#maybe i should be more overt lmao

[hopegained]

if anything the resistance should be more like the rebels in andor

[jasongracestan12]

Unpopular HoO ships I enjoy

Note: As always, these are all just my opinions. Please feel free to sound off in the comments or reblogs, but be nice, I'm sensitive 😢 Spoilers obvs

Also I mention Hazel in ships. Just know I'm not fond of the age gap she has with the rest of the seven in the books, and personally like to think of her in these ships as closer in age to these people. Anyways;

1. Leo/Frank - So so underrated. Maybe because I love enemies to lovers, idk. I just think these two have mad chemistry. They get each other the way others in the series don't get them, with the losses of their mom's and being dunked on constantly. They could be cringe fail losers together and it hurts!! That no one sees my vision. Tbh I feel like this should be more popular than Valgrace, but alas.

2. Leo/Frank/Hazel - I've been in the fandom since 2011, and at the time MoA came out, multiple people complained about this love triangle. They hated it as a plot point, and that's understandable, but listen to this. Solve it via throuple situation. Frank and Hazel have chemistry. Leo and Hazel have chemistry. So much opportunity for tension and yearning. What is cuter than Hazel going to Rome with her two boyfriends in that one scene from Mark of Athena? Nothing!

3. Piper/Reyna - Way before Piper was canonically sapphic, the tension in the scene with her and Reyna at the end of BoO was PALPABLE. When she took Reyna's face in her hands, I fully thought they were going to kiss even though Piper was with Jason LMAO. I love Jason, but I actually think it would be so iconic and low-key funny if they spent those books both wanting to be with Jason and at the end Piper was like "I don't want you to be in love with Reyna, because I'M in love with her 😢." And then she just started dating Jason's kind-of ex, leaving him out of the triangle completely, lol.

4. Reyna/Annabeth - This one I've seen a little bit more support for. I just think they'd be iconic. Annabeth's low-key sapphic tendencies did really jump out in their bonding scene in MoA. I like the idea of them being a baddie power couple, though I do feel it could result in a power struggle.

5. Drew/Jason - I have literally never seen this ship, but I actually think it may be so fun, especially if you are a big believer in the head canon that Drew should be redeemed in some way or was only really demonized because of her overt femininity, like I am. Jason makes a lot of comments about finding her attractive at the beginning of TLH, which I feel like most people ignore. A situation I think would be so interesting, because I'd love the drama lmao, would be if, after dating Piper, Jason actually gave dating Drew a try. I feel like chaos would ensue low-key lmfao, but it would be such a delightful little plot point.

Anyways, that's all I can think of at the moment. Let me know your thoughts.

[onboardsorasora]

Mob Wife!Daniel Pt2? (Max POV)

truly, my lack of self control is my gift to all of you lmao @dancinginthestreet9 this one's for you bestie You can find the OG Post here and here

Daniel was beautiful. He was funny, charming and kind. Daniel was also Christian’s.

When he’d first been offered the job, Esteban had tried to warn him that Daniel was a diva and a hardass. But Max had a rule to never listen to anything Esteban had to say, and it's still held up to this day.

The first time it happened, Daniel had cornered Max in the study. He’d braced him against the wall and sucked his dick. Max was been riddled with anxiety for days after– he’d been pretty sure there was a hit already out on him.

Christian hadn’t said anything and Daniel had continued on like nothing happened. 

The first time they fucked, Daniel had begged for it. Daniel had stripped down to his brightly patterned jock and laid down on the bed. 

Max’s eyes widened when Daniel spread his legs and stroked the obscene bulge of his dick. He’d stared at Max with a challenging brow raised.

“You should put your clothes back on, maybe.” Max had suggested.

“You should fuck me.” Daniel had bargained instead. He’d flipped onto his hands and knees and arched his back, presenting his hole like the best strippers did. Max had idly wondered if Daniel had been a stripper.

“I think– no. It isn’t a good idea.”

“Your dick tastes so good, it felt amazing in my mouth, I need it in my cunt Maxy. please.” 

And Max was only a strong man when there was a gun in his hand. He’d fucked Daniel right there in the guest room, because Daniel didn’t want to disrespect his marriage bed. That guest room eventually became Max’s room after Daniel told Christian he needed Max closer at all times.

The argument over Max had been anticlimatic in Max’s opinion. 

“How long?” Christian leans against the doorway with his arms crossed. He looks annoyed. Daniel is sitting pissily on their bed, glaring off to the side. Swollen lips pouting. Christian had come home and caught them making out.

“Why bother ask when you know?” Daniel snarked back, he folded his arms as well. 

“Are you gonna stop?” Christian sounded like he was asking if they had weekend plans.

“Fuck no. You’re never here anymore, what am I supposed to do? Hump the bed until you get home?” Daniel looked furious. Max had always wondered about their dynamic, it was clear there was a different conversation being left unsaid. “At least I’m not hiding it.” Daniel snaps.

Christian clenches his jaw but nods and leaves the room. It happened more frequently after that, Max had essentially moved in. Christian eventually came home from whatever it was that had needed his attention. No one brought it up again, it was just a known thing.

Max always tried to be respectful, to not be too bold or overt with Daniel in his presence. He also didn’t get too jealous when Daniel went to Christian, because that was his husband and first love. 

So yeah, Daniel was Christian’s but he was also Max’s.

[narrators-journal]

Hiiii me again. Gonna yoink a lil sign thing at this point.

I actually want you to pick the kinktober prompt. We've been asking you to do themes, but I wanna see one u want with my blorbos, so. Any number, yandere akechi, with maybe yandere joker.

🐦‍⬛(this looks like a crow for me)

This one was another one that I flip flopped on. There’ve been a few kinks on this list that I wanted to try, like used panties, sensory play, and crossdressing so I picked a FEW prompts here lololol. But, for this one, I ended up struggling to capture the yandere energy u requested, so I had to widdle down which ones I really wanted to try. Which, I hope didn’t negatively impact this little ditty at all, bc I think I did pretty well with some light experimentation and variety again lmao. I also decided to swap the yandere focus here, tho whether Akechi is one too, is up to the reader. I hope you enjoy! Thanks for asking so much, btw, I’m glad you like my works so much.

Kinktober prompt list: Here

Kinktober masterlist: Here

CW: Voyeurism, stripping, and temperature play are the more overt kinks here. Masturbation is the main bit of spice here, Yandere behaviors as well, tho only stalking mostly. No direct violence this time.

The cold bit at Akira’s fair skin like a dozen needles while he sat under the shadowy cover of one of the trees in Goro Akechi’s sideyard. But, he bit down the powerful shivers that may have shaken the branch he perched on and simply watched the shadowy bedroom through the window he’d found. Until the light of the detective prince’s bedroom flick on so that the brunette could see go about his usual routine.

Okay, so it’s nine o’ clock now, and his nightly shower should be done within the hour. With any luck he’ll be asleep by midni- oh? The stalker’s thoughts about slammed to a halt midway. Because, as he thought them, Goro Akechi stepped into the view of his window. The only window that didn’t have the curtains pulled shut to keep the bitter cold that attacked Akira out. Wait...so, does he know I’m out here? I knew it was odd that only one of his windows didn’t have the blinds down… The ravenette thought with a bit of a grimace, even though the possibility already had his cock pressed to the fabric of his pants.

Though, Akechi didn’t do much, even as he stood within his line of sight. He cleaned the dirt out from under his nails, examined them for any signs of blood, and began to empty his pockets to prepare for his shower. Not a glance nor a smirk tossed out to the phantom thief that sat out in the cold with his pants now undone and his semi-hard cock in his palm. Meanwhile, the dark-haired stalker mused, Surely he doesn’t know. I mean, he’s a cop, he wouldn’t let me just stalk him, would he? He’d frame me for something to get rid of me. To himself, even as he began to slowly stroke himself just to keep his dick warm, some spit applied so that the friction was a bit smoother.

Yet, with each loosened button of the detective’s crisp, white shirt, Akira’s grip on himself grew tighter and his strokes a bit faster. The ease granted by his own spit swift to dissipate beneath the heat of his palm. Even if the winter air around him should’ve countered the warmth beneath his skin. But, even if it didn’t, the contrast of the cold air on his achey cock against the warmth of the rest of his body did something all on its own to the ravenette.

Which, mingled and mixed with the thrum of electricity that zipped into his veins when Akechi finally let the expensive button-up fall to the floor of his room. The detective’s well-muscled, lightly tanned chest exposed to the stalker as if to purposely feed into the fantasies that swirled through the ravenette’s head. Together, the two sensations seemed to co-conspire to draw out a lewd moan and give the phantom thief away to the brunette. Yet, that didn’t stop the show. Regardless of Akira’s state, Akechi continued to undress with the unzip of his pants and the slow, careful fiddling of the button of his pants.

Oh come on, how do you not know how to undo your own pants? Akira thought at the brunette while he watched him struggle so helplessly to get the metal button through the small opening. His hand’s steady strokes firm and slow as he waited, only sped up when the detective finally got his pants loose and let them slip ever so slightly down his hips to reveal the waistband of his boxers.

However, before he could drop them entirely like he had his shirt, Akechi must’ve remembered something, because he left the view of the window to head towards his closet with nothing for the eager ravenette to cling to but the few centimeters more of boxer that he could glimpse before his darling left his sight. And, for a long, painful moment, Akira feared that he’d opt to change out of sight so that the stalker would be stuck with a chilled hard-on and the flu. But, thankfully, Akechi did return, and while he was missing his pants, the ravenette could still milk his anticipation just a bit longer because his boxers were still on.

So, while he’d missed the slow reveal of his darling’s lightly scarred skin, he could still edge himself just a bit longer in the time it took for Akechi to talk on his phone. He could still take the time to study the subtle, mesmerizing curves of the muscles in his arms, or the many, many scars that the detective had earned from his job and his hobby. Or, maybe he could just admire the vague outline of his darling’s cock in the fabric of his cliché, boring ass blue boxers, the way that the breathable fabric hugged his asscheeks. All the while, his hand never stopped its movements.

It was almost enough to make Akira dizzy. The restless thrum of need, the tight squeeze of his fingers around his twitchy cock, the near sadistic chill that swept in to wash away whatever warmth his palm gave, it made the dark-haired phantom thief’s breath quicken like a dog’s. All while Akechi did little more than sway from foot to foot with his back to the stalker, completely oblivious to the man’s lewd game while he talked away on his cellphone.

God damn it, will you hang up already, motherfucker? Before I orgasm? Akira thought with a glare to the brunette. Who seemed to hear the impatient thought, because not a moment after he’d strung the words together, he did finally hang up the call and tossed his phone back towards his fancy bed. Once he had, his thumbs hooked into the elastic band of his boxers.

In that instant, Akira’s heart leapt into his throat. His hand forced to a stop so that he didn’t orgasm at something as slight as a mere inch more of Akechi’s flesh. That way, the stalker could thoroughly drink in the slow, teasing reveal of the man’s well-defined ass and the way that the fabric slid down the detective’s lightly tanned legs, even if that left his erection to freeze in the winter night. After that though, he let himself return to a slower pace with a gentler grip on himself. Something just firm enough to return some warmth to his twitching cock, but not enough for the sudden shift in temperature to instantly shove him over the edge before he even got a glimpse of Akechi’s dick.

Which, the detective, again, took his sweet time to reveal. Which, again, made the ravenette debate if his darling knew he was being watched, because it wasn’t normal for him to linger so long in front of an uncovered window without so much as turning around. Come on, please, please, please hurry up. I can’t wait much longer. Especially if you know I’m fucking out here, Akechi! The phantom thief plead, a small shiver seemingly a confirmation of that thought. Yet, this time, the brunette must’ve ignored his psychic signals, because all he seemed to do was fiddle with his shoulder-length hair or something that Akira couldn’t see on his face.

So, it wasn’t the view of his darling’s cock that shoved Akira over the edge, it was the continued tug-o-war between the temperature of his erection. The warmth of his strokes, then the sadism of the winter’s chill, then the returned salve of warmth on such tender, engorged flesh until the next tidal wave of heat to zip up his length was his orgasm instead of his hand.

While the dark-haired man managed to swallow down his moans, the sheer force of the release? The rush of oxytocin and seratonin that seemed to wash reality away? He had a harder time against that onslaught. So, when he came down from the high to find himself in the snow between the roots of the tree with Akechi giving him a smug wave and grin from his window, Akira wasn’t entirely surprised. Still gonna kill that bastard one of these days, though…

[gothhabiba]

from what i understand harrison bergeron was a satire of conservative reactions to civil rights movements but every time i had it taught to me in school the curriculum would intentionally read it as if it was criticizing "too much equality" (a real thing my teacher told us...). but that interpretation could also be attributed to it just being poorly written idk

I don't know much about "Harrison Bergeron" in particular, though I also don't think that such a question (is this a satire of dire conservative predictions about "equality going too far," or is it a conversative satire on "equality gone too far") is ultimately decidable from the text (or any text) itself.

I think you make an extremely good point with regards to the fact that when it comes to literary pedagogy, the way in which texts are taught is perhaps more important than the texts themselves. A particular story being commonly read at a certain grade level wouldn't strike me as reactionary or whatever if the predominant way of teaching English literature in schools weren't so guided by New Criticism, and the corresponding belief that a text is an encoded object that you must decode in a specific way to figure out what it "means" (along with the assumption, in my experience, that you must agree with what the text "means," or else you have somehow failed to be "taught" by the text, and have perhaps failed to understand it as someone who reads properly should have). And if schools didn't have a vested interest in interpreting these texts in a particular way (a way that of course cannot veer meaningfully anti-authority, that probably will not veer in a direction that views oppression as anything more than a set of overt attitudes to disavow, &c.).

This is kind of what I was trying to get at when gesturing at the "no one would find [this] icky to explain to an 8th grader" aspect of the phenomenon I'm talking about (where the phenomenon = which texts get chosen to be read in classes, and why?). And I think this is what some people are missing when trying to talk about what types of text should be taught in schools and which topics children are "ready" for, &c. &c.—Regardless of what children are "ready" for, is a pedagogy that cannot accommodate ambiguity and dissent "ready" to teach children about these topics, to help children use texts as tools to think about and discuss these topics? The pedagogical system that overwhelmingly focusses on Identifying Themes with maybe some close reading strategies thrown in? The pedagogical system where if you disagree with what you believe a text to be "saying," or if you disagree with what the teacher insists the text is "saying," you're missing the point at best and insubordinate at worst? The school system with teachers who are no less likely to be reactionary and have low opinions of children than anyone else? Where children have no opportunity to meaningfully guide discussion or to opt out of discussing a specific topic at a specific time in a specific way? That school system is the one you want to be "teaching" kids texts that deal with racism, misogyny, sexual violence et al. in? Lol. Lmao even.

