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layla4567 · 4 months

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Valentine's day is for fools

Pairing: Sanji x Fem!reader

Warnings: Cigarette and smoke mention, y/n use, not proof read

Summary: You hate Valentine's Day, you think it's stupid and a waste of time. For you it is just another day and you have never celebrated it. Will it be different this time?

Valentine's Day, pfft, what absurdity. Always the same, a couple of caresses, words of love and then you end up with a broken heart. It's been a long time since you went out with guys because you were afraid of another disappointment. Of course it was something difficult, being part of the going merry you inevitably had to run into the cook Sanji, the flirtatious Sanji, the handsome and irritably sweet Sanji.

Nope, it wasn't going to be easy with those around you. Always flirting shamelessly but sweet at the same time. You didn't want to fall in love, not again. Furthermore, you knew that the blonde's compliments were not sincere since he did the same thing to every woman he came across. The last straw is that today was Valentine's Day so Sanji would be clingier than usual and what you feared most was that he would ask you out.

Sitting on a barrel you drummed angrily against the wood of the ship's railing. Luffy, who was sitting on the big sheep, jumped down and asked you what was wrong.

"Nnothing, I'm perfectly fine"-you said, clearly irritated.

Luffy would not give up, he did not like to see his crew discouraged. Without thinking twice, he sat next to you, smiling, ready to know what had you like this, or at least make you laugh.

"Come on! You know you can tell me anything"

Yes, you knew that very well. Captain Luffy was a great friend and confidant, you could always trust him but you still preferred to keep your secrets and emotions to yourself. As you seemed hesitant to respond he spoke.

"It's okay if you don't want to talk about it but I promise to do whatever I can to cheer you up, okay?"

Oh of course I would. He was the best at doing that. You looked at him moved and smiling animatedly.

"Hey! Also today is Valentine's Day, isn't that exciting?"

Enough. It only took mentioning that for your smile to magically disappear and your frown to return. You rolled your eyes and got up snorting to leave there.

"What? Did I say something wrong?"-Luffy exclaimed with his arms open, visibly confused.

You stomped towards the kitchen just as Sanji left to smoke a while. You accidentally bumped your shoulder and he turned his head to look at you. He was going to ask you why you were so angry but you left so quickly that he didn't have time. Sanji approached Luffy leaning on the railing.

"Do you know what's wrong with (y/n)?"-Sanji said taking a drag on his cigarette.

The straw hat captain shrugged his shoulders and moved closer to the cook.

"I have no idea, he got like that when I mentioned that today was Valentine's Day."

"Today is Valentine's Day?"

Luffy was surprised, it was strange that the most flirtatious crew member didn't know when it was precisely the day when he should flirt more.

"You really didn't know?"

"I should have forgotten…I have so many things to cook"-He just shrugged his shoulders.

Obviously Sanji knew that today was Valentine's Day, he just feigned ignorance because he was preparing something for (y/n) but he wanted it to be a surprise. Although now with your bad mood he wasn't so sure if it would be a good idea, it seemed like you didn't like Valentine's Day very much and he didn't know why.

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Later at lunch everyone was sitting at the table while the blonde boy served the food and drinks. Your frustration had not calmed down, it had even gotten worse since the other members had no better topic of conversation than Valentine's Day.

"Hey, did you know that today is Valentine's Day?"-Ussop said, raising his eyebrows, smiling.

"For me it's just another day…"-Zoro said.

Thanks Zoro, finally someone who thinks like me

"It doesn't matter, we have never celebrated it"-Nami said

"Why not celebrate now? It would be fun. What do you think (y/n), do you have a lover in mind?"-Luffy asked happily with the intention of joining the conversation.

In astonishment you spit out the drink you were drinking, splashing the table. God, Luffy didn't know how to be subtle. Sanji came to the rescue with a kitchen rag and wiped the table while he filled your glass.

"Actually today is the day of love and friendship. Love can be shown in many ways not only for lovers"-Sanji said as he winked at you.

You thanked him stuttering and with a red face avoiding his gaze. Everyone noticed that you had become uncomfortable and an awkward silence settled at the table. Luffy felt a little guilty but soon everyone changed the topic of conversation. After eating you sighed towards the upper deck looking at the sky and the sails fluttering, Zoro, silent as a mouse, slowly approached you.

"Are you ok?"

You jumped a little on the spot, you hadn't heard him approach.

"Geez Zoro! You scared me.."

He smiled sideways and stood next to you. Zoro was the quietest and most reserved of the crew, he was almost always alone so it seemed strange to you that he was with you now. He didn't say anything, he was simply content to look at the sea like me. I appreciated his presence and his silence, without wanting to impose anything, just accompanying me. Suddenly in a burst of confidence you said

"Love sucks"

He looked at you "Is that why you were like this today?"

You nodded. "Let's just say my love life isn't very successful."

"I hate to agree with Sanji but he's right. Love isn't just for lovers. There are people here who love you and not in a romantic way."

You looked at him amazed. You didn't know Zoro could be so…philosophical. Despite his beautiful words, you decided to tease him affectionately.

"Are you meaning that you love me?"

He rolled his eyes. "Whatever, you know what i mean"

"Yes I know"

You smiled and gave him a small hug, he didn't return it and you expected that. But when you walked away he smiled a little and kicked the ground playfully. You walked away heading to your room reflecting on his words. You also loved that crew and not in a romantic way.

୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧

That night in your room you were resting in your hammock reading a fantasy book when you heard knocking on your door, you got up to open it and found a smiling face with blue eyes.

"Hello love, sorry for interrupting you, I just wanted to show you something."

Oh no, you had a feeling that he would ask you something you would regret. You shook your head in fear.

"Sanji, if it has anything to do with this stupid day, I-"

The blonde-haired man, still smiling, delicately took you by the hands.

"(y/n) I don't know why you hate Valentine's Day so much and I won't ask you because I know it's none of my business, but I'm asking you to please give me a chance to tell you something. When I said that Valentine's Day was Valentine's Day, love and friendship, I meant it. I love you more than anything, more than the sun and the stars themselves, but I understand that you are not ready to receive all this love and I understand it, that's why I tell you that I love you like a friend. But if at some point you give me the opportunity to love you as it really should be, you would be more to me than All Blue."

Your eyes began to water and your throat closed with emotion. His words moved you to the deepest part of your being and you gave him the warmest of smiles.

"Now, will you let me show you what I have for you?"

You nodded and he guided you by the hand towards the door of his room. He went in for a few seconds and then came back out with something in his hand. When you gave it to you you saw that it was a beautiful moonstone ring.

"I remember that you said that you liked minerals and precious stones and that your favorite was moonstone. And since I know that you don't like extravagant gifts or surprises, I decided to buy you this"

You covered your mouth with your hand, admiring the white stone that seemed to shine with its own light. If Sanji could remember little details like that maybe all was not lost. The cook grabbed your hand and slid the ring onto your index finger. You raised your hand happily looking at your new gift. Then you looked at him and saw his ocean eyes shine with love. You decided that maybe you could give it a try.

"Thank you Sanji, you have made me very happy today"

You gave him a big hug and a kiss on the cheek, then you whispered in his ear.

"I don't feel ready to love you any other way and it may take time but in the meantime, will you wait for me?"

He smiled understandingly "I'll wait a lifetime for you if I have to and when you're ready I'll be here, I promise."

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Happy valentine's day smooch

#opla x reader #op #one piece #sanji #opla sanji #opla #female reader #valentines day #op sanji #one piece sanji #vinsmoke sanji #black leg sanji #fem reader #sanji x you #sanji x y/n #sanji x reader #sanji x female reader #fluff #fluffy

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batrachised · 6 months

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Buckle up, kids, and settle in, for I'm about to share the tale of what went down in the batrachised household last night. There were battles...bonding...bloodshed (well, not really)...batrachised has been forever changed. Exaggeration? Yes, but let me have this.

My roommates and I live quite contentedly in a Patty's Place-esque arrangement: young women, striking out on their own, cozied up in a little residence we all love quite a bit. It's a darling place, full of nooks, crannies, bookshelves! (of very high importance). It has green spaces; airy rooms; bright kitchens; crocheted frogs; what more could we ask for?

Despite our idyllic situation, there has been one slight mar, only one, on our little hobbithole ideal. Wasps. During the summer, we had to battle wasp nests outside with frequency. To give you a sense of how bad it got, the brave savior deserving of a martyr's crown who normally helped us remove them (roommate's dad) took a look at one giant nest and shook his head with a whistle. We had to hire professional help to get them removed - which, not too bad, just pest control in the end. But still, the wasps were fruitful and multiplying in a biblical fashion.

Enter fall. Enter cold. Most importantly, enter death. Death for wasps, as bugs, to quote calvin and hobbes, died by the bucketful. We were free - or so we thought. Oh, how naive those who have never walked paths of treachery and pain are.

One fine fall day, we found a wasp in the living. Horrible, but manageable. It was dying. I finished the job with glasses, a mask, a jacket, shoes, a broom, and significantly, lots of poison, looking like Don Quixote of the broom closet. Finished. Done deal. I patted myself on the back for being a brave household savior. Really, this was the proof that I was a strong independent woman. Good on you, batrachised, I thought.

Then, a second wasp appeared.

Horrible, and less manageable. One wasp is an accident - a door left open too long, a window with a ripped screen. Two wasps is a pattern. Two wasps means more wasps.

However, this wasp was very dead from the get go. I pondered. What to do? Then as so many other fools have done throughout history, I chose to blind myself to the truth. Two wasps - what a freak incident! A pattern, to be sure. But how could there be more? We never saw any buzzing around. Odd. Horrible, But still manageable.

I'm sure you can guess what happened next. Another one appeared, this one alive and angry. Clifford roommate got home at 1AM and had to fend off an angry wasp with a broom and poison, until it disappeared and she decided to throw up her hands and go to bed as was necessary, right, and just. We could no longer ignore the reality in front of us. I called pest control.

The pest control man arrived. He was a cheerful, gregarious man who smelt strongly of cigarette smoke. I decided he was a man to be trusted, most especially when he chipperly let us know that no, we shouldn't pay pest control at all! What a waste of money! The wasps, you see, are in the chimneys. He could remove them for several hundred dollars and the inability to access our house for several hours, or...we could just start a fire. It would get hot in the chimney, they'd get uncomfortable, and they'd leave. Smoke theory and all that.

Great. Fantastic, even. We save several hundred dollars, and get to have a cozy fire! Win win. Maybe we could even make hot chocolate and put on Christmas music! Perfect for the Christmas season. We decided tonight was the night. A half hour of our time, then done.

We received two warnings though.

First, the gregarious pest control man had let us know to be careful when opening the flue, as wasps can fall. "Just jerk your hand out quickly," was what he sagely said in so many words. I repeat, we decided this made sense. After all, we could close the metal curtains. That would keep those ol' darn wasps away. Still, we approached the flue carefully.

Second, my little sister. She listened to our plan skeptically. She gravely said (paraphrasing), somber as a small child, "But these are southern wasps." I laughed. Why shouldn't I? We had heard from our dear friendly expert. She finished with a (paraphased again) line of "What if the wasps go down instead of up?"

Well, there's a fire, little sister! Surely they wouldn't!

Flashforward to us in front of the fireplace. My roommate reaches and opens the flue. There's a thud. The sound of something falling. But nothing swarms out. We release a breath.

Neither of us have lit a gas fire before, so we don't know how and have to look it up--and then, in the meantime, my roommate notices:

A wasp.

In the (unlit) fireplace. Nestled in the fake logs. Looking cozy as a demon thorn with wings can.

We decide worriedly to tape the metal curtains shut. They would protect us, remember? These curtains of chain metal (you might be familiar with chain metal as the one full of holes). Tape them shut. I run to get tape. My roommate watches the wasp. The curtains are taped shut. Ah, another sigh of relief. We continue our research into gas fireplaces.

When we look back, the wasp is on the outside of the curtains.

Reader, here I will be honest: if you're expecting a giant nest to fall down, and us to have to run for our lives, this does not happen. Or at least, it has not happened yet. But in that moment, that trembling, unsteady moment, we knew that anything was possible. We didn't know that a giant nest wouldn't fall. But we did know that we had committed. We had opened the flue. We had woken the beast.

Fear strings through the air tensely, but we continue. Roommate bravely lights the fire. Half an hour. Half an hour, then we're safe.

My memory of the next few minutes is shaky, but I remember one clear, bright detail gleaming out among the rest:

We saw more wasps.

One flew through the air. Slow, lazy. Unhurried. But assuredly directly headed for us.

Both of us scurried out of the room like we'd seen the girl from the ring.

Reader, the wasps had come down instead of up.

Three wasps, to be specific. Even as I sitting here writing this, it's possible we missed more. There was a fire roaring that would hopefully prevent more. But that did little to assuage our fears. I now understand what it's like to live in a horror movie. Around every corner, danger lurks. Danger lurks behind the curtains. Danger lurks in the lights. Danger lurks in the blankets. Nowhere is safe. Anything can happen at anytime. There are creatures in your house, waiting to attack for no reason. It's not your house at all, in fact: it's theirs. The house is on their side. It hides them, cloaks them, shelters them, and in doing so, destroys you (well my mental stability anyway).

Half an hour, and then we're safe. The problem was, that whole half an hour factoid didn't seem to ring quite true anymore. What I was realizing with a cold, gripping understanding, was that there might not have just been one wasp nest in that chimney - there might have been many. If not a downright giant hive. And we had lit a fire, right under their home.

It was time to discuss backup plans. We came up with an escape route on the off chance it was a big swarm. We grimly got out the wasp spray. And most horribly of all, we waited. Waited sturdily. Waited fearfully. My roommate made soup, then froze. "Did you hear that buzzing?" No, I hadn't. Did she hear a distant buzzing in the chimney?? No, she hadn't.

We scoped out the enemy's territory. There was a scout on the ceiling, still except for the occasional shift. Another lazily flew through the room. We had been invaded.

All throughout, that waiting for the worst, something was edging through the back of my mind, snaking through

We were going to have to turn the fireplace off and close the flue. Or, in other words (1) enter the wasp territory (2) turn off the wasp deterrent, and (3) stick our hand up the wasp-infested chimney. It was very much the moment in the horror movie when they realize the only way out is through. We had our velociraptor in the kitchen, except it was a ton of wasps in the chimney. What's more, we had our chosen weapon of poison, but our chosen weapon couldn't be used because the wasps were coming from the lit fireplace, unless we wanted to start a chemical fire.

Half an hour passes. We decide to wait longer. Better to be safe than sorry.

Finally, after an hour, we glance at each other. We have a somber discussion, akin to tributes from the same district about to enter the hunger games arena. How long to run the fireplace? Would more time matter at this point? Who would close the flue?

I decide if I go down, I'm not going down without a fight. Much like a few weeks earlier, I grab a jacket. I make sure I have my glasses on. I grab a mask to cover my face. I have shoes on my feet. I get an extra shoe to put on my hand. I have a potholder on the other hand to close the flue. Don Quixote (Don Avispa?) has returned.

We march into the enemy territory. The enemy watches from above. Bravely, we steadfastly ignore it. I ask my roommate to watch my back and cover me as I turn towards the side of the room. First step: close the windows. Visions of thousands of wasps hiding behind the curtains dance through my head (at this point you should have realized i have no common sense about wasps and would die immediately in a zombie apocalypse). I ripple the curtain gently. Nothing. One window down. Next window: again, nothing. Another window down.

