#vivid meaning I can see it in my head really well lol

[skiyoosmi]

if fate permits

⤷ chapter thirty one: treachery

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marga's notes. sorry this took years to post i was dead (inside) jk lol pls blame my uni for burning me out

Perhaps, I was too ambitious to think this would be a plain sailing journey. How ironic, it's the exact opposite of what is happening. Doubt and confusion presents itself as soon as I decide to fight our fate. My mind only has perplexity and skepticism. How could it not? I mean, what do you even do when somebody claims to be your fated one but your soul rejects the notion?

The sound of the television's static travels to your ears as Kiyoomi scrolls through his phone to find a good movie to watch for the night, accompanied by the sound of your mother chopping the ingredients of your family's dinner from the kitchen, albeit somewhat muffled. Your fingers remain hovering over the laptop's keyboard, unsure if you should still continue writing when once again, various things distract you, most of them unwelcomed. As if on cure, your phone chimes for the nth time, signaling that you've received yet another text. You only let out an exasperated sigh and pick up the device, reading the message.

[7:15] Hajime: Hey, wanna vc? Just ate dinner, hope you did too :)

For some reasons you don’t know, Iwaizumi just can’t leave you alone from the moment you got off the plane, went outside the airport up until now, where you’re spending your time with your father and brother after being away from them for so long. It was heart fluttering at first, really; how excited he was to see and to be with you. However, some things are just too much sometimes, especially when all you wanted to do was watch said movie and catch up with your family. It was peace: something you craved for as of the moment because in the back of your mind, you knew that the following months would become chaotic.

The gray screen gets filled with vivid colors when Kiyoomi finally finishes setting up a random romantic comedy movie. Quickly typing out a response, you hit the send button. 

[7:17PM] You: That’s good to hear. We already ate as well. Currently watching a movie with ‘Omi and Dad right now so I won’t be able to reply after this. Have a good night :)

[7:19PM] Hajime: Ah.. okay then. Good night, soulmate <3

You pause to read his last message before finally turning the do not disturb mode on and lightly tossing the phone to the side. Heaving yet another sigh, you catch the attention of your brother who was sitting beside you.

"Do you not like this movie? We can change it if you want, it hasn't been that long anyway," your brother suggests, an eyebrow rising when you shake your head. Your dad was long asleep by the couch he usually relaxes on, probably fatigued from the week's work. You turn to your brother's gaze.

"No, just thinking…" you trail off, "what do you think of Iwaizumi?"

Kiyoomi merely shrugs, “eh, he’s fine.”

You huff, “at least give an effort to think about it more. I’m asking a serious question here, you know?”

The frustrated expression on your face causes your brother to ponder over the query a bit more before sighing, “this is difficult. We’re not even that close for me to comment on him. But he looks decent, like he can take care of you.”

His brows furrow when he perceives the slight disappointment on your face, almost as if you were expecting to hear him say negative things instead, “what’s up with you?”

“You really think he’s good?” you lightly say, eyes wandering as if lost further in your own thoughts. He hums, “yeah, something like that. But then again, you don’t need him to take care of you. You can do that yourself, and even if you can’t, you have me, or Osamu.. And his brother, Atsumu.”

He takes note of the way your face subconsciously lights up at the mention of the blonde’s name. Instinctively, it’s always him. 

“O-okay,’’ you stutter with a light blush. 

He ignores it though, it’s a topic set for another time and goes to ask instead, “mind filling me on why you suddenly ask about Iwaizumi-san?” 

Your somberness returns and once again, you look confused, doubtful, “well, he said he was my soulmate…”

Kiyoomi’s eyes widened, as if he couldn’t believe what he heard.

You don’t notice it as you continue to ramble on, “and I don’t know why but I just find it difficult to believe him and I feel guilty about that. ‘Cause I try to think about it, he doesn’t have any reason to lie to me, right? Especially since you yourself said he was a good guy. But, ugh, this is so complicated.”

“Come again?” He asks through gritted teeth, his fists starting to clench in anger. You look at him oddly, which turns to a glare in a second, annoyed that he wasn’t fully listening, “I said… I find it difficult–”

“No, not that. The one before that.”

“Ugh, I said Hajime told me he was my soulmate before. You know, the one I can’t remember? Well, at least that’s what I thought but apparently, he thinks it was a malfunction with the soulmate system. Because I can clearly remember him as my friend and yet, he insists that maybe the system distorted my memories or something like that,” you finish talking, expectantly looking at him, lurching backwards when you see his reaction, “Hey… you okay, ‘Omi? Okay.. I’m sorry. I know I wasn’t supposed to search for him anymore nor entertain soulmate stuff.. but you know how impo–”

“Let’s not talk about it anymore,” he abruptly stands up from the couch and quickly makes his way upstairs. You scramble to get up, “hey! Where are you going? Omi! You said you wanted to watch this movie…”

You only hear his bedroom door close as a response. 

“Geez, what got up that weirdo’s ass? So much for a movie night.. one falls asleep right away while the other has very bad mood swings,” you mutter under your breath, shaking your head as you go back to the living room, picking up your phone and trudging upstairs to your bedroom. You unlock your phone and see messages from Osamu and another from Hajime. 

[7:30PM] Samu: Tomorrow. Here at our house. I don’t accept a no. Good night ^_^

[7:35PM] Hajime: Oh, by the way, do you want to go out tomorrow? (:

“Sorry, Haji. Don’t really want to disappoint Samu,” you whisper as you type out replies for the both of them, the guilt of not minding if you disappoint Hajime instead becomes a fleeting thought.

Before you can even raise your fist to knock, the familiar wooden front door opens widely and you are welcomed by the sight of your gray-haired best friend. He pulls you in a tight hug and mumbles curses as he buries his face in your neck, “You took too long… way too long, idiot.” 

“It was only a few years, you dramatic ass. Never took you to be a clingy type of friend,” you hug him back with the same tightness before letting him go and walking inside their humble abode. He excitedly leads you to the living room, “wait here. Let me just get my brother.”

“Uhh… what?”

“Oh! I forgot to tell you, we’re going out with him. You know, like what we used to all do when we were–” his eyes widened as if he remembered something before lightly coughing and continuing to speak, “I mean… like what we both used to do, you know? But this time, with him. It’s been a long time since he came home too… and this could be a chance for you two to get closer to one another.”

He finishes rambling, internally praying you don’t catch the nervousness in his voice due to his slip-up a moment ago. He curses when he sees you slowly nod. With so many years of knowing you, Osamu already knew from your expressions that you caught even that minor mistake, how you’re currently scrutinizing each and every word they all speak ever since you came back and how you’re starting to get suspicious about everyone around you.

He doesn’t know if he should thank or curse Kiyoomi for giving him a heads up about your plans to find your soulmate. It makes him so conscious, so nervous he might accidentally tell you that the very person you’re trying to find is his dearest twin brother.

At the present, however, he only gulps and prays instead that you just pretend you didn��t notice anything. You do exactly that when you shrug and tell him, “alright then. That’s no problem for me.”

“G-good,” he says a little too loudly, mentally slapping himself to get it together, “I’ll… get Atsumu now hehe.”

You narrow your eyes at his weirdness, shaking your head before bringing your phone out to check your socials. You hum with interest as you open a message from Hajime.

I like to believe that I’m trying– that I enjoy the idea of being his soulmate, that I look on with favor to partaking in this play pretend, this fantastical theatrics of trying to work things out the way they are– me as his fated one, him as mine.

[9:09AM] Hajime-kun: Good morning, soulmate :) I’m a bit bummed we couldn’t go out. Anyway, enjoy your day with Osamu. Hopefully, it’ll finally be my day tomorrow?

[9:10AM] You: Good morning, Hajime-kun. Sorry again about that hehe but sure, I think I’m finally free tomorrow haha 

[9:12AM] Hajime-kun: Great! Also, I told you to drop the honorifics. You feel so distant when you use it *sadly sighs*

[9:13AM] You: Silly. I just respect you that much, okay? 

You hear multiple footsteps coming down so you quickly type out another message for him.

[9:14AM] You: Anyway, I have to go now. See you tomorrow.

You type out the word soulmate at the end of your text, only to delete it as soon as you pull on your heart. 

But I’m no actress. It’s all treachery. Whenever I try to give him  a chance, I feel like a traitor. It’s almost as if I was betraying someone, like I’m unknowingly breaking somebody else’s heart, my soulmate’s heart, somebody who my heart believes was not him. So I step back and hesitate, maybe I should just stop this. To prevent any more complications, to not feel guilty towards anyone, not to you and not to him. 

Before you can drown deeper in your thoughts, the twins come into view. You give Atsumu a shy smile as a greeting, feeling your heart skip when he returns the gesture. Osamu looks back and forth at the two of you and thinks, I guess the soulmate system really is a scam, huh? Even fate can’t handle these two. So obvious.