[iantimony]

last tuesday of 2023!

i thought about making this my Yearly Roundup for last tuesday of the year but i think instead i will make this a normal tuesdaypost, and do a big yearly reflection on friday or saturday for last shabbos of the year :)

listening: twilight mirage, still in that holiday special, episode 23. the way that there are eight fuckin episodes for that special........in part 1 or 2 they make a comment how they might have to do three parts and i was like. lol. lmao, even. i'm in the bit right now where they're doing an election and it's very funny. thisbe as the debate moderator made me laugh out loud.

reading: the best part of the game awards this year was the fashion, alyssa mercante: i looooved some of these looks. love the art corset on slide 4, jay-ann lopez on slide 15, the pleated dress on slide 17, the MATCHING BABY ON SLIDE 19, and the author's whole everything on slide 20.

sff's big fat problem, r. k. duncan: i was already aware of some of the stuff talked about here but i am definitely guilty of having less overt things - i.e. goblin emperor reference in there - totally fly by me. i feel like i saw a lot of people talking about rowling's fatphobia after she went mask-off but she is definitely on the more malicious end of the spectrum, it's a much much much more baked in problem than people give it credit for. thinking also about the locked tomb, which i love, but also makes some very weird comments about ortus that i did not clock at all until someone else pointed it out. just something i'm thinking about lately.

the world is hard, dinner doesn't need to be, julia turshen: what it says on the tin. some recipe ideas, cut down to mental bare essentials.

old growth, brawlite: saved the fanfic for last. obsessed with this. it's so so good. the format is a really neat idea that i don't know if i've seen done before. like, using the 'comment section' to point out 'things in the background of shots'? genius. i am eating it up. i should have signed up for this exchange. maybe next year.

playing: fallow. i might buy some games that are on sale tho lol, i've seen both pyre and ghostwire: tokyo recommended this week. latter is no longer on sale unfortunately but i am noting it down for later.

watching: the fashion industry hates older women, mina le

history of bathing, bernadette banner

aaaand a short film that a grad student in my department made as a project. it's. not good. like i'm happy that he's doing hobbies or whatever but this short film commits the cardinal sin of being neither good nor bad, Just Boring. 2/10.

making: the [redacted project] is almost done!! i have 10 rows left. each row takes me about 15 minutes. i will definitely finish it by the end of the week, fringe and all. no pictures yet for obvious reasons but it will be in the first tuesdaypost of the year for 2024! the biggest challenge now is the point of contact on my left hand where i rest the knitting needle against my middle finger is aggravating on a sensory standpoint from overuse, so i have been knitting with one glove on that hand which has helped a lot.

there was a preview of these last week, but i added finishing touches to my gavle goat holiday cards! i used a metallic sharpie to add some horn embellishments and wrote a little note on the back, and mailed out a bunch :)

misc: the first christmas eve/day of my life where i didn't get chinese food!!! shock, horror, etc. i'm at my roommate's family's place so i experienced a real christmas situation. it was fine. her family & their home is like ... hallmark card vibes and idk how i feel about it. i want wonton soup :(

[zoophagist]

Shaking your hand over the Dracfield content. I'm into novel!Dracfield hard, I joined the "Dracula" fandom specifically for that ship, like 3 years ago, I'm even into the 2023!Dracfield, but the stuff going on in the tag right now just makes me ?????. Oh? So for yall it's not about the guy clinging to an Eldritch being because of homophobia and ableism? Oook, keep your secrets.

ooc;; every dracula fan is valid no matter their preferred version but that DOESN'T mean i understand them!! yeah i DO understand your vibes though. turning from humanity because humanity has turned away from you... embracing the monstrous because you are seen as a monster... running into the arms of anyone or anything that will make you feel protected, valued, and loved?? hell yeah, brother. personally i go feral for the "you're completely inhuman, you're like unto a god, and i can never comprehend any way you're capable of truly wanting me but still i am wanted somehow and i would do anything to be yours" of it all, so. hm. definitely not enough eldritch incomprehensibility in this dracfield for me. HATE to say this for renfield's sake but one of the most important hallmarks of the dracfield ship for me is how renfield is living off the scraps of dracula's attention and is highly unlikely to ever get more than that. it feeds the pining deliciously. so i am baffled by the vibe the 2023 fans go for of not only drac's constant availability to renfield but apparently really overt feelings for renfield?? like fully in love with renfield too?? but hm, if i think about it, i do also like the angle of dracula using renfield's amorous feelings to manipulate him of play with him, and the stringing along of promises and rewards so i it's not that i want dracula to only ever be cold and aloof, but maybe that like... i think i don't buy that count dracula would just accept and get tender over feelings for renfield? i need something of the monstrous "you don't love like a human should" element still, and also maybe a little cruelty & manipulation. the 2023 fandom stuff i see makes dracula too soft and knowable to me!! i really need that "somewhat in the position which enoch occupied spiritually" "why?" "because he walked with god" energy at the heart of it all. lmao not like anybody asked. if the 2023 fans are seeing this PLEASE know i'm not being snarky or superior. our spice is different but we are fundamentally eating the same meal and i am giving you a confused and supportive thumbs up from across the restaurant with a mouthful of dracfield. i am toasting you with the master/servant kink we're all chugging like water.

[lover-of-mine]

some people want buddie in season 7 but i want buddie in season 8….. season 7 should be a whole season of buck dating natalia but confiding in people (except eddie, for reasons he can’t explain) that he’s feeling more and more weird about her 😈 an entire season of buck having oh moments but he doesn’t realise or deliberately ignores 😈 a season of people telling him what he wants is right in front of him and to open his eyes etc etc 😈 the season finale being the madney wedding and buck having his final big oh moment 😈 buck dumping natalia and going to eddie 😈 they don’t kiss or make any overt love confessions but they do slow dance and maybe flirt a bit and do that smiley gazing thing they do 😈 the season ending with the promise of something new between them (still vague enough so that non-buddies are happy) (but also not vague at all lmao) 😈

I don't want buddie in s7 with the way they are, unless the show lets them have some serious conversations and some personal growth so they can be the couple we know they can be and also be the love story to go down in tv history as the love story to end all love stories, but I also don't want Buck to stay with Natalia while being vocally unsure about her, because that would be Taylor all over again and, personally I am tired ™️ of this man going around in circles. I don't think they plan on keeping Natalia around for the whole season, but I would like to offer an alternative to your vision, where Buck is with Natalia and there's nothing clearly wrong with the relationship, but Buck is just settled, he's content but he's not happy, there's something missing even if tho he can't quite put his finger on what, then he has a nice oh moment about love (or Eddie, preferably about Eddie) and breaks up with her. I would sell the firstborn I don't intend on having to see them slow dancing on madneys wedding tho. Give us a bit of a taste of what could happen, the promise of something and then work up to them taking the plunge.

[todayisafridaynight]

YOUR FRIEND WAS SO WRONG FOR SAYING IT'S WEIRD TO FIND ACCENTS ATTRACTIVE 😭 Unironically the Kansai accent is one reason I prefer the Omi to the Tojo... like the Omi cast is kinda cracked In My Opinion if I were to compare the two as a whole but the accent and associated characterization do a lot for them...

That's also one reason I'm SO excited for Gaiden since MotoYama have only done Kansai accents once or twice, and they used to be so bad at it the writers for Nihon Touitsu rewrote their characters to be from Yokohama instead of Kobe LMAO sounds like they nailed it in Gaiden though... And Lest We Forget Miss First Summer Uika her voice as Akame still makes me soooooo 😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫

TO REWIND TO JO I think it was actually such a missed opportunity not to have him be from Kansai. Not just because I think media should stop doing Tsutsumi like that (And They Should), but there's genuinely some super interesting interplay you could do with his background and characterization. Sayama immediately came to mind with how she feels the need to suppress her accent to be taken seriously, but you can hear it when she's fully relaxed.

Jo already does a great deal of suppressing himself, right, so I just think it would've been a great way to subtly add to to that. Also interesting specifically because of his "backwater scumbags" comment which to me absolutely reveals overt prejudice specifically against people from Kansai... and y'know, he's like, he's Omi but as far from the heart of the alliance as he can be... For What...

I can see his parents moving from Kansai early on, perhaps even before he was born, and him growing up speaking Kansai at home. Coming to hate the sound of it because of his family life, finding it harsh and uncouth, getting rid of every trace of it he consciously could. Maybe getting shit from his dad over it if he was still living at home. Maybe feeling justified later down the line if he ever worked any service jobs or even when he joined the Tojo, since having a Kansai accent is detrimental because you'll get mistaken for Omi...

Literally so much to chew on with the willful erasure of his identity and self-hatred turned outwards And Everything compared to him just randomly being really good at the accent (<- I will admit this is funny as hell)

she said it was problematic in some veins at some point SO <3 i can only tell you whats going on in her dome <3 omi favoritism is mad valid as hell tho like TRULY they're just all a unique bunch even aside from their accent... love to the tojo crew but like... only like three of you are truly memorable... and your most memorable dude Has A Kansai Accent like GIRL--

it'll be fun to see more kansai bitches added to the cast on that note :) fun for my ears in any case YATAA

BUT YAYA THATS EXACTLY WHAT I HAD IN MIND WITH JO BEIN FROM KANSAI DAS EXACTLY IT LMAO i just think it woulda been neat... he's already got layers to him Both Metaphorically And Literally why not add another one to how he speaks.. also so i can hear ttm speak kansai more.. ANOTHER thing fun for my ears....

[vegalocity]

I just thought of something. So you know how most of the villains fail at making doing serious damage with oblivion? Well what about the other heroes? Because we already know that Xiaotian and Wukong can do serious evil with it so what about the others?

I think the thing we have to keep in mind is that NOBODY is ever able to Handle Oblivion well.

the Villains don't know what the fuck they're doing with it and don't really get to DO MUCH with it except for LBD and Macaque but since LBD's is just an instant win it's not super interesting and Macaque is so hyperfocused on getting what he wants it's more of a setup than a plot device

Which is why the two people whom have caused the most damage are heroes on corruption arc paths lmao, but the long and short of it is it's just too much power to give people. it's like the Death Note or the One Ring in that way, anyone that tries to use it will end up using it for evil even if it's only with the best of intentions because no one person should be allowed that sort of power at all.

(maybe long ago when it was first made and could only be carried by several heavily baritoned singers with the explicit instruction from the goddess that gave it to them that it's for taming monsters and getting them to leave peacefully, and was to be returned to her at the end of the life of the person whom she gave it to, it was less power corrupting since it required cooperation with at least a few people all agreeing to use it at once, but not anymore)

But all the same let's make a quick run through the heroes and see how many of them can still be called 'heroes' at the end of it

-

So Sandy i'd say would probably have the least 'corruption arc'y time of it, how he got it idk, but since Sandy himself is a demon it's unlikely that he'd find out p. easily that it's a mind control record, he just remembers playing it and his whole brain switching off and flooding him with endorphins.

Sandy wouldn't cause much harm to anyone bc by nature of not being particularly concious himself while figuring this thing out he kind of can't figure out just WHAT oblivion does, and that man would very clearly rather swallow his whole houseboat whole before he ever asked anyone in his life for help and in that regard it'd be much more of a 'drug use' metaphor i think

the problem there would probably be when he asks Huntsman if he wants to give it a try and accidentally drags someone else into an addiction that's literally so insidious that neither of them are aware it's addictive at all despite being actively going through withdrawls and needing a hit. it's fine, the desire to go brainless is just slowly consuming Sandy's life and he's dragging Huntsman down with him. It's fine it's all fine the second he hits play that worry will aaalll go away.

(this is another AU where I think Syntax would be a major player primarily due to his immunity since there wouldn't be anyone better to spearhead an intervention than someone the drug in question straight up wouldn't work on)

-

So right off the bat i'm gonna say Tang and Pigsy's would be kind of a combined one since Pigsy himself would have no interest in a wierd record he found in the marketplace with creepy unintelligeable writing on it other than 'Tang enrichment' and the whole thing would be more of a subtle creepy than overt horror.

Even if we assume Pigsy had no part in it and Tang found it like, buried deep in archives he'd be VERY confused as to what a record was doing there, brought it home to Pigsy like 'i found this??? in the archives??? it's covered in Cuneiform??? we still got that old record player?' and he doesn't see why a very clearly old synth record was sitting in the archives and turns to shout across the room for pigsy and hears a clatter of something hitting the ground. they both freak out for a time, a solid 'WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT??' 'I DON'T KNOW??'

after a lot of screaming and trying to figure out what the fuck that thing was (and why after the shock passed Pigsy realized he didn't hate the sensation) there's a question of 'well What IS this thing then?'

So Pigsy (maybe not as reluctantly as he should have been) agrees to be his guinea pig (puns nonwithstanding) for a bit as they figure out just WHAT this thing is and why it is. And for awhile it's just Tang's notes about altering perception and placing the person in question (perhaps specifically demons) in a state of easy suggestion, and Tang does want to crack the code on this thing, but it IS starting to kind of make him more uncomfortable as he did so. Though Pigsy keeps assuring him its fine, the fact that he seems more excited to keep experimenting with this thing than Tang is is starting to grow worrying...

easy solution then, he just needs another test subject because he REALLY didn't want to reach the conclusion the evidence was pointing toward with PIGSY as the person it's happening to.

maybe a whole bunch of test subjects if he can't get one person to go for it and keep coming back. a proper data pool.

the fact that people keep coming back just means that they want to find the answers too. and the fact that Pigsy's just kind of touchy in the 'casual embraces' department because he's not being the test subject anymore and Tang kind of needed to have his hands all over him guiding him about when he was under and he misses that contact isn't... anything to worry about.

because he definitely didn't use a mind control device on someone he's been pining for for years and accidentally got him addicted to it. no siree.

he just needs... to figure out how this thing works and just how far he can go with it and he'll fix it

You know how sometimes the quest for answers is far worse than choosing to remain ignorant?....yeah...

-

i have NO idea how Xiaojiao would handle it ngl i think She might be the only one that finds out what it does and is just like 'nerp' and either stuff it in her family's hall of relics or get into comical schenanigans trying to destroy it

and much like a looney tunes character the record keeps just BARELY being missed by whatever she's doing to try and destroy it

[unproduciblesmackdown]

speaking of scapegoating lol. evergreen but like "seemingly more open & boundless misogyny from more men?? could this be women's fault" like prommy the message of "we should cater to how men feel & reassure them" is out there as well as "b/c this is the only way to stop the violence of patriarchy from being done to people" like this is also out there already, as well as in the broader form of like, a system where particular parties are "inferior" & vulnerable to "superior" parties? practical matters of how to disrupt & rupture this system entirely, don't know her, surely the priority is convincing the "superior" to cut it out only the people doing the convincing are seen as inferior & threats to their power already & the Not Wanting To be convinced is investment in that systemic power they have, & like what, Maybe some cases Some people decide they can be Some degree nicer about it after eons like, can't imagine aiming for anything else....entire kwame ture quote "if a white man wants to lynch me, that's his problem. if he's got the power to lynch me, that's my problem. racism is not a question of attitude; it's a question of power. racism gets its power from capitalism. thus, if you're anti-racist, whether you know it or not, you must be anti-capitalist. the power for racism, the power for sexism, comes from capitalism, not an attitude." like Having to assuage someone's feelings so they doesn't start enacting & perpetuating violence against others classed as inferiors socially/materially positioned as vulnerable to their violence? obviously already that issue of power vs if a man is sexist that's his problem. not a personal feelings conversation to be like trying to Redeem or Reform or Convert someone in the position to leverage abuse & interested in / already doing so, it's a negotiation or a compromise or a very specific limited strategic effort to mitigate damage, not like the guiding light of like How To Thwart Bigotry being like, sexism? this is women's fault. feminists are too mean