Now, time for the fireplace.

Wizard Hat roommate insists on sacrificing herself to the flue. She's done before; she has the muscle memory. Both of us are concerned that closing the flue will jostle the wasps and cause more to fall down - wasps that if still living, have to be very angry. I hand her the potholder.

The flue closes without incident.

We wait, holding our breath.

No more wasps.

With not a little relief, although still edgy, we make our way to the other room. We still have wasps in the house, but for now, the risk of having a torrent of wasps come down the chimney seems to have abated. I will never forget, though, that time period of waiting.

We decide to stay up a little longer. Just in case. The fireplace is cooling down now, so in a way there's more risk of wasps.

We go to the other room and sit, making conversation quietly. It's not unlike the ending scene in Jurassic park where they're in the helicopter, bruised, worn, but still alive.

It's then I look up. And heading straight for me, straight and low, is a wasp.

We leap up. I hear its buzzing in the room, and I grab the poison. Enough is enough. This wasp is dying tonight.

It feebly lands on the fireplace, and we see that it seems to already be dying. The Lord is merciful when he wants to be. Unfortunately, its proximity to the fireplace means that I can't spray it safely. We talk, waiting for it to move, but then we lose sight of it. My roommate briskly goes to cover her chicken soup. "I don't want a wasp to fall in it." Wise words, and wiser priorities.

It's when she finishes that she notices it on the floor, still somewhat feebly dying.

I have to admit, I'm not the coolest head under pressure. We could have just waited it out. But I had had enough. Wasps? Wasps in my house?? Wasps that had tried to divebomb me??

I went a little berserk, even trigger happy, and sprayed the ever living bejeesus out of that wasp. The spray said it killed on contact, which did not turn out to be true because that wasp was KICKIN'. On the floor, but still kickin'. I sprayed it again. And again. And again.

Finally, it stilled. RIP, wasp. (Rest in Poison).

However, we then faced the fact that I had created a giant puddle of poison smack in the middle of the floor that we now had to clean up. We got out rubber gloves (I noted them for future use of fighting wasps, more armor), and paper toweled away. Once done, we had to face the issue of where to soak the poison-coated gloves, and decided in a plastic tub on the counter.

And so this tale comes to end (for now). We decided wearily to go to bed. We were done with the day. More wasps may come, but we'd shut the door.

The final cherry on top of the sundae though, was the fact that Clifford Roommate was not home during all of this. This means that she got a series of increasingly frantic texts that looked something like this (I invite you to consider the fact that these wouldn't be out of place in a doctor who episode):

We lit the fire and wasps came out be careful!!

keep the doors shut! we have to keep the wasps out!!

don't turn off the light in the living room...the light distracts them

we've closed the flues. the fire is off.

there's one in the room with us now

we're trying to kill it!!

DO NOT touch the gloves in the kitchen, they're covered in poison

Drums, drums in the deep.

All this to say, if ever you decide to light a fire to chase away wasps, be prepared. They might just come down instead of up.

#i now know what it is to live in jurassic park and i now know i would die immediately #poor wizard roommate had to be the lead #long post #anyway here's hoping more wasps don't come out :)

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zablife · 10 months

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As Long As I Live (Part 2)

Tommy Shelby & Amelia Holland (OC) x Bonnie Gold

Summary: Amelia introduces herself to Tommy and gets acquainted with the Shelby clan, plus one of Tommy's men whom she has particular feelings about.

Author's Note: Requested by the lovely @kpopgirlbtssvt. This has taken some time for me to finish, but it's completed now and will be released once a week until we reach the end. There are 4 parts total.

Warnings: language, mention of pregnancy, mention of a weapon

Part 1

Tommy’s reverie was broken by the sound of boots thudding down the carpeted hallway. His hand hovered over the handle of his pistol as the door swung open, but he quickly released his grip as he took in the sight of a girl, no more than sixteen, standing at the threshold, muddied from riding and cheeks chapped from the cold.

A maid stood behind her out of breath with a ready apology. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Shelby, she ran past and I couldn’t stop her!”

“It’s alright, Clara,” Tommy replied. “Come,” he said with a wave toward the girl, removing his glasses and setting them beside his typewriter.

She hesitated only a moment as she studied him, then as if her mind was made up, dropped the bag she carried and paced toward him purposefully. He sighed heavily, knowing the reproachful look on her brow and the weight which caused her shoulders to slope. The question on her lips would be one he’d heard before, but he would allowed it to be asked just the same.

“Are you Thomas Shelby?” she began searching his steely blue eyes for a semblance of recognition.

“I am,” Tommy said with a nod though nothing in his affirmation was welcoming. His face remained impassive and his arms crossed at his chest defensively.

Amelia gulped, feeling his stare piercing through her and nearly lost her courage, but quickly regained it as curiosity got the better of her. “Then I believe you’re my father,” she informed him, not wasting any time revealing the reason she stood before him. She had a feeling he was a man who appreciated brevity.

“I see,” Tommy said simply, searching his desk for his cigarettes and lighter. Amelia furrowed her brow in confusion as she watched him take his time selecting a cigarette and rubbing it across his bottom lip carefully. “Have a seat. Tell me about yourself and how you came here,” he offered as he lit it and took a long drag. Rounding the corner of his desk, he leaned against the corner, watching the smoke rise to the ceiling as she spoke.

Amelia stood a little straighter, collecting herself to explain in the most direct way possible, but found it difficult to keep emotion out of her voice when mentioning her mother. “My name’s Amelia…There’s not much to tell really. Mum didn’t have much, but she raised me with kindness and love. She said you died in the war so I never thought to look for you until my aunt told me you were alive. I came because she didn’t want me anymore, but…I also wanted to meet you very much,” she confessed, surprising herself when she added the last part.

Tommy only nodded thoughtfully, exhaling smoke slowly as he responded in a flat, even voice that contrasted starkly to Amelia’s testament. “I’m a wealthy businessman and a member of Parliament, love. I get these kinds of visits more times a month than you can possibly imagine. Poor girls like you who tell me I left their mother to raise a child alone in the worst circumstances. I should write them all down and make another fortune in penny dreadfuls,” he said with a humorless laugh.

Amelia felt her blood turn to ice as she listened to his callous words. Her jaw tensed involuntarily and she found herself striking back before she had time to think. “I didn’t come here for your money, Mr. Shelby. I came to find my father,” she said, voice shaking with emotion. “You don’t want to admit it? That’s fine because I would never claim a heartless bastard like you either,” voice raised to match her growing temper as she stood face to face with the man who had chosen cruelty over compassion.

For the first time, Tommy’s eyes fell upon her and the necklace that hung around her neck. His fingers reached for the sapphire and he blinked quickly at the sudden recognition of the gem. “This…this necklace. Where did you get it?” he asked feeling momentarily unbalanced.

Amelia pushed him away, shaking her head in fury, “I didn’t steal it, if that’s what you're asking!”

Tommy’s entire disposition changed in that moment as he was transported back to 1914. He remembered the dappled sunshine of the hazel tree and afternoons spent in the arms of a girl with raven hair as his fingers grasped the air in front of him. “I gave that to a girl before France as a promise. When I returned her family wouldn’t tell me where she’d gone,” he said quietly, more to himself than Amelia as the memories resurfaced. Some members of her camp swore they’d seen his girl, Izzy, with a swollen stomach soon after his departure, but it was a rumor he’d chosen to forget in his heartbreak.

He looked at Amelia now, studying her carefully. “What was your mother’s name?” he asked, squinting at her.

“Isidora Holland,” she replied hesitantly, concerned by the sudden change in his mood. “I-I think I’ve made a mistake in coming here,” Amelia replied, rushing to the door to retrieve her bag.

As the fog cleared from Tommy’s brain, he called out “Amelia, wait! Where will you go?”

Amelia fumbled with her bag, shifting her weight as she replied, “I’ll find a place to make camp. Don’t worry about me. I can take care of myself.”

“I’m sure you can, but let me offer a room as an apology for my remarks…please,” Tommy pleaded. If this was his daughter standing before him he didn’t want them to part this way.

Amelia stared past Tommy and out the large window watching the rain begin to fall in menacing torrents, an inhospitable gloom descending over the house. The crackling fire in the office beckoned to her and she was practically salivating at the smell of something delicious coming from the hall. She told herself she was staying for the comforts provided and not the apology of a man she barely knew or trusted, but a small spark inside her wanted to believe in the love story she'd briefly glimpsed.

———————————

Lizzie took the whisky glass from Tommy’s hands and placed it on the table as he took a seat on the bed. “You’re certain, Tom?” she asked.

Still in disbelief himself, he spoke quietly, “she has the necklace, Lizzie.” She hummed, knowing all too well what it meant. In their early days of acquaintance, when he’d sought her body for pleasure and comfort, he’d confided about his lost love. When the opium and whisky hadn’t dulled enough of the pain, he talked and hated himself for sounding too like Arthur.

Lizzie came to stand over her husband and placed her hands on either side of his face, rubbing her thumbs against his hollowed cheeks in soothing circles. He tilted his head up to look at her, searching her eyes for a hint of anger or jealousy. He found none, only compassion for the young girl who had appeared on their doorstep.

“If it’s true what she says about her aunt throwing her out, we can’t turn her away. She has a home here with us,” she assured him.

Further down the corridor, Amelia wasn’t settling into the idea quite so easily. Running her hand across the beautiful oak dresser in the room adjacent to the nursery, she found a row of gilt frames with family photographs. The first to catch her eye was of Tommy and his wife with their two children, a boy and a girl, a perfect little family. The next was of Tommy smiling for the camera, pride evident in his face, as his son looked up at him in wonderment. Her fingers caressed the glass feeling like an intruder.

As she wandered into the empty nursery and found the children’s teddy bear, tea set and carved, wooden horses, she wondered what she had disturbed when she arrived today. Holding a soft baby blanket to her cheek she ached to be close to her mother again and feel comforted by her. There were so many thoughts and questions swirling in her mind about why her mother's family had kept her mother and father apart and what kind of person her father really was. She knew now she wanted to stay long enough to find out.

——————————

Amelia awoke just before dawn, leaving the house to stroll the grounds in the soft pink haze of the morning light. Listening for the sound of the horses, she ambled slowly toward the stables to visit them in hopes of finding solace there. It was a habit she’d had since she was small and it never failed to quiet her mind and slow her racing pulse when she felt anxious about something.

However, this morning she found she was not alone. As she approached the first stall she startled at the sight of someone beside her horse, the man's white shirt billowing in the wind to reveal a gun tucked into the waistband of his trousers. “Mornin’,” the young man with ruddy cheeks and an easy smile greeted her.

“Who are you and what are you doing out here?” Amelia asked a bit more defensively than she intended.

“Could ask the same of you,” he said with a chuckle, going back to his work.

“I’m here to tend to my horse,” Amelia stated.

“And I'm already doing it, so you might say thank you,” he retorted.

“Didn’t ask for your help,” she mumbled, still trying to decide why a stable hand would need a gun.

Making his way out of the stall, the young man cocked his head at her as he wiped his hands on his trousers. “Are you always so bad tempered in the mornin' lass?” he asked. “Look like you’re ready for a fight!” he said, punching the air quickly before dissolving into laughter.

Amelia was thoroughly irritated with him now, shoving him aside to get to her horse.

Wiping the sweat from his brow, Bonnie took a deep breath and leaned against the door. “Don't be like that. I was just having a laugh. My name’s Bonnie. What’s yours?”

Amelia eyed him suspiciously as she ran a hand down her horse’s neck. “Amelia,” she eventually replied, turning her attention back to the animal and pressing her forehead against the soft fur of its nose, hoping the boy would go away.

“I heard about you from the lads on watch last night. They say you’re Tommy Shelby’s long lost daughter. Are ya?” he asked.

Turning to look him in the eye Amelia scowled. “Who did you say you were?”

“Bonnie. Bonnie Gold,” he said with a grin, his hazel eyes catching the early morning rays and shimmering back at her with little flecks of golden light.

Amelia took a step toward him, recognizing the name. “You were the ones thrown out of the fair last year,” she recalled. Bonnie looked wounded, face falling as she continued with her indictment. “You and your kin are nothing but a bunch of thieves and swindlers. Everyone says your da rigged them fights,” she accused, raising her eyebrows in challenge.

Bonnie’s chest puffed out at the insinuation he’d cheated, stepping closer to her as he asserted, “I could fight a fucking tree and knock it out. Never had to pay anyone to take a fall.”

“If you're so tough, how come you carry a gun everywhere, even to a stable with only little ponies?” she taunted, face inches from his. “What are you scared of Bonnie boy?”

“Oi! What’s going on?” Tommy’s voice boomed from the doorway.

“Mr. Shelby,” Bonnie said in surprise, jumping back from Amelia. “I was just finishing up.”

“Get on with it then, eh?” Tommy said with a jerk of his chin.

“Yes, sir,” he replied, picking up a pitch fork and stalking off.

“Amelia, what was that about?” Tommy asked, noticing the flush in her cheeks.

“Just getting to know your employees,” she lied, turning back to her horse quickly.

“And?” Tommy said, shoving his hands into his pockets and rocking back onto his heels as he awaited an answer. He sensed there was more she wanted to say, but was holding back.

Amelia looked in the direction Bonnie had gone, biting the inside of her cheek. “You should know his family’s got a bad reputation in our community,” she warned.

Tommy huffed out a little laugh. “You should know better than to believe rumors.”

“What does he do for you anyway?” Amelia asked, feeling bold and seizing her moment to ask indirectly what Tommy’s business actually entailed.

“Oh…a bit of everything, but you might be glad to know he isn’t at Arrow House most days,” Tommy assured her.

“Why is that?” Amelia ventured yet another query, studying Tommy to see if he would continue to humor her.

He took a deep breath, eyeing her carefully before continuing, and she knew this would be the final explanation for the morning. “He’s in training at a boxing gym in Small Heath. Bonnie is a gifted athlete and Arthur manages his fights," he explained, taking a step toward the door. Then in a loud clear voice he proclaimed, "Now, if I’ve satisfied your questions, Frances has made us some breakfast." He rubbed his hands together to ward off the cold before stating, “Join me." It was a statement rather than a request and he instantly began walking toward the house at a rather fast pace.

“Wait!” Amelia called after him, running to catch up. “I’d like to take care of my own horse if it’s all the same to you,” she requested.

Tommy stopped to look at her, seeing the note of concern in her eyes, he agreed. “Alright, but you should know Bonnie’s a good lad.” Amelia nodded, though she wasn’t ready to believe it just yet.

—————————

From then on Amelia took up her rightful place in the family as though no time had passed. She played with Charlie and Ruby, teaching them games she learned as a small child. Her fierce protectiveness over them developed naturally, supervising them when she took them for walks by the river or led them around the stables on the horses. Naturally, they adored her and her kind smile which they saw more of as she settled into Arrow House.

Lizzie enjoyed her company as well. It was a comfort to her, having someone in the house who was able to calm Tommy when he came dangerously close to working himself to death. Amelia brought him out of the office and into the dining room when the maids failed to garner his attention. On those occasions, the whole family was regaled by her tales of travel. Tommy and Lizzie were most eager to hear about the years they’d spent apart, but they never pressed her for more information than she was willing to share.