He rolls his eyes and scoffs, “What are you two? High schoolers? You could do better than those shy smiles.”

You both awkwardly chuckle, both cursing the gray-haired lad in your minds. 

“Fine, fine. It’s nice to see you again, Atsumu-san,” you genuinely smile and Atsumu’s heart skips. So pretty, he thought.

“It’s also nice to see ya again.”

Welcome home, YN, the blonde thinks with relief and solace filling his soul.

“Waah, it’s been so long since I came here,” you exclaim as your eyes take in the view of the very familiar and busy street market of your hometown. Atsumu looks at you fondly, hands itching to just grab yours and pull you to his arms while you stroll around the area but his thoughts don’t let him get too far as his twin calls him. “You’re too obvious, boy. You look like a lovesick puppy,” Osamu snorts, hands in his pockets as they watch you excitedly talk to the stall owners, “she wanted you to look at her that way for so long, yanno? Too long.”

“Yeah… I still regret that,” Atsumu sadly smiles, “Nothing much I can do about it now. Our fate’s passed.”

“Or so you think,” his twin shrugs when the blonde looks at him with confusion, “YN… even without her memories of you, is still YN. It’s funny, actually. Even fate couldn’t control her. Even after all that has happened, she still wants to find you. So don’t be a coward, Tsum. You don’t need to ask the world nor the gods for a second chance. YN… she’s giving it to you herself already, even without you asking.”

Atsumu looks at you once more, heart painfully throbbing at your smile as you call the both of them over to where you are. 

“She doesn’t realize it, neither do ya but… she still looks at ya the same way as she did before,” Osamu finishes as he pats Atsumu’s back before walking to you.

“Hey! You two walk so slow,” you comment, pointing to the stall in front of you, “they have ice cream there. Want some?”

“I’ll get it,” Atsumu says as he brings out his wallet.

“I’ll have mint chocolate,” Osamu says. You open your mouth to say your order but the blonde beats you to it.

“Vanilla with chocolate drip and those colorful sprinkles on top. Your favorite, right?” Atsumu says without looking up while he tries getting some coins out. You and his twin become silent, shocked at his familiarity. Osamu internally screams at his twin, this idiot! 

On the other hand, you freeze. How did he know such a very specific detail about you?

Realizing what he just said, Atsumu stops as well, the gears in his head turning to think of an excuse, “Uhm… that was weird for me to know, huh? It’s just that Osamu complained so much about it when I was abroad. Guess it just registered in my brain hehe.”

Nice save, he thought.

“Oh…really? Haha, that’s… interesting to hear haha,” you awkwardly laugh.

“Yeah… anyway, I’m gonna–” he gestures to the stall before practically running to it.

As soon as you thought he was already far enough from the two of you, you grip Osamu’s arm and pull him closer to you and threateningly ask, “This is a question that requires an answer if you want to live through the day– who was Atsumu’s soulmate? Why is his thread also cut off?”

He yelps and stutters, “W-what? What soulmate… I have no idea!”

You tighten your grip on him, “Oh, please, Miya Osamu. I know you have an idea.”

He gulps, “I-I swear I don’t. We never knew because Atsumu couldn’t see the thread.” 

You weren’t fully satisfied with his answer yet you had no choice but to let go of him as you see Atsumu coming back. You look at Osamu with a stare that tells him you were definitely not done with the said topic yet. God, she can be scary sometimes, the lad thinks and shivers in fear.

The blonde hands you your ice cream and smiles before looking around, eyes stopping at another stall.

“Oh, look! They sell waffles there, I think? I remember it’s also your favo–” he stops talking before correcting himself, “I remember Osamu saying it’s also your favorite, am I right?”

“Oh… uhh… yeah, you’re right,” you watch them argue with their eyes, frowning. 

“I’ll buy it this time!” Osamu squeaks out, rushing off and leaving you two.

“He’s so weird,” you comment as you stand beside Atsumu, giggling when he agrees.

“I know right. The gods know how much I’ve put up with that ass,” he shakes his head before sighing, “But he’s put up with me so much as well and probably more… humbled me for so many times already. I’ve made a lot of dumb decisions in my life, yanno? But for some reason, he’s the one always anchoring me, bringing me back and reminding me I could try again,” he pauses and says thoughtfully, “that it’s never selfish to take a second chance at things… or the people I love.”

You look at him and find him already looking at you, melancholy swimming deep in his eyes. You feel another painful twist in your heart and find your eyes welling up. A tear falls down which makes you gasp, hand reaching up but Atsumu beats you to it, his palm was already on your cheek, the pad of his thumb wiping the lone tear. Realizing what he has done, he starts pulling back his hand, “sorry. I should’ve asked for your conse–”

He halts when you wrap your hand around his wrist, placing it back.

“You know, Atsumu-san. Looking at you hurts like hell,” you start, closing your eyes as you feel more tears coming down, “whenever I look at you, my heart does this painful thing where it almost feels like I’m about to have a heart attack. It’s excruciating but… it makes me feel so alive, so full at the same time. It makes me think– what if… what if you were my soulmate and I just forgot?”

You open your eyes and sadly chuckle, “I think I’m weird like Osamu too.”

You bring down both of your hands and intertwine it, “Sorry for this.”

Your heart skips yet again when he grips your hand tighter after squeezing it, all while mumbling, ‘it’s okay… I think.”

However, there's also a chord of restlessness that sits within me, eager to fill the gaps in my mind even if the universe and our fate is against doing so. Maybe, this is a taboo. Something that must remain unexplored, untouched. The complexity of it all must be left unknown, for ignorance is a bliss, they say right? Unfortunately for them, for me, and for you… the gravity that pulls me towards him is too great, too satisfying to not acknowledge. So, how can I, a mere personification of hope, not consider that blonde hair and amber eyes to be the house of the soul I’m searching for?

Treachery? Betrayal? A traitor to my soulmate? None of those matters. 

Not when you make me feel different, Atsumu.

[quiverymango]

Guys, Ship in a Bottle by fin is SUCH an Omori and Sunny flavored song. 

The rest of this post is just me dissecting the song practically line by line under an Omori lens because I have a vision in my head that needs to be let out into the void, so keep reading if you’re interested in that lmao. Long post ahead!

—

So as a preface, I think Omori would be the one singing this song to Sunny/Dreamer as he is the “captain” that’s truly in command of it all. I think you could easily flip the roles though and have Sunny singing to Omori if you wanted more Hikikomori route vibes! Ok, let's continue:

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

“You can fit everything you know

In a bottle for you to show

Pick your brain apart and put it in

And build it again with needles and pins”

So here we have the creation of Headspace. It is made up of everything Sunny allows himself to know as he takes his broken reality and builds it up again in his head–painstakingly cherry-picking and crafting aspects of it to suit his idealistic vision. The "bottle" in this is the confinement of the Dreamer only allowing happy childhood memories to dictate what is created in Headspace. Severely limiting its potential.

—

“Everything you have earned is a ship

With blue waves crashing into it

But nothing can touch your happy thoughts anymore

With your glass ceiling, walls, and floor”

Again, this is generally about Headspace, which is a "ship" in this context. The blue waters crashing into the ship could be see seen as all the times the truth got through in various ways and Headspace had to be reset. The line “But nothing can touch your happy thoughts anymore” is a real standout here because, ya know, Headspace lol. It also emphasizes that no mater how many times Headspace has to be reset, it will still be a place to protect Sunny's happiness. The “glass ceiling, walls, and floor” showcase how fragile this world is though, and could allude to Black Space, which is clearly visible right outside the boundaries of Headspace, as seen in the game.

—

“Sailing on a ship in a bottle

Anchor all your thoughts to the bottom”

The first line highlight's that, while Headspace is a vast place, it is confined to the "bottle" that Sunny put it in when he only allowed for vivid childlike memories/scenarios to be lived out. It could also call attention to Black Space lurking just outside the boundaries of Headspace, meaning it can't really grow or expand past what it is. The second line is obviously all the Deep Well layers and the truth at the bottom lol.

—

“Pulling ropes and pulling your head back

To see what is breaking the foremast”

This was a little harder to interpret with the Omori lens, but I take it as Omori searching for Stranger since he’s “breaking the foremast,” aka the illusion/purity of Headspace. I take “Pulling ropes and pulling your head back" as Omori willingly going towards areas close to Black Space to try and stop Stranger.

—

“You set sail alone, there is no crew

No one on the deck who can help you

This is all your own battle to win

This is your ship and you are the captain”

Here we have what I envision as a “flashback” to Sunny isolating himself from the real world. He “sets sail” alone to combat the fear of those he holds close learning the truth. Due to this, no one in the real world is on deck to help him, so the battle’s are all his to fight. This life he’s created for himself is the ship, and he is the captain. 

