#plus its slathered on his face

[bananafire11]

HELLO?????

Got some supplies recently and made this. He reminds me of toothless.

AU by @bananafire11

Supplies used:

Sharpies

Dollarama paints and brushes

Whiteout cause I ran out of white paint

A ink mix I made previously

Heat gun to dry paint

[betterfettered]

Bruh can I be honest and say your Yan! Leviathan kinda scares me because Levi already lives rent free in my head and I kinda don’t wanna know what would happen if he figured it out?

I’m literally not joking about leviathan straight up living inside my brain rent free, like he actively takes up a shit ton of my thoughts enough for me to get the Tetris effect when I sleep.

And idk why but something tells me that if he knew that I’m practically obsessed with him, I wouldn’t be touching grass or seeing anyone else ever again for my entire existence.

Hey anon!! I am sorry this took so long, it got really long (3k words!!) and kind of went in its own direction hahaha. I hope you like it!! It turns out that you were right, and no one will ever find you in his clutches LOLL Let me know what you think?

(AFAB!reader x AMAB!yandere)(Plus size reader💖🫡)(noncon)(stalking)(18+ readers only please, mdni)(sort of kind of an AU but not really?)[This is fetish content and rape and stalking are disgusting and inexcusable in real life.]

Your reaction was strange to Leviathan because he'd imagined it over and over again in his head no less than a thousand times but had not been able to divine what you actually reacted like. In his mind when he'd intentionally spilled his drink on himself you'd make a little surprised noise or say "oh no!" or laugh, but in reality you just frowned, your eyebrows lifting in shock.

The important part, however, you still did: you turned to your bag, rifling through it for some napkins, and offered them to him like it was nothing, like making his heart jackrabbit to the point of nearly shattering was nothing. He snatched them quickly so that you wouldn’t see how his hands shook in anticipation.

Okay, next say thank you, he said to himself and tried his hardest but was unable to pry his lips open or make eye contact with you or even breathe. When the elevator reached the floor that the both of you lived on, he sprinted from the elevator to get to his door, spilling plenty more cherry slushy on himself in the process. He could barely get his hands steady enough to get the key into his door, but the second he was inside and had slammed the door behind him he tossed his soiled jacket and the half empty slushy to the ground and hurried into his bedroom, dropping on his knees in front of his shrine of you.

Well, it wasn’t a shrine just yet. It was too small – he had only the things he could salvage from your trash, like an empty lipstick tube, a plastic fork from some takeout, a debit card statement listing all of your purchases six months ago. This was the first thing you had ever given to him, though, the first gift with your scent and blessing on it. He shut his eyes and held the napkins up to his nose, inhaling deeply and summoning the image of you to his mind.

Leviathan focused on your eyes, thinking about how your gaze meeting his meant that you were not looking at anyone else and, he imagined, not thinking about anyone else. It didn’t take long for the memory to become a fantasy: he imagined you looking at him still, but now with your bottom lip caught between your teeth out of sheer lust for him. Reaching into his nightstand for lube, he imagined your outfit, which was the standard button down and pencil skirt combination that was something of a uniform for office workers. It was unremarkable but for the way it hugged the soft protrusions of fat on your body. He liked to imagine that your larger size made you unpopular on the dating market, so he would (in his fantasies and occasionally dreams, when he was lucky) be the first to touch and squeeze and lick you – he’d be the only one that you granted such access to, because he and only he was that special to you.

He placed the stack of napkins on his bed and pushed his face down into them to free both hands to undo his belt and slather his cock with lube. Even just touching his shaft made him shiver and clench his jaw, but he didn’t start pumping just yet because his fantasy was still incomplete. First, he needed you to turn to him in his mind, walking towards him until you had sandwiched him up against the wall, every plump part of you pressing up against him like a full bodied hug. Then, when he nearly collapsed with desire both in reality and in his mind, you reached a hand down to his pants, running your hand back and forth over his cock and looking up at him and only him. Only then did he begin stroking, murmuring your name to himself and clutching his bed. It was only a minute or two before he reached his peak and came so hard into his other hand that he became incoherent, his own moans shoving your name out of his mouth to take its place.

Once he caught his breath and the immense pleasure receded, he was filled with a longing that made his eyes begin to tear, his mouth pressing together as he tried to hold himself together. He needed you. At this point, his fantasies were almost as torturous as they were alluring. Just imagining was not enough and never could be, because while he was here with you, you were off thinking about or talking to someone else. He needed the entirety of you and he needed to show you with his body just how much he worshipped you, the same way he did in his mind every night before sleeping.

His hands were slick with cum and lube, so he shut his eyes for a moment once more and rubbed two fingers into the other palm, imagining that it was your tummy covered in his cum instead, but could only tolerate the fantasy for a few seconds before climbing to his feet to go clean up both himself and the mess he’d made in the entryway. He spent the rest of the night hugging a pillow on his couch and watching the old Ruri-chan OVAs from his favorite season and trying to hold back the tears pressing against the backs of his eyes.

Leviathan did not see you again for another week – perhaps you had been working early or late. When you once again met in front of the elevator, he felt downright giddy and reflexively covered his face with the back of his hand, but the glee turned to pure shock when you turned to him and said “Oh, happy birthday, Levi!”

What he did not know was that the day before, a pair of gentlemen (one ginger, one with hair graying only at the tips) had mistakenly knocked on your door. The shorter one pointed and released a party popper right at your face, and the taller one held out a cake that had bites taken directly out of it. Surprise! They had said, and then the three of you were surprised indeed, because you were not who they were expecting and you had not been expecting anything but still could never have imagined this would happen. They asked for a Leviathan, you pointed them next door, and the one with the frosting on his face apologized around another bite he had taken right out of the cake. The other apologized, too, but distractedly, as he was preoccupied with sadness that he had wasted his only party popper on you instead of his brother.

No, Leviathan was not aware of any of that, because Beelzebub couldn’t control himself around the cake and Belphegor wanted a new party popper, so they gave up and planned to come back tomorrow, the actual day of, without saying a word to him. If Leviathan could have spoken in that moment, he would have asked you how you knew, but he could not, so instead he stared at the ground and tried to figure out how you knew. He didn’t generally think of himself as disposed to illogical thinking, so when it occurred to him that maybe, just maybe, you had been just as taken with him as he was with you, he figured it was the most obvious conclusion.

He imagined that you had gone home after giving him the napkin and touched yourself, too.

Maybe you also had a shrine for him in your home, and one of the things in it told you when he was born.

“Have I said something wrong…?” you asked, eyeing his stunned expression.

It was all he could do to shake his head, because you had actually said the best possible thing that you could have. Was he dreaming?

When the elevator arrived to the right floor, he allowed you to get off first and then trailed behind you, not even noticing the antlers starting to sprout out of his head and the scales started to spread across his skin. It was as though he was mesmerized by you and couldn’t do anything but follow.

You got to your door, opened it, and then cried out when you felt his full weight against your back, pinning you to the ground. His tailed whipped out and slammed the door shut behind the two of you, and he pressed his nose into your hair, inhaling and shivering a little, feeling his common sense melting away to be replaced with only intoxicating lust.

“What are you doing?!” You demanded, your voice wavering with fear. “Get off of me right now!”

He didn’t reply, only focusing on how the way you were struggling was rubbing your ass up against his cock and making him pant. Was it really possible that you were here beneath him, all his for the rest of your lives together? Distantly he wondered why you were struggling if you were obsessed with him, but brushed it away as not important.

“Please, just get off of me and leave,” you said, your voice becoming thick with the tears starting to pour down your face.

He got to his knees, putting one hand on your shoulder and one beneath your tummy, pulling both upwards to flip you onto your back. You only resisted for a few seconds before allowing him to turn you over onto your back, your shimmering wet eyes meeting his crazed ones and drawing another sob out of you. This did not seem to stop him, as he almost immediately rested back on top of you and pressed his lips to yours, jamming his long tongue into your mouth before you had a chance to clench your jaw. You gagged a little at the length of it, long enough to reach the back of your tongue, and tried to push him off of you, which he merely ignored until you stopped.

He only pulled away and sat up when he noticed your elbow working against your side, at which point he wanted to observe what you were doing with your hand. You were holding your cell phone and trying to type something into it, but as soon as you saw him notice it you pulled it closer to your face, typing as quickly as possible. He felt his heart sink: even though you were in love with him, you were thinking of someone else while he was kissing you. Despair settled over him until it gave way to a sort of panicked jealousy: would you ever unlearn this? Could he trust you to commit to only him? You were going to be his first (and already had been his first kiss)…was he really ready for this? This would be your first fight with each other as a couple.

While he was thinking, he snatched the phone from you and crushed it in his hand, tossing the broken bits aside and pouting.

“Who were you going to call?”

“N-no one.”

“O-okay, well then! Who were you g-gonna text?!” he asked, being able to hear how pathetic he sounded himself.

Try to sound like Lucifer! He told himself, and sat up a little straighter. You can do this, you can do this.

“Th-that…was cheating,” he said, and then tried making his voice a little deeper. “Don’t think of any one else. Ever again….uh, d-do I make m-myself c-clear?”

Complete fail, uggghhhh

It took a moment for you to calm yourself enough to speak.

“Please just let me go,” you repeated around sobs. “I won’t call the police or anything. I won’t even mention it to my friends. Just…please don’t....”

He climbed to his feet at that, though he didn’t leave you even a moment to think your pleas had worked on him before he wrapped you up in his tail, lifting you off of the ground and above his head. You cried out and struggled, kicking him with your feet a few times until he held you further away, but he paid no mind and instead locked and deadbolted the door behind the two of you, then walked deeper into your apartment, checking all of the doors in his path until he found your bedroom. He wanted to pause to look around and examine every last bit of you that the room contained, but he was so hard that it was starting to hurt, so he darted over to your bed and slammed you down onto your back, unwrapping his tail so he could sit down, push your legs up and put them on either side of his waist.

Unfortunately, you still had not learned your lesson about struggling, so he clamped his tail down on your neck to hold you still, tightening it when you started to move around too much, and grabbed both of your wrists to hold them beside your head where the end of his tail could wrap around them, too.

You were talking, or maybe just crying, but he couldn’t focus on that. His attention was completely absorbed by his cock pressing into the heat of your core and your writhing body.

He reached out with shaking hands and undid the buttons of your shirt, taking a while not because he was savoring it but rather because he was trying to undo them too impatiently with his uncoordinated fingers and not being that successful to the point that he ripped the last few buttons open in his haste. His hands pressed down into your plush stomach and then, after a moment of enjoying your inviting softness, he ran them upwards until he held your tits in both hands, squeezing them in a circular motion the way he had seen in a few hentai movies and then pushing his fingers into your bra to touch your bare skin and catch your nipples between his fingers, pinching them until you gave a short whimper that made his cock twitch. He slid his hands out and yanked the bra down to reveal them, then leaned down into your chest and shoved his face right in the center of it, squishing your tits against either side of his head while his hips started to buck against yours, greedily craving the friction between you. His face felt so hot at this point, and yet was no match for the warmth of lying there against your heart.

While he’d had plans to lick and suck your tits and maybe bite them a little to see if he could get you to make noise again, he didn’t think he could wait any longer to penetrate you, he sat up and shoved your skirt upwards around your waist until he could reach your panties, then pushed your legs together in front of him with his arms so he could pull them off of you (and stash them in his pocket). He felt so relieved that he’d only worn joggers today and didn’t need to bother with a belt or a zipper, so there was only a second between your panties being removed and the head of his cock pressed right into the folds of your pussy.

“Don’t! I’m begging, please don’t!” you wailed.

“But y-you’re wet,” he observed, rubbing his cock up and down your slit to spread your juices.

You didn’t reply fast enough; he lost patience and shoved into you with a desperate whine. It felt even better than he had imagined day after day all of this time, so he didn’t move at first to try and avoid cumming immediately. Instead, he reached for your hands, freeing them from his tail so he could weave his fingers into yours and press them into your sheets on either side of your head.

“L-look at me,” he panted, tightening his tail around your neck when you didn’t obey. “I s-said to look at me.”

It took a few seconds for you to run out of air and begin struggling to breathe, but you did eventually look at him, instantly making his heart pound. Suddenly, he felt unbearably shy, so he buried his face in your neck as he started to fuck you, slowly but insistently, his pelvis grinding up against yours like he couldn’t get deep enough inside of you, his moans muffled beside your face. Feeling your breasts jolt against him with each thrust he couldn’t help but start to fuck you a little harder, too, just to feel them bouncing beneath him.

He didn’t think to tell you when he was about to cum, since his mind was completely whiting out from the pleasure and his moans sounded frantic and irregular because he couldn’t quite control the sounds he was making, so you only knew that he was filling you when he stopped suddenly, releasing your hands to grab your hips hard enough to hurt and pull you as close into him as possible. His entire body shook against yours for a while. Once he relaxed, still panting but not digging his fingers into your flesh as hard any more, his entire frame draped over yours with exhaustion.

Ten minutes later, he finally sat up to address you, lovingly stroking your hair and cheek.

"That was so much better than in my head. I don't think I've ever been this happy in my life.

“Um, I don’t think you finished, right? S-sorry, I’m…anyway, I’ll read a little more about how to satisfy you on reddit! Then I’ll show you what I learned. We have a lot of time for me to practice until I get it right. I'll definitely make you feel as good as you make me feel.”

“Just let me go,” you murmured, out of tears.

“I never will,” he answered, his voice so resolute that it grew steady even if for only a moment as he promised that. “I’m in l-love with you, a-and you’re going to love me. And only me, no one else. If you think of anyone else, I’ll…I’ll hurt them. And you, too.”

Perhaps you weren’t out of tears after all, as the words made you start to cry again.

This time, he pulled you upwards and wrapped you in his arms while still inside you, grateful for the opportunity to feel as though he was taking care of you. His mind was already starting to wander to plans of where you both would live, how he could punish you to make sure you never spoke to any one else again, and what he would tell his brothers and closest gaming buddies about the best thing that had ever happened to him.

Dreams really did come true. The two of you only had happily ever after in store for you.

[artsandstoriesandstuff]

Here’s the cover I (just) drew for the story. For context, the prompt was to “write something extraordinary from an ordinary moment in your day”, and I got the idea to write about black licorice taffy.

I didn’t like it at all. But despite not liking it I exaggerated my reaction for the story.

Also, it’s in Enid’s point of view. Enjoy.

—————————————————————————

Licorice.

It seems innocent enough, but that’s how it gets you.

Like how it got me, Enid P., in the summer of… well, no. It was yesterday.

And in the form of taffy, too!

…I should backtrack.

It all started when my co-detective, Lou, brought home one of those small bags of saltwater taffy from the local carnival. Ribbon and all.

There were many flavors present. Strawberry. Chocolate. The striped one.

Of course, I was delighted. I was about as delighted as a kid with candy. Which fits, considering the candy part.

I ripped open the bag, about a dozen little candies scattering in this way and that. I took a few and popped them into my mouth. I noticed my partner separating some of the striped candies away from the pile.

“What are you doing that for?” I ask him.

“Black licorice,” he replies. “I don’t like it.”

I look at him, shocked.

“Don’t like it?! How could you not?”

“Well, do you want them?”

“Eh…”

I ponder the question. It looks like I had given the false impression of liking the sweets. Truth was, I had never had a licorice flavored item in my entire life, let alone a licorice taffy.

But I figure: why not? If I’ve never had it in my life, and he’s giving it to me, I could seize this opportunity and try something I hadn’t! Who knows, it could be the best thing ever.

Plus, it was a kind gesture. I’d be an idiot to turn down a kind gesture!

“You don’t have to ta-“

I took the candies from his hand. A puzzled look crossed his face.

As I unwrapped the candies, I thought crossed my mind. Lou cooks himself. He cooks some pretty darn good stuff. So, him giving up a candy would mean it’s a terrible candy, given his experience, right?

Nah.

The candy had a peculiar smell. It smelled sweet, but it also smelled charred. It was lined with black stripes on white candy with a small raised “T” in the middle that indicated the brand.

Slowly, I popped the candy into my mouth, and chewed. At first, it didn’t taste like anything. At most, I could just taste the chewy texture.

But then, it hit me.

The flavor.

The terrible, terrible flavor.

It was bitter. VERY bitter. I couldn’t describe the exact flavor. It felt as though a paint roll of bitter had been slathered on my tongue.

I gagged.

“Are you okay?” Lou asked.

I ran to a trashcan and spat it out. But that didn’t stop its terror. It had coated my tongue. I could still taste it.  I wiped my tongue off. It was still there.

I gagged again.

I rushed to the sink and filled a glass with water. I sipped. But the water tasted like the candy.

I gave up.

I flopped on the floor, helpless. Waited for the flavor to pass.

Lou came into the kitchen after a few minutes.

“Enid, calm down.”

“IT’S BAAAAD.”

“I know. I told you already.”

He placed the cup in the sink.

“Please get up now, though. I think you’re getting the floor wet.”

He walked out.

I sat up.

And that was when my hatred began.

So now? I don’t touch licorice. I know it was yesterday, but my point still stands. I will never, EVER touch another licorice flavored candy again.

And- oh. Hey. Someone left a box at the door.

I wonder what it could…

Oh no.

[jellybeans2099]

Release

Pairing: Miguel x Spiderwoman!reader

Summary: Miguel loves the way you taught him and you love the way he keeps coming back for more

Warnings: 18+ NSFW MDNI, oral (f receiving) , p in v, unprotected sex, cumming untouched, cum eating, dom/sub dynamics (if you squint), smothering, pure filth, reader is mean and Miguel likes it, this is a consensual exchange its just a bit fucked

Work Count: 1.5K

A/N: Not beta read. This is my first time posting something this smutty and I'm honestly very nervous to post it. If you have any questions or critiques please feel free to reach out!

Miguel, the leader of the spider society and the piece holding the multiverse together, had a lot on his shoulders. The stress of this job and the expectations that went with it had a major toll on him and his wellbeing. You however were never intimidated by him and his stature, often cracking jokes and lightly poking fun at him. He enjoyed it, he genuinely enjoyed feeling  like he could indulge in being a little less in control with you. You didn't hold him up on a pedestal and you most certainly had no issues giving him orders when you worked on missions together. You met only once before your first mission together and from then he was hooked. Your easy going nature drew him in and suddenly you were all he could think about. He didn't mean for it to make him so turned on but it did and when you found out you had no problem letting him indulge his fantasies with you.  You secretly wanted to have him under your full control, just to see how much he could keep under control.

Now it was months later and he found himself with both your legs wrapped around his head as he takes a long deep breath to take in your scent. The smell of your wet pussy, wet just for him, went straight to his already rock hard dick. The tip surely was angerly red and dripping precum all over his thighs. He could care less as you wail out his name hoping desperately to feel his tongue lick you out. And so he did, moaning and muttering like a mad man. His tongue licking slow long strokes from your dripping hole to your swollen puffy clit. You bite back a moan as you writhe your hips over him. He reaches up to hold your hips still.

"F-faster, I need you to go faster."

He then darts his tongue into you and you throw your head back. His swollen lips latch onto your clit and you're seeing stars. He savors you on his tongue, the familiar taste of you sending shock waves through his body. He will never get tired of the way you taste. Your hands instantly slinked into his hair and gave a hard pull. He groans, loving how rough you treat him while you chased your own high.

"B-be still Miguel, I'm gonna fuck your face."

Without an ounce of hesitation he lets go your hips and sticks out his tongue and lets you go to town. You start at a brutal pace, smothering him with your thick thighs as he struggles to breathe. You grind your wet mound into his face without care. Your eyes are screwed shut as his name spills out your lips like a prayer. He'd gladly die right now; pussy drunk with his face slathered in your juices listening to you moaning and muttering his name. The temptation to melt his suit away and give his hard on the much needed attention it craves is ever present. Maybe he will just to see how deliciously you'd punish him for it.  He throbs as you begin to clench around his tongue.

"Mhm just like that. Fuck I'm gonna cum."

He can't handle it. The death grip on his hair plus the feeling of your oncoming climax on his tongue has him cumming untouched underneath his suit. Hot ribbons of cum hit the front of his suit as he groans into you. He's careful not to make too much noise so you hopefully won't notice. Times like this he's thankful for not making a more traditional suit. Sticky cum begins to drip down his thighs as your hips studder and you release right onto his face. He chases every single drop of you as he whines through both yours and his orgasm. You continue to grind your face into him to finish out your high. He feels so pathetic and he can't seem to get enough. He loves how small you make him feel. He's still hard as you slowly begin to disconnect from him and lay flat on the mattress. He continues to kneel at the foot of the bed while you begin to collect yourself and come back to your senses. You sit up on the bed and look down at him.

"Stand up and let me see. You honestly didn't think I didn't feel that shutter when you came. Dissolve the suit and let me see."

His face begins to burn in embarrassment as his suit slowly begins to dissolve. His dick is once again hard as a rock as he stands before you naked covered in his own cum. It was a game to him, do something small enough to make you just that little bit meaner and he's hard and leaking. You look at him with those cold, laser focused eyes and he feels himself twitch. You size up the mess he made in total silence making him even more desperate to touch himself.

"You really made a mess didn't you. It honestly turns me on seeing you covered in cum before I've even touched you. It almost makes me want to take care of you, almost."

He groans softly as you size him up. His mind begins to race at the possibilities of what you have in store.

"What do you have in mind?"