Many times after dinner as Lizzie and the maids readied the younger children for bed, Tommy had a few moments alone with Amelia to discuss any questions she had for him. He was open and honest with her in a way he had difficulty with in the past. He wanted her to know him, feeling guilty for having been absent for so long. Amelia responded to this bonding exercise, constantly keeping Tommy on his toes with her multitude of questions about his ambitions. At times he wondered if he should be so frank with her, but her maturity made it easy to explain.

———————————-

The morning Polly returned from her honeymoon with Aberama, Tommy whisked Amelia away from Arrow House in his Bentley to meet the train. When Polly received the telegram she too was anxious to see what she’d only glimpsed in the cards. Over the years she convinced herself what she saw couldn’t be true, but as she stood beside Tommy on the train platform, the proof was undeniable.

“My God, Tommy, she’s Izzy!” Polly exclaimed, watching the girl from a distance, Amelia's wild, dark hair dancing in the wind. Polly held a hand up to shield her eyes from the sun taking one last look before glancing back at Tommy. He too was staring as Amelia approached, now unable to deny the resemblance.

“How did you find her?” Polly asked in confusion and slight awe, still acclimating to the news that Tommy had another child.

“She found me,” Tommy replied. “Zelda threw her out. Told her to come find me,” he explained.

“That family was always a mystery to me,” Polly admitted sadly. “How’s Lizzie taking it?” she inquired.

“Lizzie knows all me secrets, Pol,” he said and with a knowing look Polly nodded.

“And the children?” she asked.

“They act as though she’s always been here. She’s teaching Charlie to swim and Ruby begs her to braid her hair and have tea parties,” Tommy said with a smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes as he looked off into the distance, inhaling a deep breath of fresh air.

The look of genuine happiness was not lost on Polly. There was one last question on her mind, but she couldn’t ask it of him now, not when peace had descended for the briefest of moments. Amelia would find out soon enough what it meant to be a Shelby and if she was smart, she would choose a life having nothing to do with their business. Polly promised herself to protect Amelia that day as she watched father and daughter together, thinking of the things she might have done differently with Michael.

Continue reading Part 3

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#Peaky Blinders fanfic #Peaky Blinders imagine #Tommy Shelby #Tommy Shelby fanfic #Tommy Shelby imagine #Bonnie Gold #Bonnie Gold fanfic #Bonnie Gold imagine #bonnie Gold x OC

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captain-mj · 1 year

Note

Can we have eboy ghost and jock soap??? Pls???????? I have your thigh bone and I will beat the shit out you with them.

Yes you absolutely can!! Also, they're college age in this because I refuse to write high schoolers. They meet at a party.

Soap had no idea why he decided to go to this concert. He had never heard of the band, but he had needed to get drunk and this seemed like a good idea.

The place was packed.

Lot of people wearing dark clothing and sunglasses. Several of them had tons of gothic makeup on that made them look earie in the flashing lights. Soap had worn a jacket that he kept zipped up and jeans.

This was a bad idea. He felt like he stood out and not in a fun way.

Whatever. Just find where the alcohol is. Just find where the alcohol is and get wasted.

Soap notice a man with a skull mask. It was plastic and only covered the top part of his face, the bottom half exposed to show where they used black makeup to make it look like his mouth stretched to his ears.

His eyes caught Soap, a stunning green and Soap could see the flash of teeth when he grinned.

"Need something?" Accent was clearly from Manchester, but there was something in it. An underlying current of cold.

"What are you offering?" Soap tried to seem confident, still working to blend in.

The masked man tilted his head a little before laughing. "You're new. Can tell. You reek of fucking poser. And what's with the accent?"

Soap paused, getting whiplash. "Uh..." A hand fell on his shoulder and he almost jumped out of his skin.

Tall. This guy was fucking tall. "Tommy, stop being a dick. And you look like a loser wearing that mask."

"Get fucked, Simon." The guy hissed and stalked off.

Soap quickly pulled away and looked up. Shaggy dark hair, earrings and thick makeup around his eyes. The black shirt he wore hung tight to him and the rings he had on looked rather nice next to his tattooed arms. "Don't let him be mean to you. He's a pain in the ass." Same accent.

"You know him?"

"Unfortunately," Simon said it with the biggest fucking sigh, "he's my little brother. So don't be mean to him either. Hate to have kick your ass." He was smoking something and it definitely did not smell like a cigarette.

Soap was standing in front of one of the hottest guys he ever met after getting insulted and he wasn't sure how to feel about it. "Thanks for helping me out."

Simon shrugged, like this was something fun for him. If he was anything like Soap's older sisters, it might be. They made eye contact and Soap's stomach flipped.

"He was right though. You clearly don't really come to scenes very often. What brings you here tonight?"

Soap hesitated before sighing. "Had a break up recently. Wanted to get my mind off of it."

"Ah." Simon took a drag again before smiling. "Don't take anything else here. Mostly cheap party drugs that barely do anything." He said that while offering the joint to him.

Soap really shouldn't. It's not that he was above occasionally smoking weed or anything, but he didn't know this guy and had no clue if it was laced.

"Sure." He took it from him anyway though he kept it light, his eyes flicking over to see if there was some trick

Simon just took it back and they traded it back and forth before he eventually led Soap away from where they were as it got packed. His hand ended up on Soap's lower back somehow.

"So. When you're not trying to get over a break up and going to parties, what do you do?" Simon looked so genuinely curious and Soap liked the attention.

"Promise not to call you a poser?"

"Love. You are a poser." Simon laughed. "Won't hold it against you though."

Love? Love?

"I'm a football player. In college. The local one."

"Oh. I go there."

"I wonder how we've never met."

"I don't hang out with football players and I definitely don't dress like this. I also don't talk to strangers." Simon rather obviously looked him up and down. "Makes sense. You have a football player build."

"You're pretty fit yourself..." Soap decided to skip over the comment about not hanging out with football players.

Simon stared at him for a moment, eyes narrowing and Soap stared back. Such dark eyes. It felt like he got lost in them.

"Ever heard of shotgunning?"

"No. Can't say I have." Soap blinked up at him and Simon grinned.

"Want me to show you?"

Soap nodded before really thinking about it. Simon took a drag and then kissed him. Soap froze up but opened his mouth, feeling the smoke fill his lungs. Simon kissed him for way longer than necessary.

"Fun?"

"Y-yeah. Think we can do this again sometime?"

"Hmmm.... Still don't hang out with football players... But I guess I can make an exception for you." Simon had barely pulled away. Their noses were still touching.

"Maybe I can convince you to come to one of my games?"

"A bunch of guys throwing themselves at each other and kicking a ball around...." Simon said it so disparagingly, but that wasn't a no. Soap kept smiling at him and he sighed. "Maybe. You're lucky you're pretty." He pulled away.

Pretty?

"Forget about who you came here to forget?"

"Yeah. I think I did."

#cod #cod mw2 #call of duty modern warfare #call of duty #call of duty modern warfare ii #soap call of duty #johnny soap mactavish #soapghost #ghostsoap #simon ghost riley #simon riley #I swear they act cringe on purpose #I made them a little cringe #It's an eboy x jock fic its gotta be

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sebstan2020 · 2 months

Text

The King

Chapter 7

Violet is a bad girl at school, not giving a care about her grades that are falling and getting in trouble every week. She smokes, drinks and she's only sixteen. Her mother has had enough of her and doesn't know what to do with her. But when she's forced to go to her mother's employee dinner for the United States Army, she meets the mysterious and handsome General James Barnes.

She is infatuated with him and can't seem to stay away. The closer she gets to him, the more she craves him and soon she finds herself entering a world of darkness, pain and pleasure.

Violet excitedly ran up the steps to the base, grinning as James stood at the doorway waiting for her. It had been a few weeks since their tutoring sessions, and Violet stopped at nothing to see more of him. She faked not understanding her assignments from her teachers just so she could sit with James and stare at him while he thoroughly explained them, his soft voice so wise and gentle. Their private one-on-one sessions were a big help to Violet's grades, and there had been improvement. She couldn't very well keep failing with all of James's time and energy put into helping her; otherwise, he'd stop tutoring her, as it would be considered a waste of time.

But equally, she couldn't just succeed so quickly. How else was she going to get her hit from him? Her smoking hadn't improved, despite James commanding her to smoke her cigarettes on a daily basis. She happily handed them over but would ask her dealer for another pack the next day. It was a never-ending cycle. Although Violet enjoyed the aura James had on her and the way he could so easily command her cigerattes into his possession, she'd hand them over without question. but something played on her mind.

On their very first session, he made a small comment that she'd soon wouldn't be able to get any more cigerettes. Whether that was from her dealer or had a deeper meaning, she didn't know, and ever since he said it, it has played on her mind. She desperately wanted to ask him, but every time she did, she got all shy and just did as she was told. Tonight would be different, though.

"Good evening, Violet," James smiled, and she girned up at him.

"Good evening, sir," which had become a permanent change to her vocabulary. James's eyes seemed to soften slightly, and the corners of his mouth turned up in delight every time she addressed him that way. She was very observant and would do anything to make him happy.

"Did you bring your homework like I asked?" he said as he led her to their usual room.

"Yes, I did, and I got a B on my assignment, all thanks to you." She grinned happily as she walked side by side with him. Bucky smirked, chuckling softly to himself.

"Not just me; you did most of the work," he said, raising his brow at her.

"Yeah, but I couldn't have it without you; my mom is happy with my progress as well." Her mother had finally stopped worrying about her grades now that she had made a significant improvement. She was so thankful for General Barnes and his devotion to teaching her daughter. Now all she had to worry about was her attitude and bad behaviour.

"Good, I know she was worried about your upcoming exams, which are only a month away," he pointed out, and she nodded.

"I know. I think the more time I spend with you tutoring me, the better I'll be for the exams," she said, and he hummed.

James sat silently as he watched Violet work, answering the questions on her homework and listening to him as he explained the texts in the book.

"So my birthday is next week; only one more year till I can smoke freely," she teased him and let out a little giggle. Summer was coming up, and Lexi was having a huge party while her parents were away, which meant booze, drugs, smoke, and boys. She was going to celebrate her birthday properly at the party, despite it being a month or two later, but it was going to be amazing. Her mother was planning on taking her out to dinner at her favourite restaurant.

But if she had to pick anything to do, it would be to spend the evening with James, if it were him tutoring her. She would rather spend her birthday in the presence of the handsome general.

"If you keep smoking the way you are, you won't make it to your eighteenth birthday," he said jokingly, and Violet scoffed.

"Trust me, I'm fit as a fiddle," she shrugged.

"How about this, then? If you continue smoking, I won't tutor you anymore.".

Violet froze, her pen dropping to the table and her head whipping around to face James, a look of purse shock and horror written all over it. No, he wouldn't.

"WHAT!" she exclaimed.

"You heard me; if you don't stop, then our tutor sessions will end," he shrugged so casually, and she stuttered for an answer.

"But you can't. What about my grades?".

"Well, if I were you, I'd stop smoking," he murmured, a smirk on the corner of his lips.

No, she couldn't let this happen. She'd rather die than give up her tutoring sessions with him. She had stopped her working experience, considering that was just a ruse to see him, and now she had a confirmed meeting with him every night or when possible. But giving up smoking. How was she going to be able to do that? and the summer party at Lexi's was coming up, and everyone would be smoking.

She contemplated just pretending, but James was a smart man; he'd know if she were lying to him, and in her head, she knew lying would only make this situation worse for her. It seemed like giving up was the only option.

"Fine, I'll give it up," she huffed like a moody teenager, because she was one now, and glared down at her homework. Suddenly, she felt a hand on the nape of her neck, giving her a soft, gentle squeeze.

"Good girl, tomorrow you can bring me all your packs," he ordered, and Violet looked up with puppy-dog eyes, her hand still clutching the back of her neck as James stood above her.

"Yes, sir," she whispered, and he smiled.

She felt compelled to do as she was told, as if she had no say in the matter, and strangly enjoyed it. This man had such control over her, and she was rebelling as much as she could, but nothing seemed to work. He was beating her every time and coming out on top, with her muttering yes, sir, in defeat.

It was getting close to the end of their tutor session, and James was so pleased with her work.

"I'm so proud of you, Violet; you've made so much improvement," he smiled.

"Thank you," she said simply. There was a moment of silence before James reached into his pocket and pulled out an elegant pen before grabbing her hand.

"You know, if there's anything you ever need, you can always call me. I shouldn't give out my number to minors, but I trust you to keep this a secret between us. If there's ever a problem or you're in trouble, you call me." He wrote his number on her hand, and Violet couldn't stop staring. His number, his personal number, was there in her own hand, and she softly grinned. She was never going to wash this hand again.

"Thank you; I appreciate that. And I promise not to tell anyone, and I promise not to text you all the time either," she grinned cheekily, and he chuckled.

"Good, only if it's an emergency," he said with seriousness and a raised brow, and Violet nodded. Her heart was beating so fast and her body was tingling as he touched her and intimately wrote his number on her hand.

"Yes Sir"

Quitting was hard, so hard. The craving for nicotine was like dying, scratching and clawing at her skin and bouncing from foot to foot as she desperately needed a smoke. Lexi had asked her why she was rarely smoking now, and Violet came up with some excuses like her mother found her stash and was banned from it, her dealer couldn't get her any, or she was skint. She offered Violet one of hers, but she declined, saying they weren't her type, even though Violet would pretty much smoke anything.

But it pleased James, and as she walked in that very next day with a bag full of cigeratte packets, he cupped her under her chin and gave her a small stroke, uttering those two words she now craved even more. "Good girl".

Fuck how she wanted to hear those two words for the rest of her life. Is this what he meant by 'not for long'? that eventually he'd get in control of her dining habit and stop it before it went too far. Again, once she hit eighteen, she could do whatever the fuck she wanted, and just to piss James off, she'd go right up to his face and blow smoke in it, or so she thought.

But, luckily for her, her tutoring sessions didn't stop. Her exams were right around the corner, and James was spending more and more time with her, preparing for them. He was confident she could do well, as long as she put the time and effort into it. Her rebellious attitude had calmed down as well, and he was starting to see the real Violet. She was really just a vulnerable girl, wanting to be a big shot to those around her. She was, in fact, sweet, humble, and polite when she wanted to be.

Her birthday was chilled out, with her mother taking her to her favourite restaurant for the evening rather than cooking, but little did her mother know of the huge party Lexi was having in the summer, and that night she was going to go wild. Summer came as quickly as ever, with her final exams wrapping up. She wouldn't get her results until two weeks before school, not that Violet really cared. Or did she? Since James tutored her privately, she had taken her exams and grades a lot more seriously than she would have if she hadn't met him. She did want to make him proud, after all.

Of course, her tutoring stopped once her exams were finished. It was logical, and even though Violet tried to find an excuse to still see James, she couldn't think of one that was realistic. She hoped her grades from her exams were the best so she could carry these nightly sessions into the new term. The first week of summer was hell, with no fix from him, no intoxicating hit that could leave her feeling like bliss all day. She considered asking her mother to carry out work experience there again just so she could get any ounce of interaction with him.

She was an addict for him now. Every night she went to bed thinking of him, and every morning she woke up and thought about it. She needed him and wasn't sure how long she was going to last. Wednesday night was the night of the party. Violet spent three hours getting ready, drying and striaghening her hair, whacking on cake layers of makeup on her face, overlining her lips to the point they looked like they had been filled, and wearing her sexiest dress. black strappy with a short length and tight around her boobs. Her mother was working late, and Violet told her she was spending the night at Lexi's for a sleepover.

which was slightly true; she was sleeping over; however, this wasn't a regular sleepover. Tonight was going to be the wildest party ever. Word travelled fast around the school, and how any of the parents didn't catch wind of it seemed craxy, but Lexi wasn't complaining. The last thing she needed were nosy parents sticking their noses into their business. Violet perfumed herself with a perfume she got from Sepora, an upgrade from her sickly old Walmart one. This one cost thirty dollars but had a sexy scent to it, one that she hoped would attract all the fit guys tonight.