—

“Oh, captain, let's make a deal

Where we both say the things that we both really feel

I feel scared and I'm starting to sink

And I only sink deeper the deeper I think

Oh, captain, oh, captain, deal

Oh, captain, deal, oh, captain, deal, oh”

I picture this as Omori pleading to Sunny. He’s terrified of the things he’s learning the deeper the Dreamer is commanding him to go. He’s sinking, losing control over Sunny as he remembers the truth. Honestly though, I feel the line “Where we both say the things that we BOTH really feel” is greatly up to interpretation. I mainly see it as a manipulation attempt on Omori’s end to get Sunny to stop searching for the truth by making a deal to tell him what he truly feels–which is that Sunny’s only going to regret what he finds, and that he should just give up. In return, if Sunny tells Omori he feels that he should continue forward, Omori could try and use that against him to preserve Headspace. The use of the word “both�� could be taken literally, like something they both truly think, but I take it as Omori’s warped sense of reality talking, and again, another attempt at manipulation as he tries to get Sunny to wrongly believe he wants to give up the fight.

(These are also the lines I could definitely see Sunny singing to Omori. Sunny’s grown terrified as, the deeper he goes, the more he sinks into the truth. He sees Omori as the captain and is pleading with him to make the pain stop–definitely during the Hikikomori route and or Bad Ending. As for this version’s “Where we both say the things that we both really feel” I think the “both” is more literal since in these routes Sunny wants what Omori wants–which is to suppress the truth forever. Sunny would be feeling hopeless at this point in the story and Omori would remind him they both want to stay in the sanctity of Headspace forever and that only he has the power to make that happen.)

—

“There are red spots under your eyes

From when you cry into the sky

Ocean waters rising above your neck, mmm

You feel the glass start to crack”

First lines are pretty self explanatory lol. Someone PLEASE give Sunny a hug. The next two lines are again the Deep Well layers, as the waters “rise,” aka the group travels deeper down. In doing so, the glass walls of Headspace are beginning to crack and the truth/Black Space starts to seep through. 

—

“Sailing on a ship in a bottle

Water's leaking through holes in the bottom

Flying flags of ships that have long since

Sat at the floor of the sea, but in defense

You set sail alone, there is no crew

No one on the deck who can help you

This is all your own battle to win

This is your ship and you are the captain”

Like I said previously, the truth/Black Space are leaking through the cracks in Headspace. I picture this line more as the waters/knowledge from the Deepest Well/The Abyss, as it’s leaking from holes at the bottom. Not really an important detail, I just thought I’d add it lol. As for, “Flying flags of ships that have long since sat at the floor of the sea,” I love the idea that the other ships are the previous versions of Headspace. We know Headspace has been reset many times by the Dreamer whenever the truth seeps through, and we even see a reset happen when Basil sees the polaroid of Mari in the prologue and begins to remember the truth. Every new variant of Headspace is another “ship” setting sail–the old ones left to rot in the deepest parts of Sunny’s mind. The last three lines once again reinstate that even though Sunny created the Headspace versions of his friends, they can not truly help him. He has no crew and is sailing alone–fighting a battle he must win. 

—

“Oh, captain, let's make a deal

Where we both say the things that we both really feel

I feel scared and I'm starting to sink

And I only sink deeper the deeper I think”

Another plead from Omori as Headspace #crumbles.

—

“Oh, captain, make up your mind

Before the salt burns your eyes and you run out of time

'Cause you're popping the cork, you get lost in your brain

And you lose touch with all the things that made you feel sane

Oh, captain, oh, captain, deal

Oh, captain, deal, oh, captain, deal, oh”

This part was the part that inspired me to write this as I can so vividly imagine Omori angrily/frustratedly begging Sunny to make up his mind on whether or not he truly wants to break away from Headspace and remember the truth, or instead give up and go back to repressing it once again. I picture this happening during the Red Space portion of the True Ending. I like to think “Before the salt burns your eyes and you run out of time 'Cause you're popping the cork, you get lost in your brain And you lose touch with all the things that made you feel sane" is some sort of scare tactic against Sunny as Omori doesn’t want to disappear or loose control, so he argues that Headspace is the only thing that is keeping Sunny “sane” and if he breaks away from that he’ll lose touch with his sanity due to the guilt/possible rejection from his friends. Omori truly doesn’t know/think that Sunny is capable of handling the truth since he was practically “programmed” to think that way when he first came into existence, so it makes sense he believes that Sunny would be worse-off without the blissful escape of Headspace. He’s a coping mechanism after all, and those aren’t always healthy unfortunately. Omori’s truly trying to keep Sunny safe, it’s just that he was created with a deeply troubled mindset. Also “Before the salt burns your eyes” could totally be seen as foreshadowing to Sunny loosing his right eye lol. But obviously it can be more easily read as the salty waters of Deep Well properly submerging him in the truth.

 —

The last two stanzas of the song are repeats of the “Oh, captain, let's make a deal” and the “Oh, captain, make up your mind” stanzas so I see them collectively as the fight between Omori and Sunny at the end of the True Route. Sunny having made up his mind about wanting to uncover the truth, properly forgiving himself in the process no matter the outcome once the truth is revealed to his friends. Meanwhile, Omori can not yet accept the fact that the “captain” has once again sunk another ship. However, this time, it was for the greater good. In the end, Omori fades away as Sunny stands strong in the face of the unknown.

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

OK, WOO, that was a lot. Sorry if I didn’t go as in depth as expected, this was just made on a whim and the lyrics of the song really aren’t that deep lol. If you have any thoughts or a different take on this, please let me know! I’d love to hear them!

[highfiveheroes]

hi!!! im a very big fan of your work, and as someone who wants to start writing again (havent since i was 14 Dx), i was wondering if you had any tips? the way you write is so well done and impactful, so refined, and it always pulls in me right away. character interactions are so natural, and conversation flows smoothly, the voice for your art is so vivid in my head :] i always look to your work for inspiration, but figured i should ask rather then tearing apart your fics to examine what makes them work lol

i've been sitting on this for a few days because it really took my breath away—what a kind thing to ask!!!

i'm putting this under a cut because i definitely started to ramble haha

specifically on finding a writing voice, i'll be honest, i don't know exactly how to describe it—i've done a lot of rp-ing with my best friend and picked up a lot of phrasing and styles from how he writes, but i think what helps me ultimately when i'm writing on my own is just...writing the way it is? i don't worry about making it make narrative sense, if that makes sense? it doesn't have to be flowy and pretty every time, sometimes things just are what they are. i also try to think of it like i'm describing what i see on a screen, so i do a lot of rereading to see if i can picture the scene in my head exactly how i have it written, which means focusing on a lot of weird details. i also spend a LOT of time reading it out loud to see if my voice comes through because that's what's most important to me—i want people to come on the journey with me, like i'm telling the story to a good friend of mine, and they don't mind when i tell them every little detail. ultimately, i write for myself more than anyone else, and i figure that if i'm not enjoying it, few other people will either. writing is supposed to be fun!!

one of the best pieces of advice i ever saw—there's no such thing as bad writing. if you're putting words on a page, you're working on your creativity, and that's the best thing you can ever do for yourself!! i have pieces from years and years ago that i wrote in the middle of lunch when i was 14 that i can still go back and reread and see if there's anything good (you'd be as surprised as i was to find out that i've reused things from that time of my life in things i'm still writing now haha). sometimes if you're in a rut, sit down with an idea you like, set a timer for 15 minutes, and just turn your brain off and write—or set a word count and don't switch tasks until you hit it (like 100 words, 2,000 in four hours, three paragraphs in 15 minutes, that sort of thing—these are all ones i use pretty frequently). sometimes it sucks, but sometimes you'll end up with something you really like, and rereading it means you'll find something you can jump off of later! if you're putting something out there, it's going to be something good, i promise.

either way, good luck on your writing endeavors!!! i am rooting you on from my little corner of the internet—it's scary, but i promise, you aren't alone :)

[merakiui]

Meraa!! This one is for that ask game :D

(1) Okay, it's hard choosing just one (You always write BANGERS, It's THAT hard okay?), but if I'm gonna pick, it's gonna be Death Row Undertow <3 I have been down bad for SK Jade from your ramblings and thoughts and then actually getting a serialized fic of him is just the best thing to have ever happened ever since.

