch, my fingers came away with moisture. On second glance, your knuckles were bathed in sweat. Your veins pulsed and your hands shivered. You gave me a wide-eyed glance, dumped the plant atop the brown, and stood up. You wiped the dirt away on your jeans. From below, with sunlight teetering over your golden hair, you were a personification of God. But were you, really? Does God fear their children? Does God volunteer to garden? I didn't know what God truly meant. I don't now either. But I’m certain it wasn't you.

”Sorry, Lilith. My pollen allergy is acting up.”

It's stunning how it ran in our blood, lying effortlessly.

chapter two

immediately after this we’re pulled off into the linear non-vignette chapter thing, aka the second chapter. [god what am i doing with this structure]. it starts with a soft little reminiscent bit about juniper?? i’m exploiting the tense a lot but it's been fun. (:

The first time she smiled at me is knit into me, like I’m not myself without it. I’m not. She breathed change and I ran with it. Whenever she gazed at me, with sunset dripping behind her head, or with rain clouds dotting her hairline, she’d smile. It was the sound of a ukulele in a winter draft, the kiss of dew on my favourite hemlock, the fond mythical curl of my father’s arms around me. There’s a phantom of love everywhere, and I almost caught it sneaking around her. Even now, Juniper dozes so soundly; she’s replaced everything I wanted you to be and everything you never were. You’d know, of course. You always have.

willow is officially introduced soon after, and so is one of the major plot threads, i.e. lilith’s correspondence with her dad. this excerpt is to show how the family feel about each other became, like i mentioned, there’s a lot of tea to be split here. not gonna lie, this paragraph reads as kinds pure.

You— the town called you Wistful Willow, but they did so behind your back and on postcards to neighbours— had a special lilt in your tone every time you spoke his name. ”Isac,” your lips would curl, almost a smile, and I’d smile back. You loved it, the sound of his name. It had become a ritual for us, pouring our sorrow and joy and unrest and comfort into those two syllables. A fallback plan, I suppose; there was always father to rely on amidst chaos.

willow is constantly at home and she’s probably not seen the outside world in a million years. she either cooks, reads, sits in a bathtub, or does everything at the same time. not odd at all.

The bathroom door, thick oak painted ivory, was right across where I stood. The house was large and empty, and I had three places— study, bedroom, garden— to myself. I lived only with you, so it was mostly quiet, except on Saturdays when we got father’s mail and watched TV together. That Saturday we had seen an old movie from the 70s, a random romance that neither of us cared for, but watched out of duty.

The door was shut. From it came the sound of pages rustling, not unlike a delicate breeze playing with the fronds of croton plants. I knocked softly.

”Come in, ” you said, a splash of water punctuating your voice.

I entered to find you half-immersed in the bathtub, one hand holding a novel, the other limp across the rim. There lingered the scent of soapy water, rose-tinted, and all over the tiled walls was the water’s reflection, a glow of opulence. You were half-naked, your garments drifting like algae. Your habit of reading in the bathtub had been increasing lately. You looked at me, questioning.

there’s also the introduction of lilith’s best friends marcy and faun, where they lay down in the middle of a field after a tiring cricket match and banter all through the evening. i’m really enjoying the trio’s friendship; it's both fun to write and they’re just so pure.

”If you insult Henry one more time, Marce...”

”He actually named the butterfly.” Her eyes were wide and amused; she dug up mud with her nails and flicked it upwards, glanced at me. ”Lilith. He named his fucking butterfly.”

”Faun, it's dead. You keep it in a box, ” I said.

”The dead don't magically lose their names, ” he countered.

Our laughter drafted into town. I don't think it heard.

chapter three

this is kind of uneventful but it sets up some major subplots. i might push it to later in the book, but i’m happy with where it it's right now. lilith randomly keeps reminiscing throughout so that’s convenient. this excerpt is about willow and thus is unreliable as hell. willow ain't good and lilith ain't 100% sincere narrating this right now, so don't let its pureness fool you.

People in town, I’d hear, found you odd and unsociable, cold and distant. I always scoffed when they told me so. They only knew the Willow who never attended community gatherings, who’d gaze out absentmindedly from the porch, who’d more so see than observe, hear than listen. They didn't know the Willow who was my mother, who hated loud noises, who loved her novels with a passion, who spoke so serenely— and rarely— that you hung onto her every word. Only I saw this side of you, and that suited me just fine.

there’s a scene where lilith [accidentally] spies on marcy and another guy. their conversation makes lilith tangent off in her head.