But as she thought about that, she made out with one of the football team players or someone from the soccer team. She felt guilty. guilty because she secretly didn't want those high school boys; she wanted James. James had no clue about the party, and having not seen Violet for a little while, he had no idea where she was going or what would be there. If there was anyone's lips she wanted touching hers, it was his. She wanted those big, strong hands to cup her face and kiss her tenderly, his beard to scratch her face, and let her nuzzle into him. She wanted to hear him whisper those two little words she craved more now than those sin sticks she used to smoke.

She wanted everything from him. But the age gap was a problem, not to mention he was the general of the US army, and he was currently working while she was getting ready to head to Lexi's. She only lived down the road from her, so it was just a short walk, and as she returned her bag, stuffing her clothes and overnight stuff, she couldn't help but remember her promise of no smoking. She didn't want to displease him or disobey him. On the other hand, her tutoring sessions had stopped, and his explicit command was that if she didn't give up smoking, he'd no longer tutor her.

It seemed she was in the clear. Violet smiled at herself in the mirror, happy with her hair and makeup, and yanked her bag over her shoulder, running down the stairs to slap on her black heels. She looked so sexy in her black dress, with smokey eye makeup and overlined, perfect nude lips. The guys would be drooling over her.

The party was in full swing when she arrived. heavy drum and base boomed in the house, vibrating off the walls and making the floor rock. Bright neon lights lit up the whole house, with two large tables covered in dezen red paper cups. Another table held strictly alcohol bottles, from gin to vodka, whisky, beer, cider, and wine. There was every kind of shot, spirit, and mixture available to drink, and even a keg one of the older guys had brought. Girls were dressed in short dresses or skirts and mini crop tops with heels, and guys were dressed in jeans and a t-shirt or a shirt and jeans. There was a huge cloud of smoke outside and a distinct smell of marajuana, but that was to be expected. Guys were hogging the upstairs spare room, blowing lines. Girls were giggling in the bathroom, throwing back pills, and people were grinding upon each other in the living room to the music, losing themselves.

"Lexi!" Violet shouted as she spotted her across the room. Lexi griined at her and waved her over. She was standing by the drinks table; she was dressed in a tight glittery dress, her makeup caked on just like Violets, with her hair in a high pony. She wore chunky black heels that did nothing for her, although she thought they did, and when Violet reached her, they hugged tightly and jumped up in excitement, like two schoolgirls that hadn't seen each other for the whole summer.

"Girl, you are looking like fire," Lexi commented as Violet gave her a twirl.

"Back at you, girl, so what have we got?" Violet nodded to the table full of bottles and red cups.

"Got everything—vodka, gin, beer—what do you fancy?".

"Vodka, have you got any coke?" she said, and Lexi fixed her up a strong vodka and coke, not bothering to measure the deadly spirit.

"Thanks, girl, now what cute boys are here?" She asked over the blaring music as she took a gulp of the strong drink. The alcohol instantly hit her head, and a buzz came instantly. She was going to be wasted tonight.

"Well, Mark is here, Daniel, oh, and that really sexy footballer Jason," Lexi grinned as she took a sip of her own drink. High school guys were so much cuter and sexier, and Violet scanned the dark room for one of them. But something was on her mind, James. All the boys in this room didn't compare to James, and she barely had any interest in them. She didn't want some young high school kid; she wanted the mature, sophisticated, and authoritative James.

"Oh yeah, he's so sexy," she said, even though right now she didn't even think so. The only sexy man she could think of was James. The party was in full swing, with people dancing, drinking, and doing drugs. A group were playing beer pong in the games room; couples were making out on the couches and in the spare bedrooms; and even one couple was doing it in the bathroom. The place was littered with cigarette butts, empty red cups, and crushed beer cans, and someone decided to throw toilet paper all over the lawn.

There was going to be so much cleaning up the next morning, and Violet was not looking forward to it. The drinks were hitting her fast and hard, and soon she became a tipsy mess, barely keeping herself from the thin line of crossing into a state of drunkenness. She was screaming to the music, pouring herself drinks and slugging them down, and had smoked at least three cigarrettes despite her clear order to stop. but what James didn't know wouldn't hurt him.

"Lexi, this is the best party ever!" She screamed at the top of her lungs, and Lexi screamed back at her.

"I know," she grinned, downing her drink in one and then throwing her cup across the room, which proceeded to hit someone in the head.

"Hey girl, you want a hit." A very drunk and very high guy came up behind her, barely able to keep his balance and holding a joint. His eyes were glazed, and he stunk of weed. He looked shadey and a lot older than these high school kids, and Violet cringed a little at his side.

"Umm," she pondered the idea. Smoking tobacco was the furthest she went, and she hadn't crossed the line into drugs yet. But there was no harm in trying one toke. You only live once, and this was the perfect time to do it—no parents, no adults around, no James. What he didn't know wouldn't hurt. Violet grinned and cheekily took the joint from him, taking a huge puff.

It was like nothing she had ever tried before. It's sweet, grassy taste was so unique compared to her regular cigarettes. She couldn't help but cough at its strong taste, and the guy chuckled, stumbling around her as he reached for the joint to take it back, but the effect of the drugs had taken control, and he proceeded to fall backwards straight to the floor, his eyes rolling to the back of his head. Violet was left holding the joint between her two fingers, and after a moment of just watching him lie there until he slightly moved, she and Lexi burst into a fit of laughter. The alcohol was under the full control of both of them.

The joint was teasing her, tempting her to take another hit, and as she lifted the end to her mouth, bright lights evaded the living room.

"Alright, police, everyone stop!" A dozen men burst through the doors, guns at the ready, bright flashlights blinding the visions of the drunk students in the house, and screams erupted. sh*t, they were busted. Someone must have called the cops on them, and everyone began to panic, running out in a flood of kids, busting their way through cops to escape home.

"Shit, Lexi!" Violet gasped.

"Shit, shit, shit, my parents are going to be so mad." Lexi looked like she was about to cry as they watched everyone run from the house.

"Alright, everyone outside now, let's go," a policeman ordered as he stormed through the house, grabbing kids and shoving them into the hands of his fellow officers. Kids were being handcuffed and shoved in the backs of cars while others ran for it.

"Okay, you two, outside now." A policeman grabbed Violet's arm, yanking her outside, and she stumbled along the way, her alcohol-induced body now sobering up immediately. Shit, she had been caught. She was so in shock that she didn't even try to run and make a break for it. As she was dragged outside, she was shoved against one of the cars.

"Hey," she sassed at him as he grabbed her arms and yanked them behind her back.

"What this?" He yanked the joint out of her hand, and her eyes widened. She forgot she was still holding that.

"Umm, nothing" was the stupidest answer she could have given.

"Don't think I'm stupid, girl; I know weed when I see it. I'm taking you to the station; you're in big trouble. I'm going to have to call your mom," he slapped on the cold handcuffs on her wrist, forcing them into the most uncomfortable position. No, not her mother; she'd be furious.

"No, please don't call my mom," she begged as she was spun around to face the officer. He was tall and lanky and wore a police hat, which made his face hard to tell in the darkness.

"I have to, as your underage," he informed her.

"Wait, please, not her; I have someone else you can call," she pleaded with big eyes, and the officer narrowed his eyes at her.

"Who?".

Chapter 8

Hey I hope you like this chapter, what do you think will happen next, let me know what you think in the comments

@pattiemac1

@sebastiansluts

@charmed-asylum

@blackwood-bodecker-housewife

@abaker32

@samjuarezzz

@sebastians-lover-blog

@buckysgirl85

@captainsarahscratches

@thischubbydumpling

@dhoruwolfie

@silvaren-ladybird

@hazomi

@unaxv

@wintxr-widow

@identity2212

@mrsstuckyboo

@cjand10

@redheadonfire20

@carrotlove

@skulliecadaver-blog

@buckitostan

@kandis-mom

#sebastian stan #sebastian stan fanfiction #bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes #james bucky barnes #sebastian stan smut #bucky barnes fanficiton #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes dom

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mr2swap · 2 years

Text

The swap mafia

I can't believe I've sunk so low, I lost everything my wife had, my business and now my body, there was nothing I could do I had to pay my debt I owed to the mafia.

I never should have made any deals with those people, especially when my business was going to shit, there were rumors all over town that they did this kind of thing, they collected debts in an unethical way.

Inside of me I knew that there was no chance of getting my body back but I couldn't leave things like this, I can't continue living like this!

When I knocked on Mr. Vito's door I was greeted by a couple of men who couldn't have been more than 20 years old, they were incredibly attractive, tall and intimidating, but after what they had done to me I knew that those weren't their real bodies, they probably liked him. They belonged to a couple of guys who couldn't afford the gym, or someone who couldn't afford their last dose of steroids.

They recognized me immediately after all I had the old face of his boss, without realizing I was being dragged through the huge mansion to the courtyard. His house It was huge and luxurious, I couldn't recognize any of the paintings on the walls but they looked really expensive, They had probably been doing this for years, how old are these people really?

I almost started to cry when I saw that face that I had seen all my life in the mirror, it seemed that he was really enjoying my body, as soon as he saw me he could not contain his smile, I moved the huge cigar away from his lips that were covered by a thick layer of facial hair.

- Ranjit! My old friend how have you been? Does your new life treat you well? - the sound of my own voice coming out of someone other than me still caused me chills, in front of me was the man who had taken my whole life, I never appreciated how handsome and hairy I was. it was.

He stood up letting the water trickle down his hairy abs, put a hand on his waist and slowly climbed out of the hot tub. He made a small gesture with his hand to one of his bodyguards who had dragged me here, and poured him a generous amount of wine in a glass that sat in the corner of the Jacuzzi.

Mr. Vito wasted no time and in one gulp drank the entire glass of wine, letting a little fall on the body that used to belong to me, I had killed myself day and night in the gym in the garage of my house to be in shape, just to that ended up in the hands of this disgusting man.

-What brings you here Ranjit? Do you have my money?"- The smile on his face never disappeared as he spoke and I couldn't take my eyes off my old body, damn I miss him so much! He had made a couple of changes to my body, now he had a thick mustache over his lips and it looked like he had trimmed down my beard that I used to be so proud of and made me look so attractive to my wife.

I couldn't contain myself for another minute, I got on my knees and looked up at him, his expression was arrogant he was enjoying this like hell. -I can't get the money, what do you want me to do? I can't work I'm 70 years old and I look like shit, nobody wants to hire me and my wife doesn't even want to see me! Nobody in my family wants to see me! Not even my mother recognizes me now!-

As he listened to me plead he brought the cigar back to his lips with his huge hand decorated with lots of rings and a gold watch that surely cost more than the stinky apartment he now lived in. He inhaled the smoke from his cigarette and then blew it right into my face, the smell unpleasant but very familiar even appealing in an almost addictive way.

-Come on! Ranjit stand up man it's really pathetic to see a man your age cry like a fag, listen Ranjit I like you, it amuses me to have you around! it seems if we renegotiate our agreement?-

For a moment I had a little hope, but hope fades very quickly when you make deals with Mister Vito.

-I hope you don't think I'm going to forgive your debt, you'll work every day until you pay me every penny and you'll do it in that body! And when you're done you'll have a new body, I'm not going to come back from your body for anything in the world, just look at me, it's too hot for you!-

In all of our business meetings Mr. Vito tortured me worshiping the sculpted hairy biceps that used to belong to me and this time was no exception, he ran his disgusting huge brown hands over each of my abs while still giving me that look of arrogance and supremacy.

He made another gesture with his hand to the same guard who had served him the glass of wine and one of his boys grabbed my arm until I screamed in pain.

-Nicky will show you the place and teach you your tasks, now yes excuse me I am a busy man and I have a meeting with Henry Cavill and his representative, I better get going right now I have a lot of things to discuss with him and a little deal that his representative would surely be interested in to pay off Henry's debts-

Ver. Esp: https://docs.google.com/document/d/1dxhPpO0FvhQhSYXV104xJvieC8uBtPT_CXOt9cKLSDc/edit?usp=drivesdk

Sup bros! I published this story the previous month on my patreon, if you want to read all my stories take a look at my page I have more than 150 stories including the ones on my discord server!

#bodyswap #body swap #male body swap #body switch

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writing-good-vibes · 4 months

Note

don't know if you're cool with combining two prompts so if not, feel free to ignore this one or just do one of them. i kinda like the candle wax and black silk steamy prompts together 🤭

thank you for the request anon !! 💌 it's funny, i've actually done this prompt combo before for a different character (no one go looking for that one though lol), so i should of known these two would get paired again 😈 i hope you enjoy reading, and happy valentine's day !! 💗

WARNINGS for post michael!corey x gn!reader, smut, wax play, hints of pain kink, and vague suggestions of non-sexual pain.

🩸 very cool divider by @/hitobaby 🩸

taglist: @slutforstabbings @ethanhoewke @voxmortuus (just let me know if you want to be added or removed !!)

It took you a while to notice Corey's fascination with fire but once you did notice, you couldn't stop noticing.

He'd build bonfires in your scrubby backyard, tossing in garden waste and stoking the flames, bringing you out to sit with him in a lawn chair while you basked in the heat. He had a lighter for his cigarettes, and he'd flick the spark wheel while he smoked, the light igniting his eyes before going out and leaving them dark again. Even though he had his lighter, he always used matches at home, sitting on your porch to light a smoke and letting the flame burn down to his fingers before he snuffed it out. And then there were the candles. You didn't have too many candles around the house but you'd light them while you ate dinner, or watched a movie with all the other lights turned off. You noticed when Corey got restless, he'd poke at the candle wick, dipping his fingertips in the melted wax and peeling the wax casts off so he can do it again. At the end of the night you'd pull yourself out of Corey's arms and chuckle at the pile of hatched wax eggshells.

"It feels good," Corey would shrug, when you asked why he did it, when you were soothing his red fingertips with lotion.

Pressing a kiss to each digit, "Yeah?"

"Yeah," he smirks, eyes darting from your pretty lips against his rough fingers, to your own eyes looking up at him. "I like when it hurts."

Corey lies in your bed, looking up at you from under his unfairly long eyelashes, shamelessly staring at your chest, your pretty nipples framed so demurely by your untied robe. Ignoring his ogling, you light the candle in your hand -- a thick red candle specially bought from the dirty store -- with Corey's own lighter.

Beneath you, Corey grows hard and hot, heat radiating through his underwear to ignite your own longing.

His hands creep up your thighs, thumbs rubbing circles against the black silk robe that flows over your hips, as you toss the lighter onto the rumpled bedsheets.

You tut quietly, using your now-free hand to move Corey's up towards the headboard. He grabs the headboard of his own volition. Good boy, you think, he can just lie there and take it.

"You ready, baby?"

"Yeah," he breaths, and you don't miss the way he smirks like things are all coming up Corey, or how his fingers tighten their grip in anticipation.

You drip a thin line of wax from one nipple to the other. A surprised breath leaves Corey's lips, but they quickly lift back into that satisfied smirk.