like, men have power in a patriarchy & so a lot of people benefitting from that (like, many men) are invested in maintaining that power, such as: being violently misogynist. being pissed off about those who should be subject to that power having more autonomy, i.e. the reduction of their power. wanting to reinforce & increase that power. not really a mystery what's going on there or why apparent threat to / reduction of patriarchal power gets a backlash of all the more overt hostility? like what "oh damn this man totally thought of women as people until too many women were all 'men are sexist & don't think of women as people' & then he was like okay i hate women, they're not people" like well don't think he was really so Not Misogynist was he lol. "ohh i was owned by the libs online too many times so now i, up till now your best ally, am a fascist >:( you made me do this" like abuse logic lmao the Would Be / Already Victims being responsible for gently carefully strategically convincing the beneficiaries & perpetrators of what victimizes them to perhaps maybe not do that as much? & like, misogyny is the norm b/c this is already a patriarchy. white supremacy & ableism & abuse is all already the norm. toddlers absorb things like they've been absorbing Absolutely Everything & already know oh white is better black is worse without anyone having to spell that out for them, later Everyone's The Same, Don't Bully People Or Anything being as light on context / specifics as it is, like, how's that go for bullying not being so normal it's guaranteed to happen & Fine Actually & totally goes away once people grow out of it. the idea that Kids Are Innocent or certainly must be Neutral enough if nobody spelled out bigotry to them (cue everyone who Did have that happen & the universal reaction isn't actually to embrace & enact it anyway) & that ah look at everyone getting their Normal Socialization if they're just getting to interact willy nilly, like lol well that's true but racism sexism etc is normal, so. people out here just rephrasing ABA & ableist language to frame the treatment of disabled people as objective & inevitable while blaming the Deficiency & Wrongness of disabled ppl for bringing the treatment on themselves & focusing on how disabled people can stop being at fault for their own abuse by better catering to those who are Doing Just Fine, Thanks, so they Must be good at social(tm) things, just as the nepo hire has all the career advice you could want, ooh sorry autistic people uhh you just have the wrong / worse / lack of feelings & wrong / worse / lack of "skills" & wrong / worse / lack of "intelligence" & are just sooo bad at Social Things haha. & now you're being annoying complaining about that treatment >:/ of Course i must treat you even worse. if you even care

like what, i was gonna be antiracist but then someone said white people are racist in this world where whiteness is defined by antiblackness, the creation of these classes to enforce & perpetuate chattel slavery, being white is about not being black, which is inferior, so now it's like grr i hate black people then? don't think you Were or Were Just About To Be that antiracist lol. & like your feelings are a personal individual matter. if you feel unpleasant about the idea of being considered racist then the one inevitable reaction isn't "i will become even more racist then," if you do then yeah you're gonna be more ostracized also i.e. into cultier nicher us/them groups & that's not really a fault of the [them] who didn't pull you back by welcoming you & your shit. you already learned & internalized racism / white supremacy as normative shit b/c effectively Everyone Already Did; if you're white you already benefit from that norm / are afforded a position of power within it. & many people want to hold on to that power or want more of it & many people will respond to some awareness of a threat to that by only getting more invested in it. meanwhile how much actual like antiracist antisexist antiableist antibigotry education does anyone get at home or in school? certainly much less than Guaranteed this; how does like the framing of treating other people as people as only about having the correct Feelings (well-meaning, but also anything short of feeling Deviously Malicious is alright) go for, you know, everyone being so invested in equality in principle & in practice rather than all these violences being completely normative & even the supposedly frivolous Popularity Contest Try Not To Get Bullied that is like, normal(tm) school socializing (and work(tm) after that) being so far from Neutral & totally not abuse culture where the way people are treated hinges on whether they're deemed like personally Appealing & Likeable & Nonannoying enough for the supposed baseline respect for people

like when gender is all rn in the context of defining & being defined by a patriarchy, who knows if there's some redeemed actually Neutral category of Men / Masculinity like can't really imagine i think anything ever that would be prescriptive is good, but if anything it's like, the Being A Man / Masculine that is gonna be an improvement is gonna be that which is already happening with women / femininity. women who are also men & vice versa, women who are masculine, men who are feminine, of course everything queer. what is there that "reaffirms" men in their being Not Women / Not Associated With Women that isn't reaffirming patriarchy. "ah it's equally important to have gay narratives And to tell men it's okay for them to be friends with other men without anyone ever thinking they could possibly be gay :)" like that's just reaffirming homophobia lol. if there's nothing wrong with being gay then what's the problem. if there's nothing wrong with being a woman then what's the problem. just as embracing misogyny plays into / supports / is investment in patriarchy & the power it affords men, rejecting misogyny is rejecting patriarchy is rejecting being a "real" man, is embracing association with women without enough of, if any, boundary between oneself & women as inferior Other. abandoning & Betraying what being A Man is supposed to mean, b/c it's supposed to mean The Superior Class & certainly having the power to enact that, b/c patriarchy isn't just an attitude & sure doesn't want to be, probably nobody with the bigoted attitudes of being superior doesn't want to have the power that affords

& meanwhile people can reject that power they're supposedly granted, betray that class race gender [any other structures of supremacy], & be associated with the Other by betrayal of that theoretical boundary & oh you know Be Invested In & Practicing Living In A World where they & nobody else have the Power they're now supposedly entitled to, as white, man, abled, cishet, &c. or they can do the opposite & be holding on to white supremacy or their status in patriarchy or be billionaires all invested in reinforcing & exacerbating all the systems that make billionaires, What A Surprise, perhaps if people were nicer to them online? they wouldn't have gone "i didn't know you were richist >:( fine, Now i'm gonna be an asshole" & like i don't think The Answer is "how can we Convince billionaires to Really do the philanthropy & maybe stop with the exploitation & stuff" like their feelings are their personal problem & to hell with assuming a premise of "well, there'll be billionaires. how can we be nice & win them over to be less shitty to us" like why are there billionaires. why is there having to maybe, carefully, gently, strategically convince anyone to not embrace their Superior Power over you, b/c that's something they can just go ahead & do if they feel like it & you suffer the consequences even if you don't feel like it. what would interrupt / thwart the [i Can just seize this power i already have & am supposed to be all about it & More] what would interrupt / thwart the [people who just have to suffer the consequences of this] about the power not the attitude.

oh yeah & also free bingo space for anytime the idea of personal appeal to agents of systemic abuse to convince them to be nicer please / scapegoating victims of xyz for it happening to them or their failure to stop it already is framed as Just All That's Actually Realistic, oft with the bonus of being supposedly like groundbreakingly Too Edgy a concept. brave enough to say what everyone else is just too much of a pussy to face: e.g. needing to be nicer to misogynists :( like lmaooo as though catering to misogynists or the general concept of women needing to cater to men at all times / certainly not hurt their feelings or reject them is anything New that nobody's been exposed to & you're the only one brave enough to be like "ugh. the feminists are too mean to men" like i Think that concept has been floated lmaooo. as well as its logical extension that b/c of this men Must conclude women are not people & it Is the fault of bitches ruining their life lol like. it's not cutting edge Facing Facts. again, like. the US had its one foremost like representative of state power figurehead seat occupied by one black man & the response of white supremacist fascist being more open / prominent has sure been relevant ever since but like, what, that white supremacy wasn't there before? it's the fault of [the ostensible idea that a black president meant a "post racial" america lmaooo] like ooh even that obvious This Isn't Actually Game Over Racism was too far :( your fault :( like neither is that concomitantly all these other forms of bigotry shoring up this capitalist enterprise Which Were Already There & indeed already Normal, just more genteel, have become more open & elevated & yeah i'm sure people have More So become emotionally & materially invested in the systemic power they were already afforded but now feel is More Threatened. anyone & everyone being no less of a person than you threatens / denies / Betrays your power that would be supposedly guaranteed as a Superior. men who want to hold on to their superiority a) will get more invested in patriarchy & b) reward other men for doing so, always need that support & perpetuation, part of the whole point of it not really just being individual randos with that attitude problem.

anyway tl;dr not a mystery here & nobody has to turn the chair around to be like Real Talk, it's time for what nobody else is clearsighted enough to Understand & brave enough to argue: scapegoating. women being nice enough to men so men might treat them a bit more like people. trans people accepting they're being too demanding in this insistent "existing." uh oh The Left(tm) is being so antifascist that fascists hate it & are like "i'm about to fascism all over the place" so the lesson is don't say you or anyone ever are against fascism or you bring it upon yourself. & that's that on all of that always, gotta focus on personal attitudes, not the systems of power, in which case the personal attitudes of those in power matter as the only avenue to thwart that power, in which case all that those affected can do is try to make those in power feel as positively toward them as possible, in which case well let's all be as nonthreatening & compliant & nondisruptive as possible to that systemic power b/c otherwise they'll feel negatively toward us & we Must suffer whatever they choose to do with that (note also that indeed this edgy cleareyed bold & realistic strategy of attempting to comply & appeal & reassure will likely be viewed in retrospect as being a bad victim. supporting all protests except the current one)

like whoops that wasn't a tl;dr, can't make a short post. but i think if anyone's asking "damnn have we tried asking women to help men feel better :(" Yes. yeah. we have been doing that. "b/c they're responsible for how men feel & then act towards them, like [patriarchy-backed violence]" yep that has been posited i prommy

[spacelazarwolf]

gonna do a bit of a breakdown of my experience.

from whom do you see the most antisemitism?

i do see antisemitism from zionist jews. i’ve been told that i’m not really jewish or that i clearly don’t care about other jews because i’m not a zionist. there are also times where i’ve seen people basically blame diaspora jews for the antisemitism we face because We Should Just Move To Israel.

zionist goyim generally hate me for being trans, have also told me i’m not a real jew for a variety of reasons, and generally very much do not have my best interests at heart.

although sometimes easier to talk to than antizionist goyim, i have seen antisemitism from antizionist jews. it primarily comes in the form of dual loyalty, insisting that we have a unique responsibility to do something about what’s happening in israel, that it’s our fault and we must let everyone know that we know it’s our fault, and very often it seems this comes from a place of fear. maybe they want to preemptively address the accusations they know are going to come, or maybe they want to deflect the antisemitism in their circles onto an “acceptable target”, or maybe they really genuinely do care but because we have all been raised in societies where antisemitism is deeply engrained in the culture they have internalized this antisemitism as we all do and this is just one of the ways it manifests.

i see a LOT of antisemitism from antizionist goyim. a LOT. i’m not quite sure how to articulate just how much more overt antisemitism i have seen from antizionist non palestinian goyim, especially those who are white, than i have from any other group.

it’s not because zionist goyim aren’t antisemitic too, but to me the major difference is that gentile zionist antisemitism comes in the form of philosemitism. they see me as a character in their (usually christian) messianic story, not as a real person. gentile antizionist antisemitism comes in the form of covert or overt hatred. they also see me as a character in their story (usually also a messianic, most often christian, story), but in this story i am the villain, not a real person. we are not real people to either of these groups, but the way that dehumanization manifests is very different, and overwhelmingly the most overtly antisemitic dehumanizing rhetoric comes from non palestinian gentile antizionists.

from whom do you experience the most harassment?

for the most part, zionist jews who disagree with me leave me alone. i have experienced some badgering but so far no overt harassment.

i have not experienced harassment from any zionist goyim but that’s because i make it a point to never interact with them lmao.

i have experienced some harassment from antizionist jews, but largely it has been part of larger harassment campaigns led by…..

antizionist goyim. i have experienced horrific levels of harassment from antizionist goyim, the past few months especially. when my nonna died, i got messages from them saying they were glad she was dead, that they hoped she was getting raped in hell, that they were glad there was “one less zionist in the world.” i have gotten death threats, graphic descriptions of the ways people have wanted to rape me or wish i would be raped, i have been doxed, and harassed by a local group of activists because they didn’t like something a completely different jew said and then i was dogpiled by that same group when i expressed anger at the racist comments they made about a black jewish friend, the aforementioned completely different jew. i have been made to feel completely unsafe online and in person in spaces that are not explicitly under jewish jurisdiction to the point where i have attended pretty much no events outside of jewish events since december.

so in terms of harassment, there is no question. i have experienced astronomically more direct antisemitism and harassment from antizionist goyim than i have any other group.

posting this is a risk but i am really tired of feeling like i have to censor my experiences because it makes gentiles uncomfortable. i need this to be a wake up call, because the fact i feel safer around a conservative christian (as in do not fear my safety or livelihood) than i do a gentile progressive is terrifying to me, especially given that conservative christians are currently removing my rights to bodily autonomy in my state. i have no safe places to go other than jewish spaces, and i don’t want it to be like this. i don’t want to be isolated from the rest of my community. and i need non palestinian gentiles to take responsibility for their actions and their spaces.

No see results button for goyim or zionist Jews, sorry. Reblog for sample size if you'd like.

[viperbarnes]

Uptown Boy – [Oneshot]

40s!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: You've always played into the idea that you were nothing more than an airheaded, selfish socialite, it was easier than facing the rejection of who you truly were. Still, you were never able to fool your loyal driver, Bucky. No, Bucky Barnes saw right through you, and somehow he adored you anyway.

Warnings: lots of smut! reader is a bit of a mess, she's rude af lmao. there is a scene where somebody attempts to assault her, but it is not very vivid and they are stopped. the reader has a name, but it's written as a reader insert. she's described as being steve's half sister, but they are not blood related at all, and i wrote her as a woc, but there are no overt descriptions of her. i think that's all.

Notes: This is another of my old oneshots! This was a direct counterpart to my series Uptown Girl, which was about socialite!bucky, but you don't need to read it to read this.

story below the cut because it starts with smut lol

“Keep going, that’s it, that’s it… holy shit…” You grin wickedly despite your heaving chest and breathlessness. You have a vice grip on Bucky’s shoulders, his rough hands holding your hips just as tight as you bounce on his lap.

The space is small and cramped, but it wasn’t as if you’d never done it before. Your dress is gathered at your waist, out of the way, but pulled open at the front to expose your chest. He always did like to see your body, the very few times you allowed it.

“You feel so good Lilah, so fuckin—” you cut him off with your lips, his mindless sex babble always grated on you a little.

Not really, but it was easier to say that than admit anything else.

“Come on Barnes, fuck me good and proper, like you promised,” You whine, knowing full well he’s putty in your hands. Your own fingers swirl over the bundle of nerves just above where you’re connected, and really, with all the unbecoming grunting sounds he makes, you’re so close.

“Jesus Christ, you’re a fuckin vixen… I’ll fuck you good and proper like you deserve? Little brat,” You half scoff, half-laugh. He always got a little mean when he realised your games but that was just fine by you.

“You gonna teach me a lesson, Daddy?” You pout, gasping when your jaw is grabbed harshly, and yanked forward. You moan into his mouth as he kisses you hard, his cock slowing to give you long strokes that push your limits and you finally come apart around him, your spine arching as your release is pulled from you, around you in soft little waves.

Bucky pulls out of you, and you scoot back to watch as he only palms himself twice before he's cupping his hand over the head, trying to minimise the mess of his cum spurting out. You swallow at the sight but begin fixing yourself before he can recover.

“For the record. I don’t think that’s even half of what you deserve,” His voice, deep and rough, sends a shiver down your spine despite yourself and you look up at him, smirking and raising your brow.

“Oh? Not enough spanking? Maybe next time you should bend me over and—”

“I mean the back of the car. If I had it my way you’d have a bed,” The sureness with which he speaks makes your heart thump but you push it away.

This was only fun. It didn’t mean anything. He knew it as well as you.

You grab your purse and quickly check your hair and makeup, powdering your face and fixing your lipstick.

“I have to go.”

“I know.”

“I’ll see you later.”

“Will you?” You look up at him, smiling lazily at you and you bristle.

“Not with that attitude you won’t. Fix it first, driver,” It’s snarky, needlessly so, but it soothes over whatever soft feeling arises at the look he gives you.

“Have a good evening, Miss Langley.” You scoff and push open the car door.

You suppose the attitude is to be expected. It’s what you get for fucking your driver, some fella not nearly as high on the social ring as you. But maybe that’s why you liked doing it, he was rough, not afraid to grab you, to push you around a little… and maybe you liked that more than you’ll admit.

You fix your hair one last time as you step up along the gravel driveway toward the main house. Your parent’s butler opens the door for you as you near, and you give him a small, genuine smile.

“Stan. Good to see you well.”

“And you Miss Langley! It’s been too long!”