His throat going dry in anticipation for your denial. What he would give to sink his dick deep inside you and paint your walls white with his seed and watch as it leaked out of you mixed with your own juices. He knows you'll never let him cum inside you, but the thought that one day you might keeps this twisted little game of his going. You knew exactly what he wanted and yet the fun part for you was watching his eyes as he's denied countless times. You both now are locked in the heat of your twisted little game, both waiting for the other to give in.

"You look so delicious right now, I really want to fuck you. But you came before me and I'm sad you did that."

You slide up onto the bed and he quickly follows suit with you underneath him. You reach up to bring his face closer to yours and pull him in for a hot passionate kiss. You love the way you tasted on his mouth as your tongue licks his. His hands are on your waist holding you close to him as he trails his kisses down your face toward your jaw. Even in this moment he was overwhelming and your lust for him only made keeping control harder for you.

"But otherwise you've been so delightful to me. I feel like being a little nice."

You whisper in his ear as his fangs graze your throat and a shiver runs through his body. You can feel his dick lightly graze your clit as you bite down on your bottom lip to not loose your composure. While you were in charge in all of these interactions you wanted so deeply to give into your desires and let him ravish your body to his heart's content and you're a moaning writing mess.

"Whatever you want, just say the word."

You could hardly breathe as he continued to trail kisses down your chest, taking one of your nipples in his mouth and swirling it with his tongue. Your willpower was at it's last straw as you pull his face back up to yours. You reach down and take his dick into your hand and lightly begin to stroke him. His face is buried in your neck as he moans your name. He slides one of his fingers through your soaked folds  and your grip on him tightens.

"Please fuck me. Cum on me."

Without another word he lines himself up with your entrance and carefully thrusts in. The warmth of you around him was already too much and he knew his orgasm was not far off and from how tight you were you weren't far behind. His pace was agonizingly slow, trying to savor this for the both of you. Your nails were digging deep into his biceps as you tried to hold off as long as you could. Both of you too addicted to the feeling of being on the edge to push it any further. His pace begins to pick up as you wrap your legs around his waist. The lewd sounds of your wetness filled the room, You could hold on no longer as you felt yourself begin to clench around him.

"I'm cumming. Oh fuck I'm cumming. "

H quickly pulls out and pumps his hot load on your stomach and chest all the while growling out your name. The feeling of it hitting your body was enough to make your orgasm feels like ages. You collapse onto the mattress utterly spent. You swipe a finger in his cum and lift the finger to your mouth, as always he tastes delicious.

"Careful now, I can pull another round outta me if you keep that up."

He watched you through hooded eyes as he catches his breath at the foot of the bed. You tried to laugh but your body was exhausted beyond all measure, You fall asleep shortly after he leaves the room to go get a rag to clean you up. When you finally come to the spot next to you is empty, the only sign the night has happened was the ache in your lower body.

[bad-got-imagines]

His Royal Obsession

Summary: After the fight at Driftmark, Viserys arranges a betrothal between Aemond and Rhaenyra’s only daughter, Visenya. Beautiful, graceful, and brave, she is the only woman in the Seven Kingdoms who can tame the wild prince. Their budding romance might prevent a war, however, Aegon has something important to tell them both first.

Word Count: 677

Trigger Warnings: Heavy smut, pwp, incestuous relationships, swearing, canon-compliant body mutilation, communism, voyeurism,

Aemond woke up from his slumber. 

"Good morning, my albino draconic big boy," His wife screamed from her pillow, stretching her toes above her head until they popped like his eye flesh from his empty, empty socket, "You are looking extremely eyeless today." 

Aemond smirked, "I am not looking at all, cunt." 

She giggled, pinching his nose, “Because I took your eye, I know, my dark prince.”

Aemond stood and loomed over her menacingly. His one eye flashed in stomach-clenching desire and malice. “You are the most handsome woman in the whole seven kingdoms, Visenya, even with your love for breeding,” he reminded her, turning to leave.

“Please, my favourite prince with spacious room in the ocular of his skull, leave me with a creampie before the council meeting?” She waggled her toes at him, knowing his secret desires. (a/n Aemond and Larys both have a thing for feet bee tee dubs and if u dont like that then stfu!!!111!! Its sooo hot tttt). 

“Brother, where art thou?!” dnomeA shouted, knowing that argon was always nearby, lost. 

As ageon watched aekond enter his wife, he saw that there was more to love than just poetry and romance. Perhaps, he thought, there was room for a little breeding in his life too. Hm. 

And so, Aegon II Targaryen joined his brother and sister-in-law on the bed, and they all spent the morning laughing, loving, and breeding in the way that only Targaryens could. Incestuously. 

“Looks like we'll have to cut our breeding session short, my love,” Desmond roared regretfully, sharply pinching her earlobe erotically. 

“Your the smartest, bravest, most handsome man I know, Aemond,” wegon said from the doorway, voice filled with admiration and de-admiration. 

AEMOND chuckled, clapping his brother on the back. “I know, aegon,” he said, his voice slathered with humour. “But let's not forget that we're also the most virile and sexually gifted brothers in the seven kingdoms plus essos.”

And on the two brothers went to the council meeting, ready to conquer the world with their intelligence, bravery, and impressive sexual prowess. 

Aegoon looked up at his brother, eyes sparkling with the ghosts of his past, "But brother, I thought we were going to give our organs to starving orphans today?" 

Aemnod raised an eyebrow, his one eye narrowing in confusion. "What are you talking about, sexy? We never talked about giving our organs to starving orphans."

eagon's face fell, his eyes growing sad. "But...but I had a dream last night," he said, his elbows trembling. "A dream where we were heroes, saving the lives of innocent children with our sacrificial organs."

aemond sighed, reaching out to pat his brother's shoulder. "I'm sorry, Aegon, but dreams aren't always reality," he said, his long, shiny hair soothing. "We have more pressing matters to attend to, like the council meeting."

Aegon nodded reluctantly, his eyes downcast. "You're right, as always, brother," he said, his voice resigned. "I suppose we can't save the world with our organs after all."

Aemond turned the corridor corner, pulling on his clothes and checking his reflection in the mirror. "Come on, Aegon, let's go to the council meeting," he said, his tone firm. "We'll discuss how we can make a real difference in the world, without sacrificing our own bodies."

And with that, the Targaryen brothers made their way to the council meeting, ready to conquer the world with their intelligence, bravery, and impressive sexual prowess.

Aegon stood up in the council room, “I have an idea. Why don’t we tax the wealthy and then redistribute the wealth amongst the poorest in society.” 

“Be quiet, you gormless weasel!” AEmond growled, slamming his ankle against the table gently, “Communsim is not allowed in Westaros! Our lord and savious Jesus Christian Cole will not allow it!!!!!” 

Aegon’s shoulders slumped and he shrank down to the size of a mouse. 

Visenya burst into the council chambers. “Aemond my big boy!” she clamoured, “Someone has claimed the cannibal!”

“WHAT?!” awmons roared, jumping up in terror 

“Who?” aegom gulped loudly 

“It was.......m.

Continued in part 2.

“Your mother, Queen Alicent!!”

[hypnotiiize]

𝐜𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 

   𝘪𝘯 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘤𝘩 𝘫𝘶𝘥𝘦 𝘪𝘴𝘯'𝘵 𝘢𝘴 𝘴𝘭𝘪𝘤𝘬 𝘢𝘴 𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘬𝘴 𝘩𝘦 𝘪𝘴

𝐣𝐮𝐝𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐡𝐚𝐦 𝐱 𝐛𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

   𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘳𝘰𝘥𝘶𝘤𝘪𝘯𝘨... 𝐀𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫!𝐉𝐮𝐝𝐞

𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐫'𝐬 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: this is based on a literal Vybz Kartel song but it’s named after a Kelis song. and if you’re not caribbean or from nyc and know nothing abt Vybz … just know i put u on 🙏🏽 also this is gonna be the first instance of what i like to call After!Jude u gon get me soon enough 🤞🏽 + i wrote jude like a man FR so buckle in ❤️

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠: cheating, items thrown, self h*rm ideation, smoking cigs around babies — it was a diff time ya just vibe w me but also DONT smoke around babies 

     Long ago, she’d grown accustomed to the wooden tobacco scent of cigarettes and the way that they seeped into the necks of her most durable shirts. In her earliest memories, she would be sat between her grandmother’s legs and the older woman would be braiding her hair for school. Her grandmother, a rather young woman considering her title, balanced a lanky cigarette between her lips as she added barrettes to the ends of her hair before moving on to the next braid. Now, the eye-stinging, lung-burning, herby smell of cigarette smoke reminded her of easier times– of the hairs at the nape of her neck being roughly brushed up into a plait, of her face being slathered in Vaseline, of her grandmother’s roughened voice chastising her grandchildren for running in her house. 

She smoked her very first cigarette at the age of sixteen. As she placed the cigarette between her lips, she thought of the woman she had lost four years prior whose heavy hands would spoon-feed her gently. Her grandmother. She thought of the woman’s comforting words and sloppy kisses and head pats and Sunday breakfasts for her and all of her cousins. As she’d puffed the cigarette for the very first time, she easily recalled braids and the smell of the hair grease and that one Godforsaken red brush with the roughest bristles she’d ever felt in her life. As she’d exhaled, she’d been slapped with the clearest image of her grandmother she’d seen since the woman was alive. In truth, the woman had begun to slip her mind as the clock ticked by, though as she smoked her very first cigarette she swore she’d felt the warmth of the woman’s aged hands on her back, rubbing soothingly. 

At eighteen, she kicked the habit. It was bad for aging and her fear of lung problems stemmed from the matriarch she’d loved so much. She cried for days at the absence of her grandmother’s presence, finding her lost in the haze of the sweet-smelling smoke. Still, she threw out her pack of Newports and grew used to the dull state of living without her first best friend.

The next time she would see her grandmother was when she was twenty, as the cigarette between her lips lit fiery red at its tip and the stingingly familiar scent– something akin to perfume to her– wafted around her head. Where others smelled cigarette smoke, instead she smelled comfort. She smelled hair grease and pancakes and her grandmother’s home, and when she pressed her eyes shut, she could even imagine herself waking up in the mornings in her grandmother’s arms– she could see the dust particles swaying around her, she could even feel the grainy fabric of her grandmother’s orange curtains between her two fingers. 

When her eyes opened after two long minutes of her childhood, her boyfriend of three years stood in the doorway with furrowed brows and a bothered look in his deep brown eyes. She had been crying long before then.

“You’re smoking again?” was the first thing Jude said. He shook his head, his lips downturned as if he’d tasted something disgusting. He had been the one that pushed for her to leave cigarettes alone. As an athlete, he had to be well averse to the effects of drugs on the human body– plus, he’d hated feeling as if he was kissing a truck driver.

She did not answer him. The truth was evident. She just closed two fingers around the Newport and flicked her thumb against the butt of it, watching wistfully as its ashes fell out of the window to the grass below. For a moment, she wished she could fall in the same way: no longer feeling the painful burn in her chest. Silent. Graceful. And then, stable. 

“Hello?” Jude spoke once more, sounding offended by her brush-off. “You don’t hear me or something?” 

She placed the cigarette between her lips and squinted her eyes at the passing cars as she inhaled. 

“Hello,” Jude said again, lower this time as he wrapped his hand around her wrist and turned her to him. When she tugged her arm from him, his eyebrows rose to his hairline. “What’s wrong with you?” he asked, nose scrunched at the cloud of smoke she expelled from her lips. “Did I do something wrong? Why aren’t you speaking?”

There was a split second– a split, split second– where she pondered laughing in his face, finding irony in the question she, too, had been asking herself since her eyes had cracked open. 

Did I do something wrong? 

When had she stopped being enough? When had Jude stopped fawning over the sway of her hips? When had he grown tired of the sweetness of her skin on his tongue? When had he decided that her love was expendable? 

Why hadn’t he told her?

Having had the whole day to muse, their house still and void of the feelings that had once lived there with the two, she’d decided that he had stopped loving her wildly sometime a year ago. She’d sipped wine and recalled the time she had attempted to type his password into his phone and found herself locked out. She had only wanted to go to his pictures and upon her eyebrows knitting together in the middle of her forehead, Jude wrapped his arms around her and skillfully distracted her with kisses to her chest. The next time she’d gone to open his phone his password had been changed back, and she questioned, briefly, if it had even happened. She’d known it had. 

That second time a year ago, when she’d grabbed his phone, she’d found a picture of herself set as his lock screen. It was something he’d snapped on one of their first dates, back when he would buy her bouquets of flowers and invite her with him everywhere he went, unwilling to part from her. She recalled wanting to be flattered at the gesture, wanting to see the change of photos as a declaration of his love. She knew it wasn’t. Eventually, when her uneasiness had become obvious to Jude, he’d even made a show of allowing her face to unlock his phone, “for emergency purposes,” he’d said, though she knew he meant to shut her up. She felt shame, now, at the fact that that had worked, then. 

Even if her original estimation had been off, she'd thought that the constant pinging of his cell phone that began four weeks ago was the definite answer to her question. By then, Jude no longer smiled at her quirks the way he once did– instead, there was only the irked expression on his face as she tripped or stumbled over her words. When he kissed her, it was offhandedly, like one would an aunt they saw at every family get-together. He would be too busy to go to restaurants with her, though somehow free enough to party with his teammates and friends every night.

Such had been the case the night before when Jude pressed a chaste kiss to the right of her lips and told her he would be going out with his friends. He had stopped asking her if she wanted to accompany him long before then; she had even been glad for it, she did not think she could sit through another one of his eye rolls when she told him that she couldn’t, as she had important schoolwork to finish. In more recent times, when she had been on top of her coursework, she had wanted to party with him but could not bring herself to beg for the attention of the man she lived with. 

Thus, each time, she would be left to observe remnants of his night on the stories of his friends. There were four in total, not including Jude. Jamal, who Jude had played football with since they were children. Whitney, who Jude had gone to school with. Daniel, who Whitney had grown up with. And Amelia, who had started off as a friend that Jude allowed her to invite in the beginning so that she would not feel uncomfortable. Now, they were their own thing– Daniel, Whitney, Jamal, Jude, and Amelia were all one big, partying friend group who truly were not compatible at all. 

And so, despite the bitter prickle somewhere in her chest from being left at home, she could not help but be thankful that she would not have to fake laugh with people she was not truly comfortable with. Instead, she watched their stories: Daniel would post himself and Jude with drinks in their hands. Whitney would post pictures of all of them standing shoulder to shoulder, grinning at the camera. Jamal would not post at all. Amelia, the girl she’d grown up with, would post a video of herself and Whitney singing to the blaring music. 

Last night, just before he left, Jude’s cell phone vibrated and lit up on the nightstand. She had been standing over a foot away reaching for the pajama shirt she’d laid out on the quilt of their bed. She instinctively glanced at his phone when she straightened, mouth falling open as it promptly unlocked itself upon registering her face. She’d read the message there before she could stop herself, her heart dropping to her stomach and heating up the acid there tenfold. 

She’d waited for the slam of the front door before FaceTiming the only one in Jude’s friend group that she’d found herself fond of after all those years. 

Jamal picked up on the first ring. 

“You going out tonight?” she’d asked quickly, hoping for him to say yes despite the fact that he was in his pajamas.

Jamal had snorted. “No. Why?” 

“Nothing, nothing. I just– I just wanted to know if you could keep an eye on something for me,” she’d struggled to say, still shaken by the conclusion she’d leaped to upon seeing the text on Jude’s lock screen. 

“Keep an eye on something for you?” Jamal had repeated after her confusedly. “Are you okay?” When she didn’t answer after a long minute of calculating her next step, he’d said warningly, “Hey, I’m watching American Horror Story and I’m kind of spooked right now, so please don’t be so cryptic.”

Upon her recollection of the events, Jamal had assured her that she was caught up in her own anxieties. Jude, for everything he was, was not as low down as she suspected him to be– and if he was, Jamal would set him straight immediately. Still, as the lines in her forehead deepened, Jamal promised he would remain attentive to every interaction he would witness thereafter. When he hung up after five long minutes of prying about her mental state, she was left with the deafening silence of their bedroom and the frigid vacancy of the left side of their bed.

Now, she watched Jude’s broad shoulders rise and fall with his every breath and wondered if he had ever felt as if someone were pressing talons into his lungs, piercing the organ and suffocating him from the inside out– this, of course, being exactly what she had been feeling since she’d woken up gripping the last remnant of him, his pillow, to her body. 

“Jude,” she began slowly, her voice raspy from all the screaming she’d done hours ago, having had no clue when he would find his way home. His eyebrows raised, a sign of his attention. She tilted her head and attempted to keep her voice leveled, eyes filled with sorrow as she asked the question she had long since known the answer to. 

“You fucked her?” 

Jude looked as if he’d had whiplash. His eyes were wide, his adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed. “Huh?” 

“You fucked her, Jude?” she asked again, voice filled to the brim with desperation. 

“No,” he said quickly, and his answer twisted the knife his absence had lodged into her abdomen long ago.

“How do you know who I’m talking about, then?” she whispered these words, and Jude shook his head. She shook hers, too. “If you don’t know who I’m talking about, why are you saying ‘no,’ already?” Her voice was gentle. 

Jude swallowed once more. “No, I’m just saying, like– no, I didn’t sleep with anyone. I wouldn’t sleep with anyone ever, baby, you know that. I meant, like, no-no not no-no,” he rushed, his words as disorganized as the room they stood in. 

“They saw you, Jude,” she breathed. 

“Who?” he asked. 

“Kiara and Destiny, Jude,” she told him of her best friends, who had gone out of their way to go to the same club as him the night before.

At this, Jude’s eyes rolled to the back of his head, having never found himself fully in her best friends’ good graces. He went to grab her hand. His fingers merely managed to swipe against hers before she snatched them away. “Baby,” he said at that, frowning deeply, “They’re lying. You know they don’t like me.”

So, Jude hadn’t seen it: the headlines and pictures and tweets. She could tell from the peaceful look in his eyes despite the prominent dark circles there from the sleep he had apparently gone without. As she stared at the man she’d grown up with, the man she’d sworn would see her through both sickness and health, she could only feel the incessant need to tighten her hands around her neck and pierce the skin there, longing for the fruitfulness of physical pain rather than the turmoil of her thoughts. She didn’t. Instead, she spoke past the burn in her throat.

“They’re not lying,” was all she could say, incapable of bringing up the articles that had hurt her to scour through. 

“Yeah? They’re not lying? Then tell them to come here and say that in front of me, since you swear they’re not lying,” he called her bluff. It was only then, as she watched him adamantly refuse the facts she’d presented to him, that she realized how many other times he must have lied to her mid-argument. Only this time, she’d had enough proof to make her feel comfortable in simply blinking at him as he denied everything, not having to concern herself with whether or not she believed him. 

In his haste to prove himself, he went on, saying, “Go ahead. Call ‘em, tell them to come,” knowing she wouldn’t. And in the past this may have worked– in the past, she may have felt silly for even suggesting such a thing.

In the present, she had one last suitcase to pack. 

“You fucked her, Jude,” she exhaled simply, tiredly. She took one last, long drag from her cigarette before tapping it out on the windowsill and maneuvering around the man before her. Her suitcase lay sprawled open on the bed that would soon become solely his, the sheets too tainted for her to even think of bringing with her despite her love for them.

“What are you doing?” Jude asked as she opened the closet and removed her sweaters from the white hangers there. “What are you doing?” he asked once more as she began to fold them and place them in her suitcase. When she laid a sweatshirt down, Jude’s large hand grabbed it and flung it onto her pillow. “Baby, I didn’t fuck her,” he insisted fervently.

“How do you know who I’m talking about, Jude? If you didn’t fuck anyone,” she lilted, her eyes low as she folded another sweatshirt. When she placed that one in the suitcase, Jude threw that one out, too. 

“I mean, I didn’t fuck anyone, baby!” he revised.

She folded her third sweatshirt. “You fucked her.”

He threw out the third sweatshirt. “Who? Who did I fuck, then?! Since you swear you know so much!” he shouted, a crease between his eyebrows as he pressed them together.

“Amelia.”

There was a beat in which no one spoke, and she wished, for a moment, that he had denied that name as aggressively as he’d been doing everything else just a minute before. Instead, when she glanced at him, she only found him with his lips sucked into his mouth as his eyes shut. His right hand had even constricted into a fist around her favorite hoodie. When he caught himself, he flung it at his own pillow.

“I didn’t fuck her,” he swore, quieter this time.

“You fucked her, Jude.”

“Oh my fucking God,” he hissed and then rolled his neck. The next he spoke, he was bellowing with his hands pressed together, “I didn’t! Fuck her!” 

“Jude! You fucked her!” she spat just as suddenly as he, though ten times louder for the sake of it, finding that her chest had grown hot from his audacity to raise his voice at her.  

“I said I didn’t fuck her! Why the fuck won’t you just listen to m– stop putting shit in this stupid suitcase!” He lifted the suitcase easily and tossed it onto the floor, having found himself fed up with the umpteenth sweater she’d neatly folded despite the bubbling tensions. 

“Destiny and Kiara saw you, Jude. They saw you,” she sighed, opting to continue to fold the rest of her belongings and lay them on the pristine white quilt the two had once slept on. 

“Yeah, well, your friends talk too fucking much, anyway,” was his curt reply. He caught himself when her right eye twitched and her head began to slowly raise to squint at him. He hastily added, “And they’re lying, too.”

She did not dignify him with a response. There was only the quiet sigh that she pressed from her nostrils and the rustling of the clothes in her hands. 