You drip another line down his chest, forming a stark red cross on his torso. He looks so fucking beautiful, spread out for you and marked with whatever you want him to bear. You move the candle over him, like a ritual, like you're cleansing the air around you,

It drips over his already-rosy nipples and makes him hiss, it traces the deep blue veins in his arms and makes him close his eyes, it runs down the V of his hips, pooling against your own thighs where you're straddling him and makes him buck up into you.

The wax hardens quickly on his milky, freckled skin, each drop turning into blood-red pearls that decorate him all over, drenching every inch of him just as he deserves.

With your hand on his cock, stroking slowly to draw it out, Corey looks decadent. Dripping red, a boy king bejewelled, head thrown back in a low, pleased moan.

[with thanks to @/slutforstabbings for providing the fuel for the pyromaniac!corey fire lol]

#ask #corey cunningham x reader #💗💌 corey's love letters 💌💗#it took some time but the way i was kinda feeling this by the end i cant lie 👀😳#i want corey covered in red. blood. wax. whatever.#thank you for requesting and happy valentines day !!

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who-knew-a-sheep-can-write · 2 months

Text

Police Dog: Bigby Wolf x Fem!Cop!Reader - Chapter 4

You awoke to the sound of your phone blaring rather early in the morning. Unscrewing your exhausted eyes, you peeked through the darkness of your room at your alarm clock which told you that it was too early for this shit before you felt around on your bed for your phone. Idly slapping your hand around your comforter, your fingers quickly found the chiming piece of damned technology and spun it around to face you only to get flash banged by how fucking bright you had left your screen. You didn’t pay attention to who was called at this ungodly hour, only swiping to answer and making an annoyed noise as your hello.

“You need to come in,” a gruff voice stated firmly from the other end of the line.

It took you a second for your brain to finally wake up, your eyes fluttering open finally as you put the pieces together. Bigby was on the line. He kept his voice low as he knew he would be waking you up this early, way before your morning alarms. The sun wasn’t even peeking through your windows just yet, the sky however was starting to turn grey as the sun started its slow ascent.

“What’s going on?” you yawned.

You rubbed a hand over your eyes, wiping the sleep from them as you threw back your comforter. As you threw your legs off of the side of the bed, you could hear something coming from Bigby’s end of the line. It sounded like bickering followed by something heavy being slammed. The sound rang in your head painfully, your temples throbbing.

“I got Hook, but I need your help. Get here when you can- Hey!” Bigby shouted before he ended the line.

Before you got the dial tone, you heard two men yelling at each but you couldn’t make out what was being said.

You got dressed as quickly as you could and got out of the door within a few minutes. You didn’t have time to shower let alone bathe away the sweat that had balmed up on your skin throughout the hot night. If it was urgent, you knew Bigby wouldn’t be very happy to know you wasted time washing when there was something important to be done. You nearly forgot your holster and gun, managing to snatch that along with your keys before the door slammed shut behind you. You adjusted your holster in the elevator and shucked on your jacket when a thought struck you.

Was Bigby up all night trying to catch Hook?

Did he really not sleep when he sent you home to rest yourself? Did he even need sleep? The bags under his eyes said he did and just hadn’t been getting it.

Hailing a cab on the street, you sat in the back of the car and stared at your legs in deep thought. Your hands gripped gently at the worn leather seat, your nails scratched lightly at a particularly worn spot in the leather.

If he had been awake all night while you were asleep, you would feel awful. And if he got into a fight with Hook to take him in? You would feel even worse! Your stomach rumbled with uncertainty and your chest tightened with worry.

The taxi came to a stop sooner than you expected, completely forgetting that it was barely six in the morning and the sun had yet to peek through the rows of skyscrapers and apartment buildings. You paid the driver but jumped when your door opened, a short gasp leaving you as you whipped your head towards it.

It was Bigby who gave you an odd look at how you reacted. He looked exhausted, the dark circles around his eyes looked even darker. He didn’t sleep, that fucker. He had a cigarette clamped between his sharp teeth, puffing the smoke out downstream of the wind so he didn’t blow any your way. You got out of the taxi as Bigby closed the door behind you. You noticed how he kind of hid his spare hand, keeping it fully tucked into his pocket when he would normally have his thumb hooked out. Was it bruised? Were his knuckles raw and bloodied?

You both walked nearly in sync, Bigby’s longer legs outpacing yours as you both trekked up to The Woodlands.

“Did you get any sleep?” you quipped at him.

Bigby glanced at you, almost sheepishly ironically before he looked back at the door.

“Started to, then I got a call.”

That made you feel even worse. He was finally about to get some shut-eye after what looked to be days of exhaustion only to be ripped awake by a fucking phone call.

Bigby pulled the door open for you once again and trailed in behind you. You started to go towards the elevators when Bigby grunted. Giving him a questionable look, he nodded his head to the stairwell at the end of the short hallway towards the back of the main floor. As you watched him walk, you noticed a very slight limp in his step.

“Did you get hurt?” you pressed.

“I’ll be fine.”

“You’ll be- You did? What the hell happened?”

You both descended the stairs and passed through a rickety old door. It was obvious that wherever you now were had not been as lucky as the main floor when it came to… decor? You shivered, unease settling over you like a weighted blanket. This place looked like a fucking dungeon. It was old and decrepit, it reeked of mildew and years-old rot. There were cobwebs caked all across the ceiling and in the corners and it wasn’t very well lit. The light coming from Bigby’s cigarette was the brightest thing in this place. The stone brick walls were lined doors; Some were made of wood, some with metal bars, and some were straight-up walls of hardened steel.

What the hell was this place?

“I got a call a few hours I had you go home,” Bigby puffed out a cloud of smoke. “Was told someone was causing a disturbance down at a club so I went down.” It was as if he knew you were about to bicker at him that he should have called you as he stopped walking and turned on his heel to look at you with your mouth about to open. “And I didn’t call you because I didn’t think I would find Hook being the one who was causing trouble.”

“What was he doing?”

Bigby started walking again towards a door that was opened with the lights on inside.

“He was a drunken mess when I showed up. When he saw me, he got physical.”

“And what did you do?”

Bigby stubbed out his now dull cigarette on the back of his heel and puffed out the last bit of smoke as he looked at you.

“I got physical back.”

He finally took out his other hand from his pocket to crack his knuckles. And just as you figured, they were bloodied and bruised from socking the shit out of Hook.

A sudden slam of something heavy followed by a shout rang out from the room causing you both to rush towards it. You heard two men once again shouting at each other, one obviously drunk and one not.

Bigby threw open the door, the door smacking against the stone wall enough to make the dust fly off. You stepped in after him only to see that guy from yesterday standing before a man handcuffed to a chair. Bluebeard, if you remembered right, glanced over the shoulder of his expensive-looking vest only for his eyes to narrow behind his glasses at the sight of you both. He was rubbing his fist, thumbing over his knuckles that were now pink from punching the other guy in the room.

“It’s about time you came back,” he sneered at Bigby. His eyes looked right into yours and you couldn’t help but want to shrink back behind Bigby. “And I see Officer Mundy is here now, too.”

“I told you not to do anything until she came,” Bigby snarled.

There was a dangerous growl in his voice. His broad shoulders squared and his large hands balled up into fists so tightly you could hear faint popping coming from within.

“Oh please, Hook and I were just catching up on old times. It’s been decades since I last spoke with another pirate,” he turned to Hook and got in his face, “even longer for a successful one.”

“That’s enough,” Bigby stated firmly.

He clapped a hand on Bluebeard’s shoulder and pushed him out of the way. Bluebeard scoffed and eyed you as you remained in the doorway. His gaze went south to the holster attached to your hip, his eyes landing on the gun Bigby had given you. He chuckled darkly at the sight of it.

“How cute. Did he give you that?”

“Yeah. What about it?” you snipped at him.

Just speaking to him made you want to vomit. He made you so uncomfortable.

“As if something like that would work, especially against Bigby here.” Bigby’s brows arched and Hook gazed drunkenly between the three of you through his non-bruised eye. “You do know the real reason that you’re here, no? It’s to keep this one in line. The last time something like this happened, Bigby was off the leash the entire case. They figured that bringing in a Mundy cop would leash the dog up well but judging by the looks of his hands, your K-9 is already disobeying.”

“Like you’re any better,” Hook finally piped up.

You took a good look at the man before you, thin and slumped over in the chair, not even fighting his restraints. His hair was oily and pitch black, his left eye was bruised and started to swell up into a horrible shiner, his nose was horribly bruised as dried blood crusted under both his nostrils. His clothes were dirty but they looked expensive- or at least, they were cheap clothes sold at an expensive price. His shirt had been opened up by the top few buttons showing off tattoos of stuff you really couldn’t make out besides a topless mermaid and some pirate flag. He was missing one of his dress shoes and his jacket was torn a bit at the left cuff where his mechanical hand sat motionless. Your eyes zeroed in on the right cuff, noting that he had the other matching cufflink fashioned around his wrist.

He looked up at you with his olive-green eyes the best he could. His gaze made you feel unsafe as well, but it wasn’t as bad as Bluebeard’s.

“What can you tell me about the Darlings?” you asked him firmly.

“Good luck getting answers from this drunk,” Bluebeard barked out a laugh. “I’ve been trying the entire time your K-9 has been gone to get you and he hasn’t made a peep.”

“Why are you even here if you’re not going to be helpful?” you snapped back.

Bluebeard gave you a look but Bigby made his presence known again before he could even think of doing anything to you.

“Fine then. You’re the real cop here, Officer.”

Bigby gave you a look over his shoulder, almost as if he were asking you if you want Bluebeard to stay. You shook your head slightly, giving Bigby the go-ahead to grab the man and force him out of the cell. You watched it happen, quickly spotting the missing cufflink on the counter by the door. You picked it up as you heard Bluebeard scoff and start back into the dungeon, muttering something about Snow White and King Cole under his breath the entire time.

“I like this one Bigby,” Hook hiccuped as he eyed you up and down. “You should keep her.”

“I’m not gonna ask again. What can you tell me about the Darlings?” you repeated.

“Bah,” Hook scoffed, “I haven’t seen them since we all came here centuries ago.”

You held out the cufflink in front of him.

“Then why we did find your missing cufflink at the scene of the crime?”

Hook scoffed and leaned back into the chair, his back slouching. He eyed the cufflink in your hand warily.

“I’ve been missing that cufflink for days now.”

“Then why wear the other one?”

Hook stumbled over his words and hiccuped again. He refused to answer at first, avoiding both yours and Bigby's eyes.

“You’re already in for assaulting an officer and resisting arrest,” Bigby piped up. “You wanna tack on more charges and risk being thrown down the witching well, be my guest.”

“They… they were supposed to give it back to me tonight.”

“Who?” you drew the cufflink back to you.

“Peter’s little army,” Hook sneered. “Those ingrates, the lost boys! These cufflinks are almost all I have left of my life from the Homelands.”

“Why would they have your missing cufflink?”

“I was at their club a few nights ago. It,” the pirate sighed, “was not my finest hour I must admit.” He quickly glared at the both of you. “The big one, he riled me up on purpose! The six of them all ganged up on me!”

You looked at Bigby who was already looking at you.

“You know where he’s talking about?”

Evidently, Bigby knew exactly where he was talking about as it was just down the block of where Bigby had gotten the call about Hook. As you both stepped out of the back of the cab not even twenty minutes later, your eyes landed on a club that was actually just now closing for the night. Drunks either stumbled down the street or tried to hail cabs while streetwalkers passed you both by in their high heels. Bigby gave you a look, asking you with his eyes once again if you really wanted to do this.

The pulsing music finally cut off from inside of the club as the bouncer out front was speaking rather rudely on the phone to someone, his burly back to you both completely unaware of your presence.

“Let’s go.”

#the wolf among us #twau #bigby wolf #bigby x reader #bigby wolf x reader

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kapyushonchan · 10 months

Text

Plague Doctor Ch. 31 short summary

Since it's taking me longer to translate chapters due to busyness, I decided to post on tumblr short chapter retellings that I post on MGPD Discord when chapters come out.

The chapter starts with very... tired/drained Lera, who comes to Sergey's main apartment. Lera is covered in small cuts and bruises all over her body. She is also smoking. She admits that she failed the mission, that there is some f-ed up shit that is going on in the casino, and she ask a permission to enter. A bewildered Sergey agrees. Then he stops and waryly asks Lera how she knows his real address. Lera lifts up her face - her eyes are like a Fireworshipper's. She drops a cigarette and everything starts to burn. Sergey wakes up with a jolt, and thinks wtf is he dreaming about again. Then he turns to the left side of his king-sized bed and says, "Oleg, you-" But the left side of the bed is empty.

Oleg is caughing and playing some videogame (Baldur's gate?).Sergey comments that Oleg spent a day in the ice warehouses and didn't get sick, while here in the summer heat he caught a cold. Oleg reminds about his gift of a minuscule chance. Sergey changes the subject and asks if Oleg has cigarettes. Oleg shows him where to get some and then comments that Sergey doesn't smoke, so why would he need cigarettes. Sergey replies that he had a nightmare and now he wants to smoke. Oleg asks what he dreamed about and Sergey retells him his dream. Sergey finds the cigarettes, freezes, and then says in surprise "Why do I need cigarettes? What the hell."

As it turns out, the ending of last chapter where Lera infiltrates Mark's casino, inhales spores from his miracle tree and Mark catches her is my mistake, I confused the Triad spy - Wang Lin - with Lera. They have similar hairstyles. That's why Mark caught Wang Lin and not Lera. Meanwhile, Lera is at home reading a book on Slavic mythology, which Mark recommended to her, and thinks he pranked her. Apparently, it's a lot of nonsense. Then she notes that the wound on her knee went away quite quickly, but Fishkin's bite marks are not (I guess the events of the arc take place tightly after the special. During her fight with Fishking, who attacked people, she teamed up with Mir and Aisa to beat him, but he bit her quite hard). Lera has also taken in Chrysalis's cat for foster care while he is at sea. She gets a call from Toma. Toma tells her that he doesn't know who sent her the anonymous letter asking the Plague Doctor to help catch Fishkin (which caused the Plague Doctor to later be blamed for Fishkin's kidnapping, though he simply escaped), and Chrysalis wonders how his cat is doing.

Meanwhile, we are shown what became of Wang Lin after he was caught by Mark. As it turns out, his hallucinations didn't stop, it was just a way to show what was really going on. Mark orders the unconscious Wang Lin to be thrown out. Wang Lin ends up simply going insane and is found by the Triad men and brought back to headquarters. Liu Shengli is very concerned and tries to bring him to his senses. Mrs. Mei is not happy with their failure, beats up Shengli and kills Wang Lin. She then demands that Shengli tell Mark that the Triad demands a fight. Shengli is shoked and broken by his friend's death.

Meanwhile, Mark is examining his man which is blind in one eye and Mark is unable to cure him. To be more precise: his subordinate was walking around with a prosthetic eye. Mark grew an eye for him, but the eye of his subordinate can't see anything. It's strongly implied here that Mark is the one who adopts other people's wounds and then heals them. He also comments to himself that "My father's land was never my own and gave me almost no power. Only wasted my strength." I assume he is half Mexican, his father is from Russia.

Mark shoos his subordinate out and Shengli walks up to him unnoticed. Mark is caught off guard and asks how he got in in the first place. Shengli says that Mark's men searched him and let him in. Mark wonders to himself how he's even still alive with such guards and scoffs at Shengli's words that he's unarmed and defenseless, saying Shengli is a fighter, his body a weapon in itself. Shengli recommends hiring Chinese bodyguards, who are rigorously screened. Mark scoffs, saying, "Did you come for job interview?"