“I don’t like to leave the city, you know me,”

The older gentleman takes your coat you'd only just put on and your gloves, and you give him one last friendly smile.

“You go sit down, I know my way.”

“Thank you, Miss Langley, Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Stan.”

You turn back to the main foyer and roll your eyes at the laughter you can already hear coming from the drawing-room. You steel yourself and take a breath, before moving forward.

“Ah! If it isn’t my darling daughter! Gentlemen, let me introduce her!” You stand still as your Father approaches you, hand gliding over your back as he ushers you further into the room. You hadn’t been aware your parents had invited anybody but you.

“My youngest child, Delilah Langley. You might have seen her exploits in some of those gossip magazines–”

“–But I wouldn’t believe a word!” your mother adds sharply from the couch, and you look back to the men in front of you.

“Of course not. I’ve never swum in a chiffon dress. It's strictly silk or nothing,” your father bristles and coughs, but the gentlemen laugh kindly.

“Delilah, this is Mr Reginald Gorman and his son, Andrew Gorman,”

“A pleasure,” you shake their hands politely. Andrew is around your age, handsome enough but not really your type. Not nearly rough enough, with his perfectly combed hair and pristine suit. Your mother stands then, clasping her gloved hands together, her rings clinking against one another.

“Delilah, why don’t we powder our noses?” you want to roll your eyes, but instead, you smile politely at the two men.

“If you would excuse me,” you let your mother hook your arm around her as she leads you off to the nearest powder room.

The moment you’re alone, you take the time to pull out your lipstick, reapplying it once again and looking yourself over in the mirror.

“You need to pull yourself together,” your mother says, and you do roll your eyes this time.

“You smell like filth, like—like sex,”

You fix her with a bored look.

“That’s because I just let my driver fuck me in the backseat of my car. He’s very good at it, you see.”

She looks scandalised and glares harshly.

“That isn’t even funny. Don’t say stupid things,” she hisses, pulling perfume from one of the draws in the counter, and spritzing it over you.

“What did I do to deserve a daughter like…”

You stop speaking and you glower.

“The Gorman’s are well connected and they would be an excellent partner for your father to have in the business,” she says then, and you frown.

“Okay...”

“Andrew is your age. He’s handsome and—”

“You aren’t seriously trying to set me up, are you?!”

“Why not?”

You stare at her incredulously before she huffs and shakes her head.

“Delilah, you need to get over yourself. All you have to do in this life is to marry well, whatever you want to do on the side is up to you. You’re such a selfish girl, you’d have everything you’d want!”

“Oh, except for a loving marriage, excuse me!” you seeth, you can’t even believe she was suggesting this.

“What year is it?! 1789?!” you continue.

“Look who you were born into, look at the family you have and that of those around you. You don’t get to make those choices,” your mother scolds and you know just from her tone she’s not going to listen. Whatever you have to say she’ll ignore.

“Fix your hair and when you come back out, I expect a different attitude,” she breezes past you and you glare at her in the mirror and when the door shuts, you glare at your own reflection and the fact you’d told Bucky the same thing ten minutes ago.

All your life no matter what you did, the grades you got, how smart you were, nothing ever mattered to your parents aside from the way you looked and presented. Your brother was kind, he knew his parents ignored your education in favour of his, and he’d try to stand up for you, but he had his own issues. You don’t blame him for leaving the country the moment he could.

You played into who they wanted you to be. A socialite they wanted, a socialite they got. You partied too hard, flirted with every man in a ten-foot radius. It was fun, if you were honest, being the smartest person in the room at any given moment, playing them all for fools while you got what you wanted.

But it was biting you in the ass now.

It was too late to change your direction, you were a little past the normal age women settled down, it was now or never really. But you don’t know Andrew Gorman, and if you did know him, you doubted he’d be any different from every other rich boy with a rich father who lived off of their money.

You quickly fix your hair, making it a little messier even, and make your way back to the dining room.

You flirt heavily, almost too much with Andrew, your mother glaring at you across the table.

When dinner is over and the small group retire to the drawing-room once more, you excuse yourself to the bathroom but instead glide out of the home.

Bucky is waiting for you, opening the door and you don’t acknowledge him beyond a nod, sliding into the backseat.

The drive home is quiet. You’re lost in your thoughts.

You’d flirted with Andrew, but you hadn’t really paid him much mind. He was boring, a banker. Ugh. And your parents wanted you to marry him.

You imagine it, being married to him, having boring sex, living in a boring house, boring children. You half want to vomit.

You arrive home quickly, and you step out before Bucky can get the door, ignoring him as he calls a goodnight after you. You bathe and change and you’re halfway through brushing your hair when there’s a tapping on your window.

You ignore it, only looking up in the mirror as you go about pinning your hair back from your face and wiping your lipstick off. The window jiggles and then pops open, and you quickly look away, focusing on your own reflection as Bucky steps through the window, his foot landing on your bed briefly before he steps down, turns and closes the glass again.

“How many times do I need to tell you not to step on my bed with those disgusting boots?!” you huff, and finally, meet his eye in the mirror.

“Come off it, Lilah. What’s gotten into you tonight?” Bucky crosses his arms over his chest. You bristle at his concerned frown and finish wiping your face.

“You know I never like spending time with ‘The Langley’s’,”

Bucky shakes his head.

“No, it’s more than that. You’re upset.”

Again, you bristle, because he had absolutely no right to know you that well.

“It’s nothing.”

“Is it nothing? Or is it nothing that you want me to worry about?” he challenges, and God, you hate him sometimes.

You stand, letting your nightgown fall open, fully aware you hadn’t put pyjamas on yet.

“Both,” you purr, stepping to him, letting your hand slide over his chest. His eyes follow you and you know you’ve got him distracted enough that he’ll stop asking about your business. You push on his chest and he stumbles back, catches himself on the edge of your bed and you pounce, following him down.

You sink to your knees in front of him, fingers tugging at his pants already, the buttons coming apart fast and you’re pulling his cock from the confines of his briefs.

“Jesus, sweetheart…” Bucky breaths above you, his hands trailing over your shoulders and up to your hair as you lean over him.

Your lips settle around him quickly, and you know it's probably not a good thing, but you always loved the rebellious thrill you felt when you were fucking somebody.

It felt wrong, and that felt right.

You bob your head quickly, swirling your tongue over and under him, listening to his gasps and grunts of approval, your core tingling whenever his hands tighten and pull on your hair.

“God, you’re so good at that, baby, keep going, all the way….. Fuck!”

You genuinely preen at the praise, push yourself until you feel him hit the back of your throat and you hold there for a moment before pulling back completely, gasping and breathing hard. Bucky groans, watching you, one hand still in your hair, and the other moving to take himself in hand.

“Here, sweetheart lemme see…”

You open your mouth, still breathing hard and lick around his head, the velvety skin hot and throbbing under your lips and you watch him watching you.

“Fuck, you’re so good, hmm? So good, darlin’...”

You sink over him again and keep his eye contact. His free hand pushes your gown open, down your shoulders and he reaches forward, palming a breast with a groan. He pinches a nipple tightly and you whine around his cock.

“Yeah, do that sweetheart, fuck, make some noise for me,”

You do as asked, really the only time you obey anybody when they tell you what to do. You moan around him, helped by the fact he keeps pinching your nipple, and you can tell now with how he twitches that he’s close.

“God, you’re so pretty like this, so pretty when you ain’t talking back. Should just put my cock in your mouth next time you mouth off, mhmm?”

You whine at the thought of him pushing you to your knees, his length heavy in your mouth. You whine at the fact you have him between your lips now.

“Would you like that? Bet you would, filthy little brat,” he always gets more talkative the closer he is and you fucking love it. His hands tighten in your hair, pulling and you moan as he comes, the back of your throat coated in hot white and you swallow around him, relishing in the feel. You pull back a little and suck on the head of his cock until he’s jerking back from you, half a chuckle out his lips already.

“Fuckin’ hell…”

You pout up at him, watching as he recovers, and duck under his slightly softening length, lips wrapping around one of his balls and you suck lightly, wanting more from him, but he’s pushing you away again.

“You’re gonna need to give me a second, christ,”

You scrunch your nose and sit back.

With your small rebellion completed and the past five minutes committed to memory, you don’t feel much like any more tonight.

You hum and pull your nightgown closed again as you stand.

“I have an early morning,” you say, turning away from him and moving to your bathroom. Bucky shifts and watches you, blinking.

“Oh… I thought…”

“Not tonight. You got what you came for, now I need to sleep,” you can’t see him from where you stand at your sink, and for some reason, you feel nervous.

Bucky frowns a little, but tucks his cock back into his briefs, pulling his pants up and buttoning them.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, then, Miss Langley.”

You don’t reply, can’t bring yourself with how quietly dejected he sounds.

It was only fun. It didn’t mean anything. You both knew it.

You hear your window open and close and when you finally exit your bathroom, you lock it, turning out your light, and wishing he’d fought you on staying.

“Is Catherine really wearing Chanel with those Balenciaga’s?!”

You turn to look over your shoulder, to a table some ways away and stifle a snort.

“You know how much she likes to remind people how rich daddy is,”

“Regardless of class.”

You chuckle at that, and lean back in your seat, sipping your champagne.

Another day, another breakfast luncheon.

“Have you seen that Andrew Gorman, Delilah?”

You turn back to Renee, rolling your eyes.

“He’s here? Christ, my mother’s relentless,” you down the rest of your glass.

“Wait, your mother? Is she trying to set you up with Andrew?!”

Your other friend, Susie leans forwards, and you roll your eyes again.

“Trying. She thinks she can just tell me who to marry and that’s that.”

Renee and Susie exchange looks and you frown.

“What?”

“Well, why wouldn’t you want to marry him?”

“What?”

“He’s handsome—”

“—rich—”

“—What more do you need?”

You stare at the two in front of you before leaning forwards and grasping the champagne bottle by the neck, pouring yourself another glass.

“Perhaps love? Is that so foolish?”

“Oh come on Delilah, when have you ever wanted love?!” Renee laughs and you notice for the first time what an ugly sound it is.

“Perhaps when it comes to marriage?” you shoot back. A hand comes to rest over yours.

“All a good marriage requires is money and a blind eye,” Susie says matter-of-factly and you glare.

“Oh, yes, because being forced to spend your days with someone you despise, while a lover sneaks around truly fathering your children is much better,” you hiss, and she bristles, smoothing down her dress.

“There is absolutely no pro—”

“—shut up, Susie,” you snap. You were hardly in the mood anymore.

You have no idea why you spend your time with either of the women, they were so shallow and conceited and— 

Well, you suppose you are too. If it walks like a duck…

But you know you aren’t. Not really.

Well, maybe a little.

But you were more than that. You knew business, you’d studied with your brother, not officially, but he’d lend you his books, encourage you in your learning. You weren’t dumb, regardless of popular belief, and regardless of how much you encouraged it.

Once upon a time, you’d dreamed of going to Paris, studying fashion, perhaps opening your own boutique, but after your brother had left the States, your parents had insisted you stay.

You don’t want to marry Andrew. You don’t want to be a trophy wife with a string of children who all look suspiciously like your driver.

You quickly finish your glass, standing abruptly and grabbing your purse.

“Where are you—?”

“—I’ve had my fill of bourgeoisie for today,” you turn up your nose at the two women, even as they gasp in offence, and take your leave.

You exit the hotel ballroom without much flair, breezing past several older society ladies who scoff at you as you go.

In the lobby, you spy Bucky sitting on one of the couches, newspaper in hand. He looks up as you step past him, double-taking before he hurries to stand, folding the paper and rushing after you, getting the door before you reach it, but only just.

“They run dry already, Miss Langley?” he asks, following you down the steps of the hotel.

“Not everything is about drinking and dancing,”

“Well, no, it isn’t. But it’s usually a pretty good guess when it comes to you.”

You shoot him a deep glare, but don’t reply as you both wait for your car to be brought around.

“Home, Ma’am?” Bucky asks, looking at you in the rearview mirror.

“My father's building,” you correct him.

“His… The Langley Holdings building?”

“Is that not what I just said?” you know you’re being snappy, and truly he doesn’t deserve your ire, but why must you explain yourself to everyone?!

Bucky raises a brow, but nods and you stare out the window as the city begins to move slowly by.

You arrive in good time, it was still near midday and if you were lucky, your father won’t have finished his lunch hour yet.

“Shall I wait?”

“You know I love it when you wait on me,” you smile slyly at Bucky as you pass him, your hand briefly playing against his lapel and he snorts as he closes the door.

“Don’t I know it.”

Being your father’s daughter means the moment you step into the building, you’re escorted wherever you want without question. You ride the elevator quietly as it takes you all the way up to the twentieth floor, and when the doors roll open, you step out without waiting for your escort.

“I can show myself, George,” you dismiss the man with a wave of your hand and continue past the receptionist who sputters at you as you push through the large mahogany doors of your father’s office. You close them behind you.

“Delilah? What are you doing here?” Your father grins brightly from behind his desk, standing as you move forward.

“I want a job,” you tell him, your voice steady and your hands clasped in front of you. Your father’s brow raises high and he fixes you with a highly amused look.

“A job?! Why on earth would you want a job?!”

“Because I believe I could be a valuable asset. You know I’m not dumb, you’re always telling me in your lectures. I don’t want to—”

“—Delilah, I’m not going to give you a job.”

Your mouth shuts with the firmness in his tone and you blink. You weren’t used to being told ‘no’ from anyone.

“Think of all that stress and time…” he moves around his desk to wrap an arm around your shoulder, and you frown up at his condescending demeanour.

“All you need to worry about is making it work with Andrew Gorm—”

“Oh for god’s sake!” You tear away from him, throwing your hands up in the air.

“You can’t just— Tell me who I’m going to marry!” you explode, and your father’s face turns furious, he raises a finger to point at you.

“I can and I will if you want to live off of my money!”

Your mouth shuts again, and you stare at him incredulously for a moment.

“You’re not going to continue to laze about on my dime. You can either marry Gorman or you’ll be cut off. That is final—”

You don’t stay to listen to anything else he might say, storming out of his office as fast as you’d come. You manage to keep a straight face all the way down to the lobby, right until you climb back into your car, slamming the door as hard as you can, making Bucky jump.

“Drive.”

“Where?”

“Anywhere! Jesus, just drive! It’s your damn job!” you yell, and immediately feel awful. It wasn’t Bucky’s fault.

God, why were you always so awful to him.

He blinks but you feel the car pull away. You sink into the corner of your seat, unable to stop yourself as you begin to sob into your fist. You slouch down and try to curl yourself up as small as possible.

This was your own fault really.

You’d spent so many years playing into the idea that you really were as dumb as everyone thought, and now you weren’t so sure it really was all an act. Nobody truly smart would limit their own options like you had.

You really were nothing but a selfish, spoiled, little rich girl. No real education, no prospects, just your father’s money. and stupid Andrew Gorman.

You don’t hide your crying as well as you hoped you might, because after a few minutes you feel the car pull to a stop. In your misery and self loathing, you’re about to snap at Bucky to drive again, but before you can, he’s climbing out of his seat and into the back with a slammed door.

You sob more, realising even after how terribly you treated him, he was going to try to comfort you. You don’t deserve it.

You’re engulfed in warmth, the comfort only another body can offer and you don’t stop yourself from wrapping your arms around his neck, holding him tightly as you cry.

Bucky doesn’t seem to mind that you’re crying all over him, which makes you cry more, he just adjusts his hold on you, arms soothingly running up and down your back as you weep.

“Shh, it’s alright Li, I’ve got you, let it out, sweetheart…”

You want him to hate you, for how mean you are to him, but he can’t even do that with how good he is.

“What’s wrong, baby? What happened?”