Marcy spoke detachedly, like she was speaking through a filter of not caring. I worried for her and her charade. It didn't help that scented letters confessing love often found their way to her locker, or that roses were shoved in her face as if her admirers loved her so much that they forgot she was allergic to them. Idolisation and adoration took extreme forms; she was stalked for a month and sent death threats. She would put on a disguise of indifference and seem unbothered, but at night she’d soak her pillow and lose sleep, then inform us the next day about her insomnia so casually that we almost forgot how easily she hurt.

i’m not going to lie, the last line in this excerpt was just me indulging myself with the knowledge of the climax. i need to stop slipping in random tone changes like this lol.

My walk home finished quick, though my feet expressed exhaustion. I was right on time, too; you were sitting by your coffee table, glasses crooked upon your nose, a new novel— this one a bright red sky, gold print, gauzy— resting beside warm coffee. You barely smiled, but that was because you were daydreaming. I was familiar with every tell: your eyes would tilt towards my forehead, your lips would stretch, your fingers would drum on whatever you were holding. I’d always let you be when you drowned into your head. Did you ever notice that, Mother? Have you ventured out of your mind to witness my efforts?

and finally some food for thought. yes, that pun was intended. i’ll see myself out.

”Dinner’s ready, dear,” you called. I groaned out my fatigue and left my room, hoping to abandon my unflattering thoughts. In the kitchen, I helped you set the table. Soon we were both sipping hot carrot soup with a side of breadsticks. You were already invested in the novel. I held the spoon, the heat barely registering, and watched you drift through fiction and reality like a will o’ the wisp. Maybe I could read for escapism, too. It would do me good.

that’s all for today! thanks for reading so far; support is, as always, appreciated. hope you liked these excerpts ✨

[ditch-witches]

New Years ‘71 (George MacKay Smut)

@iongaa​‘s incredible work is unmatched.

requested: yes/no (this is loosely based on this, I'm so sorry it has barely anything to do with it)

pairing: '70s!George MacKay x reader

warnings: filth, absolute filth, also incredible inaccuracy

word count: 4,534

a/n: remember when I said my Queen fandom days haunt me?

You brushed a few of your stray hairs off your forehead as you looked at your bassist tangled up with some random blonde on his dressing room couch. A smog of cigarette smoke hung thickly in the air, clouding some of the mirror lights. His shrouds of colorful patterns and beads were thrown about in a mess, hanging like rags from a few of the lamps and completely burying one of the massive armchairs. You shook your head at the state of the room, panic flashing into your chest at the realization that he could cost you the gig. Your heels clicked against the hardwood floor until they were muted by the ornately decorated area rug as you crossed the room and tugged at his shoulder. He only moved to lay flat on his back, hiding his eyes in the crook of his slender elbow. You sighed, moving to the girl and shuffling her out of the room. Despite being slightly bewildered with makeup smudged beyond recognition, she was easier to stir. You shook the man before you again. Receiving no reaction you rolled your eyes, pinching his nose shut and covering his mouth.

He attempted to inhale but flung his arms into the air, slapping you out of the way. His dark curly hair bounced around his shoulders as he looked up at you, eyes wild and furious. "You psychopath! What the fuck is wrong with you?!" He snapped after realizing it was you. He pushed himself to sit up, tugging one of the decorative blankets around his waist as he stood, his thin body slinking past you as he moved to get to the vanity across the room.

You crossed your arms over your chest and grinned at him through the reflection of the mirrors. Under the yellow glow of the small lights, he almost looked younger---innocent even---like he hadn't made a deal with the drummer that he would triple his body count by the end of the semester. He yawned and stretched his arms as you began to speak. "Happy New Years to you too," you grumbled, leaning against the counter to get a better look at the way he was applying his eyeliner.

"Happy '71. I hope they start drafting women," he jested, smirking at his own joke.

"Then I'll make sure to grass on you when I get there, dodger," you mocked with a raise of your eyebrows. His piercing eyes shot daggers into you, making you giggle and bump his chair as he smudged his lines before you faced the mirror once again. "We're up in ten so get a move on," you prompted, straightening your long, velvet skirt and heading out the door.