Meanwhile, Lera, in an airy pink dress, approaches the casino and notices Shengli's security guards. Sergey notes that they don't look like building security, just some strange asian dudes. Lera walks up to the entrance and they start harassing her. As soon as one of them grabs her, he gets kicked in the stomach. A brawl ensues and Lera trashes them like puppies. Meanwhile, Shengli sends Mark a Triad message: confrontation. Until the group is destroyed. Mark assigns a location for a showdown - Shuvalov Forest. Mark's man runs in and says there's a fight with the Chinese at the entrance. Mark is unhappy that Shengli told him that he came alone. Mark sees Shengli's beaten guards at the entrance and jokes that Chinese guards are also made in China. Shanley gets angry at thst remark. Seeing Lera, Mark perks up, transforms, and expresses how happy he is to see her again. Lera is surprised that Mark is the owner of the casino, and Sergey remarks snidely that Lera has interesting acquaintances.

Mark is so happy to see Lera that when he learns that she has come looking for a job, he almost offers her the position of head of security. Sergey jokes that Lera should be more careful - "don't overdo yourself trying to get a job, ma chérie, or you'll end up getting a maternity leave".

Shengli also starts apologizing to Lera on behalf of his guards, saying that the order was not to let anyone in, to which Lera replied, "Taking a woman away against her will is also an order?". Shengli apologizes for that as well. Lera notes to herself that Shengli looks somehow doomed. Mark is irritated that Shengli has gotten Lera's attention.

Shengli and Mark start bickering with each other, which does not escape the attention of Lera and Sergey - they realize that before them are competitors at knifepoint. Shengli finds it suspicious that a professional fighter shows up on Mark's doorstep and Mark doesn't care, but decides not to dwell on it. Shengli leaves and reminds Mark about meeting "in Shuvalovsky". Sergey is pleased, he is going to search in where exactly they're going to have their showdown. Mark apologizes to Lera for the scene and escorts her inside. Sergey turns off the microphone just in case, since he's been joking constantly and is afraid that Mark will notice the wiretap.

Lera sees the strange tree with flowers and mushrooms that Mark planted in the hall and says that it is beautiful. Sergey notes that the orphanage didn't have this tree before. Mark says that the St. Petersburg climate is too cold for him, but this tree has taken root here - although that didn't happen even at his home. Anyway, this place where his tree took root is his reason for staying in the city. Lera clarifies whether Mark is a gardener or a landscaper. Mark jokes that he's a magician. This is when they are rudely interrupted by new visitors. Lera is shocked and horrified, Sergey is shocked and horrified, and tells Lera that they'd better shoot the building plan some other time, because Altan Dagbaev and Vadim themselves have come to Mark's casino. As it turns out, Mark had an appointment with them (but he was too happy to see Lera and forgot. Or he just doesn't care, lmao).

That's it folks.

#plague doctor #my translations #bubble comics #altan dagbaev #vadim #sergey razumovsky #oleg volkov #lera makarova #short summary

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father-black-widow · 11 months

Text

Thanks For The Memories...(9)

The taste of smoke blended well with the taste of beer...

It was probably his favorite meal three times a day. It wasn't often that much changed around here--

The overlord kept pretty well control over how he ran things--

And a tight thumb over those he deemed beneath him.

Nothing much happened that he didn't know about-- and when it did... he took care of it pretty quickly to get things back in line--

"Sir-- a phone call?"

...A phone call?

There weren't too many people who could reach Henroin directly. The ones who did usually had a death wish if not on them...a target they would pay well for...

"...Who is it?"

"A fellow Overlord...he says he wishes to discuss business..."

A business transaction...?

Well-- that was always one sure fire way to get a hopes chance in hell at talking with Henroin...

"...Put him on."

"Very good, sir--"

He seats himself, waiting for all the loops to be jumped in order to put the call through direct--

Though, even he was surprised when he found out who the Alleged Client actually was...

A Fellow Overlord indeed...

"Mr.VOX... this is dn unusual surprise..."

The man Gruffs while he's putting out a cigarette.

"Surprised you took the proper protocols rather than zipping through the power units as you usually do when you demand for attention..."

--"Now would that really be anyway to initiate a request for a business meeting?"

"Hmph...Nah...I suppose not..."

He hisses a stream of smoke as he pressed out the burning cherry of the lit end--

"So then...Whattaya want?"

--"Charming as ever, aren't ya Henroin?"

"Hmph,'cares about Charm?"

The man Gruffs out over the receiver.

"I'm a a very busy man Mr.VOX-- Wit'a respectable clientele-- I ain't got all damn day ta woo ya."

He says roughly, tapping his claws over his desk while his other hand gripped tighter around the phone--

"--Still though, Henroin, with all due respect -- a little humility wouldn't kill ya~"

The Don cringed in his seat

Nice...we got a funny Television over here...

His eyes would roll, that hour glass marked tail slowly swaying...

"Last I checked, you're the one callin'me up-- With All Do Respect... Ain't you's the one who s'posed ya be woo'in me?"

He starts leaning back in his chair... irritation clearly growing...

"F'you don'start talkin'shit worth my time... I'm gonna put an end to this conversation as a means to stop wasting both of ours."

--"All right~ All right~ very well. I can respect a man who wants to cut the bull shit get straight to business~"

Though the bemusement in the moljul's to e certainly didn't escape him--

Henroin didn't care much for VOX in the best of times... I'm However, he knew the man was loaded and very refutable all around Hell-- This TV man had a reach even beyond just the pride ring--

Annoying he maybe--

Still not a bad person to have in your side, and especially to owe you a favor...

So Henroin could dedl eith the bulk shit--

As long as he knew he'd be making off well in the end...

--"I want to talk to you about taking on one of your hired guns..."

"A hired gun?... sure-- I got plenty of guys I could offer, armed with the top notch weaponry, you lookin'for a bodyguard Or sonethin'?"

--"You could say that-- Though, not for me directly...but rather for one of my own~"

"Body guard for one of your clients then? Well, like I said I got plenty on offer--"

--"Yes, you've said that-- however I have very... peculiar tastes. I only take the best of the best who I deem worth it, you see~"

"...A special request, then?"

--"A special request...yeah, sure. We could call it that, I guess~ Suppose you'd be up for a meeting? You know...for negotiations~?"

Henroin's eyes narrowed...he wasn't sure how to feel about a special request from someone like VOX...

After all he couldn't trust the man as far as he could throw him...

But on the other hand...he also knew VOX wasn't just some token run of the mill client either...with him? Money was no option...

So...

"....Very well."

The Don would comply...clasping a cigar between his teeth.

There was just something about Smoking a cigar while talking business...

"... Let's Negotiate."

To be continued (?)

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Part 6

Part 7

Part 8

#drabble

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ghettoland · 1 year

Text

Shorty said leaving me was the hardest choice she made.

But very quickly she posted pictures in his plaid.

Changed her pictures on the apps.

Pedestalized and mesmerized

She ate the apple that was disguised

She threw it to the side

And said this is enough

She huffed and puffed and packed my stuff

She stole some things and acted tough

Hardest choice she made? Idont think so. I paid.

I moved out there with 14k

But I chose to waste away

It was a slum. Slumlords took our pay.

I smoked weed and played video games

To pass the days

Putting myself deeply into a haze

To deal with the choices she made

Because she did not trust my way.

I told her I was a switch one day

She said she did not care, to lock that side of me away

I did and it grew mean and strong through the days

Waking up and rattling the cage

I left that area with $200 to my name.

Picked the check up on the way

Left her $1500 i borrowed from my dad

I was very sad

He would not help me move

Although she would threaten to sicc her family on me

My own could not step up to help me properly

My mom invited her sister who i asked her not to.

She parked improperly all across the property.

Her car was mostly off to the side

But a bumper was behind my ride

I was starved

I didnt see

I put it in reverse and plowed into her van.

Later in the day my mom passed out while smoking cigarettes and had to go to the hospital.

Ive been waging war on my family

Hoping my parents would love me

Im broke now

My hustle is busted

I dont have anywhere else to go

She told me not to tell people i have hsv1 when i would smoke before i smoked with them. And one time i didnt tell this girl and kissed her she said i gave her hsv2 and. Now i always tell people even on the first date and i get rejected some times.

Girls can be really cruel

Due to hypergamy

Take a grown man put him on his knees

Put another in his bed

Test his depression

Test his anxiety

Test his head

She psychoanalyzed me

And love withdrawal punished me

And set unfair boundaries

And gave me intermittent reinforcement

Never apologized

Never owned it

Because i was chasing familiar patterns

Root of the word is famili

Because its familiar

And feels so similar

Cant leave the town bound for life

It sucks because i thought she was down to ride

Now shes got family that keeps her there

Nieces she must take good care

Step mom to his kids indeed

I wish she would have got on her knees

I wish she would have cared

To please

The other half of me that got lost in the cage

The other half of me that got blamed

For being untamed

Unhinged

Addict

Who ended up cheating and lying in the end?

Wasnt me

All of my secrets. Have been mended.

I confessed my sins at the foot of my goddess

Like a lost beast trying to find my way

I was treated like i got in the way

But i wasnt a good man

I didnt come to the rescue

I didnt clean the house

But iu cant play captain save a hoe

To those who dont want to be saved

Its a shame what people do for the bread

Its a shame how power gets to peoples heads

#by the way i tried to mail the book #my mom donated the pile to goodwill #the book your aunt u loved gave you and wrote in #im sorry #karmas a bitch tho #n that was my way of god showing me it wasnt all me #also i saw my necklaces on ur tiktok.

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whirlybirbs · 3 years

Text

( this chapter’s gif by @august-walker from this beautiful set ! )

✪ — VACANT MIRRORS ; B.B. | 4/?

summary: you formulate a plan, meet steve rogers, and bucky goes on a date.

pairing: bucky barnes / f!reader

tags: set before & during tfatws, friends to lovers, therapy positive, trauma healing techniques, ptsd mentions, the normalization of anxiety disorders, and a good ol’ slow burn

word count: 6.8k, mother of pearl

a/n: this ended up being mostly a filler with a lot of romantic growth - i had to break this chapter up from the unce unce unce clubbing that coming up, so please enjoy!

( PREVIOUSLY | AO3 | MASTERLIST | NEXT )

MOSCOW, 1975.

In all the years that James Buchanan Barnes has had a heartbeat, he’d come to know the sounds of grief well.

War taught him a lot of things — that they were all just little boys playing with guns, and that no matter how many times you thought you’d be ready for the vomit-inducing pungency of violence, you never were. In the end, you’d do anything to save yourself; you’d crawl through the thick of death and debris a million times over if only to cling to the shredded tatters of your own humanity.

You would kill someone else’s son for the sake of your own mother.

War was disease that devoured every part of you — it was gunpowder snuff and carved flesh. That sickness — inky and desperate — had sunk deep into this heart during the war, and it crescendoed to the sounds of mothers clutching dead sons. The sounds that followed death were like a hollow opera. Waning and wailing.

In the raucous wake left by warborn grief, Bucky drowned everytime.

To the Winter Soldier, the operatic quality to the sounds of grief were as insignificant as a child’s rhyme.

He did not drown. No, he waded through the waves, comfortable in the cold and unphased by the stinging cut of loss. That was not something he could comprehend. After all, there were orders and there were targets, and everything in between was absolute.

He was the disease that devoured all.

He’s holding a gun to Andrei Kuznetzov’s head in a dining room with ornate trim — with silverware as delicate as scalpels that tinker against fine china. The carpets are red, the curtains are red, there’s blood on the table cloth. The guests continue to eat. Kuznetzov’s wife is screaming, red nails dug so deep into the dining chair’s arms it’s carving out the fabric. War dogs, like him, keep her rooted in her seat, and her tears find polished boots. She’s begging and bartering but the man with Kuznetzov’s life in his hands is not listening. He is eating his veal, bloodied meat dancing between his lips. He takes a sip of wine as his medal emblazoned chest glimmers in the light of crystalline chandaliers.

The spoils of war.

His smile is stained red.

There is no deal to be made.

The Winter Soldier pulls the trigger.

NOW.

His eyes are open.

Panic is the first emotion he feels, and it seizes him up quickly in its grasp. He doesn’t know this view, he doesn’t know where he is, not again, not again, not again —

Then:

“Good morning, sleeping beauty. Did you know you snore?”

The relief that the sound of your voice brings is immediate, and just like that he remembers. He’s laying on the bed. You’re sat up across from him at that small desk in the corner. He reaches as he rubs his face to thumb the edge of the pillowcase. He exhales tightly.

He’s fine. His name is James Buchanan Barnes. He is not longer the Winter Soldier. He’s in his Brooklyn apartment. He is fine.

When’s the last fucking time he’s slept in a bed?

He sits up, scratching his neck as he does. You lean back, half rotated in the desk. Before you is a mess of papers and his laptop — and on top of the keyboard sits his notebook. It’s open to the page where all he’d been able to figure out about Innessa was scrawled in his chicken scratch.

Bucky swings his legs over the edge of the bed and immediately his back complains.

“How long was I out?” he asks, voice hoarse with sleep. He moves to part the curtains. The room blooms with warm morning light.

You offer an apologetic smile into the vanilla sunshine. “Three hours. I wanted you to get some shut eye. You were starting to look a little overwhelmed last night—”

“You click too fast,” he waves, standing and immediately rolling his neck to the side. You watch as the man, before as peaceful as a sleeping pup, now regains his usual thinning veiled level of threat. Bucky is dangerous — it shows in the way he holds himself. He cracks his neck, rolls his shoulders, and groans. He exhales again, posture sagging a bit, “I couldn’t keep up.”

You’re standing now, socks padding against the hardwood as you eye his cowlick with a budding bloom of affection. With his notebook between your index and middle finger, you offer it out. You cling to your empty coffee cup in the other.

“I didn’t peek,” you say warmly, “Pinky promise.”

His laugh is more like a hot puff of air. Bucky manages a look that feels like an emotional dethaw.

“Thank you.”

You lead the way to the kitchen, stretching your own back as you go. You’d been up all night — this is your third trip out here for yet another cup of coffee. The pot has been on for too long, though, and you know the coffee sitting there is beyond bitter. You’re moving to dump it down the sink when Bucky grumbles.

“Don’t.”

“You want it?”

“No,” he mutters, reaching for a mug, “But I don’t want to waste it.”

“Wow,” you chirp, “The Great Depression just jumped out.”

“Yeah,” he snorts, yanking open the fridge to search for something to eat, “It does that.”

“Well, grandpa,” you hand him the steaming cup and set out to make another pot, “You’re also living on Depression Era rations — might I suggest some Dolly’s? Because I’m starving and I’ve been up all night and I think that means I get to decide where we get breakfast.”

Bucky’s look is soft — but you don’t see it. You’re too busy scooping sugar into your cup, too busy nudging him aside to grab the milk. He’s rooted there in the kitchen, watching you move about. You’re comfortable. There isn’t a trace of anxiousness in you, not in this moment, and he tries to remember what it looks like.

Your eyes find his and he clears his throat.

“Earth to Sergeant Barnes?”

“Don’t start,” he groans, albeit playfully, “It’s too early.”

“Oh, what? Too early for me to grill you on why you didn’t tell me that little laptop in there was on loan from the FBI? To one Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes of the 107th?”

His face falls.