You can only shake your head, any words you have dying into a sobbed babble.

“I’m s-sorry… I-I’m sorry,” you snivel after a while and Bucky pulls back, looking down at you in both genuine sympathy and shock. His eyes soften after a moment though and he cups your face, wiping away your tears.

“Now I know something’s really wrong…” he says quietly, a tiny smile playing on his lips.

“When my unapologetic little brat apologises to me…”

You can’t help but snort, trying to make it sound like a scoff but you fail, and he smiles wider, having made you smile.

He removes his hand from your face and you whine quietly, only for it to return a moment later when he pulls his handkerchief from his jacket pocket, wiping your eyes.

“You’re alright, Lilah. Whatever it is. You’re the smartest, most capable dame I know. You’ll get through, Sweetheart.”

You nod, wanting him to ask you what is wrong, but he doesn’t, having learnt his lesson from last night, and it’s nothing you don’t deserve.

Bucky holds you for a while longer, before driving you home, and you spend the rest of your day ruminating in your room, thinking over your options.

Your mother, ambitious as she is on your behalf, arranges a date for you and Andrew Gorman, and thanks to her knowing you’d never agree otherwise, you don’t realise until you’re standing getting into the car.

Gorman has only smiled sheepishly at your barely contained surprise, and before you could even get back out again, he’d raised his hands in surrender.

“Please, Miss Langley, hear me out! I just want to take you out once, I promise you, you’ll change your mind.”

You’d only huffed, and raised an eyebrow. You highly doubted that.

He had surprised you somewhat when you’d exited the car sometime later only to find yourself all the way out in Coney Island, standing in front of Luna Park.

“An amusement park?” You ask dryly. Andrew straightens his coat jacket and smiles in the way only somebody who had a reason to do so could.

“I might have heard you think bankers are boring,” he says, offering an arm to you.

“I do. They are,” you reply, eyeing him gingerly before looping your hand through his elbow.

“Let me show you I’m not,” he smiles boyishly again and when he looks away, you roll your eyes.

It was as if he’d made a list of places that would make him seem relaxed and carefree, and yet while in line you spy him scrunching you his nose at the sight of screaming children and families.

Andrew pays for your tickets and you move around the park slowly, every so often offering comments on an attraction, or food that looked positively middle-class.

You’ve narrowly escaped an attempt to persuade you onto the Ferris wheel, and you’re looking around you for a place that might sell you something with an alcohol content above that on the breath of the food tenders as they exhale over their wares, but you see none.

What you do see, however, makes your skin crawl.

Bucky, dressed not in his usual black suit, but in shades of brown and white, his sleeves rolled up slightly, and his jacket slung over his arm. This alone wouldn’t upset you, it was his day off after all, except that he’s handing his jacket and hat to a pretty girl, winking at her as he does so, and further pushing up his sleeves as he grasps the hammer of the game they’re stood in front of.

A date?

Bucky was on a date?!

Jealousy overcomes you and you have the urge to run over and slap the girl across the cheeks. And then him. Twice.

How dare he?

Well, because he wasn’t yours, that’s how, the rational part of your brain argues, and you seeth.

Andrew directs you to a place to sit and eat, and you spy Bucky and his date moving to another restaurant seating area nearby too. He leaves the girl with a smile as he moves over to inspect the food options and your eyes quickly snap to your own date.

“Would you excuse me for a moment?”

“Oh, sure! I’ll watch the table.” Gorman says, looking around for a waiter, and you roll your eyes again. You disappear into the crowd easily, following Bucky until you spy him nearing a stall nearer to the edge of the rows of food stalls and tents.

By the time you’ve cornered him behind a tent, pulling him by the hand and shirt, he’s blinking in surprise at you.

“Lila—”

You cut him off with a kiss, a reminder more than anything, and for a moment he relaxes, kissing you back. You spin a hand around the nape of his neck, flicking your tongue across his own before you pull away just slightly.

“Does she kiss you like this? I bet not,” you scoff, dragging him back to you and for one more blissful second his mouth slots perfectly against yours.

That ends when he suddenly pulls away from you, stepping away, glaring down at you.

“What?” he spits. You coo, purring as you step forward into his space again, dragging your hand over his chest.

“Your date,” you say, jerking in surprise when Bucky takes your hand and pushes it off him, stepping back again.

“What is wrong with you?” he demands, and you feel the words slice through your stomach, spinning it around in confusion and embarrassment.

“What?”

“You can’t just— Delilah, what I do on my own time is up to me. You’ve made it perfectly clear that us— what we do, is just fun. That’s all. You can’t— you can’t insert yourself wherever you want!” Bucky seethes. You blink at his angry words, though you can tell he’s restraining himself, like he’s explaining to a disobedient child, and it makes you even more annoyed.

“‘Insert’ myself?!” you repeat, ready to chew his ear off, but your words die in your throat when he raises a hand to quiet you, shaking his head.

“Go home, Miss Langley.”

Bucky leaves you open-mouthed in the spaces behind the tents. Your anger at his scolding helps you not to cry, and you straighten your dress, fix your hair briefly, before stepping back out into the crowds.

Fine. If he didn’t want you, you’d find someone who did.

Then he’d be sorry.

You sights set on Andrew as you saunter back to the table, and you briefly catch sight of Bucky, his gaze following you for just a moment until you sit back down and you know he’s seen Andrew now.

Good. Serves him right.

You lay it on thick. You don’t even feel bad about it, because Andrew seemed more than happy for you to hang at his side as you walked, laughing girlishly at his bad jokes. You flirt terribly, all your inner turmoil disappearing slightly every time the man blushes just slightly. But it always comes back again, so you keep going.

You stay out with him all day, longer than you’d intended to, and when the park finally begins quietening down, you make your way back to the car.

“I’m glad you had a good time,” Andrew says, and you laugh.

“Eventually, at least.”

“Have I changed your mind?” he asks, opening the car door for you, and you turn to him, humming in a faux deep thought.

“I’m not sure yet,” you reply. Really, you didn’t want to give the guy the entirely wrong idea. You had no plans on seeing him again.

“Oh? I should try harder then.”

You almost smile at the words, but it’s cut off when he grabs your face, pressing his lips to yours clumsily.

At first you’re in shock, not quite knowing what’s happening, but it doesn’t last long, and you’re pushing him away as best you can.

“Andrew! Get off me!” you scold. Some men just needed to be set on the right track forcibly. Andrew’s brows raise, but he doesn’t let you go, his hands now sliding down to hold your body to him.

“You seemed so interested earlier, touching me, smiling, laughing… come on sweetheart, don’t leave a fella hanging…”

You gasp, struggling again when he’s kissing you once more, but his hold on you this time is too strong for you to push away.

Still, you squirm as much as you can, trying to rip your mouth from his, and when you do for half a second you scream.

“Help!—” you’re drowned out by his hand slapping over your mouth and you’re shoved back into the side of the car.

“Shut up, and get in!” Andrew growls, already pushing you down.

You kick at him, try to scratch him with your nails, but you’re blindsided by a powerful thwack to your cheek, your vision spinning for a moment as pain blooms in your jaw. 

Anger, fury overcomes you then, and you kick out even harder at the man trying to crowd you, his hands gathering up the bottom of your skirts.

“Get off me! Get the fuck off me!”

“Such a filthy mouth, we’ll have to do something about that,” Andrew chuckles. A pit opens in your stomach then as his hand latches onto the front of your dress, ripping it open and you can’t help it, you cry.

“Stop it, Andrew! Please! Get off—” you choke out, scared of how pathetic you sound to your own ears. However, before Andrew can get his hands on you further, he is suddenly yanked back, away from the car.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?!” a familiar voice growls, and you push yourself up, covering your chest, watching with wide eyes as Bucky steps between you and Andrew, his shoulders squared, his face the most furious you’d ever seen it.

“I think there’s been a misunderstanding, pal, my wife is just being diffic—”

“She’s not your wife,” Bucky cuts him off, and Andrew bristles and seethes, looking him up and down then.

“I’m warning you buddy, get lost now,” Andrew attempts to threaten, but Bucky only steps even closer, finger prodding harshly into the other man’s chest.

“No, I’m warning you; you ever even think about touching her again, and they won’t even know where to start looking for your body,” Bucky hisses, his voice dangerous, and you’re briefly reminded of why exactly you’d hired him. Andrew’s face flashes with fear, and you see him swallow. You finally gather yourself enough to clamber to your feet, holding your torn dress together.

“You got that, kid?” Bucky’s still threatening, still crowding the other man’s space when you stumble forward to grasp his arm, tugging slightly.

“Bucky, please, can we go?” you sniffle, relieved when he wraps turns from Andrew and immediately throws his arm around your shoulder, however he doesn’t break his eye contact with Andrew for another moment or so, until he’s guiding you away from the car.

You’re shaking involuntarily still sniffling when suddenly Bucky freezes, and he looks down at you, searching you over.

“Are you alright?! I heard someone scream, I didn’t— I didn’t realise it was you until I saw him…”

You nod, wrapping your arms around yourself as the evening chill sets in on top of your shaken nerves and ripped dress.

“Aw Jesus, what the fuck…” he laments, looking you over again, taking in your torn dress and you shrug.

“It’s fine, I’m fine,” you deflect, but his eyes only darken. Before he can say anything however, a shout from nearby makes you both look up.

“Bucky?! Buck what happened?!” A young girl, the same one from earlier you realise, runs over. You can’t help but bristle as she nears and Bucky steps away from you and toward her.

“Becca, pass me my jacket, her dress got ripped up.”

The girl, Becca, holds out the brown coat as she nears, and Bucky quickly takes it from her, turning back to you and wrapping it around your shoulders, fussing with it for a few moments like a mother hen.

You pull your arms through the sleeves and adjust it to cover you properly.

“Thank you,” you say quietly, eyeing them both as the girl comes to stand next to Bucky, and he places a hand on her back.

“Lilah, this is my sister, Rebecca,” he tells you, eyeing you knowingly.

You blink.

Sister?

You didn’t know he had a sister! You’d thought she was his date!

You feel utterly foolish for your display earlier, but try to not let it show as Becca smiles obliviously, and more importantly, kindly at you.

“Oh, I know who you are, my brother talks about you—” she’s cut off by Bucky nudging her, and you look between the siblings for a moment before clearing your throat.

“It’s very nice to meet you, Becca… I’m– I’m sorry for ruining your evening,” you sigh, wiping your face and she rushes forward, making you jump when she takes your hands in her own, as if you’d known her for years.

“Of course not! We heard your crying, I’m just glad Bucky found you!”

“As am I…” you sigh, looking down at yourself before you straighten.

“Well, I will walk back to the main office and ask somebody to call me a cab—”

“Like hell, you will,” Bucky says, receiving a nudge of his own from Becca.

“I’ll take you home. Come on.”

You aren’t given much room for argument, not when Becca wraps her arms through yours and pulls you along.

“I have to drop Becca home first, or Ma will hide me for making her miss dinner, but then we’ll be on our way,” Bucky tells you once you’re settled in the car, looking at you in the rearview mirror. You only nod silently, and he frowns.

As the Island meets the mainland, and you begin driving through Brooklyn, you find yourself mesmerised with the sights you’re met with.

You’d never really been to Brooklyn before, not these parts anyway, and as the houses get older, the clear level of wealth does as well.

Bucky lived here? Your family paid him well, you don’t know what exactly, but it wasn’t like you couldn’t afford to, so why was his family home in such an area of town?

You pull up at last to a house tucked next five to identical homes, all of them in various states of disrepair. The paint was slightly chipped, and you spy a rip in the flywire as you’re led up the steps, Becca having convinced you both to come inside first.

“Ma! We’re home!” Bucky calls out, closing the door behind him, and once again you’re mesmerised. You’d never seen a home that looked so cluttered and yet, organised and clean. The couch had patches sewn into it on spots, the radio sitting above the fireplace was old, even for the model type, and the curtains were similar, but mismatching.

A woman steps around the corner from the kitchen, apron on over a simple dress. Immediately, you see the family resemblance and can’t stop  from smiling to yourself.

“There you are! I was wondering when you wer—” she stops, eyes landing on you, before she looks between her children for a moment.

Bucky steps forward, his hand on your back.

“Mama, this is Miss Lilah Langley, I drive for her, remember.”

“Oh! Well, it’s lovely to meet you Miss Langley, I’m Winnie, Bucky’s mother! I’m so sorry, I’m afraid I’m not dressed for company!” she smooths out her apron nervously, and you wave her off, opening your borrowed jacket just a little.

“Neither am I, Mrs Barnes,” you tell her, and her eyes bug out.

“Wha— What on earth! You look like somebody dragged you through a hedge backwards, If I may say!” she hurries over to you then, buzzing around you in full mothering mode as she smooths down some of your hair, and cups your cheek, her thumb brushing over a rather sore spot on your cheek.

You feel your face warm at such tenderness and are glad when she looks to Bucky and Becca for an explanation.

“The creep she was out with, I found him tryna…” Bucky trails off awkwardly, looking to Becca who crosses her arms.

“He was tryna force himself on her, that’s what! Bucky ran over and told him what!” she says proudly, and Winnie gasps.

“I… I didn’t, I just told him to get lost…” Bucky rubs his neck, and it's sweet for you to see him in this environment. Clearly he was cursed to be surrounded by strong-willed women in every walk of his life. Or blessed, you aren’t sure.

Winnie looks back to you and strokes your cheek again.

“Oh darlin’, how awful, thank god for my boy, huh? How about we get you into something else for dinner, and then after I’ll fix this up? Hmm?”

You’re a little taken aback by how quickly she welcomes you fully and you stutter, your mouth a little dry.

“Becca, take Miss Lilah upstairs and find her something to put on, put her dress in the sewing room. I’ll take a look after we’ve eaten.”

You glance back at Bucky nervously as you’re directed up the stairs, and he watches you as you go, giving you a comforting nod.

“I’m afraid we don’t have anything quite as lovely as this…” Becca says once you’ve removed your torn dress, holding it to her face as she peers over the fabric and the stitching.

“It’s alright. I’m not allergic to lesser-quality—” you cut yourself off, face growing warm as you look at the younger woman.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—”

Becca eyes you, but shrugs.

“My mama will be able to fix this perfectly. Is this really Dior?” her voice sounds disbelieving and you frown a little as you pull the replacement dress up your hips, and fiddle with the buttons up the front.

“Of course. I bought it in Paris last year,” you tell her, and Becca sighs dreamily behind you. You turn, finding her pulling open a drawer that clangs slightly.

“Paris… how dreamy…”

You feel a little bad, maybe you shouldn’t have mentioned it, not when you can clearly see she and her mother share a bedroom that is the size of your shoe closet.

“Do you like fashion?” you hear yourself asking, as you step closer to see what she’s doing and find her rifling through a small collection of belts, all in various stages of wear or disrepair. She grins up at you with the brightest eyes you’ve ever seen.

“I love it! Sometimes I go to Mr Gorseki’s newsagent and read through Vogue. He always catches me though. But he does sell me the old issues for half price!”

You smile at the story and cock your head as she pulls out a belt and compares it up to the simple sky-blue day dress you wear.

“Hmm…” she puts it back and you watch her work for a moment, before pointing to a red belt.

“Why not that one?”

“Red? With blue?”

“It contrasts. You wear belts to accentuate your waist anyway, by wearing a contrasting colour there, you do more to draw the eye,” you say, and she stares up at you listening intently like you were a preacher.

“I see!” she pulls the red belt and you lift your arms so she can wrap it around your waist, buckling it at the front. She steps back and nods.

“I wish I could get away with wearing an outfit like that,” she sighs and you frown.

“You can.”