Jude’s eyes rolled as she placed another pleated sweater on their comforter. He grabbed that one quickly, too, throwing it onto the headboard before bounding the bed toward her. He stood four inches from her, yet she did not bat an eye– her gaze remained downcast, focused on the fabrics she could feel between her fingers. Jude reached for her hand. “Baby,” he drawled, “I never had sex with Amelia, baby. I would never do that to you. Baby? You hear me?” His words fell on deaf ears. 

She shifted away from him and placed her sweatshirt on their bed. 

This time, Jude’s hand caught hers. He began to toy with her fingers the way he used to. His voice was soft, tentative as if the revelation had hurt him in the same way it had hurt her. “Call Jamal,” he proposed earnestly. “He was there with us last night, he can tell you.” 

She felt as if she were suffocating in the room they’d decorated together all those months ago, as now, the man she loved looked her directly in her eyes and fabricated a story. She wondered, momentarily, why her boyfriend was so confident in his ability to deceive her. How many times had he done it before? How many times had she been made the fool? How long had he slipped lies into an everyday conversation for her to consume, content with poisoning her from the inside out?

She blinked, pulling her hand from his. “Oh. Jamal was with you last night?” she asked deliberately. 

Jude nodded. “Yes. We all went out, baby. You know that.”

“That’s so funny,” she hummed, eyeing the way her hands began to tremble. She could hear her voice quivering. She could feel her chest shaking. She faced Jude, then, struggling to square her shoulders before the man who towered over her. “That’s so funny,” she repeated, louder this time. She let her words wash over him for three seconds before continuing. “‘Cause Jamal was actually the one that called me and told me that Amelia called him and told him that you and her had fucked last night! So.”

Jude sucked his lips into his mouth at this. 

She chuckled at the turn of events. “Not to mention, when I FaceTimed Jamal last night he was in his pajamas getting ready for bed.” At Jude’s measured silence, she shook her head, a smile splitting on her face. “Look at you, just standing there looking stupid. Thank God for iPhones. You would’ve had me looking real dumb,” she spit this before snatching more hangers from the closet. She stepped around Jude, hurling her clothes into her opened suitcase, hangers be damned.

Jude swiveled in his spot, and when he spoke, his voice was high-pitched. “Baby! I wouldn’t lie to you! I’m not lying to you!” he lied.

She scoffed, finding that her fingers were itching for a cigarette to sit between them, to soothe the nerves he’d shot up before he even stepped foot in what was once their home. After a while, she could only sigh. 

“I’m leaving, Jude,” she stated, her conclusion as simple as her words. “You can have this whole house to yourself and Amelia, but I gotta go.”

“Baby,” he began, tone dipped in syrup as he flocked to her side. He placed his hand on her cheek and lifted her face. Her eyes met his, void of their usual warmth. “Hey, listen. I love you, okay? Don’t leave. Please don’t leave.”

“Get off of me.” She lifted her chin from his palm. 

“Baby, she’s lying,” he declared, his fingers gripping at his hair. “I don’t know why she told Jamal that! She’s fucking lying, baby, you can’t believe her!”

She squinted at him severely, slowly asking, “Why would she lie about that, Jude?”

“I don’t know! Maybe she just likes to lie!” he suggested, an octave away from whining. 

Her fingernails dug into the flesh of her palms and for a split second, she contemplated arson. She harkened back to the conversations she would hear her cousins having as they spoke of their boyfriends, thinking of how abysmal their excuses were when they would get caught in lies. She remembered just how content she had felt, confident of both Jude and the amount of respect Jude had for her– if he would ever lie, he would care enough to make the lie excellent and not be so bad at thinking on his toes for the sake of their relationship. Color her shocked at his less-than-logical, stuttered responses. He had not even thought of her and their courtship enough to lie effectively, and therefore, she did not have any more words for him. 

She continued to pack.

Jude placed his head in his hands and groaned loudly, scrubbing a palm down his face. “I hate that girl, bro,” he snarled, shaking his head into his wrists. He straightened and pinched the bridge of his nose with two fingers, inhaling for four long seconds and exhaling for just as long. When he gathered himself, he found her at the head of their bed, tossing the sweatshirts he’d strewn there into her opened luggage. He gulped at the dull look in her pretty eyes. 

“Baby,” he started gently, “She’s lying. I’m telling you, she’s lying. She’s lying.”

She stood on her toes and flicked her wrist as she tossed her sweater, thinking of yelling, “Kobe!” in the midst of her attempt to drown out Jude’s words.

“She’s lying. I can prove to you she’s lying. I can prove it,” Jude persisted. He patted his hands against his thighs before pulling out his car keys. He gripped them tight in his palm as he said, “Okay, baby. You stay here, I’m gonna go see her again to sort all this out–”

“Again?” 

Jude choked on air. “Huh?”

“Again? You said, ‘again’?” she echoed, her eyebrows raised as she gawked at his slip-up. 

 His jaw slackened. “Huh?”

“You said you’re gonna go see her ‘again’?” she repeated his words, smiling despite the way her chest had caught fire as she slow-walked to the middle of the room. “When was the first time you saw her, Jude? Since ‘she’s lying.’ Why d’you gotta go see her ‘again’? Hm?”

He blinked dazedly, looking first to his left and then to his right. “Huh?”

“What, you don’t hear me?!” she laughed loudly. “You said you gotta see her ‘again.’ So you saw her already, right?!”

“Huh? What?” was all he could say. 

“Yeah, huh,” she mocked, bending at her waist and grabbing the silver zipper on her luggage. She could see Jude standing awkwardly in its reflection, his hands raised slightly in the air as he stumbled to his next response. She rolled her eyes as she closed her bag. She hoisted her suitcase onto its wheels while she stood, rolling past him wordlessly to the front of the house. She opened the closet there, tugging out the suitcases she had placed there hours ago in an effort to gather all of her possessions in one place without Jude’s interference– though she had not known then that he would even be home that early. Had she known, she would have bid the house farewell with some loud music and a slice of cake rather than the piercing screams the four walls had to sit through earlier. 

She longed to say goodbye to each nook and cranny that she had seen every day for the past year. She longed to brush her hands against the smooth marble island wistfully, longed to recall the dishes she and Jude had made there– though now, she knows, those memories of the two of them moving around each other easily as they cooked would be forever marred. She longed to rub her fingers along the sofa they’d picked out together, longed to rest her head on its armrest once more before departing. She longed to feel at home in their home. 

Jude grabbed her wrist and twisted her to him, finding that the view of her bags by the front door had made his heart palpitate in a nauseating way. “So you’re just gonna leave based on what someone else said?” he spat. “You’re not even giving me a chance to, like, defend myself– you’re just leaving! You’re letting everyone lie to you! So, you don’t care about me? Is that it?” His gaze poured into hers as his voice softened. “You’re just gonna let everyone lie to you and you’re gonna believe them over me?”

She felt as if she was going to be sick. “No one’s lying to me, Jude,” she said, removing her arm from his.

He grabbed her again, his fingers gentle around her flesh in spite of the gravel in his tone. 

She could have even pulled away once more if she wanted to. She didn’t. 

“So tell me how you know, then,” he rasped, the scent of him overtaking her senses. “Tell me how you know no one’s lying. Tell me why you’re so quick to believe everyone but your boyfriend of three years. Tell me,” demanded Jude. 

There was a tug at the back of her throat. She had to raise her gaze to the ceiling to stop the sting in her eyes. Not for the first time, she wished for a cigarette. 

“She texted you last night, Jude,” she revealed.

His face fell despite the fact that he had already been frowning, his sharp gaze growing blunt. “You went through my phone?” 

“No, I didn’t go through your fucking phone, Jude,” she snapped, yanking her arm from his at this. A small fraction of her found humor in how panicked he looked: his eyes wide, his chest heaving, his rich brown skin slightly paled in pallor. However, the majority of her wanted to bust the windows out of his car, and thus the humor would remain lost on her at that moment. She scoffed. “The stupid shit lit up last night when you were getting ready and I saw her fucking text you.”

He shook his head disbelievingly. “You went through my phone.”

“I didn’t go through your fucking phone!” she said and her labored breath caught in the next moment, a thought occurring to her. “Should I have gone through your phone?!” she asked, peering at him through narrowed eyes, daring him to slip up once more.

“That’s not important,” he dismissed with a casual wave of his hand. Her chest felt as if it were molten lava. “What’d the text say, then? ‘Cause I didn’t see a text, so I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he insisted, unbeknownst to the fact that she had observed quietly in the corner of their bedroom as his lips had tugged into a smirk at the sight of Amelia’s text. 

She thought once more of pressing her nails into her throat, the weight of his lies threatening the strength of her resolve. Her shoulders shuddered as she recalled the words that had appeared below the picture of her on his lock screen. You gonna see me again tomorrow? Or today? When she recited this to Jude, he gulped.

“Baby, I don’t know what you’re talking about. You gotta believe me,” he begged. “I’m lost! Just like you are!”

“Sure you are,” she mumbled weakly, grabbing her collection of coats from the closet beside the front door. She laid them over her arm as Jude latched onto the handle of her suitcase and pulled it a yard away from her. 

He placed himself in front of the suitcase, next, barring her from leaving both the house and his life. “I didn’t have sex with her!” he swore desperately.

“Jude!” She was shouting now. “Stop fucking lying to me! Stop lying! You look stupid, stop lying! You fucked her! Just shut up already!” 

“But you’re not even letting me defend myself!” he boomed, and she felt as if his voice had shaken the walls. “No matter what I say, you won’t believe me!”

“Because you’re fucking lying!” she screeched, her hands balled into fists. 

He groaned, his hands on his head once more as he did a three-sixty. “Oh my fucking God, you keep saying that shit!” He leaned forward, his palms facing the sky as he asked, “Who the fuck is saying I’m fucking lying?! ‘Cause they’re the ones that are lying!”

“Destiny and Kiara, Jude! Destiny and Kiara! My best friends saw you!” Then, just before he could say that her friends had an elaborate ploy to get him out of her life, she soldiered on, “And Jamal told me! Jamal told me, Jude! Amelia told Jamal, and he told me! Not to mention the people on Twitter that are tagging me in shit! So, you’re done, Jude! You’re caught! I’m leaving, move on!” 

“You’re not going anywhere because I’m not lying!” he hollered his claim.

“Oh yeah?” she challenged.

He nodded cockily. “Yeah.”

“You’re not lying?”

Again, he nodded. “I’m not lying.”

“Mm,” she hummed, nodding once before she pressed the plushy pad of her index finger to the middle of her lips. 

She wondered, briefly, how she would go about her next move. Would she scream, in hopes that her voice would penetrate his skin and cause him the pain she felt? Would she cry, in hopes that her sobs would awaken something within him and he would come to, shaken at the sound of her in pain? Would she throw the nearest object at his temple? 

In the end, she merely tilted her head at him at a forty-five-degree angle and asked knowingly, “Then what’s that hickey on your neck, Jude?” 

In the distance, a pin dropped.

She had, admittedly, caught the maroon-colored bruise just above his collarbone the moment the cigarette smoke had dissipated from the air between them– just after she’d watched the ashes connect themselves to the dew on the vibrant grass. She had been too caught up in the fact that it had been exactly where Jude’s spot was to speak on it, too caught up in the fact that whoever he had been with– and she knew who he had been with, she had known her before she had become a woman– had known him well enough to know his body. She had imagined Amelia sucking at the skin above his collarbone familiarly in the same way that she had once done, back when the sight of Jude did not make her want to rip each strand of hair from her head one by one.  

Jude leaned his ear forward, feigning as if he had not heard. “Huh?” 

“Yeah, huh. I said, what’s that hickey on your neck?” she reiterated, surprisingly jovial for such a situation. 

Jude’s eyebrows knit in the middle of his forehead. “What hickey on my neck?”

She just smiled. “That hickey on your neck,” she said, pointing to the skin on full display. He had not even had the respect to dab some concealer over it or fix his collar. She chuckled. 

Jude turned to the mirror beside the front door, craning his neck to see the stretch of skin she was referring to. Russet eyes widened considerably at the sight of the reddened mark, his fingers pressing against it for two long seconds before he gathered himself. 

“Oh, that?” he began, smacking his lips together. “That’s not a hickey!”

“That’s not?” she played along.

He smacked his lips together again. “No.”

She tilted her head further, crossing one hand over the other as she squinted at him judgmentally, questioning just how far he would spin the web of lies he rested within. “What is it, then, Jude?” she asked.

His eyes widened and he shrugged as if the answer were glaringly obvious. 

“A mosquito bite!”

There was a pregnant pause as she processed his excuse, her jaw hanging slightly ajar while she nodded slowly, realizing only then just how absolutely dumb the man before her was. She had always overlooked it, citing his lack of logic on something that he did solely to make her laugh. Instead, the truth of Jude was less charming than she had chopped it up to be: where she envisioned a well-calculated, suave footballer instead lived a boy still stuck in his teen years, ditzy in treacherous ways. 

Reality had punched her smack dab in her mouth, splitting her lip open upon contact. Now, she could taste the iron there, pooling around her teeth with each of Jude’s lies. 

Still, against her better judgment, she chuckled. “Jude…” 

“What? It’s a mosquito bite!” he maintained.

“Yeah?” she asked, crossing her arms over her chest. He nodded. “Mm. So, where were you that a mosquito bit you last night, Jude? Where were you in the winter that you got a mosquito bite? And quickly.”

Jude replied, “Babe, you know the club is by water.”

“Oh, it’s the club’s fault now. Which club?” she quizzed.

“Uh, Lavender Lounge.”

“Hm.” She shook her head, her lips twisted up. She made a show of eyeing the ceiling skeptically, tapping her chin for good measure. “That’s definitely not where Destiny and Kiara saw you, but okay.”

Jude squeezed his eyes shut at that. She simpered, well aware that he had forgotten that piece of information having been too caught up in sustaining everything else he had said. 

“No, baby, I meant the Realm,” he corrected eventually.

Her smile grew, dazzling now. “Oh, the Realm. You mean the club that’s right by Amelia’s house? That one? That Realm?”

Jude appeared perturbed. “No, I meant–”

“‘Cause I’m thinking it’s that Realm,” she laughed humorlessly. The next time she spoke, her chuckles had progressed into full-blown giggles, her shoulders shaking despite the salty liquid collecting at her waterline. “‘Cause, y’know, I’m thinking you took your cheating ass to that Realm and met up with Amelia so you guys could fuck. That’s what I’m thinking, but I’m really just spit-balling here.”

“Baby, calm down,” was how he chose to respond. 

Her reaction was instantaneous: she flinched, his words delivering a swift deck to her mouth in the same way reality had. Her brain vibrated against her skull at the impact of them. The pool of blood there only developed, dribbling from between her lips and falling onto the necklace he had bought her for their first anniversary. 

She could only see red.  

“Calm down?” she parroted, speaking through clenched teeth. “Calm. Down?! You cheat on me and you’re gonna tell me to ‘calm down’? Are you out of your fucking mind?!” she exploded, rolling up one of the coats in her arms and beaming it straight at his head. It smacked against his temple before thudding to the ground, though by then she had already thrown the next one. Jude was ducking as she shrieked, “And then you’re gonna cheat with Amelia of all people? Are you fucking crazy?!”

“No, baby, she’s lying!” he said as another puffer pelted him. He never imagined that such a fluffy jacket could cause such a sting. 

“Amelia of all fucking people?!” she screamed, seizing her house slipper from her foot before flinging it at him with her dominant arm, too upset to risk the fifty-fifty chance of missing him. It smacked him right against the supposed mosquito bite above his collarbone and he let out a short yelp. “Of all fucking people! Fucking Amelia! You must’ve lost your mind!” 

“Wait, wait, wait, okay, okay, okay,” Jude rushed, hands outstretched in front of him in an attempt to block the next item she would hurl. She stood barefoot in their foyer, her second slipper waiting patiently in her palm to be launched. Her eyes widened as she raised the slipper, a threat that he quickly took heed of. He caught his breath quickly, his next words cautious. “Okay. Baby. Listen. I-I think I have a solution, okay?” he said. 

“Shut up!” The house shoe thwacked against the left side of his chest.

“Geez! Stop throwing slippers at me!” 

“You’d rather a Timberland?!”

“Baby! Please! Just listen to me!” he beseeched, and though she felt as if she would sob from the searing pain his infidelity had forced into their home, she thought of the boy she fell in love with and agreed. Jude thanked her graciously. “I think I have a solution. Okay? Just hear me out, please. Please?” He waited for her shoulders to wilt and her hands to unfurl. 

Jude’s lips parted and her heart cracked. She could not lie to herself any longer: she desperately wished that the next words that fell from his plump lips would be ones that she could believe in. She wanted, more than anything, to fall into his arms and break against his chest, to cry into his biceps and apologize profusely for jumping to incorrect conclusions, despite the fact that she had seen the pictures and videos from the club. Despite the fact that she had heard the answers fall from Jamal’s mouth when he frantically called out of her sleep. His actions were set in stone. Her fate would rely on the next thing he said. 

“I’ll let you get back at me one good time to get it out of your system and then we can all just forget this happened,” Jude posed. 

And with this, she swore, something shattered in her chest. She felt the shards of it succumb to gravity and stab at the insides of her feet, the pain stinging and sore and yet still a reminder that she was still alive– that she was still real, not yet ashes collecting on the grass. 

He smiled weakly at her, attempting to gauge her reaction despite the hollow expression in her eyes. “Okay? So that you can’t be angry. Not that I’m saying I cheated or anything,” he threw in swiftly, catching his implied admission. “But since you think I did, I’ll let you cheat, too, so that it’s even! It’s like an eye for an eye, right? Even though I didn’t cheat. So, you cheat back–” (he had not realized he’d said ‘back.’ She was left to note this mentally, too drained to point it out) “–and then just,” he shrugged simply, “Don’t leave.”

“Jude, please get away from me,” was all she could say, unsteady on her feet as if she’d been out drinking the night before instead of him. She almost wished she had. Maybe, then, he would be the one praying for something, anything, to end his suffering– to wake him up and assure him that it was all a bad dream. Maybe he would feel the burn in his chest and the shake in his hands and the stabs in his feet. Maybe he would handle it better than her. Maybe, if the roles were reversed, he would not wish to die. 

“Baby?” he tried. 

“Give me my shit, Jude,” she ordered, extending her hand for the suitcase. 

This time, Jude did not fight her. He gnawed on the inside of his cheek as he rolled the luggage over to her, gaze falling in shame at the way her fingers deftly avoided brushing against his. Just as his mouth fell open, his one last shot at getting her to stay with him– a long shot, he knew, but still a shot after all– seven rhythmic knocks hit the front door and he knew his time was up. Her two best friends streamed in, silent as they gathered her things and carried them to the car they’d parked out front. 

He waited until the second to last bag was guided outside before clearing his throat, speaking past the lump that had cultivated there. “Where are you gonna go?” he asked, more for his sake than hers.

“That’s none of your business,” she replied icily. 

“But,” his voice quivered, “Baby, I love you.”

“Jude, I don’t care.”

The cool breeze of the afternoon did little to nothing to tame the burning sensation burrowing beneath her brown skin, and just before she reached her best friend’s car, she bent forward and threw her long braids into a high bun, finding that the feel of it all around her was only proving to suffocate her more. She blew a kanekalon end from her vision, taking a moment to study the houses across the street. Husbands and wives, mothers and fathers, grandmothers and grandfathers– and now, in the house that was once theirs, just Jude. 

He called her name and her head whipped to the doorway. Her name on his tongue had always felt foreign. Now, she welcomed it. She had grown sick of the constant babys, nauseous at the insincerity of his tone and the slow way he would push the name past his lips.

“Are you serious about this?” he asked after following her onto the lawn, getting just close enough so that she could see the water in his reddened brown gaze. He sniffled. “Are you really going to leave me? Even though I told you I didn’t do it? A-And even if I did do it, would you really leave me that quickly?” He shook his head. A tear fell to his full lips. “You must’ve never loved me if you can leave this fast. Have you just always hated me? Huh? Do you hate me? Just tell me, please, I can take it.”

This was his latest tactic, she knew: crying and accusing her of hating him so that she could wrap her arms around his neck and fawn over him. She could only nod politely at the sight of his tears, so brand new and yet not nearly adding up to the amount she had shed ever since their home had reverted to the listing they’d found it under. 

She just patted his arm. “Keep your head up, man.”

He did not speak as she slinked into the passenger seat. He did not speak as the engine revved. He did not speak as the car took off. There was only his soulless stare as she left his life– and this was when she began to second-guess herself, unable to fathom the man she thought she would marry not having any parting words for her. At the wobble of her bottom lips, her best friend turned up the City Girls song in an effort to cheer her up. As JT rapped about needing a man who would swipe his visas, she placed a cigarette between her lips, sniffling past the sting at the back of her throat and mentally saying one final goodbye to the man she loved. She laughed loudly at her friends’ complaints about the smell, rolling the window all the way down and deciding to savor what she hoped would be the final nicotine pull of her life. 

The cigarette smoke trailed out of the passenger seat window, and she watched as the life that she knew grew minuscule in the side-view mirror there. She tasted wooden herbs and felt the burn at the back of her throat, drowning the sting of tears there– and then she felt her grandmother’s hand on her back, soothing her in a way that only the woman could. 

She leaned her head back and the next drag was longer. When she opened her eyes, there was only the familiar smoke around her head, and then the baby-blue sky.