"Go suck Nixon's dick," he called after you as the door clicked shut, making you chuckle as you brushed your hand along the wood paneling on the walls in the back of the bar. You found the rest of your band huddled around an empty drum box playing cards and smoking cigarettes. Bar gigs somehow made you more nervous than when you played for masses at festivals, it was something about how intimate the shows seemed to be, or maybe it was the lighting. Either way, the crowd seemed to be at your ankles and ready to nitpick the lot of you. As it grew closer to the beginning of your set, your bassist finally joined you, plucking his instrument from the pile and running his long fingers against the strings a few times. Your guitarist stretched his legs dramatically, his floral shirt hanging open to show off the ridiculous belt buckle crowding the top of his jeans. Your drummer spun one of his sticks in his hand, tapping out a beat with his foot as if he was practicing keeping time.

The static of the microphone pulled your attention from the men and the room behind the curtain grew quieter, your heart beginning to pick up in anticipation as the owner announced your group. You twisted the rings on your fingers as you collected your nerves and plastered on a smile before taking the stage. Looking over the cheering room---a good portion were women swamping from their husbands or sorority girls hitchhiking from one of the local colleges to see your bandmates---you could practically smell the sickening-sweet stench of over-applied cheap perfume mixing with cut-rate beer. You wet your lips as you took hold of the microphone. "Happy New Year, everyone. I hope you're all getting lucky tonight," you joked, receiving several hollers from the crowd before the bass line of the first song began to pick up. Your eyes darted up from your feet---where you were previously attempting to look like you were counting but in reality, you had yet to warm up to the crowd---only to zero in on a man towards the back of the room, bobbing his head slightly to the riffs being added.

You grinned to yourself mildly as you began to sing along, your sights focused on him in an attempt to memorize his features. You were sure at that moment he was the most attractive man you had seen in your life. His red hair was muted under the dim lights, but his clear eyes were bright in comparison to his dark jacket. His broad frame fit nicely in his clothes. His gaze traveled your body, seemingly stopping at the slit in your skirt running up your leg and the garter peeking out from the gap in the fabric. You fought against the smug expression threatening to break across your face as you realized just how much he was surveying you. He cut through his studious expression by tugging his bottom lip between his teeth. You swayed to the next song faintly, determined to dedicate tonight to this mystery man.

As your set dragged on, you ended up kicking your ridiculous shoes off and leaning momentarily against your guitarist during a particularly seductive song, your eyes never leaving the man's. He peered at you over the top of his glass, an eyebrow raising in your direction as the crowd circled closer to the stage to grasp at the flared pant legs of the bassist. You began to feel the heat from the lights above you as sweat began to pool against your temple. You already knew your makeup would have been ruined, but that didn't seem to bother your spectator. If anything, as you began to loosen up on stage, it drew out more of his attraction.

Finally wrapping up the show, you stepped off the small stage and accepted the small towel handed to you by one of the roadies particularly attached to your drummer. You made your way through the gushing crowd of people flowing to see the guys towards the back alleyway. The cool night air hit you like a truck as you shoved open the heavy door, sighing in relief. The streetlamps were a beacon of hope to the bypassers attempting to get home at such a late hour, their halos of light giving the landscape a glow that only Giacomo Balla could do justice in recreating. You slumped against one of the brick walls, looking up at the sky threatening to crack with lightning.

The door opened again revealing the man from before, your eyes widening moderately. He chuckled a bit, pulling a cigarette from behind his ear and stepping into the downpour of light coming from the bulb above the door. He placed the cigarette between his next to perfect lips and you had never been more jealous of an object. He became a silhouette as he turned towards the street. You watched him carefully as he dug around in his jacket pockets, you stepped towards him almost numbly, offering your lighter to him. He smirked, bringing his large hands up to cup your hand softly, shielding the flame from the gentle breeze. His touch sent flames licking against the inside of your throat. As the end of his cigarette burned like a fresh ember, he swiveled back into the light, taking a long drag. His features became clearer to you as the shadows sculpted his cheeks and highlighted his eyes. Your brain finally clicked into place, realizing now that he had been to a few of your shows in the past.

"You following me or something?" You jeered, settling your hands on the brick behind you as you leaned on them. Catching a full glimpse of just how tall he was alongside his broad shoulders made your cheeks flush. Despite the layers of his dark sweater and jacket over his collared shirt, you could tell he worked out.