“Oh no, you don’t wanna dress too flashy round here. It’s just askin’ to get robbed,” she tells you, turning away to grab a hanger that she puts your dress on, before leading you from the room, down the hall.

“Oh. I see,” you say, swallowing curtly.

She opens another door, and moves in, hanging the dress from the curtain rail. The room was obviously a bedroom but had been converted into a sewing room, a desk with a simple machine set up on one side, and an ironing board and baskets of clothing littering the rest of it.

“Mama got so much work from the neighbourhood, she had to turn her bedroom into this just so she had enough space.”

“Work?” you ask, as she ushers you out again, turning off the light and closing the door.

“Yeah, she’s an amazing seamstress, she made the dress you’re wearing now!”

You look down at it, reconsidering it again. It was lovely, simple, but well made and designed.

“But, people started asking her to do their ironing as well, and now that’s mostly what she does. I think it upsets her, but she’ll lie and say honest work is good for the soul no matter.”

You hum and Becca delivers you to a small, cramped bathroom.

“Wash up your face. I’ll tell Mama to get some ice ready for you downstairs,” she tells you and you frown.

“Ice? For what?”

“Your cheek.” And then she closes the door.

You blink and turn to find the mirror, approaching it and gasping.

The left side of your jaw and cheek is mottled with a purple and blue bruise that blooms across your skin. You lean forward to poke at it and hiss, unsure of what you had expected.

Andrew had punched you. He’d actually hit you.

You move to sit on the edge of the bath and stare down at your hands. Anything could have happened if Bucky hadn’t heard you, if you hadn’t had that moment to scream. You imagine what might have transpired, what you would have done to get away. Tears sting at your eyes again and you jump with gasp at a gentle knocking on the door.

“Li? It's Bucky… Becca said you might need some ice…”

You stand, wiping your tears and putting on a brave face as you move to open the door.

“Thank you. I didn’t realise… I didn’t know how it looked…” you step back and take the offered bunch of ice, wrapped in a tea towel, but he doesn’t release it.

Bucky stares at you for a moment, before he sighs.

“Come on, sit down, lemme see.”

You obey quietly, unsure of what else you’re supposed to do, and hand him back the wad of ice as you sit on the bath. You stare straight ahead as he steps closer, gently tipping your face back with one hand, and pressing the frozen water to your cheek with the other.

“What your mother must think…” you shake your head just slightly and Bucky scoffs.

“She’s seen worse, trust me. Are you alright?” his question tucked on the end of his words makes you pause and you want to tell him once more that you’re fine, of course you are, but you can’t, your mouth disobeying your brain.

“Not really, no.”

Bucky stops moving then and the ice is replaced with his thumb, gently stroking your skin. You close your eyes at the threat of more tears, and lean into his touch.

“I’m sorry,” he speaks so softly you wonder how you’d even heard him.

“For what?” You let out a humourless laugh.

“Look at me. Lilah, look at me.”

You force yourself to open your eyes, and find Bucky crouched in front of you now, his own eyes boring into your own.

“I’m sorry for what I said earlier. It wasn’t… I shouldn’t have said it. I was upset, I thought you’d followed me…” his eyes dart down for a moment, but he looks back to you, and you can’t help but roll your eyes.

“As if I don’t have better things to do than to follow you on your day off, Barnes,” you sniff. His face scrunches into a grin, and he chortles.

“There you are. The quiet, thankful act was startin’ to worry me,” he jokes and you roll your eyes again. He stays smiling for a moment before he turns more serious again.

“Nobody's gonna touch you like that again, okay? You come and tell me, do you hear?” Bucky squeezes your hands, his voice low and dangerous again, but it doesn’t scare you. You nod, unable not to and Bucky lets out a breath.

“Good,” Bucky nods, and raises the ice back to your cheek, his other hand moving to smooth out and fix your messy hair. You find yourself conflicted between feeling unworthy of his concern, but preening at it all the same.

Dinner with the Barnes’ is a warm affair, Becca and Winnie asking you about your trip(s) to Paris, and fashion in general. You ask them about their own work, learning that Winnie was teaching Becca how to sew, but their day jobs often interfered. You laugh and smile more genuinely and more often than you have in years, and by the time you’re putting your repaired dress back on, your cheeks hurt, but not from Andrew’s slap.

“I would never have known it had been ripped, this is incredible work, Mrs Barnes!” you gush, and the older woman simply waves you off with a bashful smile.

“Oh it’s nothing, just some careful stitch work!”

“Do you take commissions?” you turn, and she flounders for a moment.

“Well– well I would, but I have so much to get done… I’m afraid I just don’t have the time.”

You grin and take her hands in your own.

“One commission from me, and you won’t have to get anything else done,” your eyes twinkle as you take in Winnie’s surprised expression.

Bucky drives you home, but you could have floated with how light the evening has made you feel. You almost forget how it all started.

“Becca likes you,” Bucky says, opening your door, and you shrug, taking his offered hand as you step out.

“Don’t worry, she’ll get to know me and get over it.”

Bucky shakes his head with a smile, and walks you up the front steps.

“Will you come up?” you ask, coyly, not quite wanting him to leave yet, still floating.

“I still need to thank you properly for saving me,” you purr, and Bucky’s breathing skips ever so slightly as you press your hand against his chest like earlier, but unlike then, this time when he takes your hand, he just holds it there, squeezing.

“Not tonight,” he says softly. You frown, stomach sinking a little, and you think for a moment that perhaps you really had screwed up everything in your life by waiting too long. Before you can speak however, Bucky pulls you near, leaning in until his lips delicately meet yours.

For a minute you freeze, memories of the afternoon flashing through your mind.

But Bucky wasn’t Andrew, and he’d never hurt you, so when your mind comes back to you seconds later, you sigh into him fully, wrapping your hand around the nape of his neck once more.

His own hands glide over your sides before he envelops you fully, curling you tenderly into him. Your heart thumps wildly in your chest, and you half expect him to change his mind, for his hands to start travelling, for him to push your door open and take you right there in the entryway of your home.

But he doesn’t.

He pulls away after a moment, ignoring your soft protests, but keeps you close, kissing your forehead.

“Goodnight, Miss Langley,” he says lowly, finally untangling from you, but only so he can lean past you, to unlock your door as you stare, utterly bewitched.

“G-goodnight, Mr Barnes…” you swallow thickly, reluctantly letting him pull away from your hold, and watching as he walks back to the car.

No man had ever just kissed you goodbye at the door.

No man but Bucky Barnes.

“Is this all?” Bucky asks, loading one last hat box into the trunk of the car, and you hum, pushing up off the front gate where you’d been watching him for the last ten minutes. He wipes a bead of sweat off his forehead and turns to look at you, hands on his hips, chest heaving.

“Yes. But we still need to stop on the way,” you inform him, and he moves in sync with you, opening the car door and helping you climb inside. Summer had officially begun, and you were on your way to the Hamptons, to stay in your family’s chateau for a few days.

And more importantly, to attend the Summer Soiree. Less of a celebration for the Summer, and more of an excuse for all you rich people to show off and get drunk while judging one another for various tresspasses.

Bucky gets in the driver’s seat and starts up the car.

“Where are we stopping?” He asks.

“Forster & Son. On fifth,” you inform him and watch as he gets the car in gear before pausing, looking at you in the mirror.

“Isn’t that a menswear store?”

“Yes. You can’t expect to go to a ball without a half decent suit, and you will absolutely not be wearing that,” you nod to his work uniform of a simple black suit. He turns around fully to stare at you.

“What?”

“Well, you can’t be my date and show up in anything less than Dior, but they don’t do tailoring on the day.”

“Your date? To a society event?” Bucky blinks and you roll your eyes.

“Yes, Bucky. Now go! We’re already running late!”

Bucky stares for another moment before he turns back around, exhaling sharply as he begins driving.

“Hmn, is there a more fitted jacket, Gertrude? I think we should be emphasising his figure more. It is such a nice one…” you wink at Bucky over the older woman’s shoulder, watching from your nearby seat as he stands stiffly up on the podium. Gerty hums her agreement and moves to pick a different jacket from a rack of hangars.

Bucky carefully removes the one he’s wearing, his eyes flickering back to you every so often. You’re almost certain he’s never been fawned or fussed over this much before, let alone in a designer shop.

“Here,” Gerty hands him the new coat and he slides it on gingerly.

“Oh, yes. Yes, yes, yes. That is perfect!” you breathe, standing and moving toward him.

“Gertrude? There’s a gentleman who would like to ask you about his tailoring…” the shop girl pokes her head into the mirrored room you stand in and the older woman excuses herself.

“S’okay?” Bucky asks, and you nod slowly, eyeing him up.

“Oh yes. I think this will do nicely…” you take his jacket and do the buttons up, never breaking his eye contact. From where he stands on the podium, you’re even shorter than usual, staring up at him from his bellybutton. You see him swallow thickly when you run your hands over his front, and then down his legs, and his eyes flicker to the door.

“Uh… Won’t she be back…”

“Not for a while… She’s being asked about tailoring, any man who has his suits tailored is thorough,” you purr, and lightly palm his cock through the designer pants. Bucky jumps, biting back a groan when you continue with harder strokes.

“Lilah…” he warns, and you look back at him innocently.

“Don’t you trust me?”

“Not in your goddamn—” his words choke off into a strained whine when you pull the pants apart, letting them fall to his ankles along with his briefs.

“Turn around,” you coo, and with an exasperated sigh, he shuffles to face the half circle of mirrors, arranged so customers could view themselves from multiple angles. You had a better idea for use of them though.

You slink around to his front and hum in approval, before you lean forward just slightly, resting your knees on the edge of the standee, taking his hips in your hands. With little fanfare, you take him in your mouth once again, eyes flickering up to his face where he looks down at you, jaw clenching.

It doesn’t take long to lick him to full hardness, and even less time for his hands to find your hair, careful not to mess it up.

“Shit, shit!” he cusses as you bob back and forth over his length, staring up at him as you do.

“Look at you, jesus, fuck!” his eyes trail to the multiple reflections of your in the mirrors, but his eyes are back on your face in seconds.

“You’re so perfect, Li, best thing in the world…”

You slow for a moment and pull all the way back, just to suck on the head of his cock, letting your tongue swirl in circles and he groans, head falling back a little.

“Jesus, Jesus! Come here!” 

You let him drag you back over his length again, but this time he leans over slightly, a hand gently wrapping around your throat and your eyes widen when he thrusts his hips forward. You can feel him feeling himself and it only makes you moan around him. Bucky hisses,  fucking your mouth quickly, in short, deep strokes that have your nose pressing to the base of his cock and your eyes watering.

“That’s it, can’t get anything on the suit, sweetheart, you gonna take it all?”

You whine again, and do your best to nod, staring up at him transfixed as he draws closer, until finally he’s cursing lowly, hips jerking him even further down your throat as you feel his release spill down you.

You remain like that for a moment, staring up at him as he groans quietly. He really was beautiful like this, you were lucky, really. His eyes open up to yours and he swallows, carefully pulling away from you, a hand coming to gently stroke your hair, and then the side of your face.

“You’re so beautiful.”

You’re about to roll your eyes and retort when a knocking on the door sees you yanking his pants up, both of you scurrying not to give poor Gertrude a show.

You buy the suit, and continue on to the Hamptons, and before you know it, you’re gazing upon Bucky once more in his lovely suit. You stay arm in arm with him all night, refusing to let him go, but if he minds or notices he doesn’t mention it, instead staying close by choice, his hand resting at the small of your back, his shimmying fingers sending shivers up and down your spine.

All night, when you’re met with so-called-friends and other acquaintances, you’re asked who Bucky is. Everyone knew everyone in New York, and they did not know Bucky. Every time you’re asked, you reply the same thing, and each time, it makes Bucky look at you softly, his hand squeezing your hip.

“And who might this be?”

“My handsome date for the evening; Bucky Barnes.”

“Oh, I don’t believe we’ve met, Bucky… are you visiting from Europe?”

“No. He’s from Brooklyn.”

And then you’d feign desperacy for a drink, and he’d usher you off again.

“You know, people are going to talk about you,” he says softly, a tiny frown on his face as you move to sit at a nearby table on the edge of the dancefloor.

“People are always talking about me,” you sip champagne and Buck’s eyes crinkle.

“Yeah, but—”

“Lilah! How pleasant to finally catch you!” Your mother’s voice cuts off Bucky’s words and the both of you stand stiffly as your parents approach.

“And here I was really trying my best to remain uncaught. I guess you win,” you deadpan, giving them both empty hugs and kisses. You move back to stand next to Bucky and your parent’s attention turns to him with varying degrees of visible dismay.

“Bucky,” your mother greets coldly, your father just as rigidly shaking his hand.

“Have you seen Andrew tonight, dear? Doesn’t he look handsome?”

You’d already had to stop Bucky from going over to the man when you’d arrived, so you stiffen a little when he’s mentioned, but simply turn your nose up.

“I thought he looked rather dated, actually.”

Your mother bristles and your father glares outright.

“So this is what you’re choosing?” he demands gruffly, displeasure clear in his voice. You square your shoulders, ignoring Bucky’s curious frown as you loop your arm though his.

“Yes.”

“I need a drink,” is all your father says, before he storms away, your mother eyeing you one final time, before she follows after him.

You breathe a sigh of relief, all your pent up anxiety leaving your body now. Bucky turns to you then, one hand on your arm, his other still around your back.

“What was that? What did you choose?”

You roll your eyes and wave him off, stepping to the side a little to grab more champagne, and you down it.

“A few weeks ago my father told me I was to marry Gorman or be cut off,” you reveal with a shrug. Bucky starts.

“What?!”

“Well what did they expect? Have I ever done what I’m told?” you huff, rolling your eyes. Before you can settle too comfortably into your nonchalance, Bucky brings your hand to his lips, his other curling around your waist once again.

“You do what I tell you,” he points out, and you scoff.

“That’s only because you don’t put up with me. Or maybe because you do, I haven’t fully figured it out yet. Either way, you put me in my place,” you shrug again, and he hums, pulling you closer so you’re forced to wrap your arms around his neck. He starts to sway you gently.

“Is that what you want? Someone to look after you? Put you in your place?” He sounds innocent enough, but he knows your body is lighting up, your core buzzing between your thighs at his words.

“Maybe… but only when it’s you,” you breathe out, and you’re about to close your eyes, his lips only a breathe from yours when—

“I hope I’m not interrupting?”

You pull apart with a certain amount of shock, looking to find your brother standing nearby, hands in his pockets as he gazes knowingly at you. You pull away from Bucky with a grin, jumping into the blonde’s arms.

“Steve!”

He catches you with both arms, holding you tightly for a moment.

“Lilah… you look beautiful,” Steve says when you’ve pulled away.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were coming home?!”

“It was kind of sudden… I’ll tell you about it later,” his face darkens just a little, but then he’s smiling, looking up to Bucky who stands behind you.

“Hi. Steve Rogers, Lilah’s half-brother,”

“The half doesn’t matter, ignore him,” you scold, watching as Bucky and Steve shake hands. You’d grown up with Steve, even if he’d been several years older than you, he’d never let you feel like just a ‘half’ sibling.

“Bucky Barnes. I uh—”

“–Bucky is my driver,” you say and Steve raises his eyebrows and whistles.

“I pity you,” Steve chortles, making you scoff and move back to Bucky’s side, watching as he shrugs.

“It has its moments,” Bucky shoots you a soppy grin as he places his hand back on your hip. You scoff again.

“Say, you like cars, Bucky?” Steve asks, and Bucky nods.

“I do.”