I love everything about it! Reader's interaction and relationship with every character in the fic, the whole atmosphere and setting, the mystery and suspense build-up (Oh, the scene when Jade kidnapped the reader will forever send shivers down my spine--), and how the point of view not only was seen from the reader and the horror she is experiencing but also seeing Riddle's effort in solving the mystery. Hell, the chapter where Cater got together with Pop Music Club again was one of my favorites! It really gives more perspective and a sense of wholeness when you're writing about the story of the reader's disappearance from so many different angles. Also, the dream sequences are also my favorite for symbolic reasons. It's just fun reading and rereading them to figure out what they truly mean ✨✨

The runner-ups for my favorite fic of yours are gonna be Android Jade, Captive Azul, CEO Azul, and 11:11 Rook 💞💞

(3) I may be biased, but the way you write for the Octatrio is *Chef's kiss* ✨✨💞💞😌😌 Both the yandere ones and the fluffy wholesome ones, like OUGHHHH OTZ OTZ They are canon in my heart now shdskdhlsdjlks--

(8) The thing that I really love about your writings is that your description is so, so, so vivid that plenty of those scenes are permanently ingrained in my memory. Adding that with your characterization and writing conversation skills, boy! It's almost like I'm actually watching a movie instead of reading cause the way you write them makes them so easy to visualize in my head (and god Mera, if I had the skills, I would've permanently etched them on drawings plenty of times by now--).

(9) THE MOST DANGEROUS GAME ✨✨ (I'm a Jade Leech enjoyer, what else can I say?) Actually, I'm always excited whenever you post any fic or ramblings <33 Always a joy to read them over breakfast like the morning newspaper. Wait no, actually, your writings ARE the breakfast cause you be COOKIN and SERVIN a whole MEAL 👏👏👏

Okay, that's all my ramblings for now, I hope they make sense-- But words cannot describe how much I adore your creations and that big brain of yours <333 I would be happy to scream more about your writings in the future, and I definitely will ✨✨ Have a lovely day Meraa 💞💞

KHEYY, HIIIII!!!

You have such good taste. (˘ ˘ ˘) sk!Jade is the most delectable and delicious Jade (pun very much intended). He's just in a hungry mood all the time hehe!! But I'm also very happy it is a full fic! To think I would ever draft an entire story for one silly eel... I'm very glad the idea was received well. I remember I wrote the very first and earliest sk!Jade concept while I was washing my clothes at the coin laundry LOL. I thought to myself, this idea is so morbid; I wonder if anyone would ever like it as much as I do. ^^;;; and now one year later here we are and my beloved murder eel has his fic!!! It's very exciting!

I'm so happy you like everything about DRU!!! It's a plot I hold close to my heart because it's so dark and yet so fun to write. I'm glad you can enjoy the multiple perspectives. I think it's a fun balance between the horrors Reader endures on her side while Riddle is so lawful and logical on his end. The kidnapping scene with Jade was one of my favorites to write, as was the Pop Music Club meet-up!!! Although any scene involving Jade being an absolute terror is a joy to write. Any time he appears in a scene it's a guarantee that the dread and tension will increase tenfold. He has such a sinister effect despite wearing a friendly face all the time. T_T and the dream sequences!!!! Omg I love writing the dreams in DRU! They're so fun, and I hope you can have fun deciphering what they mean hehehe. >:)

Thank you for loving the runner-ups you listed as well!! Android Jade is another favorite flavor of Jade. I love him when he's clinical and cold and detached towards everyone else but Reader. <3 and ceo!Azul my beloved!!!!! He makes me feel so infuriated! >:( but then that's the feeling I hoped he would evoke, so it's only natural to feel like I want to squish him (but also I want to sit under his desk and [redacted] LOL orz the grip he has on me is too strong; to be able to annoy me and fill me with shameless lust all in one... tako, you're the worst/best). AND 11:11 ROOK!!!! Oooooo he's horrible. Captive Azul is also so beloved. I'm gently holding him in my palms. T^T

WAAAA OMG THANK YOUUUU!!! It's so funny to me that my Octavinelle characterizations can be loved because when I first started writing them (for Sea Glass) I had no idea what I was doing and I worried that they would be ooc. But now I have written them so often that they're permanently imprinted in my mind. It's nearly second nature now... ;;;;;

"Like watching a movie" is such high praise for my writing omg!!!!ヾ⁠(˶⁠ ⁠’⁠Ｏ⁠’˶⁠ ⁠)⁠ﾉﾞ‎thank you so so so so much!!!! I'm very pleased it has that feeling! I hope the sceneries and characters can seem tangible when I describe them. It's cliché, but I hope they come to life on the page teehee. <3 I am always so honored when you draw masterpieces (yes, they are masterpieces!!! Even the doodles you have made of the beloved sk eel!!!) based on my works. T_T I save all of the fanart I have received in a folder and I often look back at it because it brings me such joy!!!!! >w< so thank you for your skillful hands!!!! orz orz orz I am forever grateful to behold your lovely art. <3

Fellow Jade enjoyer!!!!!! I am the world's most insane Jade Leech enjoyer (self-granted delusion) and TMDG is just proof of how much brain rot Jade gives me. Thank you for looking forward to it! I'm so excited to post it!!! It's going to be a three-course meal plus more wrapped into one fic. >:) but omg thank you for eating the meals I cook each time!!! Chef Meraki is forever at your service!!! (`･ω･´)ゞ I will serve FEASTS and BANQUETS worth of yummy meals for everyone to enjoy. The seafood specials are especially delicious hehehe. I recommend them!

Aaaaaa thank you once more for sending such a sweet message!!! I am also always so ready and willing to ramble about writing and yandere and characters and three slimy mafia fish and everything else in between!!! Sending you much love!!!! xoxoxo have the loveliest day, Kheyy!!!! (∗˃̶ ᵕ ˂̶∗)♡

[fictionkinfessions]

(Soz - long post ahead.)

I don't get vivid memories very often because a lot of the time now I can't tell if they're actually memories or my brain making things up, but for some reason this morning when I was dead tired and slipping in and out of consciousness I just could not shake this visual in my head of me and my brother as children. Well... him as a teenager, me as a child. Fuck knows how old we were specifically.

It was snowing. In my little kid brain that was the coolest thing in the world so naturally I was blabbing on about it while I wiped the snow off of the headlights of our dad's car, and I guess Hannibal, in a moment of compassion, actually indulged my kiddie shit and lifted me up onto his arm so I could see the snow falling from a little higher. It's... really weird though. Because I always perceived our relationship as rocky but maybe for me it was different, or, y'know, he'd have good moments like that that wouldn't necessarily make up for all the shit. I don't know. I just remember it so clearly still like twelve hours later so that's got to mean something, right?

(also, the way I remember Hannibal, if you can call it that... it's nothing creative; he kind of just looks like a more rugged less lanky Ace Copular lol) #⛓️🥃

x

[neyxmessi]

Love your thoughts on neymessi relationship and I would love to know more on Neymar side ( I think he can be subtle in a different way ) but anyways the more you can say the better lol

Neymar has literally been infatuated with Leo since forever. I think the tweets back in 2011 capture that really well lol 😭😭 (what a fanboy).

But even when he encountered Leo for the first time in 2010x idk there was a certain look in his eyes. Amazement. Adoration. Idolization. And then even more clearly during that Santos game. He was literally just staring in awe of him as they gave him the Golden Ball and Xavi was trying to push Ney along the stage LOLLLL.

As with Leo, I feel like every subtlety with Neymar is in the eyes. I mean of course, it’s impossible to not see Neymar’s beaming smile whenever he’s around Leo. But it’s really the eyes you need to look at when he’s just around him. Idk the look of love is hard describe. It’s something you just see. And literally it’s always in Neymar’s eyes when Leo is around. I have two vivid memories in my head where Neymar was simply just staring at Leo when he wasn’t looking and he just had that look (until he’d quickly look away when Leo turned back to him LMAO).

There’s also something so special about Leo to Ney. Idk I’ve never heard anyone speak about Leo the way Neymar has about him. His eyes light up whenever someone mentions Leo’s name (literally in the 2019 interview where he cried about Leo his eyebrows slightly raised at the mention of his name. Ohhhh the heartbreak).

In Neymar’s farewell Barcelona post, HE LITERALLY SINGLED OUT LEO. he like solemnly sighed when he said “Leo Messi” and then proceeded to list all the qualities about Leo he would miss when he left. Like he really broke my heart with that. He mentioned Suarez too, but not for nearly as long and idk a different sentiment behind it. You’ll have to watch to discern it lol.

I mean other subtleties would include rare clips during free kicks where Neymar will lightly tap on Leo’s leg before he goes to shoot. Or there have been countless times where Neymar will try and give Leo a comforting high five or something after he’d miss a goal or something. Like agh they make me go insane for real. EL DIA DE DESPUES I MISS YOU FOR THOSE BTS MOMENTS 💔💔 psg “inside” is nothing in comparison.