He smiled mildly, the smoke drifting from between his pearly teeth as he sent you a small shrug. "What can I say? I'm a big fan," he answered cooly, his accent deep and alluring as his shoulder came in contact with the wall you were leaning against. He held the cigarette out for you, his fingers capturing your attention as you took the stick from him and inhaled. Your cloud of smoke hazed around the two of you as your eyes fixated on his, picking up on each of the brilliant colors mixing together to create something artists would weep over. You wanted to run your fingers through his soft hair and drag your nails down his chest. "I like watching you."

You handed him back the cigarette, your gaze darting to his lips once again, mouth watering with need. You wanted to taste him more than a man wanting water in a desert. "You're something of a spectacle yourself," you responded, lucky he couldn't see your features reddening with heat flowing through your veins.

He smirked, his jaw clenching faintly in the light making you feel as if you were going deaf as you focused in on his accent. There was something calculated about him that you were ridiculously drawn too. "I'm George," he offered.

"I think I prefer 'stalker'," you gibed, flashing him a coy expression.

His eyes blazed with minute cockiness. "I can be whatever you want, sweetheart," he quipped gruffly, making your body heat travel to your core. He moved to stand in front of you, finishing off the cigarette and grinding down the butt beneath the toe of his boot.

"How obedient," you cantered, wanting so badly to take the half a step towards him. To breathe the same air as the man would be a privilege. You yearned for him to reach out and tug away your flowy white blouse and ruin your life. You wanted to be at his mercy despite your confident personality suggesting otherwise. Submission was never something you had foreseen in your plans, but here you were willing to get on your knees in this filthy alleyway if he said the word.

He bit back a smirk, eyes angling downwards to your legs. "Why do you wear a garter?" He questioned, making your skin inkle for him to rip it off of you with his teeth.

"For fun," you responded coyly. You lifted your leg, the slit in your skirt exposing your skin completely to him now. "Do you like it?" You probed. He chuckled softly, stepping against the angle of your body and resting your thigh against his hip. One of his hands settled against the brick beside your head while the other toyed with the soft strip of fabric. The scent of agarwood and sage invaded your senses as his body came in contact with yours. He smelled like a forest you wanted to get lost in exploring. His soft sweater was heavy against your skin as his fingertips graced along your thigh. "You live around here?"

His eyes perked back up to yours almost suggestively. He was close enough now that you could pinpoint the few stray eyebrow hairs framing his gaze. You could almost taste the color of his lips as he sighed. "Yeah, I'm at the uni down the road," he answered simply, his hand reaching out to brush a lock of your hair off your shoulder.

You scoffed at his statement. "You're at the college down the- you mean Harvard?"

He chuckled deeply, his forehead furrowing at your tone. You moved one of your hands to barely rest against his chest as he stepped towards you again, propping a knee between your thighs, making your breath hitch as your leg lowered. You almost felt like you weren't given permission to fully touch him yet, a rule you were following under his watchful gaze. "What's wrong?"

His hand moved to your hip, threatening to spill down against your exposed skin again. "Nothing. I have a Harvard man between my legs," you clarified unevenly, no longer in control of your actions or words. He had turned your brain to mush just by looking at you.

His smug expression tilted at you before he leaned towards you, hovering over your ear. You willed against your impulse to breathe him in and claw your fingers into his skin. "Should I be somewhere else, darling?"

"Inside of me," you nearly whispered, more begging than jesting. His mouth brushed over your throat rather quickly before his lips crashed against yours finally, hungry and needy as you finally allowed yourself to touch him. You dug your fingers into his hair as he reached down to grip your ass, pulling your hips roughly against his. His tongue slipped into your mouth, the sensation of him closing more distance between the two of you made you want him more. The performance high seemed to return as your confidence flourished. You tugged at his jeans, ready to commit yourself to whatever he wanted.

He pulled away from you, your lips burning without his connection. He swiftly bunched your skirt up at your waist as you quickly unbuttoned his pants. You needed him and you needed him now. He wrapped his hand around the back of your knee, hoisting your leg up against his side once again before driving himself into you. You groaned as he filled you up, feeling every inch of him as he retracted from you only to press himself deeper into you. He let out a deep moan, his lips finding yours once again as he began to grind against you, snapping his hips against yours to draw out your pleasure. You tugged his bottom lip between your teeth and curled your hips at his movements. Each of his sounds were the equivalent of a reward for you, you wanted to earn his approval and get him off almost more than you wanted yourself to. You were thankful for how much he towered over you as you wrapped yourself beneath one of his arms to grip onto his shoulder, pulling yourself up against him. He thrusted into you, angling himself so he hit a deeper spot within you at each of his movements.