[adashofniallandasprinkleoflunacy]

Vampy come down for family dinner and help clean up like he wasn’t just defiling their daughter 10 minutes ago

Harry would rail the fuck out of her in her closet with one hand over her mouth and another around her throat, grunting absolute filth into her ear as she spills over him with muffled whines and sobbed pleas. He’d lick her clean, pull her panties and leggings back up her quaking thighs, and proceed to buckle his slacks casually while she props herself against the wall, trembling and panting.

He just leans forward and presses a chaste kiss between her sweaty brows, her skin sticky against his lips as he murmurs smugly. “I’m gonna go finish cleaning up the kitchen with your mum. Come back down after you’ve sorted yourself out, and don’t forget to wipe your makeup off. It’s smeared down your face.”

Y/N does as he says, wiping the watery steaks of mascara off her cheeks and fixing her wild hair, making sure to leave no evidence of their little escapade, lest Harry end up sleeping outside on the yard. When she finally gets back down to her living room (she takes the stairs extra carefully, her belly throbbing with each step), the vampire is sitting in the rocking chair next to her mother’s, swaying lightly as they chat away nonchalantly.

They’re laughing and gossiping, their hands occupied with all types of yarn and needles, and she always forgets that Harry had learned how to knit when he was younger. It’s so baffling to see him engaging innocently with her mom, his nimble fingers expertly working on a multicolored scarf as he does so, not sparing the piece the slightest glance due to how confident he is in his skills. The reason it’s especially startling is because those fingers had been inside her not even five minutes ago.

“So we were running around this lake near my house,” Harry explains candidly, clearly in the middle of telling a story from his past as his digits weave in and out amidst red and purple yarn, “and we were playing in the snow near the banks, which was our first mistake. My mother had told me that the snow around the shores tended to be really slushy, so if we weren’t careful, we’d end up slipping really easily. We didn’t listen, of course— what ten year old does? We were playing tag with the neighbors, and as I was chasing after Gemma, I accidentally shoved her a bit too hard and she slipped and fell right into a pile of muddy snow. Completely stained everything she was wearing.”

Her mom releases a disappointed hiss, giving him a sympathetic glance over the glasses perched on the bridge of her nose. “Poor thing.”

Harry nods in agreement, looping yarn over his needles as he extends the scarf over his lap for more space, continuing his labor. “My mum grounded me for a week, and I spent that entire time learning to knit so I could remake Gemma’s mittens, since I was the one that ruined them. It was a fair punishment, honestly, and I ended up liking it more than I thought. Plus, the mittens I made were way better than the original pair. You just can’t buy this type of talent anywhere.”

The older woman laughs boisterously at his self-absorbed joke, which results in Harry smiling to himself proudly, giggling along.

Y/N clears her throat softly, leaning against the archway that leads into the room and crossing her arms over her chest in a relaxed manner, quirking an eyebrow at both of them as she makes her presence known. “Having fun?”

Harry glimpses over at her, his eyes raking down her body to where she’s clasping her thighs tightly, irises gleaming with knowing condescension. “Loads.”

“Harry was just telling me about when he learned to knit!” Y/N’s mother chirps, sending a warm smile towards the boy sitting across from her, unaware of the fact that he’d been defiling her daughter not too long ago. “It’s not often that you find a young man with this type of interest. He’s a keeper, sweetheart.”

“Hear that?” The immortal gloats teasingly, wagging his brows playfully as he holds up his unfinished accessory. “I’m a keeper.”

“Mm.” His girlfriend hums sarcastically, rolling her eyes towards the ceiling to avoid giving him any satisfaction. “I bet you’re just loving all this praise, aren’t you?”

Harry whistles lowly, tutting in a chastising fashion. “Someone’s jealous.”

Y/N rectifies her posture, an appalled expression cracking over her features. “Am not!”

“Are to.”

“Am not.”

“Are to.” Harry insists doggedly, looking over at the older woman for support. “Isn’t she?”

Her mom studies her for a moment, clicking her tongue scoldingly. “I think maybe you are, honey. Just a bit.”

Harry cranes his head back towards Y/N, sticking his tongue out mockingly behind the woman’s back and scrunching up his face comically, flaunting his childish point.

“Plus, Harry was sweet enough to make you that scarf he’s working on. You should be more grateful.”

Harry softens his eyes dramatically, sugaring his voice into a honeyed drawl that only she can read through. “Yeah, Y/N. I’m going out of my way to make you this nice gift, and that’s the thanks I get?”

“Dickhead.” The girl grumbles pettily, shifting on her feet as she glowers at him.

Her mother glares at her accusingly. “Language! I taught you better than that!”

“Mm. You should be more careful with what you say; words hurt more than you know.” Harry tacks on with a snide grin, shrugging his brows daringly as he slips an innuendo into his next line. “Mouthing off like that could get you into a whole lot of trouble.”

The pit of her tummy throbs at his curtained challenge, her eyes narrowing as she bites back the urge to curse him out again. “Thanks for the moral advice, Aristotle, but I’m grown enough to face the consequences of my own actions.”

Harry slowly puts down his knitting needles onto the small table beside him, picking up the scarf laying across his thighs and rolling it out in its entirety. It’s now that she realizes the item is much too thin width-wise to be scarf— it looks more like a belt, similar to the strap used to tie off a robe. The vampire flickers his gaze over to Y/N’s mom to make sure she’s not watching, and once he sees the lady is once again preoccupied with her knitting, he trains his attention back onto his partner.

He lifts the long colorful band up to his neck, tying one end around his throat loosely and wrapping the excess length around his knuckles, giving the article a symbolic tug. Y/N’s cheeks burst with heat at the crude reenactment, suddenly coming to terms with what he’s actually created under the guise of a harmless statement piece: it’s a makeshift collar.

Harry watches her avidly, a sinister smirk carving his dimples into place once he sees she’d understood his implication. He yanks the leash from around his neck swiftly before he gets caught, rolling the material back up neatly to disguise it. He cocks his head to the side conceitedly, his accent slathered with the same amount of arrogance as his gesture. “You never know, dove. Sometimes the consequences might be too much for you to handle.”

[kn1feinthec0ffee]

shave and a haircut - spencer reid

bi!spencer reid x gn!reader

summary: spencer needs a haircut, and you just so happen to know how to give him one.

warnings: none really, touch starved!spence 🥺

word count: 1,293

notes: this is an uber sweet amount of softness that i will not apologize for bc i love it so very much 

also bi!spence. yeah i said it,, what ab it??

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

you had noticed spencer’s thoughts about his hair even before he did. not that you were a mind reader, but you were essentially the next best thing.

you watched him constantly brush flyaway strands behind his ears to keep them out of the way as he pored over documents. the way he scrunched his nose adorably when garcia playfully tugged on a strand of it. it was obvious - to you, at least - that he wanted a change.

  “i’ve wanted it cut for a while now,” spencer exhaled, shaking his shaggy locks. “it just keeps getting in the way.”

  “i could always give you a trim if you’d like,” you inserted yourself into the conversation.

spencer’s cheeks appeared to tinge pink at the suggestion, but he quickly nodded. “if that would be okay with you?” you giggled, furling up his curls into a messy pile.

  “of course it’s okay with me, i’d do anything for you, spence.” he didn’t know how serious you were, but he felt his heart swell at your meaningful words. “can i come over, let’s say... tomorrow afternoon?”

he barely managed an awestruck nod before you were on your way. perhaps if he weren’t so busy overanalyzing what you had meant, he would’ve noticed the newfound pep in your step that lasted the rest of the day.

——————————

  “wow,” you bobbed your head as your eyes scanned the muted tones of spencer’s apartment. “this is... exactly what i was expecting.”

  “hey,” he feigned offense. “are you saying i’m predictable?”

you pretended to be in deep contemplation at the simple query. “yes, yes i am, i think that’s exactly what i’m saying.”

spencer wanted to roll his eyes, but you were too adorable for him to possibly feel any semblance of annoyance.

once you had laid out a towel underneath the chair and clipped a cape over his shoulders, you clasped your hands together in excitement. “okay! what are we thinking?”

  “i don’t really know, something short i guess?” spencer shrugged. “you can surprise me, if you want. i trust you. just please leave it curly.”

  “it’s been short before, but that was when i used to straighten it and gel it back,” he shivered just thinking about the slick stickiness he used to slather over his hands and onto his head.

  “you did what?” you gasped. “i’ve got to see a picture of that sometime. i’m just picturing little baby reid with his hair combed over to the side.”

  “well, it was only a couple years ago, so i’m not sure if that qualifies-” spencer began.

  “oh it absolutely qualifies. once a baby, always baby. in my book anyway,” you mumbled, more to yourself than anyone else, but that didn’t stop reid from blushing once more. you always seemed to bring that out in him. “i bet you pulled a lot of ladies & gents with a hair cut like that, huh, hot shot?”

he scoffed, picturing the image of him actually having too many people trying to get with him. “oh yeah, they couldn’t get enough of me with all my statistics on kidnapping victimology and the likelihood of being abducted from high-density social situations.”

  “hey,” you curled a finger under his chin to tilt his head up towards you. “don’t do that. you sell yourself short, sweetheart. you’re much more lovely and charming than you give yourself credit for.”

at this moment, spencer was 99% sure you had no idea what you were doing to him. he was falling deeper in love with you as every minute passed, and while he enjoyed it, it was simultaneously excruciating. this is just supposed to be a haircut, he thought. get it together, spencer. you don’t wanna mess this up.

he settled on a simple, “thanks,” as you began snipping bits of hair off in a seemingly disorganized fashion. 

he was so used to haircuts being awkward and impersonal, but this was something else entirely. the soft little tugs he felt as you pulled a strand out between your fingers nearly made his heart stop. the way you hummed a tune to yourself as you diligently worked made him feel so safe and calm. 

spencer only noticed his eyes had closed when he felt the warmth radiating off of you leave him. you were stood over your tools, picking up an electric razor as you walked back over to him. “so much freedom you’ve given me,” you tutted to yourself.

he remained quiet as the repetitive buzz of the razor filled the room. you tilted his head forward, resting it gently on your torso as you gave the hair around the nape of his neck a closer shave. you weren’t entirely certain due to the volume of the razor, but you were pretty sure you had heard spencer let out a contented little whimper against the fabric of your sweater.

the realization hit you like a bus that spencer had most likely been somewhat deprived of touch for most of his life. it made sense; he never seemed to seek out touch from anyone who wasn’t a close friend or relative. a warm feeling blossomed in your heart at the thought that you were providing him with the touch he had deserved for so long.

  “having fun, pretty boy?” you mused - teasing lightly as not to mock him or hurt his feelings - giving his locks a playful tussle. spencer wanted to respond, he really did, but he was so overwhelmingly soothed. your hands were in his hair, trailing across his skin; he was resting his head against the softness of your clothing, but more importantly you as your scent enveloped him.

all he could manage was a brief, “mhm,” too blissed out to conjure up any more intelligent terms from his nearly endless vernacular. he couldn’t help the pout that graced his lips when you pulled away from him, the lack of your relaxing presence filling him with a miniscule amount of sorrow. 

  “alright, time for the big reveal,” you handed him a mirror. “what do you think? did i totally screw up?” you looked to him for his reaction. 

spencer saw that you had given him a side shave, letting his natural curls rest on top and flop in whatever direction they saw fit. he had had hairstyles similar to this before, but this one felt... different. special even. although that could be due to the fact that it was you who had cut his hair. for once in his life, he wasn’t sure. 

  “i- i love it,” he flashed you an award winning smile, filling your tummy with butterflies. “thank you so much, y/n.”

  “no, thank you, the pleasure’s all mine. plus, i think having such a good model helped the end result, don’t you?” you smirked, twirling one of his curls around your finger. his cheeks heated up at the compliment, and your grin only intensified as he answered with a quick nod. 

“oooh, do you want me to wash your hair? that way you can get any leftover hairs out so they don’t bother you when you go to sleep.” spencer nodded eagerly at your suggestion, a warm feeling spreading through his tummy as you smiled. “okay, i’ll clean up out here and throw away all the hair. why don’t you head into the bathroom and bring a folding chair with you, so i can set it up in front of the sink?”

he smiled to himself as you rambled on and tittered about, cleaning the remains of his old haircut. he headed to the bathroom with that same lovesick grin on his face. spencer knew you’d end up being the death of him, and for some reason, he he didn’t seem to mind.

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

as i’m finishing this it’s 1:55am on wednesday and i’m practically half asleep, so the ending prob isn’t great or grammatically correct but if i have the time, i’ll edit this tomorrow

edit: i added a paragraph & tweaked some sentences but i think its a bit better now :)

tags: @sojournmichael @stinkyelf @crazyfore3 @cal-ifornication @eggygorl02 @howdycharlie @eosprincess @mortallythoughtfulgurl @illuxions-x @unlikelyempathpruneauthor @blankets-for-bees @holycandypizza @flyingbabyunicornnamedangel @lovelyrdjr @elitereid @minnie-bby @rexorangecouny @ashwarren32 @fantastic-fans @keomoon @achieveonyourown @jjtheangel @whoreforthebau @theonewithcriminalminds @angelbunnyoxo​

[starshipsofstarlord]

Jim and Jody - Bucky Barnes x reader

Summary; it was one of the biggest decisions of your life, but will you change your mind before your future is sealed?

Warnings; angst, mentions of abortion (everyone is permitted to do what they want with their body, in this imagine the reader wants to keep the baby, but pro choice, as everyone deserves control over their bodies and all 🤍), brief mention of sex and threats

Masterlist Link

To see him so relaxed, so completely and utterly himself was a paradise all on its own. There was a heaviness aboard your shoulders, but as you watched him goof tirelessly about, you had no other concerns, not even as you subconsciously raised your hand over your stomach. You shook your head at the sentiment, the two of you had already made the decision to abort this child, it was unknown how the poor fellow would turn out to be; with the combination of your powers and his super everything, it was sure to be quite the complication, and not one that you supposed was to be an easy course.

A smile pried at your face, simply from viewing him with the pack of children, the wind from the docks swept your hair into your face, and in turn, you swept the locks out and away from your vision, so that you had further access to watch the man that you loved in his absolute element. Through the years, past and recent, he had lost so much, and this child was just to be another mantle on the wall of memorial in his mind, it was sad really. If the two of you were normal, with average and lives that had perceptions with no regards of being heroic, there’d be no query about it, you’d keep the baby.

That life though, to your grave misfortune, did not exist, it was merely a fantasy living painfully inside of your mind, haunting you whenever you closed your eyes, with the flashing images of a resolution and end to the errors in your lifestyle. There’d be a big house, yet nothing to prissy, just enough room for the pair of you and few children of your own, a grand garden with a swing set and sand pit, where the infants could grow up and play in once they were older. Then there’d also be a shed for Bucky to work on small projects, such as attaining some love and care to his motor bike, as well as storing the supplies that he’d need to do so.

All that is a universe away, muffled from possibility by the stars expediting through the gorgeous veil of the galaxy, corrupting the possibilities of ever gaining access to such... peace. That was the one thing that the pair of you wanted, however catching a break was rather rare within your predicament. A stifled laugh reeled from the conjunction of your lips as you simply and endearingly surveyed how the boys, specifically Sam’s nephews hung from the vibranium branch of his arm. It was all your attention was focused on, until an extra person took a seat on the picnic table beside you, his sweet yet musky scent detailing whom it was. “If your not going to eat that, I’m sure Barnes Junior might want an opinion on that.”

The underlining of the words caused an abstract grimace to forlorn your features, as you stared not at the speaker of whom you were close with, but instead the slather of cake that was planted on a paper plate before you, the icing beginning to become slightly sick from the beating of the viable son. “You’re glowing, you know? Motherhood is a good look on you y/n/n, I wouldn’t be so soon to let that go.” Your fingers pried at the dismantled crumbs off your section of desert as you looked to your new captain, a resonating conformation fo bridled suffering and hopelessness clouding your view of his attempt at making you atone before you made a sin that you’d forever regret.

He, like many others, knew that the family life was what you wanted; you wanted to be your child’s hero, tending to their each necessary (and unnecessary) need, them being your main focus and project and life. Instead, you had been handed your options on a short stick, and thus, your decision, albeit somewhat of a sensible one, didn’t make it hurt any less. “Sam.” You spoke his name, observing from the corner of your eye how Bucky paraded around the dock with Jim and Jody. It’d be nice to give him a slice of this kinda life, he was thriving as an adult around children, you could only imagine him in the case of this one being birthed into the world. “It’s not that easy.”

“No one said it was going to be easy.” Sam responded quickly, affirming your fears to your nerve wrecked face. “I get it, I do. People will be after this kid, and that is no way to live, but you two aren’t alone in any of this, nor will you be in that. You have me, along with many other old friends of ours, hell even the Wakandan’s. Do you really want to sacrifice this one life so you can continue living this one? You and Bucky have both lost so much, you don’t have to force yourself to willingly give away something else. The decision can be changed the last minute, it’s a lot to take in, I get that, but I see the way Buck is with my nephews, and how you watch them when you think nobody’s looking over at you. With your state pardon, you two can retire, and go far away, and abandon everything for this one little guy or gal, because I know that if you do, no matter what, they’ll be worth it.”

Bucky wailed a warrior’s shout as Jim and Jody playfully struck him down, his unsheathed metal hand grasping at the cloth that was tightly aboard his addictive chest. He rolled on the ground as the children ran to retrieve their toy lightsabers, leaving him to be expendable against their weapons. There was a giddy and fitting smile smouldering his usual stoic expression. It was no wander why he found calm in visiting Sam and his sister’s small, and accepting family. The kids brought out another side of him, which he had been tortured to refrain from showing, but you had seen, and were contemplating many things within your mind. You were lapping up the image, as though you were dehydrated and the sight of him appeased by the company of young ones was a source of water.

Sam was right, he always was and had been. “The decision was on both of our parts, you don’t think Buck’ll change his mind, or do you?” You were invested in getting a responsive answer, yet the man spluttered a laugh at your confused expense. He heaved for a moment, bracing his hands on his knees as he caught his breath. There was nothing stopping him from gaining it back, unlike Bucky whom had grabbed a saber of his own and lightly began to paddle against the one that was directed against him, other than another round of hysterics that abandoned him. A reasonable smile resonated a comfortable position upon the former falcon’s face, as he tentatively patted your knee, watching as you broke off a small rupture of cake and popped it in your mouth, feeding not only yourself but the inmate within your womb.

“There isn’t really much for me to say, it’s easy, look at him. He will be fine with whatever decision that the pair of you succumb to, after all, it’s your body, but it will pain him like nothing else ever has if you go through with the abortion, and if not, then trust me, we’ve both seen how hard he fights; think of that but ten times the mass in consideration of this baby, because I am certain that he’d do anything for them. He lost his entire family when he awoke from his mode of hydra assassin, this could be him getting it back. Different members, but a family all the same.” He stole a little of your cake, making you lightly elbow him as a smirk rendered a beauty upon his face.

“What’s that going to make you, the patriotic uncle who just can’t keep himself from flashing his shield?” Now it was his turn to retaliate, he lightly scuffed your ankle with a feather light tap of the toe of his shoe, causing you to promiscuously roll your eyes. “I’m joking, that was Steve’s aesthetic, this new version of cap is your baby, I have great faith in you to make this world a better and safer place. The funny thing is, when you finally accepted that shield was yours, that’s when my mind shifted to the possibility of keeping this kid. It was and has always been a sign of hope and protection to Bucky, maybe it could be the same for our little one. It was just a thought, I’m not meaning to put pressure on your or anything bu-“

“I get it, and I’m honoured. And if that is how it seems, then I want you to know that I’ll be there to protect them too. The main bump in the road for now is for you to talk to that grumpy ass boyfriend of yours and figure this sperm plus egg equation out, send Jim and Jody over here, I got somethin’ to show those two anyway.” With a nod and a grateful pat upon your friend’s head, you slowly plodded over to where Bucky was being cornered against the side of the truck by the boys. His blue orbs danced around their small and imaginative beings, until they landed on you, it was as though his pupils were calling out for help, begging for you to spare some mercy upon him.

“Jim, Jody, your uncle Sammy has something for you two to see.” They groaned lightly, having been pulled away from the narrative of their play time, but nevertheless their faces were clean slates as they expressed hyper smiles, and bolted their route towards their mother’s sibling, carrying their lightsaber replicas along with them. “Two kids beat an infamous, deadly badass with a metal arm. I think you might be getting too old for these kinda battles Buck, you were losing, and quite terribly if I say so myself.” Crossing your arms, as he came to an upright stand, hoisting himself off the ground, so that he could be more level with you.

“Yeah, yeah, rub it in. Thought you were supposed to be supportive of me and all that, as you said to Zemo, you’d quite happily cut his dick off if he compared me to the shadow that I used to be.” His brow raised, as he reminisced on the thought of you threatening Zemo; it was hot, and certainly had gotten him going, which had shortly left you in this predicament, trying to save the world and execute the one last thing that exhumed hope to either one of you. The baby. It was almost a certain and solid fact that the little one inside of you had been procreated on the Baron’s private jet, more specifically, the small and clean bathroom that had became dirty with your primal sins.

“And I still regret not doing that, he’d have had much less leverage in any sense of the word of phallic if he had it sectioned off.” Silence emitted between the two of you, although a humoured smirk tantalised upon Bucky’s graceful face. For a change, he was not prompting the expression of a grumpy cat that was refused its nip, no, instead he could be compared to a future - actually, he already was a father to the bean held in the shield of your body, having been an ample ingredient in bringing the small person into being. “So, you having fun with Sarah’s kids, sure looks like you were quite in your element before I cut in.”