After goals, especially like back then (14/15 era was peak neymessi) he would always look to Leo after he scored a goal, and would always try to have a special celebration between both of them. There are also several instances where teammates congratulate him and he doesn’t smile until Leo shows up, or he pushes people out of the way just so he can hug Leo. (<— once again kinda obvious but also not?? Idk different moments you really need to pay attention to see the differences lol. Luckily I’m a crazy psychoanalyst who over-observes every interaction they have).

Also Neymar always looks over to see if he’s made Leo laugh. Even in the training session today. Like when he made a joke or something he immediately looked over to Leo to see if he was laughing too. LIKE NEYMARRRRR YOURE KILLING ME.

Omg I’m rambling sm but literally this is my whole neymessi brain pouring out lol.

Also I have so many other videos/photos I still have to post of these subtle moments. Maybe I’ll over-explain my vision when I post them to really point out the subtleties to you guys. Idk. Once again sorry I sound lowkey crazy rn.

Anyways this literally isn’t even everything (but it’s a LOT. Sorry if it’s hard to follow. Once again I’m literally just typing all the thoughts that come to my head and there is no looking over this lol. Apologizes for any coherency problems <333)

[darlingpoppet]

As a writer, how detailed do you imagine scenes in your work? There is that aphantasia test, and for example I can imagine things at 1-2, I see things as a movie, which can be a gift and a curse for an artist. But I met many people who write/draw but just can't imagine anything, and it's really interesting to read how do they manage to write/draw something from imagination

So - how detailed is your imagination??

Hi! <3

I’m an extremely visual-thinking person, I relate very much to that meme that’s all like “the amv inside my head will be LEGENDARY!” when you hear a cool new song, lol. That said, the images in my head do tend to have a bit of a faded & foggy quality, like a realistic image painted with watercolors, perhaps. So I’d say I’m probably a 2, or somewhere between 2 & 3 on the chart? My mental images have color and are vivid, just not perfect clarity, perhaps.

This definitely helps me with writing, at least… a lot of times when I get stuck because I’m not sure yet “what happens next”, I’ll close my eyes and let the scene play out in my head, perhaps “rewinding the tape” and playing out the scenario a few different ways. I often do this before a nap or bedtime so I fall asleep to lucid dreams about the characters, also perhaps stringing together words and sentences in my head (which means I sometimes have to wake up and write them down before I forget)! So, usually by the next day I have a good idea of what direction I’m headed in. I also do this sort of thing while I’m taking walks or on the train or basically whenever I have an opportunity to “zone out”… and as a result I’ve often been told I’m a bit creepy because I always completely check out when I’m daydreaming (this is even before I got back into writing haha I’ve always been a big daydreamer since I was a kid uwu) Also when I read stories too, I visualize in my head pretty vividly what’s going on, the characters’ actions as well as the entire environment (like room interiors, floor plans etc) appears with it and everything, it’s interesting!

Anyway this was so interesting to think about, thanks so much for asking!

[lemonhemlock]

Do you have any book recommendations?

i'm looking for book recs myself! saved a bunch on my storygraph acct if you're interested i'm sunsetcypress over there xoxo

i went a really long time just reading academic texts as i was scrambling to finish my phd so i'm really behind with reading fiction. more reason to find the previous post preposterous as i'm well acquainted with the feeling of poring ages over opaque texts and confusing methodology, trying to decipher the meaning of the damn article, only to find that not only did it not promise to do what the abstract claimed, but i couldn't even use it for my own paper 🤦‍♀️ neither could i relate to the "have you thought of not reading boring texts" mentality. LOL.

anyway i can deff recommend the book i'm currently reading, which is little friend by donna tartt. my goal for the end of this year is to squeeze the goldfinch in there as well (fingers crossed pray for me etc). i loved it so much, her writing style is so evocative and she has this very enviable ability to craft very vivid, very distinctive characters with rich inner lives. in this book in particular, the majority of the POV characters are female and it focuses on one family and the effect that the death of their son/brother/nephew still has on them years later. so we have a tween girl protagonist, her teen sister, their mother, their grandmother, their 3 aunts (all the old ladies are SO kooky), their housekeeper etc. little harriet is such a spunky adorable little girl, tough as nails and disobedient but surprisingly attentive and considerate towards her family in a way that's not soppy but really, genuinely endearing.

the narrator is omniscient so we get to hop through each perspective and inhabit their head a little while and it's done with such easy grace and artistry, just a proficient feeling for juggling when to show and when to tell. the "showing" / indirect characterisation is downright stunning and i don't want to fawn too much but miss tartt sometimes hits you with a detail that is just breathtaking - like, i struggle to describe it but i sometimes had to put the book down because it was tapping into the collective consciousness too much :)) whereas the "telling" part / exposition is done in such a way that it seems like she's imparting spicy gossip to the reader

^idk how much you'll be able to get from such a disjointed segment but harriet's mother has been living in a state of near-catatonic depression since her son died and their POC housekeeper has been the one to take care of the children and the house. there are racial politics in the book too and it's fascinating to see how much you can gleam from a character's throwaway comments or passing thoughts

i'm still easing into it as harriet is just starting to investigate the death of her brother but this world already feels so rich and organic and i honestly think i could just read about these women's mundane lives even if nothing of note happened.

i really wasn't expecting to like a book with a child protagonist so much or about this subject matter, but there you go. it's a marvel how a crafty author can engage your interest

^another little snippet: harriet had been reading about adventurers freezing to death in antarctica when their cat died and witnessing it awakened the inherited bereavement of her brother's untimely death

[parcequecestnotreprojeeeet]

Hi, it’s me, Fanfic Anon #2. Don’t mind me, I’ll just be licking my wounds about the postponed state visit over here in the corner. (I do have a fic idea about this but it’s too raw at the moment lol. No seriously, I have had a very rough few weeks and that visit on Monday was what I was hanging on to to power through ha ha ha). Anyways. I am not sure what everyone’s thoughts are on alternative universes (but if you’re down EMT, I do have an idea in mind based on something you said a while ago…), but I feel like right now we all need a little bit of an escape. You’ll see what I mean. Hope you all enjoy this fic!

He slowly blinked awake to sunlight pouring into their bedroom, birds softly chirping outside the window, the gentle pressure of his wife’s head resting on his bare chest.

He took a second to get oriented, dazed as he was from what must have been a very vivid nightmare, one that he now couldn’t recall, eyes carefully tracking each corner of the bedroom, reassuring him he was home in Touquet.

He felt Brigitte stir slowly, moving to pull away as she awoke, before he quickly grabbed her and pulled her back into his side. He rolled over to greet her, “good morning, chérie,” he started to wish her, stopping short as he met her eyes.

Something felt off. She didn’t look any different, really, than the last time he though he saw her, at least, not physically, but there was something about her aura that was different, freer, more relaxed.

“Good morning, mon cœur,” she wished him, like she did every morning, reaching out to kiss him, and suddenly whatever feeling it was in his gut passed as he felt the strength of the love that had completed him, comfort him, anchored him every day for the last 25 years.

“Are you finally going to let me see your book today?” She asked when she pulled back with a teasing smile, clearly asking about some private joke they had been sharing, even if for some strange reason he couldn’t remember it now.

“Book?” He asked a little confused.

“Clearly you slept well last night. I must have tired you out,” she joked with a laugh, slowly stroking his chest with meaning, as he realized they had woken up naked.

‘Oh. Oh.’ He thought as he blushed.

“Your latest novel,” she reminded him, cutting through to him in the present. “I want to know what happens after you last left us in the last one.”

“Can you remind me where that was?” He asked, trying desperately to get her to jog his memory - why was he so confused? Why did it feel as if he had woken up in a parallel reality?

“Have you gotten so far into this one that you can’t remember where you left off?” She smiled up at him.

“Something like that,” he lied sheepishly not wanting her to know something was wrong, never wanting to worry her.

“Well I, or more specifically the woman you’ve clearly based on me, had just asked you, well the man you based on you, to marry him. And I have a feeling he’s going to say yes, but I need to what comes next. I’ve been dying to know.”

“What if I’m not finished with my first draft yet?”

“Chéri, I know you love rewriting things because you’re never happy with what you write, but you showed me the finished manuscript night -“

She paused when she could see him start retreating into himself, noticed as he started to panic suddenly asking “Emmanuel? Emmanuel?” Her voice sounding like it was coming from the very end of a long tunnel.

“Emmanuel!” He heard loudly, startling him up in his seat.

“I’m fine!” He mumbled out, unconvincingly as he tried to readjust to his surroundings. He saw the gilded walls of the Élysée surrounding him, and turning his head quickly saw the face of his very concerned wife.

“Mon cœur, you fell asleep at your desk again. I know things are tense right now, but you need to come upstairs and go to sleep. For me, if not for you. Please,” she begged.

“Wait. I was asleep?” He asked groggily.