He breathlessly broke your kiss only to rest his forehead against yours, looking for a reaction from you before leaning away and tilting his head back in pleasure. Seeing his blissed-out, slack-jawed expression alongside his now rapid movements, made stars flash behind your eyes as the urge to cum built within you. He pressed his lips against your flushed cheek as one of his hands returned to the brick wall behind you, his lips traveling to the crook of your neck as he moved in an upward motion. His newfound momentum sent you clenching around him as you chased your own high, wrapping your leg around his waist. Another moan ripped through your body. "God, I love your voice," he almost growled in your ear, sending you over the edge unintentionally. He continued to ride against you, drawing himself to finish as you drew him back to kiss him again in a tangle of lust and bliss. After his release, he rested his forehead against his shoulder as the two of you fought to catch your breath. You almost didn't want him to pull out, it was like he belonged with you.

He detached from you, the two of you straightening your clothes. Your fingers reached up to touch your sore lips still buzzing from the feeling of his rough touch. You felt colder now as the mix of your and George's fluids ran down your thighs. You wanted more of him. He ran a hand through his hair and smirked down at your flushed stated. You were scared to leave the wall, your knees weak from the stimulation. He took hold of your forearm, pulling you against his chest and kissing you again, this time softer as if he was apologizing for the crudeness of his prior activities. You had the right mind to thank him instead. "Do you wanna come home with me?" He asked between pressing his lips against yours and trailing down your neck.

Excitement flourished in your chest. "Yes," you breathed and he took your hand, pulling you through the heavy steel door and back into the bar. The crowd of people had almost doubled since you had been gone. The smell of booze and sex filled the air as you stayed close to George, ready to be fit against him once again. Your bassist's eyes met yours as you traveled towards the front door and he sent you a questioning look. You waved him on and he winked smugly. George quickly got the two of you a cab, the ride to his apartment seemingly lasting forever. Your hand rested on his leg, with every jump of the taxi at a speed bump, your hand climbing further up his thigh. His arm wrapped around the back of your portion of the seat as the radio blared with a skillful guitar solo from The Guess Who. Your hand dipped to his inner thigh, squeezing slightly and he smirked at your actions, placing a kiss to your temple as his fingers brushed against your neck.

George's apartment was nearly on the first floor with massive windows in his living room overlooking the city. His shelves of records and books brought questions into your mind. Part of you hoped this wasn't just going to be a one night stand so you had the opportunity to ask him about his music taste or if he had differing political views than you did. As you stood in the middle of his living room observing his life through a clouded lens, he came from whatever he was doing, wrapping an arm around your waist to see what you were focused on. "Do you only read books that ruffle the Catholic Church's feathers?" You joked, eyeing a few well-loved classics sandwiched between various books on law and whatnot.

He chuckled, pressing his lips against your shoulder again before sweeping your hair to the side. "Keeps me sane," he joked, his arms further wrapping around you as he kissed behind your ear. You turned in his arms, running your hands up his torso and relishing in the softness of his sweater.

"Show me your room?" You almost begged in a hushed tone. Before you knew it, he was pressing you against his bedroom door, his lips melding against yours as you tugged off his sweater and began fumbling with the buttons of his shirt. Your blouse was quickly discarded with his final upper layer, his sculpted body finally under your touch. His hands traveled the length of your body, stopping at the zipper in the back of your skirt and shimmying you out of the garment, the material pooling at your feet as his kiss grew sloppier. Your need for him grew with each touch of his lips against your body. He led you further into his room, his contact with you never faltering as his practiced fingers skillfully unclasped your bra. You fell into his soft sheets, George standing between your knees, debating his next move before climbing back over you. He held your hands above your head as his teeth ran along your skin, his lips sucking and biting at your neck and collarbones, eliciting moans to fall from your mouth like a stream of curses. He leaned off of you, reaching into the small bucket on his bedside table and slipping a piece of ice into his mouth.

Your eyebrows perked up as his actions before he held the cube between his teeth, running it down your chest excruciatingly paced. The feeling of the cold wetness against your skin chased by the warmth of his breath sent goosebumps spreading across your skin. Your eyes almost rolled as he moved down your body, your breath hitching as he outlined the waistband of your lacy underwear. The ice slipped down against your underwear next, George's eyes locking on ours as he ran the coldness over your clothed core. Your head was reeling at the foreign pleasure, your nerves seemingly even more sensitive to his focus. He swirled the ice against the inside of your thighs and you bit back a moan. You could see the smugness in his gaze as you were nearly unraveling before his very eyes without even really touching you. He traveled back up your body, the ice cube nearly melted before he slipped it into your mouth, pressing a kiss to your jaw.