“I’m always in my element when you’re around doll.” He smiled, wrapping his uncoordinated hands around the oval of your waist, and tugging you sentimentally closer, your hips bumped with his, as your eyes ogled infatuatedly up at him. “They’re great kids, makes me realise exactly what we’re gonna be missing out on.” Bucky gulped, sparks of emotion taunted the behind of his eyes, like saucers of resentful fire. “You’d be the perfect mother, you know that right? After all you’ve done for me, you’ve nurtured me close to the man that I once was, the only difference is that I want to settle, but I don’t know how to go about dropping everything. This kid is killing me, he’s making me question everything.”

“That’s what kids are supposed to do, unborn, or very much avidly attacking grown men with false lightsabers.” Bucky deeply into your frustrated and corresponding eyes, your hands reaching up to play defiantly with the smooth dip in his chin that could be seen through the shading of his light stubble. “What if we did have a Jim and Jody of our own some day? We could keep him or her, they’d be our greatest concern, we don’t have to go down this painful and longing, rusted road. We could bring something good into this world, protect them against all forces that threaten to disrupt their life, I want this with you Bucky. We could move far far away, or go somewhere close to home.”

“Brooklyn.” He stated, causing a line to crease gently in the plain of his forehead. “I want to call them Brooklyn, if I am to fight the rest of my life for something, I want it to be my home. Last time I had to leave there, but it’s my amends to never leave this child of ours, if we’re going to do this, we need to put them in front of everything, and I mean everything.” He spoke, in reference to the other avengers and other aliases that you had stood by for so long. Bleakly you nodded, grasping his jaw down for an amorous kiss, humming against the palette of his lips, as your hands entwined behind his neck, pulling his face closer to your own, prompting his tongue to travel deeper within the realm of your mouth.

“Brooklyn is a nice name. How about Brooklyn Margaret Barnes? I think that has quite the ring to it.” You offered, and he hardly reacted, instead quickly appraising a pleasant smile onto the canvas of his work of art face, as he ducked his head down, conjoining the pair of you into a passionate and meaningful collide of your lips. Sam smiled as he watched the pair of you, pointing at you two from afar, as his nephews from afar. He was giving them a man to men talk, offering them advice that they would have valuable usage of in the future.

“Now that is love. You don’t give up for the one thing that connects you, and those two, well Bucky and y/n have been through a hell of a lot. They deserve this, and when you meet a woman when you’re older, and your mum is watching on towards the two of you, I want you to make her proud by treating your girl like a princess, willing to sacrifice everything simply to create the future that she wishes for you.” He emotionally wiped his eyes, rushing to stand before he grasped a lightsaber, leaving the other to spare for one of them. “Now Jim and Jody, which one of you will be my padawan?”

[itsukkie]

Love Is A Poor Man’s Food

pairing: Miya Atsumu x Reader

summary: you and your boyfriend shop at Ikea for furniture for your new apartment

wc: 1.5k

genre: fluff

a/n: this is just the teensiest, tiniest bit rushed and unedited. The idea came to mind and I wrote it down as best I could while it was still in mind. And I’m posting this at midnight so I’m tired and don’t wanna edit,,, okay now enjoy

You flop down onto the mattress with a sigh. Today has consisted of non-stop walking and your toes are aching against the hard soles of the shoes that are just a little too small for you. Atsumu follows suit beside you, sitting on the edge of the bed, bouncing a little in his spot.

“A lil too soft dontcha think?” He glances over to you with your eyes gently shut and your arms splayed out across the bare mattress. Atsumu brushes a loose strand of hair out of your face with a chuckle. “Tired?” You can only hum in response. 

“This one’s comfy,” you quietly let out. He lies down beside you after lifting your arm up to make space for himself and then toying with the tips of your fingers as he stares at the ceiling. 

“Ya like this one more than the first?” 

“Definitely. What do you think?” You softly turn your head to see your boyfriend already staring at you. 

What does he think? He thinks that you’re so beautiful and you don’t even realize it, even in the brightly lit Ikea show rooms. He thinks to himself I can’t wait to wake up to this every morning.

“Let’s get it,” he smiles, lifting himself off the bare mattress and helping you along with him. As you stand up, he wraps his arms around your shoulder, pressing his lips into your hair. He likes that he can faintly smell his own body wash on you. You write down the name of the mattress in your notes app and keep on pressing forward, following the yellow and blue arrows on the ground leading you through the showrooms of Ikea. 

Despite living off-campus being a lot more expensive, the two of you just couldn’t turn down the opportunity when a classmate’s aunt was looking for new tenants for a 1 bedroom apartment near campus. The worn out apartment was almost always damp and smelled faintly of mildew and asbestos; and the bathroom was hilariously small (the door couldn’t fully swing open without hitting the toilet), but it was affordable, and you both agreed that you’d be happy living together no matter where. 

Browsing the bathroom section for toiletry holders, the two of you stand in front of a sink and mirror similarly sized as the one back at your new apartment. The two of you barely fit within the frame, standing shoulder to shoulder. But you couldn’t help but feel giddy at the thought of getting ready in the morning together.

When he first started dating you, he sometimes caught you in the dorm washrooms brushing your teeth. He liked to take the sink beside you without a word and silently accompanied you as you did your skincare routine. Sometimes he’d lean over to kiss you with foamy toothpaste slathered across his lips, his arm slinking around your waist to pull you into his chest and it’d make you cringe with an embarrassingly loud giggle. Your laugh was the most beautiful thing in those early mornings. And now that you had your own place, he could kiss you, hug you, and make you laugh every morning. He could kiss you for as long as he wanted without having to worry about other people walking in. He could sneak into bed with you without worrying about the dorm supervisors catching him. He could have you all to himself.

“What ‘bout this one?” Atsumu sits down on a brown leather sofa, outstretching his arms atop of the headrest.

“Leather?”

“What’s wrong with leather?” 

“It’s just a bit cold,” you plop down next to him and his arm instinctively wraps around your shoulder. Your head finds its place in the crook of his neck and his head on top of yours. 

“You’ll have me ta keep ya warm,” Atsumu playfully rubs your shoulder and plants a chaste kiss to your forehead. “Plus, it’s easier ta clean.” 

“Leather is pretty cool I guess,” you massage the material of the armrest, your fingers finding the price tag that dangles off the other side. “$4,700.”

“Holy shit, actually?!” Atsumu immediately stands up from the couch, dusting the spot he was just sitting on. 

“It is a really nice couch,” you get up to eye the sofa, “maybe we should just buy it.” You lean into his side, wrapping your arms around his waist in hopes of soothing the scowl on his face. 

“Baby,” he gives a sweet but pained smile, “I don’t think we can afford it.” 

You were both college students after all, and sure Atsumu may have been there on a volleyball scholarship but you had taken out thousands of dollars worth of loans to make sure you could afford your education. On top of that, the two of you were renting an apartment downtown, even if it was from a family member of a friend it was still expensive. There were times where you had to scramble enough money together to buy bus tickets to visit home. Times when Atsumu slapped duck tape to the soles of his volleyball shoes because new ones were just too expensive. There were times you were terrified at the prospect of having to drop out because you couldn’t afford your tuition payments. And there’d be times you’d have to walk two hours across the city because you couldn’t afford public transit. But still, somehow the two of you always made it work.

Like one night, instead of taking the bus, the two of you used the one hour walk back to your dormitories to run through the high-end shopping district, pulling each other into fancy boutiques and forcing each other to wear the most outrageously expensive things you could find. You’d laugh and whisper to each other about the dirty looks the sales associates would throw at you and he would hype you up in everything you tried on. Atsumu had nuzzled his nose into the crook of your neck as you stood in front of the mirror with a slick, black, floor-length dress on. Your back and shoulders exposed for his soft lips to roam in the privacy of the dressing room.

Yer so beautiful. I’ll buy this fer ya, one day.  

“I’ll buy it for us,” you say, pulling out your phone to write down the name of the leather sofa. “I have some savings from my summer job.”

“Baby, no. Don’t be ridiculous, we can probably buy something second hand.” Atsumu attempts to make you put your phone down but you only swat his hands away. “A futon! We can get a futon. ‘S a bed and a couch in one. We save money and space!” 

You laugh as you push his hands away. “You wanna have sex on a futon?”

Atsumu grabs both of your wrists, pulling them close to his chest. “Hey, I’ll have sex with ya anywhere!”

“Tsumu sshh!” You hush him with a giggle, looking around to see if anyone heard Atsumu’s loud declaration.

“It’s too expensive. Save yer money fer somethin’ ya love.” His eyes are so gentle while he holds your hands to his chest. 

“I love you. And I want us to have a couch you love.” 

“Alright, how ‘bout ya write down the name, ‘n we can decide later, hm?” You nod your head and he flashes you a playful smile as he pulls both you and your cart along. 

Both of you stand behind the handlebar of the cart as you walk in sync through the aisles of the Ikea showrooms. His hand likes to find yours and intertwine your fingers with his; he likes to keep yours on top cause from time to time he’ll lift your hand to his lips and gently kiss your knuckles. It’s a habit he’s developed; he does it everywhere, anytime. The first time he did it was in bed late one night, he had lifted your hand gently to his lips and whispered my angel deserves to be worshipped.

“Smell this,” you hold out a candle for him to sniff and he does so cautiously. 

“It smells exactly like Kita-san,” he says with wide eyes. 

“Right?!” You take another whiff and look down in contemplation. “Should we get it?” 

“I feel like that’s creepy. What if he visits us someday?” He says with a wide smile. You doubt that more than two people can fit into your cramped little apartment. If you ever did have guests someone would have to sit awkwardly on the floor.

“He’ll feel right at home!” You defend, placing two of them into the cart. “They’re also on sale.” Atsumu looks back at the display shelf you picked the candle up from. 

“That’s a nice bookshelf.” He runs his fingers along the wood. “We probably have space fer somethin’ like this in the livin’ room.”

“You think it’s too big though? I don’t think we own enough stuff to fill these shelves.” 

“I’ll win enough trophies ta fill ‘em.” 

“You’re gonna put your tacky college volleyball trophies in our living room?” Atsumu feigns a hurt face in response to your laughter. 

“Yeah, keep callin’ ‘em tacky. When I win my olympic medal, I’m gonna put it right ‘ere.” He gestures to the larger cubby in the centre of the shelf. 

“If you win the Olympics, we can buy furniture from somewhere other than Ikea.” 

Atsumu pulls you into a tight hug. “I promise, baby. When I go pro, we’re gonna have all the money in the world. You and me. And I’m gonna give ya everythin’ ya ever wanted. I’ll buy a nice big apartment fer us. We can go eat somewhere fancy. I’ll buy you that dress ya like. Yer never gonna have ta worry ‘bout money again.” 

The thought of a lavish life with no money problems and beautiful clothes did entice you, but when you felt Atsumu’s arms around you in that moment you thought to yourself, you’d be happy anywhere, doing anything, as long as you were with him. Who needed money anyway? Isn’t there a saying like ‘love is a poor man’s food’? As long as you had Atsumu, all your fundamental human needs were satiated. He was more than enough to keep you breathing and happy. You were more warmed by the conviction in his words; he spoke with so much certainty that you’d be always a part of his life, and that’s all you could ask for. 

Rich or poor, Atsumu had your heart, and he held onto it so tenderly you’d give every last dime you had to have him hold you forever.

[writinglizards]

Desideratum

Summary:  Desideratum - to long for.  Five times Jaskier needed Geralt, plus one time Geralt needed him.

Hey yall, this is another train fic! Keep an eye out for the next part on Wednesday from our next mystery contributor!

next | ao3

"Geralt," Jaskier hissed, "please--"

"No," he said, not so much as twitching, "I'm not getting involved." Jaskier deflated. It was...a little heartbreaking. They had traveled together for years and yet there were still days when he thought Geralt would have rather he'd never met him.

"It would only be for a night," he said, without any real conviction. he could tell from the scowl on his face, the stiffness of his shoulders, the eerie, still way he sat back on his heels, pretending at meditation before the hearth while Jaskier pestered him.

"You said the same thing about the banquet in Cintra. No." It was a low blow—they both knew it hadn’t been Jaskier's fault, not really, but—

"And when I'm harassed by cuckolds and angry spouses? What then, Geralt?"

"Hope you run quickly, then," Geralt said, expression smoothing to indifference as he settled into meditation, his breathing evening out. Realistically, Jaskier knew it was...probably fine. No one wanted to make a spectacle at a royal banquet, not really, but he was also aware of the fact that he had angered more than his fair share of spouses in his, ah, escapades. And then there was the fact he'd thought...fuck. He'd thought maybe Geralt had enjoyed his time at the banquets he'd played. But. Apparently not.

It didn’t matter. It was fine anyway.

Jaskier realized how very not fine it was almost as soon as he was announced. Three separate men swiveled to face the entrance and another four or so women, each looking anywhere between mildly scandalized and absolutely furious and he knew immediately he wouldn’t be getting out unscathed.

He set up to play with a nervous, buzzing energy under his skin. No one was staring still because that would be indecent, but he could feel their eyes anyway, watching. He gave himself just a minute to vehemently wish for Geralt, and then he straightened and took a deep breath, lute already cradled in his grip. The accompanying players perked up when he strummed a test chord, and in just a few moments they were deep into the first song of the opening set.

On stage was easy. He played, he smiled, he catered to the crowd. The accompanying players weren’t awful, and they took direction easily and eagerly. He was almost enjoying himself as he played, had almost forgotten the hostile gazes that still caught and held him occasionally. In the spotlight, nothing could happen to him and he relished it, even as he knew it would be ripped away, and soon.

He passed on the customary break between the arrival of the guests and the first course and played straight through, passing it off as his delight at playing to an appreciative audience and nothing at all to do with the way that would have pulled him out of the spotlight where he’d be vulnerable.

He was exhausted by the end of the meal, his fingers still stinging from the pressure of holding the strings down, but he played through his after dinner set as well, enjoying the prolonged security of having every eye in the room turned towards him. It couldn’t last, but he milked it for all it was worth right up until it was almost indecent to continue to do so, at which point he politely bowed out and let his compatriot, another bard he'd never met, take over.

He was already working out a plan on how to best vanish before one of the men or women still shooting him venomous looks could corner him in a quiet space when he was approached from behind.

"Julian Alfred Pankratz, otherwise known as the bard Jaskier," an arm looped around his neck, tugging him in close, grip tight, "we need to have a little chat, you and I." 

Fuck.

The man tugged him into a nearby nook in the wall. It was a tiny space meant for amorous couples to steal a few quick minutes of passion, or at least that's how Jaskier had always used them. As the man thrust him away from him and he stumbled face first against the far wall, he couldn’t help but think that wasn’t what was about to happen here.

"How can I help--" he cut off as he turned and got a look at the man's face. "Ah. Good evening, Arthur, to what do I--"

"Cut the shit, Jaskier," Arthur growled, voice low. He was already fucked. In for a copper, in for a crown.

"How's our darling Virginia?"

Arthur got a hand around his neck, shoved him farther into the nook and back up against the far wall again. His fingers bit into the flesh of his throat and he could feel the way his own heart pounded, pulse rabbit-quick against the count's fingers. "You don't get to talk about her. Not ever, and especially not like that." Jaskier fought down growing panic as his airway constricted and smiled, sharp and vicious.

"Ah, but I do believe I do. She said--" the only warning he got was the way Arthur's fingers tightened around his throat, cutting off airflow before the hit landed, solid and open-handed, across his face. He choked, panic rising as his fingers flew to his throat, scrabbling at the grip there in a frantic bid to get some air. Arthur squeezed hard for just a moment longer before letting up and Jaskier went limp as he did, sucking in air so fast he coughed.

"Do not speak about, think about, or so much as look at my wife again, bard. Next time I won't be so nice. Do we understand each other?"

"Of course, Count de Stael," he rasped, as he finally let go, stepping back.

"It's been a distinct pleasure, Jaskier," he said in a tone that implied it very much was not, "enjoy the rest of your night." He left him there in the private nook, throat sore and cheek burning. He brushed his fingers lightly over the heat of it and winced.

It wasn’t hard to slip away after that. The party was distracted by the dancing and drinking, too busy to wonder where a single bard had gotten off to, even one as well known as Jaskier.

He spent the entire walk back to the inn rehearsing what he was going to say to Geralt, how he was going to explain himself. He was tired. His cheek burned every time the wind blew and his throat hurt with every breath and he just wanted...he just wanted Geralt. He just wanted Geralt, which is a ridiculous notion, because Geralt would call him an idiot and tell him this is his fault, but he'd also sit him down and fuss over the bruises he could already feel blooming on his throat, the red mark on his cheek. He was so ready for that that when he arrived back at their inn room, he almost didn’t understand it was empty until he'd been standing there a full minute.

"Sorry," he croaked at the innkeep downstairs a few minutes later, "the witcher, where did he--"

"Oh, he's at the brothel, boy. Said to tell you he'd be back in the morning." And that was--

"Thank you, good sir," he rasped, slipping him a copper across the counter before trudging back up to their—apparently his—room for the night.

He dragged the healing salve safe for human use out of Geralt's bag and slathered his neck with it half-heartedly, rubbing it over his cheek too, just to be safe. He avoided looking at himself in the mirror, knowing too well what lurked there. Sad eyes. An empty smile. His throat burned, even as the salve started to do its job cutting through the pain on his skin. He suspected he wouldn’t be singing for a while yet.

He waited up for a bit despite himself, until long after the bar downstairs had closed and the patrons had shuffled out the door. The room felt too big, too empty, the single bed a cavernous void without Geralt's bulk to tuck himself up against, safe and protected. Geralt had assumed Jaskier wouldn't be back tonight, likely. Or at least, that's what he told himself. It made it sting a little less, this feeling in his chest, heavy and painful.

He settled into bed eventually, eyes burning and throat tight, and fell into a fitful sleep.

When Geralt turned back up the next morning, he didn’t say anything about the ring of bruises, and that hurt worse, somehow.

[queenoftheworldisdead]

Elevator

Note: Synth’s Lyric Challenge. Thank you @syntheticavenger​ for letting me participate. Thank you @olyvoyl for helping me thing of the meeting cute. Also found some prompts from @dragonroleplaystarters​. Did a continuation in Penthouse.

14. Give it to me like you need it, baby (Summer Walker ‘Girls Need Love Too’)? plus a few other lines from the song too...

Warning: chocking, non-con/dub con, forced masturbation, rape

Summery: When a meet cute goes bad.

Dark Bucky x Black Reader

The news paper you used to run back to the office wilted quickly in the rain. Waiting at the cross walk a black Maybach came too close to the curb when it turned the corner. It hit a puddle sending a tsunami of water over you, leaving you completely soaked. You stood pissed and shocked as the car parked.

The back door opened up and an umbrella sprouted out. The light to the cross walk turned green, swallowing your anger you turn to cross. The rain stops. You look up to find yourself under an umbrella. He apologized and introduced himself, but you knew his face from the papers and news. James ‘Bucky’ Barnes, notorious drug lord.

You left with his umbrella while he left with your number.

On your first date after weeks of flirtatious banter you were nervous. You met him at the restaurant, playing with your phone until he arrived. The location of the date had you feeling like a fish out of water.

When he entered you were breathless. Bucky dressed in the most exquisite designer threads compared to your strappy discount knock off. He made you feel self-conscious just being in his presence.

As the date progressed he slathered you with booze and complements. The adorations weakening your better judgement as you ate up every bit of praise, but very little food. His warm palm rode up your thigh and your breath hitched.

"Tell me what you want?" His boozy breath hit your ear. His hand plunged in-between your thighs. Despite your reservations you spread for him, allowing him to play. Bucky chuckled when he felt the ruined panties. Your face felt hot with embarrassment, ashamed that you got so wet so fast.

Pushing your panties to the side he moved back to look you in the eye. Bucky smiled, watching your face contour as he slipped in your slick slit.

"I just need some dick..." You panted out, Bucky's dipped deep into you.

"I just need some love" you quivered as he latched on to your neck.

“I’m tired fucking with these lame niggas baby I just need a thug.”

After dinner you both spilled out of the restaurant. His man, Steve, opened the door to the back of the car, allowing you two to spill in.

You weren't the type to have sex on the first date, but something about him made you relent. In the back seat of his luxury car you found yourself giving more of yourself to him.

Bucky's stubble rubbed along your neck as he kissed it. Leaving a trail of fire in its wake. Your head fell back and moaned his name as Bucky's hands roamed your body.

"We could start with a handshake, baby." His low growl rippled through your haze. He took your hand and placed it on his shaft. Through the rich fibers you stroked him slowly. 

The time between the restaurant and his place felt like seconds. The next thing you knew you found yourself in the elevator.

The numbers ticketed up to the penthouse floor. Your lower back was hard pressed against the handrail as Bucky fingers curled inside of you.

The mirrored walls of the lift were hard to avoid the eyes of Steve. He watched you through the reflection as he faced the door. Making out in the car while Steve snuck in the occasional glance through the rearview was one thing, but now in the elevator Bucky had stepped over the line.

It was apparent that Steve found enjoyment of your predicament. In the car it was easy to pretend that Steve couldn't see. But here in the well lit box you watched him stroke himself as you try and hold off the tightness that wanted to explode in your sex.

"Bucky wait please.." You pant out,  only for your lips to be consumed by Bucky's. Your finger cupped the back of his head, gripping his short hairs, the tresses slipping free as you try and pull.

Turning your head you plead for him to stop, but his focus is elsewhere. Bucky yanked down a strap on your shoulder. Kneading your breast in his palm when it falls free.