“Yes, I found you drooling on that foreign report, right there,” she smiled at him, slipping her hand into his hair, and soothingly scratching her nails against his scalp.

“So we weren’t just in Touquet?”

“No, we haven’t been home in months, I’m sorry to say.”

“And I’m not a writer?”

“I think that depends on your definition, but given the way you’re looking at me, I’m going to go with ‘no’ or at least, not in whatever way you were dreaming about.”

“It all feel so real, Brigitte.”

“You want to tell me about it?”

“I don’t know. I’m afraid,” he trailed off.

“Afraid of what?” She asked sympathetically, squatting down to look him in the eyes. “You know there’s nothing you could do, dream world or real world, that would ever make me stop loving you. You do know that, right?”

“I know,” he nodded seriously. “It’s not that.”

“Then what is it?”

“You just looked so much happier, lighter, freer, Brigitte. And I’m just afraid that all of this is making you unhappy, that I’m making you unhappy.”

“You listen to me, Emmanuel, and you listen to me well, because I am only going to say this once. You are my happiness. No matter where we are, or what we’re doing, or how many people out there despise us. Does this job come with restraints? Sure. Do I hate seeing all that is going on outside right now, hate being unable to leave this place without a ton of security, scared for you and for our children? Absolutely. But am I unhappy? No. Because I have you. My only unhappiness would be losing you.

“Now. Let’s get you to bed, before your brilliant mind starts playing mean tricks on you again.”

“I love you,” he told her simply as he accepted her help in getting up.

“I love you too. More than you will ever know.” She paused for a moment before deciding to change the subject, “now, what kind of writer were you? A journalist, a screenwriter? Ooh I know! A novelist?”

Hellooo fanfic Anon #2! ❤️

I was also very excited for the state visit... before these protests. Now I’m both sad and relieved that it was postponed.

I hope things are calmer for you now, after those rough few weeks ❤️

Well, speaking of alternative universes, one of my favorite tv series is called “Fringe”... that explores exactly that scenario 😉

Oh I liked how this turned out! Emmanuel and his dream of a different life and an happier Brigitte... You just gotta feel for him 💔 But once again, Brigitte’s words to reassure him of her love for him... oh my heart 🤧

Emmanuel drooling over a foreign report tho 😂

Thank you so much, fanfic Anon #2! ❤️❤️❤️

[luaspersona]

i... wow

i should've stayed clear from your writing this month 'cus i'm lowkey starting to get addicted. i was actually planning on starting cmi, but i was craving yoongi a little too much so i returned to your masterlist and found this, so let’s get to it!

quick disclaimer: this review is way shorter than the last one, as i wrote it during the week at work lol, but i hope you enjoy it nonetheless 🥺

if i'm being honest? fantasy isn't really my thing. i tend to gravitate towards slice of life or general non-fantastic worlds, but i couldn't be happier that i didn't let that stop me from reading this, and i feel like i'd read anything if it was written by you.

you see, i don't know how you do it, i really don't. you have this sophistication of detail and atmosphere that's just overwhelming at times, in the sense that i feel like i'm being swallowed by your story, by your words — there's nothing around me when i read you. i can be standing on the bus, i can be at my work's bathroom, i can be at lunch in a crowded place, i can be at home with everyone around me talking: if i start to read something of yours, that's all that exists for me, and for a however short period, you are able to make time stop.

here is no exception — if anything is one hell of an example (and i think the best part of this story in a way, it’s the way it deals with space), because the first paragraphs are already so immersive and detailed, making the scenery we’re diving in so very palpable, just look at the vivid choices you make, and everything relating the character to the environment, never just randomly and objectively describing:

and the forest is a character in the story, as it’s not only mentioned several times throughout the events but it’s also an active participant, evolving, sheltering, scaring, scraping her back and beautifully surrounding a hidden cottage. her relationship with the forest, just within those paragraphs above, shifts from a locus amoenus to a locus terribilis — a once peaceful and welcoming place, becoming a place of restlessness and fear.

Under tree canopies is where you seek refuge on gloomy days.

Usually, the isolated rays of sunshine that warm your face soothe your thumping heart too, struggles becoming distant and nature kissing your skin as if to ease your pain. On other days, it works. The soft splashing of the calm river water, the colourful birds chirping, odorous flowers blooming.

But as the sun sets in the horizon hidden behind the forest tonight, you don’t feel the inner peace you crave so desperately, and the darkness that the absence of the moon here under this tree brings, does nothing to calm the terrifying fear.

You think you’ve found shelter under the big oak tree, the bushes a little more congested here as your head darts from left to right and up and down. Since you’ve been on the run, you’ve learned to distinguish the sounds of rabbits and other small animals from actual footsteps, though you can’t deny that you’ve forgotten what actual shoes on leaves sound like.

this immersive feeling goes for the characters as well: even if we jump in the middle of the events (in a moment that feels like a resolution, a culmination of years together), we never feel confused or lacking. you craft such a strong and solid personality to your characters that even if we're just now meeting them, in these 6.6k words glimpse into their lives, it's like we've been with them for years already. from the first long-lasting gaze, to the first touch, until the very last kiss they'll share in the future: we feel every little detail because of your amazing literary voice — i mean:

how do you write this stuff istg 😭

You can. But you won’t get far. There’s nowhere to hide from him; he’s long taken over your body, mind and soul, every waking thought and every single dream. You wish you could go back to when you watched him lure away rats from your castle grounds, sitting on the steps to soak in the sun as the wind tickled your skin.

[...]

You let him cage you against the tree as he closes in, pressing his hand on the wood right above your head as his dark eyes gaze into yours imploringly. For some reason, your fear seems to fade in the thick, crisp night air, giving way to an aching yearning to fall into old habits and walk home with him hand in hand instead.

Only this time, he won’t be kissing you good night and wish you the sweetest dreams of him.

And somehow, he sees the calmness in your pupils; it looks like you’re silently beseeching him to listen to what his heart wants, and somehow, you seem to know that it’s working — even if it shouldn’t. And yet, he shakes his head in frustration.

and that's also due to the pain you write in their eyes, to the desperation in their touches to the anguish in their words. their past resides in those details, and the consequence is feeling torn and pulled inside the cruel dilemma of a man who is gifted with music and who’s in love with a woman he’s sent to kill, and on that note: how do you kill something you love? i weirdly feel like we do it more often than not, especially, like the huntsman, when doing what people expect us to do.

and what an IDEA to make yoongi a pied piper — a man who lures people through his songs? i mean, it seems pretty fitting to me.

“I never,” you begin, your voice hushed, quiet, cautious, “thought you’d use this on me.”

As the words leave your tongue, his hands fall to his side, lips forming a half-genuine smile as he admits, “Me neither.”

i loooooove the way you create angst, it’s so delicious ‘cus it isn’t just for fun, just for the sake of it: it’s real, you come up with real scenarios and real pain and real conflict. he tries to fight his feelings because he knows they mean death, but to be apart from her isn’t really life to him, i mean, she asking for him to kill her and he struggling, asking for a reason, just one reason, for him not to, and then losing himself in a kiss.

and he CALLING HER PRINCESS 😩😩😩 i’m in shambles, i loved him saying later the he feels like she haunts her and i in a way feel like that’s a really interesting way to describe being in love, just like the reader mentions when she first sees him in the forest:

There’s nowhere to hide from him; he’s long taken over your body, mind and soul, every waking thought and every single dream.

and you were able, again, to translate their desperation through the smut too:

and this was my favorite:

But he doesn’t want to hear your words anymore – wants to forget where you are, what he’s supposed to do and what can and cannot be. He ignores the pain that comes with knowing that somewhere, people are happy and content – and that they’re not you two, never you two.

No, right now, he just wants to feel every inch of you and hear everything your heart wants him to know. Perhaps your moans are enough — the tenderness and fondness it pumps through your veins runs deep and turns your unspoken words to sounds that topple off your tongue so effortlessly.

and the dream sequence too, i mean… how heartbreaking to feel you can trust only one person in a whole kingdom, and how hard it must’ve been to yoongi to worship someone the queen hated. also you have this way of writing people in love that just makes me believe in soulmates:

It’s a soft affair; despite the lewd nature of the situation and your fucked out, sinful sounds, he fucks you tenderly. Like you’re a broken glass sculpture; like you’re turning to sand right here in his tight and possessive grip. He doesn’t know that you’re not broken but breaking; doesn’t know that you’ll drop to tiny grains of ashes once he’s gone.

“I don’t want this to end,” you voice, hissing at the feeling of the raw tree rubbing through the fabric that somewhat protects the skin of your back. But the scars don’t matter anyway — there are so much worse on and inside your body already. “I want you. Just… you… for the rest of my life.”