“Lemme get a drink, and I’ll tell you about this project I’m workin’ on in Paris…”

You sigh as you hang your dress up, moving to remove the last of the pins from your hair. It had been a long night, but not necessarily a bad one. After you returned home, you’d need to sit down and figure out exactly what you were going to do. Steve was home now though, you could always return to Paris with him… but you’d be leaving behind Bucky…

A wrapping at your window makes you jump, and in fright, you turn to stare at the curtains. It comes again a moment later, and you swallow, moving to them, and pushing the coverings apart, gasping when you do so. You hurry to unlock the shutter, and push it open.

“What the hell are you doing?! Your bedroom is down the hall!” you scold as Bucky climbs through, shutting and locking the window behind him.

“I’m not sorry,” he says, straightening up and you frown.

“You will be when you fall four stories to your dea—” your words die when he tugs you toward him, mouth slotting over yours hungrily. You don’t fight him, melting into his touch right away, having thirsted after it all night.

“You never answered me,” he says, lips dragging over your cheek, and down your neck. You sigh, clutching at his arms and tipping your head back to give him all the access he could want.

“W—what question…?” you manage, and squeak when your nightgown is pulled apart, and his lips move to your collarbone.

“You want someone to take care of you? You’re always begging for me to teach you a lesson, put you in your place…”

You stutter and pull back slightly to look at him. Bucky just stares, eyes intense on your face.

“... No.”

He freezes and you take his face in your hands before he can pull away.

“I don’t want someone, I only want you.”

Bucky stares down at you, disbelief flashing over his features and you shake your head.

“I’ve been terrible to you Bucky, nobody else would have come back again and again, I don’t— I don’t deserve you, I don’t,” you swallow harshly, a lump growing in your throat as you struggle through your words.

“And—and I’m so selfish, I am, but I want you. Not climbing through my window, or in the back of the car, I want to walk down the street with you, and hold your hand, and—”

“How much have you drunk?” Bucky puts a hand to your forehead, and you laugh, pushing at him when his eyes crinkle and he rests his head to yours.

“I chose you,” you say quietly, and he looks back at you nodding softly.

“Oh, sugar…”

You close your eyes as his lips find yours again, softer this time, sweeter.

You let him pull your gown apart fully, watching as he goes about discarding your underwear, before ridding himself of his own clothes, and laying you down on the plush sheets. Lips drag over your chest where he’d left off last, and you cradle his head in your hands as he moves further and further down, stopping at your breasts for a moment, sucking firmly at a nipple and making you gasp.

You'd never actually let him fully undress you, fully appreciate your body, and despite having had him inside you countless times, it all feels new.

“Li…”

“Mhmn?”

“M’gonna take care of you…” He murmurs against your stomach, and you nod, eyes closed now.

“Please, daddy…”

You gasp when your thighs are hoisted up, and look down to watch him situate himself between your legs, holding you under the knees. He leans low and presses a kiss to your core, making you suck in air quickly, your belly fluttering violently. He repeats the action, leaning over and pressing his lips to your folds, using his tongue to push and pull the silk skin and you grasp at his hands on your legs, shaking just slightly.

“Buck…”

“Mhmn?”

You growl and lift your head to glare at him.

“Hurry up!” You demand and he lifts a brow, leaning up.

“How quick you start mouthin’ off again,” he tuts, and you glare harder. He slides a hand from under your knee to where his mouth just was, and you swallow thickly as he dips a finger inside slowly, his eyes trained on yours. You’re frozen in place, even when he pulls out again, pushing two back in.

“Gonna have to learn to hold that tongue of yours sweetheart,” his voice is low and your eyes flutter when he adds another finger, pumping into you carefully.

“Or what?” you manage to gasp out and his fingers stop, but don’t leave you.

“Or I’ll have to find something better for your mouth to be doin’,” he tells you.

“Don’t threaten me with a good time,” you sass and Bucky sniffs.

“If I didn’t love you so much, I’d shove your face into this mattress so you couldn’t fuckin’ talk,” he growls, bringing his movements again, pressing his thumb to your clit and making you jerk.

“Please, you’ll do that if you do love me,” you gasp and you hear him chuckle warmly.

His mouth returns to your core, his fingers still working your hole as he flicks his tongue over your clit relentlessly. You have to remind yourself to stay somewhat quiet as you writhe under him, hands fisting in the sheets as you come, losing all sense of everything except his mouth on you.

“Jesus Christ, baby… fuck…” Bucky breathes, looking down at his fingers, still plunging into you as your muscles squeeze and contract.

You mewl when he crawls back up your body, fingers glistening with your cum and you open your mouth when he brings them to your lips.

“Good girl. That’s a good girl, sweetheart.”

You suck diligently, holding his eye contact until he looks away, taking himself in hand and judging your leg further open with his knee.

“Come on, darlin’, open up, there we go…” he coos, finally letting his fingers fall from your lips as he slides the head of his cock through your soaked folds.

“You gonna finally fuck me good and proper, daddy?” you ask, hooking a hand around his neck, watching him closely.

“You’re goddamn right I am,” he growls, pushing in deep and you choke for a moment as he fills you, not waiting for you to adjust. Your nails pinch his skin, and you swallow a cry when his hips meet yours. You lift your knees more, bring them up so you can wrap yourself around him.

He lowers his face to yours as he starts moving, his tongue seeking yours immediately and you tug at his hair slightly with each thrust that sends you reeling. Despite this though, you can’t help but stoke the fire.

“Come on daddy, I thought you said good and proper?” you whine, and Bucky leans up to look at you, his eyes narrowed.

“Sometimes I think you like pissing me off, honey.”

“You fuck better when you’re angry,” you say, almost regretting it when he stops moving all together just to stare at you a moment.

For a split second you think maybe you’ve gone too far, but then he’s snickering, and before you can register it, you’re roughly tossed over to your front.

“You’re such a fuckin’ brat,” he scolds, kneeing your thighs apart enough for him to slide back in and you cry out, but your face is pressed into the pillow, muffling it.

The angle is foreign, almost too right and too deep, almost painful, but that also sends shockwaves of delight down your spine.

“You’re gonna lie here and I’m going to fuck you. If I hear anything outta you…” he pressed the back of your neck and your face is engulfed in a pillow again.

“Got it?” you nod, cunt hot and throbbing at his words and you keen in response to his lips pressing to the back of your shoulder.

“That’s my good girl.”

You suck in air when his hips pull away from yours, pressing back in all too quickly, and you clench your jaw at the feeling. You wanted him so badly your pussy was already clutching on to him, and the position only further exaggerated the sensation of fullness, making you feel like if he pressed any further you’d come apart at the seams.

But you live for it, need it even, and so even after his warning, you babble for him cheekily, damn near weeping as his cock pounds into you, and Bucky growls, playing his part dutifully and shoving your face into the pillow.

“I thought I told you—” he grunts as he shifts his knee, allowing him better access and you squeal into the pillow, his cock sinking even further and your back arches.

“—I didn’t wanna hear a fuckin’ word.”

You’re caught off guard when his hand releases the back of your neck and instead slides around to the front, lifting your face from the pillows. It’s just as effective though, his fingers squeezing at your throat cut off anything you have to say, and you choke. He lessens his grip after a moment, allowing you a few short breaths before he’s clamping down again and you wheeze out a moan.

“You like that don’t you, sweetheart? Like when I’m rough with you? Want me to put you in your place, don’t you, sugar?”

You nod the best you can, and gasp when he lets you breathe again.

“Please, Buck, please…” You sob, everything so good at once is too much, but you want more.

“I should just gag you next time. Tie you to the bed and gag you. Fuck you senseless and leave your cunt dripping in my cum, yeah? Would you like that?”

You don’t have to reply, your pussy convulsing around him and your body quivering slightly as he lets you don’t to the pillow again are answers enough. Bucky smooths a hand over the back of your head, cooing as you shake under him, clutching the pillow as you steadily release short, choked moans.

“That’s it, good girl, there we go darlin’...” his voice is softer now, and he pulls out of you, turning you to your side gently, hooking your thigh over his leg, he pushes back into you.

He holds you closer, presses his lips to yours as you reach out for him, anchoring yourself around his neck. He still fucks you hard, relishes in the continued sounds you make, your lips roaming his neck as you catch your breathe again. He clutches your backside firmly, pressing as far into you as he can with each thrust and steadily he feels his own pleasure rise.

“You’re so sweet, Li, you feel so fuckin’ good,” he murmurs, hearing you mewl under him, where your lips are sucking at the place under his jaw.

“Wanna make you feel good, daddy…” you coo, and Bucky grunts, going slow and deep again.

“Gonna let me cum inside you? Lemme fill you up?” he isn’t quite expecting you to moan so headily in response, but he certainly isn’t expecting you to push him to his back, your legs falling around his thighs as you start bouncing up and down on his cock enthusiastically.

“Come on daddy, please…”

Bucky doesn’t need to be asked twice, not when you’re begging for it like you are, so he grips your hips in his hands, curling his own up into you until he’s gasping, sucking in air sharply as his head lolls back.

“Lilah… Fuck… Sweetheart…” Anything else he has to say is drowned out by the pulses of pleasure that wash over him, and he holds you firmly in place as he empties inside you, groaning when he feels you grind down on him more.

After a moment you fall forward to rest against him, and Bucky wraps his arms around your back, holding you tightly.

“I love you,” you mumble against his chest, and Bucky chuckles, lifting your chin so you look at him.

“I love you too.”

You smile happily, and blink away any tears that might spring to your eyes, resting your head back against his collarbone and you sigh contently.

“Also, I forgot to tell you, you’re fired,”

Bucky starts for a moment, before he relaxes and huffs.

“How does it feel to be poor, hmm?”

You whack him in the chest, and he laughs, holding you tightly as he rolls you over, lips meeting yours once again, and he continues to make love to you until the early hours of the morning.

“Oh, I’m useless! The only thing you’ll be able to use me for is dying the fabric red!” You exclaim in frustration, tossing the needle and thread down on the table in front of you.

“We’d have to bleed you more than a pin-prick for that, dear,” Winnie looks at you over her glasses and you glare.

“You’ll get the hang of it. You don’t have to be an expert overnight.”

Your frustration soothes with her words and you sigh.

“I feel so useless that I can’t help more,” you say softly and she chortles.

“You spend until the late evenings with your nose in that sketch pad, dreaming up new designs and you think that’s useless!” She continues to laugh and you shake your head.

“I’m going to put the kettle on. Would you like a cup?” Winnie hums in approval and you make your way from the workroom to the mezzanine office, setting the hot water to boil and staring blankly into your empty mug.

How your life had turned from exuberant parties and a life of excess, to hard work and a day job you had no idea.

Well you did. It had started with a business idea.

Your brother had invested initially, and you had begged Winnie and Becca to join you. In two years you had turned nothing into something, and now you were sitting on your very own relatively large pile of money.

You designed the dresses with clients, and Becca and Winnie would make them. It was simple, but had proved wildly successful. You’d even sent Becca to Paris with a collection of prêt-à-porter designs a Parisian boutique had been interested in selling. She’d come home speaking broken French and sighing dreamily and you were thinking perhaps you might need to set up a boutique over there yourself…

You’re pulled from your thoughts by a bouquet of lilacs that suddenly crowd your vision and you jump, spinning around.

“Bucky! Don’t scare me like that!”

He chuckles, and you take the flowers, smelling them briefly before placing them on the desk.

“Nothin’ scary about some lilacs for my Lilah,” he grins, leaning in to chastely kiss your lips. You roll your eyes but let him pull you into the kiss anyway.

“You have… grease all over you! Don’t you touch a damn thing in my shop!” You warn him, but he only runs his hands over your sides, stopping to squeeze your waist, thoroughly ruining your frock.

“Only thing I wanna touch is right here…”

You shake your head and sigh.

“Have you been having fun, grease monkey? Steve’s not bored you to death yet?”

Bucky smiles and hums.

“No, not yet. Besides, you know how he is, he gets so excited you don’t even realise he’s getting you excited about oil pumps or what have you…”

You chuckle and smooth your hands over his chest, cocking your head when he stays quiet for a moment longer.

“What?” you demand and Bucky sighs.

“Your brother wants to go to Italy… we’ve been invited to look at a new type of engine over there. It might be good for the company to invest…”

You frown and purse your lips.

“How long?”

“He says a couple of weeks but…”

“No!” You say, unwilling to live without him for so long.

“That’s unacceptable!”

“Come with me,” Bucky shrugs, knowing you were all dramatics and no pragmatics.

“I can’t. We’re moving into the Summer, and all our regular clients have me booked out for the next three months!”

“Let Becca take the meetings… you know she’s been shadowing you for ages, you’ve been saying yourself you think she could start consulting.”

You bite your lip.

“Maybe a short holiday might be nice… Italy, you said?”

“Sicily,” he adds and you sigh.

“I love Sicily…!” you whine, and Bucky leans in closer, bumping his nose with yours.

“Come with me. We’ll find a little cottage to stay in, you can take a break… maybe I’ll come home at midday and find you strolling around fully nude, just waiting for me, and I’ll kiss you stupid and—” despite his silly fantasy, you’re enthralled with the idea right up until Winnie meanders past the both of you.

“—and you can finally give me some grandchildren?” She asks as she makes her own cup of tea that you’d forgotten.

Bucky’s face turns bright red and you chortle, patting his chest.

“We’re working on it, aren’t we?” you grin at Bucky’s deepening shade.

“Well, work a little harder, won’t you?”

Bucky shakes his head as his mother disappears with her tea out the door and turns back to you.

“Whaddya say?”

“Well, we can’t let the old lady down,” you sigh dramatically once again and Bucky nods, his face drawn into faux seriousness.

“I promise you, come to Italy with me, and I’ll make sure we don’t.”

You laugh at that, head tilting back as Bucky grins mischievously.

When you sober again, you caress his cheek softly, and Bucky takes your hand, bringing it to his lips and kissing the small, simple wedding ring on your finger.

“Alright, Uptown Boy. I’ll come.”

[keilemlucent]

while your currently drunk you can think about what it would be like to go clubbing with keigo. His possessive nature would def jump out wanting to keep you close at all times. you’d rock against his body as he holds you close keeping a keen eye but also enjoying the way your body sways over him. if he’s also inebriated who’s to say he won’t press you against the nearest wall rubbing himself against you and whispering in your ear how he could take you right here and now 🥰🥰 just a lil something 

i am seeing this sober (and with my hangover cured lmao) BUT lemme tell u... the clubbing keigo brainrot is oh so 😩💕

(nsfw)

warnings: dubcon, a little yandere keigo, alcohol, drunk reader, drunk keigo, public sex, dacryphilia

...

Keigo is particularly possessive. Not necessarily in a way that is a cause for alarm, but more so something of note.

You've come to expect the way he hovers close to you in public. How he always wants to have his hands on you, whether that be the firm press of his palm on your lower back, or a tight grip on your waist with his chin hooked over your should. Really, any way he can, he stakes his claim.

It's a little more overt and shameless when the environment allows it to be.

Occasionally, there are small clubbing events for heroes and their company to unwind. Usually open bar. Frequently messy. But cell phones are confiscated at the door, so it's more than welcomed. Heroes really never get a chance to be, so why not be sloppy together?

Keigo loves to take you to them. He loves getting the chance to show you off and let anyone who looks your way that you are his. He curbs the urge in public, sure, but here? It doesn't matter. Here, there's hungry eyes that follow your every move, but they wouldn't dare try anything. Keigo doesn't let you out of his sight. Doesn't stop touching you, and he makes sure that anyone who looks sees how fucked you are for him.

After a few drinks, you’re bolder. Your words slur a bit, not enough to make him worry, but just enough for the sway and circling of your hips to be a little freer. You can get a bit bashful around so many pros, but with the stain of liquor on your lips you’re more than happy to dance the night away.