"Stop please.."

His tongue invaded your mouth when you protested again. Pinching your nipple hard to feel you scream in his mouth, your walls quaked around his digits to his delight. You had tried fiercely to push him off, but he over powered you.

Your knees lifted and kicked up, but it only helped wedge him between your thighs. Mascara bled and smeared as you cried.

The ride up the elevator felt like eternity. With each passing number you hoped for someone to save you.

"How hard do you think I can make you come before we reach the top?" he teased, he could feel you breaking down. With each curl of his finger your stomach tightened and your sobs turned to mewls.

Your dress hiked up past your waist when Bucky fisted the elastic of your panties. Your fingers tried desperately to break his hold, but with a flick of his wrist, the material splintered as it ripped into you.

Steve swiftly scooped up your discarded panties, bringing them to his nose before tucking them away in his pocket.

With one leg hooked behind his back, Bucky's cock stretched you open. Your teeth clenched tight, breathing heavily through your knows as you were forced to take him all in.

"Look me in the eyes Doll. You’re mine." He growled, gripping your chin with his free hand. His eyes bright with delight as you tried to swallow your moans.

The pain of him and the rail in your back was too much to take all at once.

"Tell me who you belong too." Bucky's hand dropped from your chin to encircle your neck. The air became harder and harder to intake as he squeezed your throat like a vice.

He pressed his forehead on to yours as he squeezed tighter. His steely blue eyes were filled with a crazed lust. Your fingers tried desperately to pry your neck free. "Tell me or I'll break your fucking neck."

"You..I belong to you" you croak out. What little air you were able to get was gone when he crashed into your lips again. Bucky's thick tongue roaming your mouth with a hum.

"Good girl" he praised. Bucky's head rested on your forehead, you feel his hip desperate to go deeper in.

Bucky hissed in frustration, sucking in your bottom lip and biting it. Too scared to push him away you take the new pain as he pressed you flush against the wall.

Removing his hand from your neck you choked and gulp in air. Your vision blurred with tears you could barely make out the shape of Steve.

Bucky's hand join the other, cupping your ass your weight rested in his hands when he moved back from the wall. He bounced you on his shaft, his hands squeezed your ass firmly controlling your descent.

"Who do you belong to?" He moaned as he let gravity sink you deep on to his shaft. His hands molded your ass as it crashed to his hilt.

"Bucky" you say hoarsely.

Clutching the neck of his shirt a quake of heat palpitates throughout your core. Your teeth dig into the fat of your lips after a mewl knocked loose.

"Give it to me like you need it baby" His husky voice teased. Tears rolled down your cheek as you felt it. Your walls hugged and clinched around him. His blue eyes stared you down as you came around him.

In the fog you hear the soft ding of the elevator doors. Your legs quivered around him.

Bucky's slick cock slid out of you. You let out a deep breath when he pulled back. You feel your legs fall and as you start to collapse his hands wrap around your waist. “Come on doll the fun just got started.”

Continues on Penthouse

[yikesharringrove]

Show Pony

Chapter one - Big Sky

Also on Ao3

Billy doesn’t give a fuck about the rodeo. 

He doesn’t care about country music, or fancy horse riding, or the beauty queens, even the bull riders. 

What he does give a fuck about it not being in his house today. 

Not when his dad was obviously itching to pick a fight. Not when Max gave him such an easy out over breakfast. 

“I saw a flyer for a rodeo. I think it’d be kinda neat.”

It was in town for four more weeks. 

And Billy could tell the second he and Max bought tickets, he was about to be spending more time than he ever fuckin’ thought he would spend at a rodeo. 

He based that on the way Max’s eyes lit up the second she stepped inside the big fairgrounds. 

Not knowing that he was right. He was about to spend a lot of time at the rodeo. 

But not for Max. 

For himself. 

And a pretty horse rider named Steve.

He didn’t see Steve that first day. 

Was too busy shelling out his own hard-earned cash to buy Max sugary funnel cakes. Sitting next to her watching the poor suckers get bucked off their pissed-off bull. 

But when Max was in the car she turned to him, the sun setting outside, eyes as wide as dinner plates.

“Can we come back tomorrow?”

And the tickets were dirt cheap. And Billy hates being at home. 

So they did. 

And they watched the rodeo queens. 

And the team-roping. 

But it wasn’t until the calf roping that Billy felt his heart sink. 

Because he thinks Steve Harrington might be the most beautiful person he’s ever seen. 

Tall and broad, smiling like sunshine at his gorgeous black quarter horse, patting her strong neck and leading her to the entry point of the arena. 

His name was loudly announced after the event name. 

Calf roping, with our very own Steve Harrington! Steve will navigate his beautiful June into the arena, trying to rope and tie down a calf as quickly as possible!

Billy had tuned out everything but his name. 

Leaning forward on his bench seat to watch him lead June up to the starting line, give her a few more pats before swinging one leg up, heaving himself up and over her back, settling into the saddle with a grace Billy doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to describe. 

Steve appeared to shake himself out, leaning forward over June’s neck to speak quietly to the sleek horse, wiggling his hips a bit in the saddle. 

And then he sat back up, readying himself and waiting for the countdown. 

He was off like a fucking shot. 

Billy’s never seen anything fucking like it. 

June kicked up dirt as she thundered through the arena behind a small herd of a few calves, Steve ducked low against her neck as he led her forward, his lips moving as he spoke quietly to her, egging her on and forward. He was clinging to her for dear life, his legs straining as he was tossed up and down in the saddle. 

And then he let go of her reins, one hand reaching for the rope on his belt. 

And it was the most hick shit he’s ever seen. 

This flannel-wearing cowboy on his perfect fucking horse, roping a baby fucking cow. 

He slipped the knot around it from his perch on the moving horse, lassoing it easily like that was a common skill, and with a fluid practiced movement, he tossed himself off the slowing horse, getting on one knee to tip over the calf and tie it up like it was second nature. 

And maybe it was. Performing in a show like this. 

That’s all it was, a performance. Practiced and rehearsed over and over for Steve and June. 

It was over in a blink, Steve tossing his hands up to show he was finished, and the calf didn’t break its bonds. 

The whistle blew and Steve’s time was read to the arena. Nine seconds. And apparently, nine seconds was a good time, judging by the way Steve’s raised his fists in the air, and patted June’s neck so gently. 

He mounted back on his gorgeous horse as the calf he had roped was released by a few of the rodeo workers and the next guy took his position at the starting line. 

Steve did a lap around the arena of June’s back, smiling and waving to the crowd. 

And maybe Billy just has an overactive imagination. 

Maybe his stupid gay brain was looking for something not there. 

But he could’ve sworn he saw Steve grin just a little bit brighter in his direction. 

There were a few riders after him. Competing to earn a faster score on the same track. 

But Billy didn’t give a fuck about calf roping if he wasn’t watching Steve and June. 

The sun was setting as Billy finally led Max out of the fairgrounds, one hand on the top of her head, steering her towards the Camaro. 

“So, you think we can come back next weekend” Max was giving him a big shit-eating grin, powdered sugar all done her front from the final funnel cake Billy had shelled out to buy her. 

“Don’t see why not. Get’s us outta the fuckin’ house, don’t it.”

“Plus, there are lots of good-looking cowboys, just everywhere. Did you see the guy doing the cattle roping, or whatever? He was cute .” Billy rolled his eyes. Max was just touching the age when she stopped thinking of boys as gross, saw them as cute, and whatever else she said. It also made her realize that having a gay brother apparently meant talking about nothing but boys. It made Billy wanna slam his head into the steering wheel. He grunted in response as she kept going on and on about Steve. 

Like Billy didn’t see the way his thighs gripped the sides of his horse, like he didn’t watch as he hurled himself off June to tie up the fucking calf. Like he didn’t watch him take that fucking victory lap, shit-eating grin looking like home on his pretty fucking face. 

“You gotta carry your own weight, you know that, right Shitbird? I’m talking, pay for your own damn fried shit.” He bets Susan would give him money for tickets if he acts real nice this week. 

He can’t blow all his savings at the fucking rodeo of all things this summer. He’s got plans for the wad of cash burning a hole in the shoebox in the back of his closet. 

Max huffed at him. 

“What am I supposed to do? Get a job? I’m thirteen .”

“So? Babysit or some shit. Rob an ATM. Fuck if I care. Just quit stealing all ‘a my goddamn cash for your fuckin’ funnel cakes .”

“You’re just pissed off because you didn’t try one. They’re the best. You gotta have one next week.”

“I, unlike you, care about what I put in my body.”

“Yeah, because cigarettes and beer are so much better than fried dough .”

“Whatever.” The truth is, Billy’s gotta watch what he eats. Max didn’t know him when he was prepubescent and chubby. He can’t be sitting there shoving funnel cakes in his mouth and not expect it to all go to his gut. Not like her. There’s not an ounce of fucking baby fat on her. She’s positively scrawny. If anything, the funnel cake might help her out a bit. 

“Yeah, whatever .” She huffed, slumping back in her passenger seat. “But can we come back?”

“Fuck, if you keep askin’ me, the answer’s no .”

She huffed again. She does that a whole lot when they talk. 

“Don’t act like you didn’t like it. I saw the way you were watching Steve race. You were practically drooling .” 

Billy clenched his jaw. 

“Was not .”

“Was too .” 

And Max had a knack of leading Billy into moments like this, childish little arguments that made him feel kinda weird inside. Made him feel kinda warm at how sibling it was. Like they hadn’t been forced together just a few years ago. 

For all his bitching, he really did like the little spit. If he didn’t, he’d be a bigger asshole than she’s always accusing him of being. 

“You don’t even know what I look like when I’m really eyeing a boy, if you think that was it. Just, you know. Respected his riding.”

“ Respected his riding. Yeah ‘cause you wish he was riding-”

“Finish that sentence and I’m pushing you out of the fucking car.”

“I’m right, though.”

Billy just reached forward to turn up the radio, letting Dee Snider drown out any other awful shit Max wanted to say to him. 

Which was probably showing his hand too much. No direct answer pretty much means affirmative when it comes to Billy. And yeah, Max knows that. Judging by the way she’s cackling like a goddamn gremlin over the sound of the music. 

He just pressed his foot down further on the gas pedal, letting them fly down the highway. 

And he thought about Steve and June, thought about how fast Steve could press that girl to go. Thought about him leaning forward, flattening himself to the horse’s neck, gripping onto the reins and urging her forward, urging her faster. 

And if he thought about those strong legs wrapped around him, if he thought about what Max was about to say, Steve riding Billy like he would that fucking horse, his hips flexing as he bounces up and down, well, that’s his business. 

And the next Saturday, Susan slid him a crisp twenty-dollar bill to buy Max some lunch at the rodeo. 

They took it more seriously this time, bringing water bottles, and Max slathering thick white sunscreen on her freckled skin. 

Billy even wore shorts, some old jeans he sacrificed to the summer gods when he wore holes in the thighs and chopped pretty much in half. 

And it was kinda fun. 

He knew what to expect now. Knew the barrel racing was all women, all beautiful horses winding their way along clover-shaped tracks. He knew that the bull riding was a little more fun to watch with a shot in him, and that his fake i.d. could get him an alcohol wristband from the tent at the front.

Max sneered at him when he bought himself a beer later in the day. 

“Uh, you know you have to drive me home, right? Like, and not crash your stupid car on the way home.” 

“Fuck off. It’s one beer.”

“And also that shot earlier, and I know you have a flask.”

“Okay, what are you, the cops? I’m just tryna enjoy myself in this blistering fucking heat. I don’t exactly get my rocks off to any of this shit.” Which is a lie. He’s totally sold on every stupid fucking event at the motherfucking rodeo. 

“Fine. You wanna get stupid and drunk? Then you have to take me to the pageant. I wanna watch it.”

“Since fucking when do you give a shit about the pageant .” Max glared at him. Her nose was beginning to get red. 

Maybe if Billy were less of a shithead he would tell her to put some sunscreen on. But she was really testing his patience today. 

And then her eyes went huge, and her jaw went slack, and Billy was just about to tell her to close it and quit lookin’ like a dead fuckin’ fish when he heard someone cough slightly behind him. 

And when he turned, he almost made the exact same stupid dead fish face as Max. 

Because gorgeous cowboy Steve was standing right in front of him. In another cracker of a flannel shirt, stupid blue jeans, and fucking cowboy boots, because yeah. He’s a goddamn hick that rides a horse and ties up calves in a traveling rodeo for a fucking living. 

And God save Billy, because hot damn. 

Steve had an easy smile on his face, a little bit lopsided, and perfect white teeth showing between perfect pink lips. 

“Hey there.”

“Howdy,” Billy responded before he could stop himself, his face burning up. 

He was hoping he was already sweaty enough Steve wouldn’t notice the flush. 

But thankfully, Steve’s smile went wider, and he laughed, this gorgeous bright laugh, his head tossing back, and that thick hair flowing easily. 

He had gold streaks in his hair, lighter browns tussled within the darker colors. Billy wondered if they were natural, days spent out in the sun on his horse. Part of him hoped they weren’t. Part of him hoped that Steve was that intentional with himself and his goddamn hair. 

He smiled at Billy. 

“I’m Steve.”

“We saw you. Last weekend,” Max blurted out before Billy could kick her. She looked shocked that she had even spoken when Billy turned to give her a death glare. But Steve just laughed his gorgeous laugh again. 

“And what’d you think?”

“She wouldn’t shut up about you on the way home.” And Steve was back to looking at Billy, and his eyes are so fucking big, like, who’s eyes are just. Like that. Just fuckin’. Big. 

“And what about you, uh-”

“Billy. And this is Max. My sister.”

“Well, Billy,” and fuck Billy nearly creamed himself at the sound of Steve saying his name. “Did you like my display of talents ?”

“Could say so. I don’t give too many shits about all this hick farm stuff. But I can respect it.”

“Well, that’s alright then.” And Steve reached out to pat Billy once on the shoulder. “I hope I see y’all around. I gotta head off, June needs some TLC before our time.” He smiled at Max, and her already red face flushed deeper, almost blending into the roots of her flaming hair. 

And then he doubled back. 

“You know what, I forgot why I came over here in the first place.” He was digging through his jeans, rummaging around in his back pockets. 

Billy wanted to slide his hands in there, cop a feel while he helped Steve look for whatever he was going to offer Billy. 

And then Steve brought out two white wristbands. 

“They’re for, uh, VIP seating and stuff. If you’re interested. Gets you closer to the arena. That way I can just see what you look like after I’m comin’ off a ride.”

Hoo boy. 

This little cowboy has some fucking charm. 

And he knows it too, judging by his smug little half-smile he gave Billy while he fastened the wristband around his wrist. 

He helped Max with hers, doing it faster than he had Billy’s, and with a lot less eye contact, which was a good sign. He’s not perving on his twelve-year-old sister. Which is cool. 

And then he was looking back at Billy, and brushing his long fingers over the tops of Billy’s shoulders, his arms out in his shirt, the arms torn off an old Aerosmith t-shirt he found at the Goodwill last year. 

“You should reapply sunblock. Don’t want you burning now.” And Billy’s sure if Steve was wearing a Stetson, he woulda tipped it at them. “Enjoy the pageant.”

And he was off, and Christ, those jeans. How did Steve even successfully ride his horse in those things? They were so tight, showed off his nice peachy ass as he walked through the fairgrounds. 

“Wow,” Max said. And yeah, Billy felt the same. 

“In case it wasn’t clear, based on the way he was flirting with me, and also that he’s way too old for you, but, uh, dibs .”

“Billy, you can’t just call dibs on a person.” Billy just laughed. 

He knows that his twelve-year-old fucking sister doesn’t have a shot in Hell with Steve. Really, he doubts he even has a shot in Hell with Steve, but he also likes to spend his time making her life as difficult as possible without actually being a shitty person. So, he just riles her up. Says shit that’ll get her going. He wouldn’t be doing his brotherly duties if he didn’t say that shit. 

Max calls it even by kicking him in the shin twice and making him watch the stupid beauty pageant. 

Which, like, why the fuck are there beauty pageants at the rodeo anyway? 

Turns out it wasn’t pageant at all, but the four previous Miss Rodeo’s all lined up and looking far too glammed out for this fucking heat. 

Max faked being disgruntled by the disappointment, but Billy knows, somewhere inside that tough bitch little soul of hers, she’s glad she didn’t have to sit through a goddamn pageant just to make Billy miserable. 

Besides, Billy had whipped out his flask a few times, and he was feeling alright. Just buzzed enough that the heat had stopped making him feel quite so disgusting. 

But not too drunk to miss calf roping. 

And yeah, maybe it was a little bit lame to make their way over to the VIP seating earlier enough that they scored the front row. But when Steve came trotting out, leading June behind him, Billy was close enough he could pick out the cluster of moles on Steve’s left cheek. 

So, lame was not in Billy’s vocabulary today. 

It was pretty much the same thing as last week. Steve made everyone in the arena ooh and aah with his riding, tied up the calf in less than ten seconds once again. 

But this time, when he took that jaunty little lap around the small arena, Billy knows for a fact Steve grinned at him. Knows his stupid gay brain wasn’t making up the wink he tossed effortlessly in Billy’s direction. 

And they left, just like last weekend, as the sun was beginning to sink below the horizon. 

“Just, c’mon. Mom gave you money .” Max was whining for a corn dog, of all things. When they have perfectly good, not fried food, at home. 

“Maxine, I swear to Christ, I’m fucking tired. Let’s go home so I can crash, and you can fucking drive Susan up the goddamn wall with your whining.”

“You’re such an asshole.”

“I don’t know. He doesn’t seem too bad.” And Billy felt his insides curdling at that voice, felt himself wilting and shriveling because he would not be getting out of this day without one final, no doubt embarrassing, encounter with his gorgeous cowboy. 

Steve was leaning against a booth selling chili fries, looking like a perfect picture of a Clint Eastwood movie. 

Billy had never liked westerns. 

But he was gonna go home and spend all night watching every one he could get his grubby little hands on. 

Steve pushed off the side of the booth as Max found her words again. 

“You don’t have to live with him.”

“And you don’t have to live with my folks. I’d trade you any day.” 

And Billy nearly died. Right there. On the spot. Because. Holy shit. I’d trade you any day. 

Billy was more than happy to follow this fucking hick around America, watch him ride his pretty horse before fucking him against the stable wall. 

Or whatever. Do they have stables? Billy doesn’t know how a traveling rodeo works. 

But like, they’ve gotta have stables, right?

“Nah, you’d get sick of him. He stinks.”

“Have you ever smelled horse shit? Because that’s the fragrance I wake up to every morning.”

And Max was laughing, and Steve was laughing, and Billy was trying to keep his hands as casually as possible in front of his slight chub. 

“Will I get the privilege of seeing you two again?” And what a way to word it? The privilege. And then Steve was looking Billy up and down, and he was biting that perfect bottom lip and opening his mouth and “I could always give you my phone number. So we can. Meet up. Next time you’re here.”

“‘Course. You can give us the grand tour.”

And Steve was digging in those tight back pockets again, and shoving his phone into Billy’s hand, and he doesn’t have a passcode, but his home screen was a picture of him and his fucking horse which is, just about the sweetest thing Billy’s ever seen. 

And Billy put himself in as Billy Hargrove , and then panicked because Steve doesn’t know his fucking last name. So he settled for Billy and then for good measure shoved San Diego after it because. Billy’s a common name, okay?

And Steve took his non-password protected fuckin’ horse girl phone, and Billy was giving him as charming a smile as he could muster with sweat on his upper lip and saying-

“You better text me, Pretty Boy. So I can save your number.” Billy shrugged, looking off to his left to try and seem. Nonchalant. “In case I wanna see you again.” 

And Max was rolling her eyes, but she wasn’t stopping away. Wasn’t even whining at Billy, no doubt on her best behavior in front of hot cowboy Steve. 

But Steve had a glint in his eye, and if Max wasn’t here Billy would be playing this all different, laying on the charm a lot thicker than he was. 

But he can’t be a horny bastard in front of her. That’s just, like, gross. 

So he settles for making a real show of licking his bottom lip, and maybe flexing his bare arms just a tiny bit. 

“We should probably get goin’. Got a curfew for this one,” Billy jerked his head in Max’s direction. She huffed before she could stop herself. “See you around, Cowboy Steve.”

And Steve gave another one of his pretty ringing laughs. 

“Come again soon, Billy and Max.” And again, Billy’s sure that if Steve were wearing a hat, he would’ve flicked the brim at them as he set off back into the rodeo, dodgin off the main thoroughfare. 

“Wow. That was embarrassing for you.” 

Billy whipped his head around to stare at Max, giving her the most disgusted look he could muster. 

“The fuck you mean?”

“You were so obvious.”

“That’s the fucking point . We were flirting. It’s supposed to be obvious, you demon.” Billy shoved her once before stomping in the direction of the parking lot. 

“Yeah but you were like, making these faces at him.”

“Shut the fuck up. I know what I was doing, okay? It was all very calculated . Let him know I’m down for it, and if he texts, then I’m good to go. If not, then I move on.”

And the thought of Steve not texting was kinda, disappointing. Because Billy really wanted him to text. He wanted to stay up late giggling at his phone and the dumb things Steve texts him and pretend they don’t make him flush like a fucking school girl. 

He pointedly didn’t look at his notification when he reached the car, just shoved an old tape in and turned up Black Sabbath when Max wrinkled her nose at it. 

They were both quiet on the drive back home. Something heavy unsaid between them. 