“Y/N,” he whispered, breathing against you, “you can rewind time and change history any way you want. But there will never be an alternate world in which I don't fall in love with you.”

can you IMAGINE hearing this????

anyway, i do love the indication of a fight at the end too, the welcoming people from the cottage and how hopeful they both seem now that they have finally given themselves to one another.

i know that we tend to dislike older stories, but as i read through your masterlist i’m on a mission of making you fall in love with your every work and see them for what they are: ✨perfection✨

over jeweled hills | myg (m)

Summary: Alone in the woods and waiting for the queen to hunt you down, the last thing you expect is to be lured in by an enchanting tune; one that has you following the trail of the melody until you’re met with the eyes of the love of your life who, to your misery, turns out to be the selected huntsman by your mother’s command.

pairing: Huntsman!Yoongi x Snow White!reader (no skin colour defined though)

genre: (secret) established relationship, fantasy!au; angst, smut

warnings: themes of murder and death (cos yeah, the queen wants snow white!oc d*ad), past minor character death by poison (yep, the king), oc is on the run + indicated anxiety; explicit sexual content: very soft!dom yoongi, big dick!yoongi, outdoor sex, fingering, teasing, marking/biting, unprotected sex (magic <3), soft sex, breast play, kissing and some love confessions; he calls her princess :3

word count: 6.6k

a/n: this fic draws inspiration & lends elements from the fairytales “pied piper of hamelin” & “snow white” and was written for @hobeemin​​​‘s lovely grimm event. also, a huge thank you to @kookdiaries​​​ for this absolutely stunning banner, it’s perfect !! i really wanna write a long oneshot for him one day, but UNTIL THEN - i hope you guys enjoy my first ever yoongi fic (unbeta’d and slightly unedited, i’m sowwy) <3 

➳ listen to: Castle by Halsey | Rescue Me by Kerrie Roberts | Power is Power by SZA

MASTERLIST | WIPs

Under tree canopies is where you seek refuge on gloomy days.

Usually, the isolated rays of sunshine that warm your face soothe your thumping heart too, struggles becoming distant and nature kissing your skin as if to ease your pain. On other days, it works. The soft splashing of the calm river water, the colourful birds chirping, odorous flowers blooming.

But as the sun sets in the horizon hidden behind the forest tonight, you don’t feel the inner peace you crave so desperately, and the darkness that the absence of the moon here under this tree brings, does nothing to calm the terrifying fear.

Keep reading

[madxzxz]

ITS SO COLD ITS SO CHILLY the only reason I left my bed was because I had to use the restroom and so when I was finished I instantly got in the shower well not instantly something I never do is run the shower to let it get hot before getting in which i magic maybe but I just turn it on and scurry to the back on my tippy toes so I don't get hit but I couldn't take the risk today because if my body temperature dropped any lower I would have started taking damage now I'm all warm wrapped up by all the drops of water mmm and I'm brushing my teeth and now I'll be able to brave the day conquer it even I have Russian starting in 5 hours and idk if I'll be able to do anything but wait for it to start but that will be enough also something I commonly don't do it wash my legs well only the calves and shins if I am feeling lazy I stop at the knees and skip straight to my feet but I wash my feet separately from my body in part because I might be self conscious about them I have very clammy hands and feet and I cannot wear socks in doors I can but it's not as comfy and my feet are really sensitive to temperature and it will never be a winning situation because I have poor circulation to them so they are naturally cold and on the verge of necrosis so times like these when it's cold is just horrible but as soon as I put socks on they are getting cooked and theyre like help I can't breath its too hot and we're drowning in sweat so sad so sad but i think id always pick uncomfortable cold over uncomfortable heat because uncomfortable heat quickly makes me irritable but also there was this one wuestion abiut being stuck in a hot sandy desert or a cold arctic desert and I forget what I choose and my reasoning id have to get thw question again and fully interface eith it also when i brushed my teeth it gave me a flash of wasabi peas in my mind and I got a craving and the whole time the mintiness was stinging my tongue thats all i could think about but why do they sell wasabi peas in such big quantities how do you eat that many I mean I can the last time I ate wasabi peas I ate like half the bag but my taste buds were singed and I couldn't taste anything for days so like who's eating that much wasabi peas which makes me think of mental images again and like I can't create them but they definitely pop up in my head a lot not of my own creation and if I can its pretty situational like the exercise to close your eyes and picture an apple its really hard for me in that context but if I'm thinking of an apple ive seen in recent memory it gets more vivid but it needs a lot of context to ground it it cant be just the apple it needs to be the fruit bowl and all the other fruit surrounding or the produce isle or a cartoon depiction in a classroom/school kinda setting but then like with the wasabi peas thing Ill just have shit pop inti my head and its like hey remember this isnt it similar to whats happening now and im like yeah actually ive never thought about it like thst thats pretty cool thanks brain there was this one time it's either the smell or taste of ladybugs but I told my dad that the taste of metal is the same as the smell of ladybugs I think that was it and he was like what does that even mean that doesn't make sense why do you have those experiences even and I was like ok I guess I just won't talk to you then lol but then there's also bad images like if something sharp gets near my face I have a chance of getting images of eyes being gouged and it's not that fun and if I go on escalators i have the chance of seeing like final destination type stuff and I have to jump off at the end to get over the metal platform at the bottom or top and back onto the normal flooring

[raccoonfallsharder]

i hope you don’t mind me dropping by your ask box so frequently, but im the anon who asked those fic writer questions (4, 13, 15) and also the same person who asked about the whole critique/advice thing. ive genuinely never thought about it that way and what you said stuck to me, especially the last two lines, don’t stop making plums, people need plums, it’s so oddly motivational and im completely in awe at how you were able to come up with that which brings me to my next question uh

how do you write so vividly?

you’re the author i wanted critique from, surprise, hehe.

it’s just that the way you phrase certain things makes what should have been a vague but known feeling not so vague, if that makes sense? i feel like im speaking out of my ass right now but you have a way with words is what im saying, and i see that especially in the ninth visit and blackmail material chapter 2, and i cant stop thinking about how you can come up with such profound ways of writing mundane things.

im gonna sign off because the last two asks ive sent in tells me this may not be the last time im anonymously hitting up your ask box again.

— reddie anon

reddie-sweetheart. butterfly. my little love. firstly you are so kind and i’m honestly so fuckin honored. this legit made my heart hurt ♡ thank you. i’m so glad that my writing has resonated with you in these ways.

i was thinking about this all day since i saw your ask. i’m not completely sure i know which parts of my writing felt really vivid to you personally and i am not completely sure i can tell you how my brain works (‘cause mostly it’s just fucked in there) but there are two things i do when I’m trying to evoke a specific emotion or vibe and I can try to share those??

1. i think about how an emotion feels physically in my body.

most people don’t know what emotions they’re experiencing when they’re experiencing them. emotions are hard and it’s often not till later that we can reflect on them && say “oh i was heartbroken,” “i felt betrayed,” “i was in amazement.” so when a character is having a reaction, I think about where I feel those responses in my own body (hunching shoulders? falling stomach? a sudden release of tension in the neck?), and those are the reactions I try to describe. (especially when you’ve got a character like fuckin rocket who wouldn’t recognize an emotion if someone pointed to to it on a goddamn chart)

2. i think about what other things are that evoke the same feeling for me.

so like when i say that you, reddie-nonnie, are a warm cup of honey-tea on a foggy morning, you probably know what i mean. i mean : your words offered me great comfort and healing. i mean: your kindness soothed my heart/soul/mind. i mean - you are sweet and hydrating and good. i mean that you are a little bit of brightness and i am grateful you exist.

and when i say your stories are plums, you probably also know what i mean. you’ve probably seen plums. there’s a good chance you’ve eaten some. but even if you haven’t, you can probably figure out that they’re juicy. sweet. nourishing. and that there’s nothing else quite like them.

so. IN PRACTICE. sometimes i write all this in a rough draft and have to go back and edit these weird-ass descriptions down because i get too deep in my head/too far out in space and i stop making sense lol. other times i write my drafts very plainly and it isn’t till revision that i say, okay - how can i make people really understand that when i say he was awestruck what i mean is, like, his tongue was stuck to the roof of his mouth and his heart was on the floor?

i REALLY hope this was helpful for you. I don’t know how much of it, if any, made sense, but i will always be flattered by any questions you ask and i will do my best to answer thoughtfully, thoroughly, honestly, and as well as i can. have a lovely night (day??) reddie-nonnie and thank you for trusting me with this question - I hope the answer was what you were looking for ♡♡♡

[g0thiclem0nade]

Drew this last night based on one of the early scenes of @virtues-end . And I honestly enjoyed working on it. Ofc I think I need some more work with drawing water but eh.

10/10 would recommend giving virtues end a run it’s pretty short and not yet finished but it’s one of the first interactive fictions I read and one that is very vividly written.