“Don’t worry,” you raise a hand quickly, leaning against the counter as you sip your coffee, “I figured that out before I did anything massively illegal.”

Bucky rubs his face as he takes a sip of his coffee — the bitterness is enough to slap him awake. He winces, swallows it back, and remembers the taste of instant coffee made in helmets on the line in Bastogne. He can smell snow, and the acrid sting of mortar smoke. Suddenly, he’s craving a cigarette.

That hasn’t happened in a while.

Bucky clears his throat. “Did you find anything?”

You frown slightly, lips pulled as you hide your inward disappointment — you push off from the counter and shake your head as you brush past him. Like a loyal dog, Bucky follows. Into the bedroom you go, and Bucky’s again surprised he managed to get any sleep at all in that bed. Maybe it was the comfort of having someone else there, or the genuine exhaustion that had finally choked him out after hours of trying to understand what the hell you were even doing on there.

You plop into the desk chair and snatch up a piece of paper littered with notes.

“I couldn’t do much of my usual snooping,” you explain gently as you gesture to the chromebook, “This thing might have been given to you in good faith, but they’re watching you pretty closely. So, I worked a little magic and ended up running a virtual machine. Gave me enough wiggle room to avoid the malware and keystroke trackers. Even still, I wanted to be careful, so I just did a little looking.”

“Looking?”

“I can’t dig deeper on Innessa, I know where to dig, but I can’t,” you frown, “Not on this laptop, and definitely not on my personal machines. I’ve got the GRC breathing down my neck, and the files I need to poke are very much off-limits.”

“So, what? We’re shit out of luck?”

“No, not entirely,” you stand up and motion to the paper in your hands; your tone is tight, “I know a few people who can help, but getting to them is going to be the hardest part.”

Bucky takes the paper, squinting at the writing as you settle on the edge of the bed next to him. You take a sip of your coffee and watch as his blue eyes dart across the notes; you point to the name scrawled across the top.

“There’s a club in lower Manhattan, but you’ve gotta know the right people to get in,” you mumble, scratching your cheek as a creeping sense of embarrassment bubbles up behind your words, “It’s in the basement of an old computer repair shop. It’s like a blackhat networking event, but with strippers.”

Bucky squints at the paper and reads the name. “The Glass Cannon?”

“Yeah,” you huff, crossing your arms tightly as you stand, “That’s the one.”

Bucky looks up from the paper, attention now rooted on the pacing you’ve begun to do across the room. Back and forth. You’re holding your coffee like a lifeline, gaze far away. That anxiousless way you’d been holding yourself before is gone. Now, he can see the tensing in your shoulders, in your fingers. You’re suddenly nervous.

Bucky stands. His voice is gentle.

“You alright?”

“Yeah,” you snap almost immediately, “Just, y’know. Worried. I spent a lot of time there when I was younger. Did stupid shit. And now I’m about to waltz in after six years like I haven’t put that part of my life behind me.”

“We don’t have to do this,” he says immediately, moving to stand closer and halt your pacing. The invasion of your space forces you to look at him. His fingers glimmering in the morning light. You follow the line of his figure up to his eyes. The emotion there makes your heart clench. You can’t pin it down, and it’s gone in an instant.

“It’s the only way we’re going to find Innessa.”

“You don’t need to put yourself in situations like this for me,” he says, stressing the for me part in both expression and tone. The depreciation makes you wince and you’re fast to shake your head.

“That’s what friends do, Bucky,” you stand your ground, but you know there’s more to your reasoning than that, “Plus, she’s a bad guy. And I know you said I technically wasn’t the sidekick, but—”

“You’re not the sidekick—”

“I know,” you huff, nudging him gently with your arm, “But, I wanna help. Do some good.”

“You do enough good,” he mutters, “You’re a good person.”

Your words fail you at that — and your mouth parts but nothing comes out. Bucky watches with an expression as solid as rock as you blink and look away. His hand, the one of flesh and bone, finds your wrist as you tighten your grip on your mug.

The touch, though far too tender for you to handle, feels like fire.

Like a slap in the face, you’re reminded of how handsome Bucky is.

You slap that thought back, trading volleys, and remain quiet.

His tone is stern. “I mean it.”

“Well,” you finally muster, tone dipping sardonically into a cruel peel of humor, “Just wait until you see me in my natural habitat. Maybe the tequila shots will make you second guess that.”

“I didn’t know we were going out drinking,” he chirps as he raises an eyebrow, “Am I going to need to get you a leash?”

“We’re gonna have to try and blend in as best we can. People are going to know me — if they try to pin me with the GRC or the feds, we aren’t going to get anything on Innessa. They probably won’t even let me in the building if they suspect something’s up, after all not everything that goes down in Glass Cannon is kosher.”

“This is already sounding like a bad idea,” Bucky mumbles as he crosses his arms, “I’m stating that for the record, by the way.”

“Well, I think standing around and working ourselves up about this is even worse of an idea,” you chirp back, moving towards the door to muscle on your shoes, “So I say we feed ourselves and don’t worry about this until Thursday night.”

“Thursday.”

You nod.

All of a sudden, Bucky’s eyes go wide.

“Today is Sunday.”

You freeze, hand on the doorframe. You shoot him a wide-eyed look at the sudden flare of panic that’s shot up through him. “Yea, Bucky, today is Sunday.”

“Shit.”

“What?” you nearly cry as he disappears into the bedroom once more. You hear his closet open, then a clatter as he grabs something like keys — you nearly run directly into his chest when he strides back into the kitchen. He’s shouldered on his usual leather jacket, and in his hands is another.

He’s got keys in his hand.

“C’mon.”

He shoves the jacket into your arms and you frown.

“What the hell?” you cry, doubling back to snag your phone and bag as Bucky moves to the door, “What is this?”

“Put it on,” he says, holding open the door for you as you follow him into the apartment hallway.

You raise a brow and stand there as he locks the door.

“Why?”

“Because,” Bucky mumbles, rubbing his face as he widens his strides to the stairwell across the hall; before you know it, you’re desperately trying to keep up as he bounces down the steps — light on his feet like the boxer he is — towards the lower level of the apartment complex, “We’re late.”

You groan, trying to shrug on the jacket that smells like Bucky as you follow — a smell you’d come to know as clean laundry and sandalwood. Must be something for his hair. He never wore cologne, that much was apparent. The jacket is big on you, especially on the shoulders. You were swimming in it, trying not to trip as he held the door open to the garage.

Suddenly, the air is cooler. Immediately you wonder how much his rent is if he had access to a ground level garage. Call it NYC instinct.

“Bucky,” you nearly whine, throwing your head back, “Where are we going?”

Before you get a reply, you run straight into his back. Bucky grunts, moving to grab both of your hands and push you to the front of him.

Sitting in the spot is a motorcycle.

It’s a jet black Harley.

Bucky is handing you the helmet on the back seat as your mouth moves in disbelief. “No way— no, I’m not getting on that thing. I’d rather sell my kidneys. Stop, stop — ow, Bucky — you haven’t even said where we’re going!”

He’s muscling the helmet onto your head and through the flash of the visor you can see a real smile, the sort born out of his never-ending amusement towards your fickle sense of humor. His fingers are nimble against your chin. He takes the time to strap it on, adjust it, and give it a gentle tug. Bucky taps the matte black helmet twice, then flicks the visor down.

“We’re going upstate.”

◦ ◦ ◦ ◦

It takes two hours to get to Elmwood Senior Living.

You spent the first forty-five minutes clinging to Bucky’s waist with your eyes closed — no fault of Bucky’s, really. It was different from riding in a car by miles, and you had your own qualms with driving. You couldn’t be in the passenger’s seat anymore. Not after the accident with Jaimie, when Mom disappeared. Being out of control made you itch; and it’s not until the fifty-minute mark that you ease up on the panic and remember who the man is that’s driving the bike.

You trust Bucky. You trust him with your life.

Once it’s open road, winding up towards the Northern part of the state, it gets easier.

Bucky can feel your grip around his waist loosen just a bit — and it’s enough reassurance that he stops looking back in the mirror every fifteen seconds. It’s enough permission to open up on the throttle, and the bike roars alive. Your immediate reaction is a gobsmacked yelp, the sort that’s pulled from a jolt of shock, but then comes the laugh.

Bucky’s own quiet chuckle rumbles against your chest. You hold on tighter, but this time with open palms against the thrum of his ribs.

Halfway through the trip, he pulls into a McDonald’s.

You drop your ass onto the parking lot’s curb as he leans against the bike and houses a burger. You laugh, eyeing him candidly as you take a large bite from your own lunch. Bucky is a mess with it — cursing quietly when he ends up getting ketchup on his jacket.

“Shit.”

“Jesus, Bucky,” you mutter, “Did you even taste that thing?”

“Barely,” he clears his throat and starts picking at his fries, “These things taste different now. First time I ever had McDonald’s was right before bootcamp.”

“How much was it? Five cents?” you snort, leaning back and dropping a fry into your mouth.

Bucky watches with a half-smirk. “Fifteen, but nice try.”

He spends the next five minutes on his hand with a wet nap, trying hard to get the grease out of the delicate plates along his palm. You watch, as you knock back the rest of your soda, as his eyes crinkle tightly in frustration. His mouth is pulled tightly into a fine line. For the second time today, you’re reminded of how handsome Bucky Barnes is — and how fucking stubborn he is, too.

“Want help?”

“No,” he mutters, trying to get a spot between his thumb and index finger, “I got it.”

“I have smaller fingers,” you sing-song, gathering up his trash and your trash and crossing the parking lot to the bin; upon returning, you waggle them in his face, “Good for hard to reach places.”

Bucky absolutely hates that can feel his blush hit the tips of his ears at the comment.

He’s glad you’re too preoccupied with his hand to notice. You’re watching, like you always do, with respectful awe. To you, this part of him is a bit like a treasure — you find it beautiful and intriguing and incredible. It’s clear in the way you watch the mechanisms turn and tighten that you aren’t frightened by it.

It unsettles Bucky every time.

Finally, once he’s finished under your watchful eyes, he leans to muscle that helmet back over your head. You groan, squinting tightly.

“C’mon,” he knocks your helmet with his knuckles, “We’re almost there.”

The rest of the ride is wide open space, farm land and mountainous peaks looming far ahead. It’s warm, and the sun is hot on your back. The wind is howling around you and it sends your jacket collar flapping against your neck. Your chin rests neatly on Bucky’s shoulder, trying to get a view of the road ahead.

Elmwood Senior Living is tucked into the back of a suburb.

The two of you weave through a neighborhood or two, dancing under the shade of age old maple trees. They cast long, scattered shadows across the pavement as kids play on their lawns. A dog barks somewhere in the distance. Over the hill, church bells ring. Sunday service has ended.

Bucky rolls into the parking lot, past the large sign with swirling lettering. Suddenly, things make more sense. Suddenly, you’re struck with a sinking feeling of grief. Nostalgia. Mourning. But, happiness.

There are folks sitting outside, basking in the sun, tethered to walkers.

Bucky’s wrists crank back weathered knuckles, and slowly the bike rumbles into an open spot. Extending his legs, Bucky balances the bike with ease. You take that as your cue to swing yourself off the back clumsily, hopping a bit. Bucky leans, kicks the stand down, and with significantly more grace than you, swings his leg over.

You’re shrugging his jacket off when he speaks.

“He’s going to be different than how you imagine him.”

You exhale slowly, draping the jacket over the bike’s seat. You peel the helmet off.

“I’ve sort of pieced that together.”

You can see the slight discomfort hanging in his posture. You reach and touch Bucky’s arm.

“Come on,” you nod to the entrance, covered by a shady overhang where someone is helping a family member out of their car, “We don’t wanna be late, huh?”

His eyes soften. Bucky nods.

You walk side-by-side into the lobby of Elmwood Senior Living and it’s like time slows down. It halts in a warm, sunshine colored still — full of chatter, full of humanity, full of wisdom. The room is framed by big windows, by plants, by a man in a U.S. Navy ball cap. He’s stationed by the door, watching the comings and goings. The main desk, where a young woman watches, sits in the corner. You follow Bucky with a content little look. He notices.

He stands a little closer at the main desk. The girl, who looks like she’s incredibly out of place with her blue hair and piercings, is younger than you thought. Highschool, maybe. She offers Bucky an excited smile.

“Took you long enough,” she chirps, moving to sort through a bin to her side with key fobs.

Your brows raise. You spy calculus homework on the desk.

Bucky snorts. “I’m here, aren’t I?”

He notices the same problem set you so, and purposely leans over the desk. Suddenly, you’re seeing flashes of a more boyish version of Bucky — one that reminds you of a man with siblings. Bucky taps the paper, jutting a chin to the girl as she tries to swat his attention away.

“How’d you do on that test?”

“I got a 96,” she chirps pridefully, laughing, “Thanks for the help, nerd.”

You’re watching the entire exchange with a smile, backing up a bit to toss a curious glance over your shoulder. There’s a dining room through open doors — and looks like lunch is just wrapping up. Folks are moving around, back to their rooms or upstairs where you can hear the beginnings of a seated aerobics class begin.

Bucky nudges you with his hand.

“Thanks, Sarah,” he says and waves the key she’d handed over.

The girl with the blue hair scoffs. “Say hi to grandpa for me, Bucket.”

You laugh out loud as Bucky quickly flips her off. She’s quick to do the same.

You follow him around the corner, grinning ear to ear. He spares you a sheepish look, then rolls his eyes.

“What was that?”

“She’s a good kid,” he offers, eyeing the key with the grey little fob attached, “Reminds me of my sister.”

Your face softens. “Sister?”

“Her name was Sarah, too,” he says quietly, boots landing softly on the blue carpet. He’s navigating the residential wing like he’s done it a million times. There are rooms with flowers outside, with holiday garb, with little photos and keepsakes. Each room holds a lifetime of personality — the sound of Jeopardy lulls along in the background.

You hum. Bucky sighs.

He meanders down a long hallway where a different door is — this one heavy and locked by the little keypad. Bucky raises the key fob to the device and the door buzzes.

This side of Elmwood is quieter.

Down the hall, Timmy Dorsey and Sinatra play quietly over someone’s record player.

There aren’t as many folks in the hall in this wing, but doors are open and nurses flit about. Around the corner, there’s a loud conversation going on about lunch — and you watch as Bucky weaves towards the nursing station. It’s a room overlooking the common area with windows. Inside are three women.

One of them immediately jumps when she sees Bucky.

“Oh, good! I was meaning to talk to you—”

“Everything alright?”

“About the same,” she breathes as she stands, moving to grab at a Bucky’s arm with a sense of motherliness that makes you smile, “But, meals have been a bit difficult lately.”

“No kidding,” he mutters, rubbing his chin, “He just doesn’t wanna eat?”

“He thinks Peggy is coming home,” the woman whispers with a pained smile as she begins to lead you both down the hall, “He thinks your grandmother made dinner for him.”

“Right,” Bucky nods, “Doesn’t wanna ruin his appetite.”

“Exactly.”

You take note of the conversation, muddling through your own confusion. You’re quiet, though. This isn’t really your conversation to have. Bucky seems to be relaxed more — even humming slightly to a song that plays across the hall from the room the nurse is knocking on.

“Mr. Carter?” she calls gently, “Your grandson is here to see you, and his…”

She looks expectantly at you. You bawk.

“Friend.”

“Right,” she smiles and pushes open the door.

It’s like a little slice of home.