And only as Billy was pulling into his spot in the driveway did Max suck in a big breath to actually put it out there. 

“I won’t tell. About him. Not even Mom. Not even that I think he’s cool.”

“Thanks. Easier just to. Avoid at all costs.” 

And if Billy were a better person, maybe he would hug her or something. 

But they don’t do that. Instead he sighed and didn’t hip check her violently off the porch like his instincts were telling him. So really, he’s a fucking saint. 

[wicked-mind]

Remember Me: Chapter Three

Summary: Y/N and Bucky were the unlikely match when it came to love, but they were inseparable since they met. After a fight, Y/N left to be a trauma surgeon in the military and returns without her memories. How will Bucky remind Y/N how she is the fire in his bones? Word Count: 3.6k

Warnings: Mentions of drugging and sexual assault. Small bit of violence.

Series Masterlist

All Writings Masterlist

*gifs not mine

Chapter Three - Hunger

Bucky had been awake most of the night watching Y/N sleep soundly on his lap but eventually his tiredness took over and he fell asleep himself. When he opened his eyes to the smell of freshly brewed coffee, he immediately looked down to see Y/N not there anymore. There was a small bubble of panic as he got up quickly, walking to the kitchen to see Peggy with a mug of coffee. Without a word, she pointed to the front door with a smile to let him know where Y/N was. Bucky gave a soft smile of thankfulness before making his way to the front door, opening it as his eyes fell on Y/N’s back as she sat on the porch steps. He froze in that moment, listening her hum the tune to their song. Was she remembering bits and pieces? He slowly moved to sit next to to her.

Y/N stopped humming when she noticed Bucky sit by her, looking at him quickly. She had a banana on her lap with a cut through it and was practicing sutures on it with tweezers in her hands that held the needle and thread, “Good morning, sleepy head.” She said with a smile towards him before returning her focus on her practice sutures, “You ever wake up with a song in your head that feels like it’s your favorite song but can’t remember it? Because I cannot get this song out of my head and I can’t look it up because I don’t know the words, just the tune.”

Bucky smiled over at her, watching as she threaded the needle through the peel of the banana and suture the peel back together with black thread, “Everyday darlin’,” He told her. Their song had been stuck in his head on repeat since the night they found it. It was one of his favorite memories. Y/N had snuck out with him and they went to a field on his dirt bike. He had brought a blanket so they could watch the stars together while the little radio he had played music. He kissed her for the first time to the song Hunger by Ross Copperman. It had been stuck in his head from that moment on, like a theme song to their relationship, “Is the banana going to make it?”

Y/N giggled a little bit, “I think so. I’m a very good surgeon.” She told him as she tied a knot onto the last suture and put the tweezers down in her lap as well, “There. He should live a long life of 24 hours before he turns to mush.” She looked back at him, running her eyes along his facial features. She had never seen a smile so sincere that she could remember, “I’m practicing so eventually I can go back to work at the hospital. From what Steve says, I have a very good reputation there as their old trauma surgeon and they’d be happy to have me back. Plus I still have all my memories when it comes to medicine and surgical procedures which should help.”

“That’s great.” Bucky told her, happy that she was still pursuing the thing she had dreamed about since she graduated. Y/N was still her, even without her memories. He couldn’t help but wish the things she remembered were him and the love they had between them. It was an epic love and Bucky wanted that back, “I should probably head home and change into some clean clothes. I’ll be back later to replace the fan in your room so you can sleep soundly.”

Y/N looked at him, observing him as he spoke. She could see something in his eyes that didn’t want to leave. Or maybe it was that he didn’t want to leave her. She bit her lip, “I was actually thinking, since we were so close before, maybe seeing your place would bring back some memories. Plus Peggy already said they didn’t have anything for breakfast.” She smiled at him, “Do you have breakfast supplies? I can cook while you change and stuff.”

Bucky grinned at her idea, it was just what he wanted. Her to come home with him, “Sounds like a plan, doll.” He told her, knowing he had supplies for her favorite food already. He had gone to the store as soon as he heard she was coming home, buying all her favorite things to eat in case she remembered him and came back home, “You think you remember how to make blueberry pancakes?”

Y/N scrunched her nose as if trying to think of the steps on how to cook, “Nope.” She said with a large pucker of her lips on the sound of the ‘p,’ “But I’m a surgeon. I can figure out how to make pancakes… probably.” She said with a small laugh before licking her lips and staring at him, “Does this mean you’re taking me home on your motorcycle?”

Bucky stood and smiled down at her, “Oh no, I still think you need some more time after I found you walking down the street in the middle of the night. I just live a street down, we can walk it isn’t far.” As much as he would like to take her home on his bike, he didn’t want to rush things with her and knew Steve wouldn’t be too keen on the idea.

Y/N nodded, a little sad she wasn’t going to be able to remember the feeling Bucky had told her about when she rode with him but was happy to adventure out of the four walls of Steve’s home. She stood by him for a moment before opening the door and telling Peggy she was going with Bucky and she was alright before turning back to the dark haired man, “Lead the way, Bucky.” She told him with a smile and a wave of her hand, following as he walked, “I’m curious, tell me more about this girl you loved.”

Bucky looked at her as he walked down the sidewalk beside her, “Love.” He corrected, “I still love her and I always will.” He stared at her for a moment as if waiting for her to say it back before connoting, “We were a very unlikely match, total opposites. I already told you she was smart, I have no idea how she fell in love with me. I was a mess, always getting in fights and causing trouble. When she came into my life, she was like the little angel that appeared on my shoulder that helped me choose the right path to go down.” He smiled at the memories, “But she always told me I was the one that made her feel truly alive, like the world was brighter and made sense. She calmed my wild soul and I brought out the wild in her’s.” He had rambled on the whole time they walked, not being able to stop himself until they were in his driveway, “Home, sweet, home.”

Y/N smiled as she listened to Bucky talk about the woman he loved. It was obvious he was still completely and undeniably in love with her. She looked at the house, taking in its features when they stopped, “It’s a pretty house.” She complimented before following him inside. She watched Bucky hurry and pick up a shoe box on the coffee table, taking it into what she assumed was his bedroom. Curiosity sparked in her as it seemed like Bucky didn’t want her to see it and that made her want to know more but wouldn’t pry. She went to the kitchen, “Okay… Pancakes..” She said to herself as she closed her eyes tightly trying to remember the ingredients. When she opened them, Bucky was already pulling out all the ingredients with a smile on his lips, “Thank you. I’ll try not the screw it up.”

Bucky watched her scan over the ingredients and when he saw she didn’t remember where to start, he pulled out a notebook. Y/N always wrote down the recipes she loved. It helped Bucky cook a few meals for her when she got home from working at the hospital, “Here’s the recipe. You got this.” He encouraged, “I’m going to take a quick shower. Try not to burn the house down.” He said as he started walking out of the kitchen and down a hallway towards the bathroom.

Y/N watched him go before scanning her eyes over the recipe. She tilted her head as she recognized it as her own hand writing. She bit her lip lost in thought for a moment, trying to put puzzle pieces together. She finally snapped out of it and looked at the ingredients nodding to herself, “Alright, Y/N. You know how to do a double lung transplant. You can make blueberry pancakes.” She encouraged herself. She wondered around the kitchen, finding pans and utensils to help and started the mission of making breakfast.

Bucky came out to find Y/N flipping pancakes with extreme focus on her face as if it was a life or death situation which made him smile. He wore dark jeans with a short sleeved black shirt that showed off his tattooed left arm. He walked into the kitchen, gently taking the spatula from Y/N who looked grateful that he was taking over, “They look delicious. I’ll finish up.” He told her, adding the blueberries and flipping the pancakes.

Y/N let out a sigh of relief when Bucky took over, stepping back and hoping up onto the counter as she watched him closely, observing every move he made while he cooked. She couldn’t deny she was attracted to him, something about him drew her towards him. She ran her eyes up and down his figure, biting her lip as she took in every part of him. Y/N was very observant and when she saw the small red heart tattoos between the rest of his ink, her eyes narrowed. She recognized them as her own which made her curiosity grow. When she first woke up after having the bullet removed, the doctors had her draw shapes and write her name to make sure she still had the ability to write and those hearts looked exactly like the ones she had drawn.

Bucky turned to look at Y/N, seeing her looking at his tattoos. He wondered if it was sparking anything to remember him. He held two plates of pancakes in his hands which he set down on the table gently before pulling out the syrup and pulling out a chair for Y/N, “Breakfast is served.”

Y/N took a seat in the chair Bucky pulled out for her, “Thank you.” She said with a smile towards him, picking up the syrup and slathering enough on to cause a toothache, but she always had a sweet tooth. She licked her lips slightly at the view before digging in.

Bucky kept his promise to Y/N, replacing the fan in her bedroom with a small chandelier which made her smile when it sparkled in the light. Y/N got to know Bucky better. He was over everyday entertaining her but as much as she brought up the idea of Bucky taking her on a ride, he would deny it and his reason was that Steve wouldn’t like it. Y/N was smart and everyday she spent with Bucky and listened to him talk about the girl he once loved, the puzzle pieces slowly started to be put together in her mind. She had a feeling by the way he talked and spoke to her that she may be this mystery woman that he had broken the heart of but she wouldn’t know unless she asked. One day at dinner with Steve and Peggy, Y/N finally built up the courage to confront her brother on her thoughts, “Stevie, did Bucky and I use to date?” She said out of the blue.

Peggy and Steve both almost choked on their food at the question, sharing a look. Steve looked at Y/N trying to keep a straight face, “What.. Why would you ask that?” Y/N bit her lip, narrowing her eyes at their reaction. She was pretty sure she was given her answer by the way they choked on their food. Or she was dead wrong and they couldn’t believe her question, “Just some things I’ve noticed. He has a recipe book in my handwriting at his house and the heart tattoos look like hearts I draw.” She said, giving him a short list instead of talking about the way Bucky looks and speaks to her. The way he made her feel.

Steve opened his mouth to speak but couldn’t find a good answer so looked to Peggy with pleading eyes for help.

Peggy looked at Steve then smiled gently at Y/N, “You should talk to Bucky about that, honey.” She said simply.

Y/N frowned a little at them, her eyes flickering between the two, “Why can’t you just tell me?”

They both stayed silent for a moment as if trying to think of a good answer, glancing at each other and their food trying to avoid eye contact with Y/N who was staring at them intently.

Y/N rolls her eyes and sighs, standing up, “I’m not going to break.” She told them with bitterness in her voice before walking towards the front door. She grabbed her small backpack and a jacket, pulling it over her figure and opening the front door, “Don’t report me as missing person!” She called back before exiting the home. She walked down the street, muttering words under her breath in frustration towards her brother. Why couldn’t he just answer the question? It bothered her and she wanted answers about who she was and who she was to Bucky. Y/N found herself walking into a bar, smiling slightly when she saw someone she recognized sitting at the bar from the BBQ, Sam. Y/N hoped up on the stool next to him, “Hi. Sam, right?”

Sam looked at her, holding a bottle of beer in his hands, “Y/N! Yeah, Sam.” he smiled at her. He had known her for a few years, he was one of Steve’s army friends, “Whatcha doin here?”

Y/N shrugs, “Brothers being annoying. Needed to get away for a little bit. Do you know what kind of alcohol I like?” She asks with a tilt of her head. She remembered she has drank before but couldn’t remember what she enjoyed.

“Tequila. Lots of tequila.” Sam remembered with a small laugh, “You said it got you through your surgical internship.” He waved his hand at the bartender, “Can we get a tequila shot?” To which the bartender nodded and placed it in front of Y/N with a lime.

Y/N narrows her eyes at the liquid in the shot glass in front of her with a lime resting on the top, “Okay, so lime first or second?”

Sam chuckled, picking up the lime and putting it on his napkin, “You don’t like the lime.” He reminded before watching her take the shot and her nose crinkle, “Just like old times.”

Y/N wrinkled her nose at the sting then let out a small laugh, “Yup. That is definitely something I would fall in love with.” She looked away from Sam as another man sat next to her with a smile. She didn’t recognize him but from the look on his face it seemed like he knew her from how comfortable he was to come up to her.

“Hey, pretty girl.” The short haired dark man said to her. He had a sharp jaw that matched his sharp cheek bones with some stubble for a beard, “It’s been a while.”

Y/N bit her lip at the new man, “I’m sorry… I don’t remember who you are.” She told him, “I lost my memories on deployment from an injury so you’re going to have to reintroduce yourself.” She added quickly as to not hurt his feelings.

“I’m sorry to hear that.” He smiles at her before holding out his hand, “Brock Rumlow. We used to hang out, or at least you came to one of my parties when we were younger. It was fun.”

Y/N scrunched her nose in thought, “Nope, sorry don’t remember. But it’s nice to meet you again.” She smiled at him. She hadn’t noticed Sam glaring at the man and didn’t notice when he got up and walked away to make a call.

Sam stood away from as many people as he could, dialing a number on his phone and pressing it to his ear as he watched Y/N talk to Brock who was buying her another shot of tequila, “Hey, Buck. It’s Sam…. I’m at the Howlin’ Cammandos bar with Y/N…. She said her brother was being annoying and wound up here, I don’t know man. Listen, Rumlow just came over and reintroduced himself to her…. Yes, Brock Rumlow the one you and Steve told me about…. He’s buying her shot after shot… Alright, I’ll stay close to her..” He hung up the phone, shaking his head before returning to his spot beside Y/N, listening to Brock put all the moves on her while she laughed like it was the first time she had heard his cheesy pick-up lines which Sam determined was because she couldn’t remember hearing them before.

It didn’t take long for Bucky to walk through the doors, immediately grabbing Brock by his shoulder to turn him around before landing a hard punch straight to his nose. He grabbed him by the collar of his shirt, pushing him up against the bar, “I told you to never come near her again!” He growled out at Brock before landing a punch to Brock’s cheek followed by another. He wasn’t holding back, he was putting everything he had into every punch.

Y/N jumped a little at the sight, her jaw falling open as she watched Bucky punch Brock. She looked at Sam as if it say ‘help’ and watched as Sam got up and separated the two, pushing Brock out the door telling him to get out of here. Y/N looked at Bucky once Sam had gotten rid of Brock, “What the hell, Bucky?” She said to him.

Bucky turned his angry stare to Y/N after watching Sam drag Brock out the doors, “C’mon. I’m taking you home.” He said, grabbing her hand and pulling her outside. Sam was standing out there, watching as Brock’s car pulled out onto the street before heading back inside with a nod towards Bucky. Bucky kept pulling Y/N towards his motorcycle, passing her a helmet, “Put it on.”

Y/N held the helmet in her hands for a moment before setting it down on the seat of his Harley, “No. Not until you tell me what that was all about.”

Bucky rolled his eyes at her stubbornness, picking up the helmet again and holding it out to her, “Put it on, Y/N. I’m taking you home.” He said again in a more stern voice.

Y/N folded her arms instead of taking the helmet, frowning at him. She was already irritated at Steve and now she felt like she was being babysat by Bucky, “Talk or I walk.”

Bucky stared at her, knowing that look. She was stubborn and she would walk away from him if he didn’t spill what he knew, “Fine, Y/N. When you were eighteen you went to a party at Brock’s house because we got in a fight. You thought he slipped something in your drink and called me right away. I got there just in time to find his hands all over you in his bedroom while you were passed out but it hadn’t gone any further than him copping a feel. I told him if he ever came near you again, I’d kill him.” He sighs, “Now you’re back with no memories and he would’ve taken advantage of that. He’s not a good person, Y/N.”

Y/N looked suddenly saddened as Bucky spoke, her lips parting a little in shock. That was something she rather not remember and was partly grateful she wouldn’t have that memory living inside her brain. She looked down, “I didn’t know. I’m sorry.” She apologized. She sighed deeply before dropping her hands to her sides, “I asked Steve something tonight and he wouldn’t answer me. Peggy said I should talk to you about it.”

Bucky’s couldn’t help but frown as Y/N looked sad, that was something he didn’t want her to remember. It was an awful memory for both of them and Bucky had never felt such rage when he saw Brock’s hands all over her. He had beaten Brock to a pulp, almost unrecognizable and he would’ve again tonight if Sam wasn’t there to stop him, “What is it, doll?” He asks in a gentle tone, knowing whatever she had asked Steve was bothering her.

Y/N ran her tongue along her lips for a moment, not daring to look at Bucky. She wanted to know and she felt like she already knew the answer from all the hints Bucky had given her. Half of her didn’t want to ask but the tequila was giving her courage and the need to know was overwhelming, “Am I the girl you talk about? The one you still love?”

[olivinesea]

Wait on the Sun

a/n: hello! It’s been forever, I had to turn my brain off for a hot second but I’m back, ready to roll. Some implied/referenced abuse but it’s vague.

Tadpoles are turning into frogs; or Aaron & Sean spend a day at the river. ~4.4k

He was running. He’s not sure where he’s running to but his breathing tastes like blood and he can feel the menacing presence chasing him gaining ground. He can’t quite hear its approach but the fear of it grips his heart like a vice.

He knows he can’t stop running.

If he stops he will be caught and pulled into the vortex of fury he feels close on his heels. Sweat rolls into his eyes, blurring his vision and he misses his step, ankle rolling and knees giving out. He crashes hard onto his palms and knees, feeling the skin ripping away on impact. Whatever or whoever has been chasing him closes the remaining distance between them. He hears whistling as something large and heavy cuts through the air, aimed at his helpless form. He opens his mouth, sucking in air to scream in fear and frustration, caught once again.

*

A small hand patted his cheek insistently, his name whined in concern. His eyes flew open as the strangled scream died on his lips. He blinked rapidly, bringing Sean into focus, standing right beside Aaron’s bed, small eyebrows drawn together.

“Aaron?” he repeated, worried.

He closed his eyes, inhaling through his nose, noticing that the air still seemed to drag through overexerted lungs. “It’s okay, Sean,” his voice was raspy and faint. He felt lightheaded but ignored that to push himself upright, sliding his legs over the edge of the bed. Sean pressed his small body against his side, leaning into him, seeking comfort for them both. Aaron wrapped one arm around his little brother’s bony shoulders and used the other hand to rub the remaining sleep from his eyes. He felt as drained as if he hadn’t slept at all. With dreams like that one a common occurrence, it was rare that he got any meaningful rest at night. It left him a little dazed, a little slow during the day. If anyone noticed they thought he was being sullen. He found he didn’t mind what they thought as long as they didn’t ask questions. His shirt stuck to his skin with sweat from the nightmare and the hot, humid air that hung thick from the moment summer began. Sean twisted to look up at him, bottom lip sucked in between his teeth.

“‘m hungry,” he said.

Aaron let out a soft laugh, more exhale than laughter. Sean was always hungry. This didn’t bother Aaron, in fact it was the opposite. He took pride in caring for his brother, watching how he grew bigger year to year, hitting all the appropriate milestones for a kid his age. Rather than feel resentment at the contrast in their childhoods, he felt a desperation for Sean’s to be perfect, for him to have everything he needed and more. He was relieved at Sean’s lack of hesitation to state his needs, to assert his presence in the world.

“Go put on some clothes and I’ll make you breakfast,” he said, giving Sean a gentle push between the shoulder blades, pointing him towards the doorway. Once Sean was out of sight, he carefully peeled off his shirt to exchange it for a clean one. He hesitated, it was far too hot for long sleeves, even for him with his perpetually chilled skin. The summer air was more than just hot, it was heavy and it pressed close against him. He glanced down at himself, taking a quick inventory. There wasn’t much to worry about, nothing he couldn’t explain away with a shrug and a vague comment about clumsiness. Besides, he didn’t plan on seeing anyone today anyway. He put on a loose t-shirt and some old jeans he’d cut off at the knees.

Sean was already waiting for him in the hallway, his pale blue dinosaur shirt on backwards and a grin on his face. “I want pancakes,” he said in his chirpy child’s voice. Aaron reached down a hand to ruffle his hair but glanced at their parents’ closed door.

“C’mon you,” he said quietly, steering him to the staircase. He strained his ears but didn’t hear  any sounds of movement. If he was lucky it would be awhile before either of them made an appearance.

Once downstairs he pulled a bowl and cereal out of the cupboard and milk from the fridge. Climbing into a chair, Sean whined a little. He really wanted pancakes. But it was far too hot to be cooking anything plus Aaron didn’t want to risk the mess that came with the production of pancakes. He set a bowl of sugary cereal in front of Sean and tried to encourage him to eat it by pretending to steal a bite. When Sean just sat and pouted at him, he chewed on the corner of his lip, trying to think of what else he could offer that wouldn’t be loud or messy.

He returned to the fridge and found a package of raspberries. Sean kept his eyes on Aaron’s back as he busied himself with something on the counter, out of sight. Aaron turned around and approached the table, hands behind his back. Sean watched him, spoon in one hand, eyes narrowed. Aaron had the slightest smile on his face, just the corner of his mouth quirked up. Once he was within reach of Sean he swung his hands in front of him, wiggling his fingers in Sean’s face. His surprised giggle was the sweetest sound, breath catching as his eyes scrunched up. He grabbed one of Aaron’s hands with both of his own, pulling it close in order to bite off one of the raspberries, not being particularly careful about sparing Aaron’s fingers in the process.

“Hey!” he snatched his hand back from the ferocious five year old. “I need those.” He then slid the remaining raspberries on top of Sean’s cereal, popping the last one in his mouth. The fruit juice woke up his stomach, which growled around its emptiness. He glanced briefly at the bowl of cereal Sean was now happily crunching through, wistful for a moment, almost tasting the competing soft and crispy textures, the overly sweetened milk. He debated getting some for himself, maybe just a small bowl. He rubbed his fingers together as he thought, weighing the risks of indulging his craving, giving in and eating something that was expressly not for him.