[viperbarnes]

Uptown Boy – [Oneshot]

40s!Bucky Barnes x Reader

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

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

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

story below the cut because it starts with smut lol

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I have to go.”

“I know.”

“I’ll see you later.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Stan. Good to see you well.”

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

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

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

“You go sit down, I know my way.”

“Thank you, Miss Langley, Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Stan.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You fix her with a bored look.

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

She looks scandalised and glares harshly.

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

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

You stop speaking and you glower.

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

“Okay...”

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

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

“Why not?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But it was biting you in the ass now.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Bucky shakes his head.

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

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

“It’s nothing.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

It felt wrong, and that felt right.

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

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

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

“Here, sweetheart lemme see…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fuckin’ hell…”

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

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

You scrunch your nose and sit back.

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

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

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

“Oh… I thought…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Regardless of class.”

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

Another day, another breakfast luncheon.

“Have you seen that Andrew Gorman, Delilah?”

You turn back to Renee, rolling your eyes.

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

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

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

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

Renee and Susie exchange looks and you frown.

“What?”

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

“What?”

“He’s handsome—”

“—rich—”

“—What more do you need?”

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

“Perhaps love? Is that so foolish?”

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

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

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

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

“There is absolutely no pro—”

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

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

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

But you know you aren’t. Not really.

Well, maybe a little.

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

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

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

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

“Where are you—?”

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

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

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

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

“Not everything is about drinking and dancing,”

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

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

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

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

“His… The Langley Holdings building?”

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

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

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

“Shall I wait?”

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

“Don’t I know it.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Drive.”

“Where?”

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

God, why were you always so awful to him.

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

This was your own fault really.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What’s wrong, baby? What happened?”

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

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

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

“When my unapologetic little brat apologises to me…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A date?

Bucky was on a date?!

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

How dare he?

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

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

“Would you excuse me for a moment?”

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

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

“Lila—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?”

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

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

“Go home, Miss Langley.”

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

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

Then he’d be sorry.

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

Good. Serves him right.

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

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

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

“Eventually, at least.”

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

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

“Oh? I should try harder then.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Get off me! Get the fuck off me!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You blink.

Sister?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’ll take you home. Come on.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Bucky steps forward, his hand on your back.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Winnie looks back to you and strokes your cheek again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—”

Becca eyes you, but shrugs.

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

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

“Paris… how dreamy…”

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

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

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

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

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

“Why not that one?”

“Red? With blue?”

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

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

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

“You can.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ice? For what?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Come on, sit down, lemme see.”

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

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

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

“Not really, no.”

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

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

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

“Look at me. Lilah, look at me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You grin and take her hands in your own.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But he doesn’t.

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

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

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

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

No man but Bucky Barnes.

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

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

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

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

“Where are we stopping?” He asks.

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

“Isn’t that a menswear store?”

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

“What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Uh… Won’t she be back…”

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

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

“Don’t you trust me?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Jesus, Jesus! Come here!” 

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

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

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

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

“You’re so beautiful.”

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

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

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

“And who might this be?”

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

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

“No. He’s from Brooklyn.”

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

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

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

“Yeah, but��”

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

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

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

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

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

“I thought he looked rather dated, actually.”

Your mother bristles and your father glares outright.

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

“Yes.”

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

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

“What was that? What did you choose?”

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

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

“What?!”

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

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

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

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

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

“I hope I’m not interrupting?”

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

“Steve!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Bucky Barnes. I uh—”

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

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

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

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

“I do.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“... No.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh, sugar…”

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

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

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

“Li…”

“Mhmn?”

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

“Please, daddy…”

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

“Buck…”

“Mhmn?”

You growl and lift your head to glare at him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That’s my good girl.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Come on daddy, please…”

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

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

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

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

“I love you too.”

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

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

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

“How does it feel to be poor, hmm?”

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

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

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

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

Your frustration soothes with her words and you sigh.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Bucky! Don’t scare me like that!”

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

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

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

“Only thing I wanna touch is right here…”

You shake your head and sigh.

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

Bucky smiles and hums.

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

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

“What?” you demand and Bucky sighs.

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

You frown and purse your lips.

“How long?”

“He says a couple of weeks but…”

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

“That’s unacceptable!”

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

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

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

You bite your lip.

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

“Sicily,” he adds and you sigh.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Whaddya say?”

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

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

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

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

“Alright, Uptown Boy. I’ll come.”

[leviathans-watching]

wearing ugly sweaters with Satan and just having a cozy day in

wearing ugly sweaters with satan

So sorry I forgot to mention about the ugly sweaters with Satan... The designs are matching - princess dia and luci riding a unicorn lol

includes: satan & gn!reader (no pronouns mentioned)

wc: .3k | rated g | m.list | holiday prompts m.list

a/n: this painted such a vivid image in my head and i hope i managed to translate it well! thanks for the laugh & requesting! holiday prompt requesting is now closed.

if you reblog i'll love u 4ever <3

“what are you wearing?” belphie’s voice is full of glee, and he squints at you and satan to get a better look. satan raises an eyebrow, looking up from his book, and you muffle your grin, pretending to play a game on your d.d.d.

“sweaters,” satan says, shifting so belphie can get a better look at its design. they’re a garish green with the princess diavolo and chibi lucifer riding a pink unicorn. on top of that, the designs are made out of sparkly sequins. they’re, to put it simply, magnificent.

“they’re our contributions to the ugly sweater contest going on on devilgram,” you explain, and belphie’s eyes widen.

“you mean these things are on the internet? where everyone can see?”

“yep.” you gaze at yours fondly. “and so far they’re winning.”

“lucifer’s going to be pissed,” belphie says, but again, he’s gleeful.

“so?” satsan shrugs. “diavolo has already posted that he loves them and wants one of his own.”

“wait, he has?” this was new information to you, and quickly, you switch tabs to your devilgram, looking at the comments under the post. satan’s telling the truth- diavolo is very publically and enthusiastically supporting you and satan. “oh my god, that’s amazing!”

“you’re evil,” belphie says to satan, who shakes his head.

“i’m not the evil one; mc is the one who came up with this.”

“oh that’s even better!” belphie hoots. “lucifer can’t stay mad at mc!”

“i know.” satan smirks, staring off in the distance. “we really pulled this off perfectly.”

belphie leaves the common room then, chuckling all of the way. you and satan know it’s a matter of time before lucifer sees the post, so you’re just biding your time, relaxing on the couch together as you wait. you couldn't have asked for a better lazy day.

leviathans-watching’s work - please do not repost, copy, or claim as your own

[bewby]

this was also like the clearest/most vivid dream i have had in a while like ? i mean it doesn't make sense at all but like. i can actually see what it's supposed to mean HAHA LOL ?

basically i was in a tv show episode but i didn't even fucking know it. like it was just. a regular day. i was out with my family or at least i think it was my family well they didn't even show up later in the dream. omg wait my memory is getting blurry. i have to HURRY WRITING THIS. there was this monster in our city it was this little boy but he was like a monster so he was really huge and eating cars and attacking people so basically i told the person driving the car to FUCKING HURRY BECAUSE IT STARTED TO TARGET US AND RAN AFTER US IT WAS SO SCARY but that's not all.

there was this bridge but we couldn't cross it yet and there were many other cars as well and so we were kind of stuck and like this monster boy tried to jump on all of the cars and crush us. at one point suddenly i blinked and it was like entering the backrooms. me and a bunch of other people i can't identify at all NO WAIT HAHA FUCK I CAN IDENTIFY SOMEONE. BANGCHAN WAS HERE 😭😭😭😭LFMAOOOOOO. ? many other people but i only remember bangchan. anyways basically we were in the backrooms and the monster boy kidnapped us but seemingly "let us escape" when there literally is no escape he just wanted to play a game with us.

he told us to hide before he finds us and so we did. there was this slide and we hid underneath it for some time. bangchan crawled underneath this slide as welllfjfjd. ok i gotta be honest my memory is getting blurry but basically this boy was cursed and the curse told him to go jump and crush people. he didn't succeed so he passed on the curse to someone else tell me why. it was passed on to. you guessed it. me. i didn't want to at all but i crushed one person before i actually somehow became self aware and was like wait. i don't wanna DO THIS.

but i knew the previous cursed boy was probably somewhere watching so i needed to come up with a plan. i came across this empty office and i noticed there was this device that basically created this entire place like idk i had to turn it off so that we could all break free "from this simulation" but before i could even feel relief i was told "do you really think you can just get away so easily " and they put a bag over my head. AND THAT'S THE FUCKING END LMFAOOOOOOOO AND WHY DID END CREDITS START ROLLING ? it kind of felt like a "breaking the fourth wall" kind of moment i guess. i don't even know HWLP

i had the most insane ass fuxking dream dude