"Hold that for me, darling," he cooed venomously, almost making your teeth crunch down on the cube. He slid your garter down your leg and over his wrist for the time being. He positioned himself back below your waistband, dragging your underwear down your legs by his perfect teeth, making sure you were watching each of his actions. The ice may have been keeping your tongue busy, but as George dipped between your thighs, his went to work on your sensitive heat. Your fingers ran into his hair as his lips sucked at your bundle of nerves, his tongue grazing ever so faintly against your center. He hooked one of your legs over his shoulder, pulling you further against his mouth as you ground your hips against his tongue. He hummed slightly, the vibration of his voice echoing through your body, straight to your building climax, the second of the night at his hands. He began to swirl his tongue against you in a different direction, a new sensation adding to the mix of pleasure you were almost being blinded with. The concentration---evident in the furrowing of his brow---made you impossibly want him more. He was fixated at edging you toward your orgasm. His finger traced against where you needed friction the most, your body almost begging for him to slip inside of you as he played at the possibility of it.

Finally, he pushed a finger inside of you, making your back arch off the bed, your teeth clamping down on the reminisce of the ice cube and breaking it into pieces. You groaned as he began to pump it in and out of you, his tongue still delicately dancing around your core. His name slipped from your mouth as he added another finger, picking up his pace and curling them inside of you. He was beckoning your release as you began to feel tension building within you. His other arm moved to lay across your hips, holding you in place so you could no longer move against him, his eyes almost jesting up at you as you gripped onto the sheets beside you. "Stop resisting," he almost commanded, removing his mouth from you and increasing his speed, a prideful look in his eye at seeing how close you were once again. Heeding his demand, you released, your knees nearly clamping around him. You inhaled deeply, bliss washing over you once again as you watched him lick his fingers clean. His teeth grazed against the sensitive skin of your abdomen before he leaned over you again, his lips crashing against yours. You moved his hand to grasp as your breast as you pulled his hips against yours, the feeling of his jeans creating new friction. You were spent but hell if you were going to tell him that.

In one swift movement, he had you on your back, pulling your hair back and tying it with the garter that was positioned around his wrist. You grinned slightly as his lips drew a road map from your shoulder to your spine, his rough hands massaging your shoulders before dragging you hips towards him again. You leaned on your side to watch him sit back on his knees to unbutton his jeans. "Be gentle," you leered, tugging your bottom lip between your teeth to fight your grin again as you watched him spit into his hand and stroke himself in preparation.

He chuckled. "I'll take care of you, love," he murmured softly through a smirk. You quipped an eyebrow at him in anticipation before he lifted your hips to him, turning you on your stomach again. He traced his cock against your entrance and you almost snapped back so he'd finally fill you again. Your mind wondered if your body even had another orgasm in it tonight. If it did, George would be the one to coax it out of you. He leaned his weight on his leg, resting a kiss on your back before pressing into you again, the feeling of him inside of you again came almost as a relief as you sighed in pleasure. You pushed your ass against him to get a deeper angle for him as he drove himself into you more.

You moaned as he began to pace himself, his lips near your ear as one of his hands held onto your side. You had never been in such a submissive position before, but as George picked up speed, you were more focused on the feeling of him rather than the visual of him. Hearing his voice purr in your ear sent off memories of being pinned against the brick wall, making you clench around him. He groaned as you moved beneath him. He gripped onto the side of the mattress you were also clinging to for dear life as each of his dirty thrusts sent sparks to your imagination. You felt him tense inside of you as he began to rapidly push into you, making your head go fuzzy as you bit your lip, only wanting to hear his moans fill the room. You let out a small whimper as you reached another orgasm, this one seemingly more intense from the overstimulation. George finished just after you, pulling your hips up further to ride out both your highs as his pace slowed reluctantly. Bliss coursed through your veins as you realized just how tired you were.

George's breath fanned over your back as he disconnected from you. You settled against one of his pillows, fighting an idiotic grin wanting to spread across your face. He tucked an arm beneath your head, pulling you against his side and lacing your fingers together. "I hope I'm sore tomorrow," you slyly joked, making him snicker beside you.

"If you are, I have ice," he quipped back, breaking the two of you into a fit of giggles. You could get used to this...