Sean looked up at him smiling around the spoon in his mouth. “Can I have some more?”

Aaron laughed, “That’s probably enough sugar for you. It’s not even nine a.m., kid.”

Sean pursed his lips, prepared to argue his case, filled with promises of good behavior and doing exactly as he was told all day. Aaron had heard it all before. The kid could never overcome the sugar rush, no matter his sincerest intentions.

“I’ll make you a sandwich. Drink your milk.”

Aaron was in the middle of slathering bread with peanut butter when a loud crash came from upstairs. He looked up startled, then over to Sean who had been pretending to be a cat as he lapped at the milk in his bowl. He looked up at Aaron, milk on his chin, expression curious, unsure.

“Go put on your shoes,” Aaron said in a low voice. He anxiously wrapped up the sandwich as Sean disappeared into the washroom behind the kitchen. He put everything away, making it seem as if they were never there. Straining his ears, he thought he could hear the muffled sound of voices. He closed his eyes, willing himself to keep moving, he didn’t need to listen to know what sort of conversations were being had.

He found Sean fumbling to tie his shoelaces, still a little too uncoordinated to be successful. Aaron shoved his feet in his own sneakers, not bothering to untie them, heels folded under his feet. He handed Sean the sandwich and knelt down to quickly arrange the uncooperative laces.

“I can do it myself!” Sean protested but Aaron shook his head, still listening to assess whether anyone was coming down the stairs. He’d fallen asleep to the bitter sound of his mother crying and he didn’t want Sean to see whatever might emerge from their bedroom first thing in the morning.

“Let’s go,” he stood up and pushed Sean gently towards the back door in the same motion. He closed the door softly behind them, eyes lingering on the little bit of the interior he could see through the window. Turning around, he saw that Sean had wandered off into the open space beyond the house. He was looking closely at the ground as he walked, searching for treasures only perceptible to young children. Aaron jogged to catch up with him, shoes slapping against his heels. He wiped a hand across his forehead where sweat beaded already. He was worried Sean would ask questions, would wonder at the connection between the sounds from upstairs and their swift exit. But when he looked up, his childlike features round and open, there was no trace of worry. His cheeks were flushed in the heat and his shirt was sticking to him. He shifted his shoulders, trying to adjust the fabric so it didn’t cling and looked longingly back at the house.

“It’s too hot out here,” he was trying not to whine but the heat was truly unbearable. It hadn’t been much better inside, the air still and oppressive, but at least there hadn’t been the sun glaring directly down on them.

“I know, buddy,” Aaron was sympathetic. He also wished for somewhere cool and safe but he knew they wouldn’t find that inside that house. “Let’s go to the river.”

Sean brightened, immediately launching into a list of things he wanted to look for along the water. He started moving again, more purposefully, brushing his fingers along the tops of the tall grass that covered the field. Aaron walked beside him, half listening to his elaborate plans, half of his attention taken with calculating how long he could keep Sean out of the house. The summer came with far more problems than he liked. It would be a surprise to learn that someone so young had such an ambivalent view of the season most children anticipated with restless excitement—the chance to be free of rules and routine for a few endless weeks. To allow their thoughts and feet to wander in ways they didn’t have time for the rest of the year.

But to Aaron, all that unstructured time only increased the instability in the foundation of his existence. Nowhere to be meant nowhere to hide, no routine meant more opportunities to accidentally cross paths with his father. And now, since Sean had gotten old enough to be more independent, unafraid to be away from his mother’s side, Aaron felt it was his responsibility to make sure he stayed out of harm’s way. Keeping a kid out from underfoot required a lot of energy, a lot of ideas for activities to occupy him. He did his best to distract him from the tension of frayed nerves that threatened to snap at any moment as the heat constricted their movements. Each day was a test to see how far he could make it without attracting his father’s attention, how long he could successfully keep to the background. It usually meant taking Sean out of the house (it’s hard for a five year old to play quietly all day long) and as the days got deeper into the summer, the weather outside became more and more unbearable.

They reached the trees that marked the edge of the woods, the river only a little further beyond the border. The shade dropped the temperature by several degrees, the soft dirt absorbing rather than radiating heat. Like a pebble rolling downhill, Sean’s steps sped up as they got within sight of the water. Aaron followed closely behind, only just catching him by the back of his shirt as he tripped on a rock and started to pitch forward into the water. Instead of being scared Sean screeched with excited laughter, the joy of being at the river completely outweighing any earlier disgruntlement.

Aaron let go as he regained his balance and they both kicked off their shoes. The chill of the water was bright and sharp against his skin as he stepped into a shallow sandy patch. He felt the fine grit of the dirt between his toes and smiled, wiggling them slightly. He turned to Sean who was silent beside him, squatted down so low on his knees he was in danger of fully sitting down in the river. He was peering closely at the water that pooled between larger rocks along the shore. His eyes waited for the silt they’d dislodged to settle again and reveal every child’s favorite prey.

A few moments later there came a happy shriek, “I see one!” Aaron bent forward to get in line with Sean’s view and spotted the the little brown tadpole, its tail wiggling furiously. Then, like a lens coming into focus, they could suddenly see dozens, hundreds more of the oddly proportioned creatures, with round front halves that nearly overbalanced them. Their tails waved frantically to propel them, lurching from place to place. They congregated thickly along the edges of the rocks and in patches of underwater grass. Some of the larger ones even had tiny back feet poking out to the sides, not yet large enough to be helpful but showing the beginnings of a promise fulfilled.

The boys stepped carefully a little deeper into the river, positioning themselves in a way that corralled the tadpoles in front of them. From there, they bent close to the water, hands poised just above the surface. They froze like that long enough to convince the tadpoles the shadows they cast were nothing to fear, then scooped down swiftly, attempting to capture one of the wiggling creatures. The tadpoles were fast and burning with self-preservation instincts, their only aim to evade capture and achieve the next step in life—something more autonomous, more independence available with the addition of limbs and lungs. They were awaiting the chance to be predators rather than prey. Until they made it, they would use every trick they possessed of speed and deception and camouflage to survive their uncertain youth.

This didn’t dissuade the brothers’ enjoyment in any way, the chase was entirely the point of the activity. Sean’s hands were too small to have a good chance at catching one but Aaron managed to cup one, bringing it carefully to Sean’s eye level. They were hypnotized by the way  it launched itself from side to side in its new enclosure, burrowing against the cracks where his fingers met, searching for a tunnel to freedom. No matter how hard it thrashed its tail, it couldn’t build up enough force to escape. After a minute Aaron gently lowered his hands to the water, releasing the tadpole, which dove down and away from them as fast as it could.

Aaron felt an odd sense of longing as he watched it go. Surely it was ridiculous for a human to feel jealous of a tadpole, and yet, their lives were so simple, so inevitable. He was snapped out of the thought before it went too far by a large spray of water against his side. Sean looked at him with a wicked grin and splashed him again. Aaron retaliated with a much larger wave of water. The two boys laughed and shouted, splashing each other, quickly making enough noise to scare the tadpoles into further hiding, seeking calmer locales to continue their single minded development into frogs.

To stop him from splashing more, Aaron pulled Sean in against his side, laughingly begging for mercy from the vicious water attack. Sean’s giggles died down into a sigh as he rubbed his face against his brother’s hip, inhaling the familiar scent of laundry and river water. He loved his brother so much when he was like this. When he was smiling and playful, not distracted or insisting Sean be quieter. Sean thought the world would be perfect if he could have this Aaron all the time.

“I wanna swim.”

Aaron sighed, “Not today buddy.” He wasn’t up for swimming and all the risks that it might entail. Sure they were alone right now, but anyone could appear at any moment. It was more than hot enough to drive people to the nearest water source and frankly, he was a little surprised to have the place to themselves. Swimming meant a level of vulnerability that he couldn’t deal with right then. He was too tired, barely able to sleep between the nightmares and the sounds that haunted the hallways of their home late at night.

“C’mon, let’s get out. You’re wet enough to have been swimming anyway. You look like a drowned rat.”

“Do not!” Sean swung his hand across the surface, splashing them both heavily with the displaced water. Aaron laughed and picked him up under the armpits, carrying his squirming body, all muddy feet and wet hair, back to the bank. He set him down and warned him not to wander too far before finding a flat rock to settle on himself. Sean hummed at him, back already turned and engrossed in a new curiosity. Aaron leaned back, eyes heavy as he watched his little brother use a stick to poke at the ground along the shallow edge of the water. He smiled a little, thankful that, though opinionated, Sean was usually good about following directions. He wandered slowly, occasionally bending close to the ground to get a better look at something.

Aaron’s thoughts drifted, floating as aimlessly as a dandelion seed, the kind people said to make wishes on. He’d never had any of his wishes come true so he’d stopped trying. Though maybe it had been his own fault, maybe he’d had the wrong kind of wishes in the first place. He’d never wanted normal things, tangible items like a new toy or a puppy. Things that could be granted instantly. The things he wished for took time—strength, security, love. Maybe it was just a matter of patience.

He wondered if Sean had learned about dandelion wishes yet and decided he’d show him and hope the kid had better luck than he’d had. He felt drowsy though he knew he needed to keep an eye out, Sean was fairly responsible but still so young, too young. His stomach growled and he wrapped his arms around himself, pulling his knees into his chest, trying to trick his insides with external pressure. Mindlessly he picked at a scab on his shin, the result of a bug bite he’d scratched at too much. He had a hard time leaving them alone, always worrying at it until it bled, always making it worse somehow. His eyes closed, the heat wrapping him like a down comforter, the exhaustion catching up to him now that he was relaxed in this moment of relative safety.

A heavy buzz in his ear startled him, his eyes flying open as he waved a hand to swat at the mosquito. He looked for Sean and didn’t see him immediately. He scrambled to his feet, cursing himself, horrible scenarios jumping easily into his mind.

“Sean!”

No response.

“Sean!” he yelled louder. He ran a hand through his hair, pulling a little too hard. He was inhaling to yell again, stepping off the rock to search, when Sean appeared, standing up from a crouch, much farther away than Aaron would like. The next time he called Sean’s name it was sharp and angry and the smile he’d had when he saw Aaron faded a little. He trotted back, clutching something to his chest. He stumbled once on the uneven ground but regained his balance without letting go of whatever riches he’d amassed.

“You shouldn’t go so far away,” Aaron scolded.

Sean shrugged and unrolled his shirt, glancing at Aaron to gauge his reaction. He revealed a dozen or so small, flat rocks and long streaks of mud. He was clearly proud of his findings and though Aaron grimaced at the dirt, he did his best to match Sean’s excitement. He would just rinse the shirt out before they went home. They sorted them into piles of larger and smaller rocks and found a place to stand where the water was widest in order to practice skipping them. Sean was still learning but had been getting better this summer, finally coordinated enough to get the tiny rocks to jump two or three times before sinking. Aaron, with his longer arms and a decade more of practice, could reach a much higher number, one even making it all the way across to the other bank. Sean sucked air through his teeth, impressed.

“I wish I could do that,” he pouted. He was determined to be just like his big brother.

Aaron laughed, “Don’t worry, it’ll happen buddy.”

Attempting to get Sean to smile again, Aaron, now out of rocks, pretended he was going to use him as a skipping stone. He’d lifted him under the shoulders and knees and was swinging him back and forth, pretending to gauge his throw when the first thick raindrop landed.

At first it was a relief from the unrelenting heat, turning their faces up to the cooling drops, eyes closed as the water rolled down their cheeks. But the rainstorm intensified quickly and they could hear thunder crack loudly in the distance. Aaron quickly pulled Sean out of the water and away from the river. Almost instantly, the world had turned a dark purple, clouds thick and menacing above them. Aaron, kneeled down, scrambling to get Sean’s shoes back on, while Sean stood wide-eyed, still gripping his last rock tightly in his fist. He was busy tying the second shoe when lightning hit again, this time close enough that it illuminated the sky for a moment, the thunder following quickly behind it. Sean grabbed Aaron’s shirt with his other hand, fabric bunched in his small fist. Aaron softly disentangled Sean’s fingers as he stood up and put his feet in his own shoes. He used a finger to pull the heel out from under his foot while continuing to hold Sean’s hand with the other hand. It was now raining so hard there was water running into his eyes.

He straightened just as the lightning cracked again, striking a tree on the opposite bank. He was blinded, no sense of anything beyond the thunder immediately sounding and the air that smelled like burnt wood and ozone. Aaron stared at the tree, drawn in by the powerful electricity, tempted by the burn mark. He was fascinated by the way the change was so instantaneous. No waiting, no build up, no years of patience in order to become something else. Just here and then gone in the space of a heartbeat. He was completely frozen by the thought, an unexpected shortcut through the dull regularity of time. Distantly he felt Sean’s hands tugging at his shirt, heard his small whimper. Guilt flooded his system when he looked down at his face, blond hair plastered down, water soaked through his clothes. Sean needed him here now.

“Hop on,” he turned and bent his knees so Sean could climb on his back, wrapping his arms tightly around Aaron’s neck. The pressure was a little too strong, narrowing his windpipe but he didn’t say anything. He shifted him slightly, making sure he had a good grip on his legs before running back toward the house, away from the river in the woods and the tree with the enticing burn. The sky lit up a few more times and they heard more thunder as they raced back to the house. Aaron’s lungs were burning by the time they got there, both completely soaked through. He ran up the back steps and opened the door, too high on adrenaline to consider what he might be rushing them into.

Their mother was standing in the kitchen, chopping vegetables. She turned her tired eyes to them as they crashed into the house. As Aaron helped Sean slide down to the floor, she eyed the puddle they dripped around them.

“Don’t wake your father up,” she sounded dull, voice monotone. She wore a turtleneck, sleeves pulled down to cover her thin wrists despite the stifling heat. Aaron closed his mouth, face now expressionless, the wildness of the lightning draining away, leaving a hollow obedience. He nodded, compliant. Sean went to take a step off the mat and Aaron pulled him back against his legs with a palm against his small chest.

Sean made a sound of protest. He was home, he was safe; he also had the energy of the storm running through his skin and all he wanted was to run to his mom and press himself against her warmth. Aaron rubbed his thumb in a small soothing circle against his collarbone, feeling how Sean’s heartbeat danced against his ribs. He met his mother’s eyes and they exchanged a silent understanding.

Sean wriggled harder against the restraining hand. He felt like he might cry, whether from fear or frustration or relief he didn’t know. He just knew that this scene they found themselves in felt off, the contrast of the silence of the house with the chaos outside amplifying his discomfort. He twisted, ready to lash out at his brother. This was all wrong.

“Come on,” Aaron said quietly, “let’s get you cleaned up.”

He picked Sean up, which was not exactly what he had wanted, but the closeness brought some comfort. He wrapped his arms around his brother’s neck and rested his head on his shoulder, his breaths evening out, warm against Aaron’s wet skin. He couldn’t understand the look he’d seen in his mother’s eyes. Like Aaron, sometimes she confused him, happy one moment and solemn the next. He was never sure what he’d done to make her draw away from him. He sniffled into Aaron’s shirt collar.

Aaron rubbed his back as he carried him up the stairs. “It’s gonna be okay, buddy.” He tried not to grit his teeth as he said it, wanting so badly for it to be true.

Sean nodded against his chest, still willing to believe his big brother would take care of everything.

[malewifegradyruewen]

An Untitled Original Work Goes To Pride

happy pride!! the auow crew is gay so ofc i had to do something for pride!!

i’m realising now that i’m basically writing fanfic for my own writing but it’s fine somebody’s gotta do it

this takes place the summer before auow actually starts, so no Sammie content (or Logan, Benji, or Ellison)

disclaimer: i've never been to pride so most of this came from google and a vague memory from walking through a Christopher Street Day festival in Germany two summers ago

masterpost

trigger warnings: biphobia, swearing, light violence mention, ask to tag

word count: 1018

tagging: @fire-sapphics @damischs @zoyyanazyalensky @love-pyramus @ketterdamkid @pencilwritesshiz47 @tiergan-andrin-alenefar @mermistahawk @dirty-racoon @tommyinnitt @enbies-and-felonies @sophia-not-sofie @imaramennoodle @littlemisscupcake @cadence-talle @knifescythe @anaccidentwaitingtohappen @completekeefitztrash and lmk know if you wanna be added/removed!!

They could see the mass of people from blocks away. Thousands of brightly dressed people, with all sorts of signs and accessories to help them stand out in the crowd. Music blared louder than any concert Mally had ever been to.

Gina had swapped her all-black look for black jean shorts and purple converse to go with a t-shirt she’d tie-dyed and cropped. Leo had been slathering on sunscreen, but was growing increasingly more distracted as they drew nearer to the crowd. Andre’s fanny pack was covered in buttons and pins that the group had applied the night before in preparation for the event.

“Woah, Mally, this is insane,” Leo said. “There’s so much going on!”

“I know, right?” she said gleefully. “Come on, we can’t be late to watch the parade!”

She led the group of friends through the crowded streets of the festival, weaving past vendors and corporate booths. The crowds were thick, but she expertly dodged people, making sure to hold onto Andre's hand so the chain wouldn’t be broken. Finally, they arrived at the curb where they would have an unobscured vantage point.

“They’re starting!” she pointed. “Look!”

There it was, in all its glory. The Philadelphia Pride Parade was just beginning, and they’d arrived just in time.

“I can’t believe we’re actually here!” Gina said, bouncing on the balls of her feet. “I never thought I’d be able to go!”

“I know, right? My parents are so chill. I never thought they’d go for this idea.”

“Where are they today?”

“Uh, they took my sister to a museum, I think. But come on, let’s watch the parade!”

The four kids watched gleefully as the parade went by, waving at performers and screaming along to the music. They collected beads as they were thrown into the crowds, collecting several dozen and putting them all around Andre’s neck.

Partway through the spectacle, Mally turned to Gina and said, “Hold this.” She thrust the little flag she’d been holding at her friend and pulled her backpack off. She unzipped it, reached inside, and pulled out a bisexual flag. “This is for you, I totally forgot about it this morning.”

“Oh my God, Mally, thank you so much!” Gina exclaimed, hugging her friend. “I love it, thank you!” Her excitement was infectious as she unfolded it and wrapped it around her shoulders as a cape.

Mally whipped out a lesbian flag and followed suit while Gina showed her new accessoriy off to the boys. Leo grabbed a little container of bubbles out of his pocket and started blowing them in Gina’s face while Andre threw some of his beads around her neck.

When the parade ended, their chain linked up once more as they visited different booths and got countless freebies. Rubbery wristbands choked their forearms, while Leo’s shirt became plastered with stickers. Andre suddenly had not one, but four pairs of bright orange sunglasses on his face, all sporting a logo for a company none of them had ever heard of. After a bit of wandering, Gina stopped to buy a snack.

“You spent eight dollars on a pretzel?” Andre asked.

“What?” she defended herself. “I was hungry! Plus, I got a sticker,” she added, peeling off the backing and adding it to the collection that had amassed on Leo’s shirt.

“That’s still a lot,” Andre said skeptically.

“Yeah,” Gina agreed, her mouth full of pretzel. “It’s not even that good.”

“I’ll eat it!” Leo grabbed at it, but she dodged him and left him to stumble to catch his balance.

“Mine,” she said, grabbing Mally’s arm and moving on to the next vendor.

They continued in this fashion for nearly an hour, wandering the market-like plaza that had been erected on the grass. The energy level of their friend group dropped, but the party kept going stronger than ever. They passed all sorts of people, from kids younger than themselves to people who looked old enough to be grandparents. There were too many flags to keep track of, and dozens of outrageous outfits.

As the group made their way through the park, they came to an open, grassy area, where people had spread out blankets and were eating food, watching their kids run around, and just relaxing. The friends sat down on a patch of soil under a tree, soaking up a bit of shade. As excited as they were to be there, they had to admit their energy was dwindling.

Just then, a tall man in jeans and a baseball cap came up and stepped on Gina’s flag, knocking her backwards onto the ground. “Hey!” she yelled. “What the fuck!”

“Bisexual is just attention seeking,” the man said gruffly. “Pick one or the other. Don’t be greedy.”

“What the hell, dude?” Mally cried, standing up. “What’s your problem?”

“Bisexual isn’t real,” he spat. “She’s just a straight who’s trying to feel special.”

“Oh yeah? Think again,” Gina said, untying her flag and standing up. Before anyone knew what was going on, the man was on the ground, spitting curses at her.

Mally knew what was happening next before Gina could tell her. She gave a small nod before Gina grabbed her face and kissed her square on the lips. Andre and Leo’s cheers in the background only boosted her confidence. After a moment, Gina backed up and spat in the man’s face.

“Straight my ass. I’m here, I’m queer, and I strike fear into the hearts of my enemies!” she yelled as the man scrambled to his feet and ran away.

Mally turned to her and gave her a high-five. “Didn’t think we were gonna have to use that trick. Good thing we were prepared.”

“That was awesome,” Leo said. “You pushed him really hard.”

“Yeah, I was not expecting that,” Andre chimed in. “And yeah, good thing you guys were prepared.”

“Team effort,” Gina smiled at Mally.

“Yep,” she laughed back. “Is your flag okay?”

Gina bent down to pick it up. “Just a bit dirty, I think. Your gift isn’t ruined.”

“Awesome,” Mally said. “Now, who wants ice cream? It’s on me!”