Keigo adores it. Loves that he gets to hold your hips almost to the point of bruising as you giggle and twirl to the club beats. He loves how unrestrained you both get to be, loves how you rock against him, back arching and neck craning to nuzzle of your nose against his jaw. He can’t tell if you’re just being sweet and gracious or quietly asking for more. 

He has subtle restraint, he always does, but with a few shots having burned his throat earlier in the evening... it’s easier to indulge. He guiltlessly drags you back into him, grinding against your ass. You roll your hips back into his, leaning into his wandering touches. He can feel your breath hitch as his hands slip lower and plays with the hem of your dress. 

Keigo wishes he had an ounce of shame (no, he really doesn’t, this is way too good) as he backs you into a darker corner, wings ruffled and raised. He gets a little rougher, pushing you up against the velour-covered wall, chest first. You flatten to it and brace yourself with sweaty palms. Sweet as can be, you flash him wobbly, wanting smile. You grind back into him, spine curved perfectly under the satin of your dress.

He knows people are watching, and honestly? Let them. Let them see how desperate you are. The strobing lights and neon obscure you enough that the details of you will be hidden, but they’ll know. Keigo’s wings ruffle at the thought debauching you in front of the impromptu, wanting crowd.

He lays his body over yours, feathers shuddering in time with his heavy breath. You’re rolling your hips back into his crotch, his cock is hard enough that he’s leaking (who knew the thought of casual ownership got him off this much?)

His lips drag over your neck, teething at the soft juncture of your shoulder. You moan his name, voice cracking with desire that makes him wild. His forearm braces next to yours, and he presses you into the wall, makes you feel the weight of all of him, wings and lean muscle. 

He pulls from your neck with a growl and can’t help but pleased with the fat bruise he left behind.

“I should bruise you a collar of these,” He drips into your ear, teeth tugging at your earlobe. “If fucking you here doesn’t show everyone whose you are, that would get the message across, don’t you think?”

Your breath hitches from under the palm he slips over your lower tummy.

“Please, Kei’.”

He doesn’t know what exact thing you’re begging for, but he’ll give you everything. Anything. He rucks up your dress, and a hand slipping down the front of your panties and teasing along your slit, debating.

If he were at home, he’d take the time to prepare. He prefers to work you open on his fingers and tongue for a good while before fucking you. He doesn’t feel... right fucking you without you cumming once, twice, three times (as many times as you can stand), Under normal circumstances. But these weren’t normal circumstances.

His hold slips from your hip to your jaw, turning your gaze to his and goddammit, if the sight doesn’t take his breath away. Your eyes are glassy, pupils wide and inky, and your lips are parted, perfectly. Wanting and waiting. 

(He briefly debates fucking your throat but decides against it. He’d prefer to lick you clean on the limo ride home.)

Keigo presses his lips to yours, stealing your breath and licking into your mouth. It’s sloppy, he can feel the spit dripping down your chin as he massages your tongue with his. It’s fucking filthy and he loves it. The liquor is just making him ab bit more... honest.

He pulls away to unbutton his pants, untucking his breezy shirt to pull out his cock with a few lazy strokes. The little whine you give has him back on you, covering your body with his and teasing you sex with a single finger over your panties. 

“I’d make you beg,” he muses, softly against your ear again, “But I have a feeling you’re a little too impatient to do so properly.”

You sputter something, whether it’s a denial or affirmation, Keigo doesn’t care. He’s already pulling your panties to the side, and slipping two fingers between your lips, hardly prep at all things considered. 

Keigo spits down onto his dick and calls it good enough.

You rock back into him, shuddering and panting. You’re unabashed in it, ignoring the eyes in the room, all of your attention on him. The thought makes his cock twitch in his hand, and he can’t wait any longer. 

He hikes one of your legs up high and spears into you in one swift motion with a beat of his wings.

Your breath punches from your lungs and your palms smack against wall. You’re already weak in his arms, from the alcohol and Keigo’s thick cock splitting you. Despite the lack of preparation, you’re less tense than you could be. Thank god for vodka. 

All the same, Keigo starts slow. He wants you to hurt when this is over. He wants you to bear his bruises and imprints. You should be limping when he’s done with you. He’ll take care of you at home, patch you up how you both like so much, but for now--

He wants to leave an... impression.

Keigo picks up at his pace, gasping out a breath as he bottoms out, grinding against your ass and insides in a way that has you clenching and slurring out little pleas for more. And god, he’s happy to oblige.

He picks up his tempo, hand slipping tightening around your jaw, tucking your face to his and nipping at your lips. Your claw at the wall in front of you, but all of your leverage is in Keigo’s hands, and he uses it well.

The beat of the of the club music is the perfect tempo, the thump of it mostly disguises the slap of his hips against yours. But even the shadows of the rainbow lights can’t hide how he’s fucking ruining you. You’re hiccupping out cries for ‘more, please Keigo!’ loud enough that a few of his fucking colleagues have inched closer. It makes something in Keigo burn and he quickly goes for your neck again.

And sinks his teeth in hard enough for you to sob. 

It has you clenching around him, and he knows he isn’t going to last much longer. The rhythm has his insides clenching, and he wants nothing more than to fill you up--

The thought of it, of you leaking with him, has white explode around the edges of his vision. 

He spills inside of you, thick and hot and you gasp at the feeling. You fumble for his hand, and Keigo clasps yours easily, squeezing. The cant of his hips goes sloppy, just like the two of you. 

Softened, he slips out of you.  But Keigo is quick to replace his cock with two fingers, plugging you and tsking.

“You didn’t cum, did you, dove?”

You shake your head, still half-crying and needy, “N-no, I d-didn’t.”

“Can you keep yourself upright if I fuck you on my fingers?” Keigo muses, though it’s a genuine question. “Be honest.”

You swallow and rub at your wet, streaky cheeks, “I d-dunno. ‘M really shaky, Kei’.”

He already knows that, but it’s cute that you tell him like he’s not the cause of it.

“It’s a good thing you’ve got me then, isn’t it?” Keigo kisses your cheek, too kind for how filthy you are. “I’ll keep you up, sweetheart.”

You nod, give a little ‘thank you’ that gets broken as he spread his fingers in your cunt. His own cum drips down his wrist and he can't bother to care. He can’t bother to care about anything that isn’t the sweet little whines or the flush that is dusting your cheeks beneath tears and smeared makeup.

He bullies the bundle of nerves inside you without any care other than making you fall apart. Maybe it’s bad, the desire he has to force you to come undone by his hand in front of his peers. You’re his partner, and a bit illusive consider the relative secrecy of your relationship. 

What a goddamn introduction.

He slips another hand around your front and rolls your clit beneath to fingers. Keigo can’t help sucking another bruise into your neck, like the first one wasn’t enough of a statement. 

He speeds up his treatment as you breath gets more ragged, as you repeat his name to the flash of the strobes and lean back into him. You tense around him as you cum, crying out with a thump of your head against the wall. He holds you through it, not slowing or faltering as you shake and sputter.

Carefully, Keigo lets down the leg he’s had pinned. He anticipates how they falter, and already has an arm around your waist to keep you upright. 

“Thank you,” You murmur, your voice gentle and soft. Far too soft for what you’d just done. It’s sweet though, the way you’re pliant for him as he straightens you up.

You’re filthy, thighs covered in a mix of him and you. Keigo’s damp in his own boxer briefs and it’s not exactly... comfortably. And certainly not ideal for dancing.

You turn toward him. Your arms wrap around his neck and god, you’re too cute as you hide your face in the crook of his neck. Maybe you’re sobering up, or maybe you’re cock drunk, he isn’t sure. But it’s the same comfort that you need. He smooths a hand up your back, laying kisses over your temples and hair lines.

His colleagues are still watching, maybe more than before, because Hawks has a reputation for being a greedy, impulsive bastard, but what he doesn’t have is any reputation for being sweet. 

The vulnerability of it has him moving his wings to encircle the two of you. A bit of much-needed privacy. 

“How about I call us a ride home?” Flying drunk is never good idea. (He found out the hard way.)

You nod, gripping the front of his shirt, “I don’t think I can’t dance anymore.”

“I imagine you can’t, huh, dovey?” He teases with another peck to your cheek. 

You whine and beat his chest with your fist for a moment without a hint of ire. The night is still relatively young but given the drink in your veins and the cum in your cunt, perhaps it would be best to turn in for the evening.

(Or Keigo could fuck your throat on the ride home. The thought is still appealing.)

You mutter something unintelligible against his neck, and Keigo silently reminds himself to make sure you drink a bottle or two of water before bed. Maybe he can get a snack in your belly before you knock out for the night. 

(Or, maybe, Keigo could have his own ‘snack’ by cleaning your cunt with his tongue as you doze off--)

Keigo purrs with his thoughts as he tucks his wings to his back, ushering you to the exit, all the while feeling the (horny, jealous, surprised) stares of his colleagues at his back. 

[ichinoue]

someone on twitter said Kubo gaslit them by including "romantic" scenes between Ichigo and Rukia and that he should have just "given fans what they wanted" 🤣 like first off I need people to stop carelessly throwing around the term "gaslighting" but beyond that, what romantic moments? Like I guess you can interpret their interactions in the first two arcs as romantic, but after that they barely interact lmao??

Yeah, that's not what gaslighting is. If anything, he did the opposite by being honest about the fact that IR "it's not friendship but it's not an amorous feeling either. Despite standing in a close position with each other, it is not romance, they're precious nakama." That described them to a T. Instead of just stringing the shippers along with red-herrings or being like "ooooh, wonder if Ichigo and Rukia will end up together, you'll have to keep reading to find out heheheh ;)" like, no. He didn't do that. He told them exactly what it was. But it's like they don't seem to know the difference between things they're merely interpreting as romantic, versus explicit romance. Like if Ichigo and Rukia have a moment that demonstrates how strong their bond is, (like Rukia showing up and getting Ichigo out of his funk at the start of the arrancar arc, for example) that's not a scene of undeniable romance. They can absolutely share such a moment, while being precious nakama. They can have a strong bond, without it being a romantic one. Romance is not the be all, end all, *ultimate* goal/bond. Especially when we're talking shounens, where platonic nakama bonds reign supreme.

But if Ichigo or Rukia ever used the word "love" in regards to each other (but even then...you can love someone as a friend or family so could still be subjective depending on the context), or were like kissing or violently blushing about each other or something overt and super shoujo-esque like that, and Kubo still said "they've never been romantic, you guys are delusional, it's clearly all been platonic" like okay, you could maybe say it was gaslighting then.

But when he's being honest in interviews about what the state of their relationship is, and what he says is directly reflected in his writing as a strong, platonic precious nakama bond....that's not gaslighting. That's you jumping the gun thinking IR was romantic from the start, making it your OTP and refusing to accept anything different, and then misinterpreting every one of their interactions as explicitly romantic ever since, while flat-out ignoring Kubo's denial of IR romance and instead twisting his words into "more than friends, less than lovers" as well as ignoring any and all romantic moments between rival ships like IH/RR, and claiming anyone who thinks the rival ships stand a chance at canon is "batshit crazy" or "delusional."

Hell, if anything THEY'RE the ones who gaslit Kubo by treating him like he betrayed them, and acting as if he never told them straight up that IR wasn't romantic when that....literally.....happened?!?!

[obscureamor]

omg i had this on my mind all day 🥺 so, imma share it with ya’ since you’re my favorite dark blog lmao. IMAGINE BEING SAKUSA LITTLE HOUSEWIFE AND NOT COOKING OR CLEANING ON TIME :) hubby would be furious ☺️🤭

- 👁👄👁

that really made me— ahh i’m honored bby ♡!! also, i hope this is okay!

t/w  |  nsfw, dubcon, abuse, slapping, choking, brief mention of breeding at the end, fem! reader

you woke up late, too late to get anything done. kiyoomi would be home any minute. he’s going to come home and see how much of a failure you are. 

'you really can’t do a simple fucking task right?’

and so you rush. you throw on the dress he expects you to wear. you rush to do the dishes, fold his clothes a certain way— just like he taught you, and pick up the living room. all that’s left is the floors...

you make your way to the bathroom, eyeing the bucket and mop. it’s so heavy, too heavy for you to carry alone. normally kiyoomi would do this one thing for you; moving the bucket from the bathroom and into the kitchen right before he leaves the house, but you guess this time he was in a hurry. there’s no time to dwell on it. you grab the handle, waddling towards the living room, but you didn’t account for the stray shoe to make you lose your balance. what is it doing there? why isn’t it in the shoe rack? you gasp, the bucket and you both falling with a thud. 

the water spills and you watch, watch as it trails away from you and right into black shoes. your breath catches in your throat and your eyes trail up his legs to his face. his eyes are staring right into your very soul. you already know what he’s thinking without him saying anything, ‘this should be done already, so why the fuck are you doing it now?’

“kiyoomi...” you whimper, scrambling to sit up straight. “i’m— i’m— i woke up late... p-please.” 

it’s the silence that scares you. the unblinking eyes that hold so much hostility in them, the way his jaw is clenching and hands in fists. you don’t flinch when his hand swiftly roots itself into your hair, but you do flinch when he drags you across the floor and towards the kitchen. 

“omi! please!” you wail, clothes getting even more soaked in water as he pulls you through the puddle. you know not to touch him, no matter how badly you want to grab onto his wrist in some sad attempt to ease the pain. “please, please, please! i’m so sorry!”

he shoves you, head smacking into the tile. your shoulder meets the floor, pain blooming from the impact and a strangled cry leaves your lips. kiyoomi kicks your stomach making you fall onto your back. 

“what the fuck is your problem?!” he snarls out, settling between your legs. “can’t fucking wake up on time to do something so simple.”

you can hear the jingling of his belt, the pop of the button, and the pull of his zipper. 

“if you can’t even fucking clean up,” he grunts and you can feel him pull your panties to the side, cockhead sliding along your entrance. “here’s something i know you can do.”

he pushes in. no prep. no mercy. 

your eyes widen and tears stream down, down your face like the water that fell. kiyoomi wraps his hand around your throat, tightening when you start to try and push him away. it hurts so badly like a fire was ignited within you and it only gets worse when he starts moving. he disregards the way you’re not prepped and you wonder if this even feels good for him.

'does it look like i care about how you feel? it’ll always feel good for me.’

“didn’t you tell me you wanted to be a housewife? didn’t you want to stay at home and cook and clean?” he smacks you, hand wet so the pain is amplified. water smacking and skin tingling. “so why can’t you do it now? or is taking dick all you’re good for?”

he can feel you start to clench around him, pussy gushing at the degrading words. 

stupid slut. stupid pussy. 

“no, it’s not! i can do it!” you wail. “i can take care of everything, omi! i promise you!”

your hands grip onto his shoulders and your eyes widen when kiyoomi kisses you. it’s bruising and manic, laced with tones of obsessiveness. you moan into his mouth as his hand tightens around your throat. he’s kissing you like he didn’t just hit you and call you useless. 

“omi.” you pull back, whispering against his lips. “kiyoomi, please cum in me. i’ll do better. i promise. i promise.”

he watches as your eyes roll back, lips parted as he fucks you into the kitchen tiles. your gummy walls are pulsing, fluttering around kiyoomi’s length and he just wants to wring your neck out. 

he hates you for being so malleable, for being so caring, for not making fun of his overt need to have everything be clean. and so his hand leaves you. they settle behind your knees, pushing your legs up and you mewl at the feeling of him hitting deeper. he’s thrusting with such intensity, a fire in his eyes that you’ve never seen before. 

“maybe...” he starts. “maybe if i fuck a little brat into you, you’ll start doing things better.”