Sofas, chairs, photos on the walls. There’s a record player in the corner, a television, a coffee table stacked with books on the second world war. There’s a dresser covered in baubles and warm light coming in from the window overlooking the street. It reminds you of your grandparents’ sitting room — everything looks so lived in, so comfortable, so alive.

And then, below the light of the window, is a hospital bed.

In it is Steve Rogers.

Not the one you know — no, this one has lived a full life. This Steve Rogers has fallen in love, owned a home, settled down. This Steve Rogers has years of wisdom settled into his face, years of well-fought fights in his joints. His blonde hair has gone shock white, but his smile is all the same.

“Bucky.”

The way Steve says his name is like the man beside you holds the world.

To Bucky, he can hear a new weakness. A new exhaustion.

“Hi, punk.”

The nurse offers a little wave to you as Bucky ventures into the room, stripping his jacket off and moving to scope out the minifridge in the small kitchenette beside the bathroom. She leaves the door open, and you smile to her softly. Bucky rummages, poking his head up.

“You want a drink, Steve?” he asks, tone almost like he’s feeling out the lucidity of the man across the room, “There’s some of that lemonade I brought last week in here.”

“Sounds good,” he says slowly, “Please.”

You feel out of place — not unwelcome, but… it’s clear that Bucky has come and gone from here a thousand times now. He knows to get the glasses out, to get a straw, to turn down the record player on his way over. Doris Day’s voice lowers to a soft croon. You watch with heavy eyes.

“I brought someone, Steve,” Bucky says, “She’s a big fan.”

“Oh?” Steve asks with a slow look to the corner where you’re standing, “That musta broke your heart.”

Bucky snorts as he moves to swing the hospital bed’s tray over Steve’s lap. He places the lemonade down, then the other glass on the nightstand. He’s quick to move the armchair closer to the nightstand, and gestures for you to come over. Bucky’s hands guide you by the shoulders as he plops you into the chair.

“She’s one of the good ones,” Bucky says, “Reminds me of you.”

“No kidding,” Steve says slowly, offering a hand that shakes, “Steve Rogers. It’s a pleasure.”

You exchange your name with a shy look, shaking that hand with reverence and gentility. “It’s an honor, Mr. Rogers.”

“Please,” he mumbles, moving to slowly take a sip of his lemonade, “Steve is fine.”

Bucky moves to take up a post on the opposite side of Steve, in the sun. “You’re losin’ weight, y’know.”

That earns him a wave of the hand.

Bucky leans back and sips his lemonade. He waggles a finger and you watch the two begin to go back and forth.

“No, no,” he swallows, “No, you don’t get t’ shrug me off—”

“M’fine, Buck,” a sigh, “Really.”

“Mhm,” he narrows his eyes, “You’re startin’ to look like the Steve I knew before the serum.”

You lean back, hiding a quiet smirk behind your hand.

“I was wondering when you were gonna show up an’ pester me,” he says with a tired look, “The only peace I get around here is when Peggy comes home.”

Your eyes jump to Bucky. He’s watching you.

“Peggy?” you ask gently, “Is that your wife?”

A proud smile washes over his face. “Still knocks me for a loop, too.”

“Steve,” Bucky’s voice is gentle, “Peggy won’t be coming around for a while. Remember?”

There’s a look that flashes across Steve’s face, then. A mixture of sadness, of confusion, of panic. It’s clouded with a furrow of his brow, hidden by a tilt of the head. He looks at Bucky, mouth pulled in a fine line.

When he finally speaks, his voice is sad.

“That’s right. I forgot.”

“S’alright,” Bucky taps his head, maintaining an air of nonchalance, “That’s why you got me.”

“And why you’ve got her, no doubt,” he turns to you with a winning smile and offers his hand again, “Steve Rogers. Nice to meet you.”

You take it, you shake it, and you introduce yourself once more. Your smile is patient and understanding. “I’ve heard a lot about you, Steve.”

Bucky breathes a sigh of relief. Steve smiles, tossing Bucky a look that borders on mischievous.

He sips his lemonade and clears his throat. “How is Sam?”

“You ask every time,” Bucky mutters, “And every time I have the same answer.”

“Sam?” you ask slowly.

“Wilson,” Bucky finishes, “Bird man.”

“You mean Falcon,” you correct, shooting him a stern look, “The Falcon. Are you ghosting The Falcon?”

“I don’t know what that even means, so maybe,” Bucky leans back and crosses his legs, “I’ve been busy.”

You roll your eyes. Steve saw. He smiles.

“I’m gettin’ why he keeps you around.”

Your face is smacked with a look of pure joy.

“C’mon on now,” Bucky cries, nearly indignantly, “No flirting—”

“M’ not flirting—”

“I know that look, Steve—”

Steve is laughing.

Bucky has a stern look in his eye. “You always do this—”

“I’m not doin’ a damn thing—”

“And you better keep it that way, old man,” Bucky shirks, voice splintering into a laugh in a way that you’ve never heard before, “I swear, this is how it always goes.”

“Always the bridesmaid, never the bride, huh, Buck?” you ask gently, leaning your cheek into your hand.

Steve laughs loudly at that.

Bucky spares you a smile — the sort that’s drenched in good humor and sunlight. It makes your lungs flutter, and you ignore the buzz in your fingers at the sight. You hide your laugh into your cup of lemonade, resigning to be a quiet counterpart in the conversation.

The two of them go on to chat about small things, then chat about old things. From the Commandos, to HYDRA, to amends, to therapy, to Peggy, to the itch the starch of their old dress uniforms used to bring. It takes a bit, a few redirections on the way, but it’s clear by the end why Steve Rogers is in Elmwood’s memory unit.

It makes your heart ache.

And if a super soldier is bed-ridden…

The two of you say goodbye around three in the afternoon after Bucky helps Steve shave.

The walk back to the bike is quiet.

Bucky speaks first.

“He’s dying.”

You chew your lip, eyes on the pavement. You match his slow stride, bumping your elbow with his as you walk. It’s still warm, and the clouds hang high in the sky. When you look up, Bucky’s watching you. You sigh.

“I’m sorry,” you finally muster, “I am.”

“Don’t be,” he says, grabbing the jacket from the seat and holding it up, “He’s lived a long life.”

You let Bucky hold out the arm for you, and you press your hand through the sleeve. He helps the other side on, and you zip it up to your chin. When you turn around to face him, there are tears in your eyes.

They snuck up on you. You hadn’t realized it until Bucky’s face fell, until the first one fell along the weathered leather of the jacket. You blink, raising your brows as you swipe them away, and offer an apologetic look.

“I’m happy,” you say, “Y’know. He has you. But, he’s a man out of time. Even now. That makes me sad.”

Bucky’s quiet for a while. He’s leaned up against the bike as you turn and watch Elmwood from the back of the parking lot. There’s a big part of you that feels heavy with guilt — and though Steve was in good spirits when you left, you can’t help but ache to provide him with more company. It’s clear that seeing Bucky means a lot to him, and that in turn it means a lot to the man beside you.

“Come on,” Bucky says then, “Let’s go home.”

You nod, let him muscle that helmet onto your head one more time, and hold on a little tighter back to the city.

◦ ◦ ◦ ◦

You don’t see Bucky until Tuesday.

In all honesty, it feels weird to not hear from him for two days. At the very least, you expected some sort of phone call — but you remind yourself that you’ve been okay alone for a long time. There’s no need to throw all your work on being comfortable by yourself out the window for Bucky Barnes.

It’s tempting, though. God, it’s really tempting.

You hate the ache in your chest when you finally see him lumbering towards the cafe counter before your appointments. You hate this new feeling — so you shove it down and ignore the way his fingers brush yours when he hands you your latte.

He is ignoring it, too. He’s been ignoring it.

No use in thinking about it though.

“You got plans later?” you ask him in the elevator after your appointment, tilting your head, “Apparently there’s a Lord of the Rings marathon tonight on FX.”

Bucky stiffens — and immediately he can feel the hot sting of anxious regret flood his cheeks. He clears his throat, tucks his hands in his pockets, and toes the ground. You watch with a confused look. Then he speaks tightly.

“...I’ve got a date.”

You could have caught flies the way your jaw fell open.

“Oh. Oh!”

You blink, readjust your expression, and swallow down a sharp stab of rejection.

Bucky clears his throat. “It’s… I wasn’t going to but, Dr. Raynor—”

“No, no,” you wave your hands and shake your head and try to seem genuine, “No, I’m happy for you. Is this one of those Christian Minglers?”

Bucky groans. “Shut up.”

“Okay,” you say, “Okay! Just, uh, be careful. Y’know? And call if you need anything.”

The elevator doors open, and Bucky walks side by side with you through the well-lit lobby. He holds the door open for you, and you pass through with a pained look at the ground. He lingers, though, rubbing the back of his neck as you wait for him to say what’s on his mind.

“Thursday,” he says, “I’ll stop by.”

“Yea,” you say, waving your hand, “Whenever.”

But, that doesn’t end up happening.

No, Bucky Barnes shows up at your apartment doorstep at 10pm.

He’s clutching takeout and a six pack of beer and wearing a horrified expression that screams of guilt and exhaustion. No, Bucky buzzes the door to your apartment and basically croaks that he’s here — he’s asking if the marathon is still on while you buzz him up.

“Third floor,” you say into the buzzer with a smile, “Come on in, old man.”

When you open the door, you have to laugh — because his hair is a mess and there’s still a trace of lipstick on the corner of his mouth. Whereas jealousy threatens to flare, his incredibly regretful expression tamps it down. You cock a hip, eye him up and down, and jut your chin out.

“Get laid?”

Bucky rolls his eyes so hard you’re surprised he didn’t break something.

He pushes past you, moving to drop the beer on the counter and place the takeout gently down by the basket of fruit.

“I’m here for the cat,” he grumbles, “Not your witty commentary, sweetheart.”

You’re moving quietly to the sink and gathering a paper towel with a smirk as Bucky looks around, admiring the decor and aliveness of your apartment. When you turn around, he’s already pried a beer from the pack and popped the top off with his vibranium palm.

He winces when you reach up to swipe the coral lipstick from the corner of his mouth.

Then Bucky settles, letting you clean off the mess.

“Mhm,” you hum, “Right. Was it at least fun?”

“She had fun,” he mutters into his first sip, “It was a lotta tongue for my first night out in nearly a century, though.”

You wince. He nods with a sardonic smile that tells you everything about how the date went down — and you’re relieved. “So, I take it you're not calling her in the morning?”

“No,” he shakes his head, “Nope. No, and I’ve decided no more dates. That was enough for me.”

You wince and pluck a beer from the pack. Wordlessly, Bucky gestures for you to hand it over. In one smooth motion, he twists the cap off with his hand.

“That bad?” you ask, eyeing him critically.

“I decided halfway through,” he says as he moves to take the takeout from its bag, “I’d rather be watching Lord of the Rings with you.”

That stops you into silence. It’s like someone’s taken your own words and gagged you with them — and you’re left floundering for breath you never even realize you lost. You know he means it. You know it because he won’t look at you, because that sort of confession isn’t easy for people like you two. So you take those words and you glue them in a lonely locket and keep them close to your heart.

Poke’s entrance saves you a mouthful of broken words — he comes in, trots up to Bucky, and hollers.

Bucky laughs.

“Nice to meet you, too,” he mutters, eyeing the cat that’s eagerly rubbing himself along Bucky’s leg.

You wipe your face, sip your beer, and move to the pantry across from the kitchen island. You come back out with a bag of salmon treats — the good ones — and offer Bucky the bag. He takes it, eyes still on the calico, and crinkles it a little.

You lean against the counter and watch Bucky kneel.

“If you keep it up long enough he might even let you hold him.”

He lights up at that.

You laugh.

You move to grab plates and forks and knives and groan when you open up the first box to see Pad Thai — you make a mental note to properly thank Bucky for this. You meager dinner of reheated pasta really hadn’t hit the spot. This will, though. You can tell from the smell alone.

By your knees, Poke chirps.

“He’s cute.”

“I never took you for a cat guy.”

Bucky snorts.

You make a plate and flick his head as you walk by. “You’re missing the start of The Two Towers.”

“I’m going to be confused, aren’t I?” he asks as he stands and begins making himself a plate. He watches as you settle onto the couch and sip your beer, “I was too busy being turned into a cyborg to read the books.”

You laugh out loud. It shocks you.

“Was that a joke? Did Bucky Barnes just make a joke?”

He’s smirking. He rounds the counter with his food and settles next to you. Poke is following him, eager to curl up next to his new friend.

“I can be funny.”

“Funny lookin’.”

He elbows you on purpose. You snort into your beer.

There’s a comfortable moment of quiet between you, and you clear your throat.

“Thanks.”

“Yeah,” he says slowly, “No problem.”

More quiet, and he’s still watching you. Then, he asks what’s been on his mind for the last three days.

“You got a plan for Thursday?”

“I’ve got anxiety, Buck,” you exhale, swigging your beer and turning the television up, “I always have a plan.”

#vacant mirrors #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes x you #winter soldier imagine #tfatws imagine #marvel imagine #bucky x y/n #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes/reader #bucky/reader

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wildernessuntothemselves · 3 years

Text

All my kitty!lino AUs

Warnings: prostitution, slavery.

AU 1:

minho is a prized breeding kitty that you're hired to guard as he is a very rare and pure breed and having him breed other pure kitties makes for very profitable offspring

as a result of being treated like royalty all his life, he's super rude to you, a common guard dog

he's always snarky with you and he never listens and you have enough of it one day

you push him down to the floor, your teeth grazing against his delicate neck, showing him that you were not someone to be trampled on

"that's right. you have nothing to say now, brat." you growl, sitting up to look at the frightened kitty

but as you sit back, your ass comes into contact with his boner

arching an eyebrow, you smirk and roll your hips over his clothed dick "now what do we have here?"

minho stays silent, frowning but not making any attempt to push you off

"don't tell me you like this." you tease him, grinding against him harder and pulling breathy little moans from his pouty lips "kitty likes it when I'm mean to him?"

"Yeah you like that pretty kitty? Are you gonna make a mess in your pants for me? Good boy."

you make him cum like that without even touching his dick

minho is shameless after that brazenly getting on your nerves so you'd punish him

he gets so needy that now you're getting him off on the daily, letting him hump your thighs to get off while you degrade him

his insatiable need would be bad enough but now he's outright refusing to breed the cat hybrids anymore

no matter how many times you try to convince the stubborn idiot that he's going to draw attention and ruin you both, he still refuses

until finally you make a deal with him that you'll have sex with him if he continues breeding the cats

he's not fully convinced. why would he waste his seed on other women when you were right there?

"because I'm not your kind, you stupid cat."

but minho doesn't care. all he cares about is getting to breed you

"Fuck you're burning up. Are you going into heat over this? Dumb little kitten thinks he can put babies in my belly."

your words only make him fuck you harder as if he could do it if he tried hard enough

AU 2:

he's the prince's very picky kitty, rarely is a cat good enough for him. he rarely mates at all and the prince doesn't understand it one bit

one day they're walking around shopping in the bazaar when lino catches a whiff of your scent. he follows it to a shady part of the market that he never saw before

that's when he sees you standing there with a heavy chair around your neck and a cheap transparent dress over your body

out of nowhere a short disgusting man appear and he asks him if he wants to see your tits. it's only for a couple of coins

minho shouldn’t say yes. He has a whole harem of much better bred pussies for him to pick and choose from. He didn’t need to pay a disgusting man to see the body of some nameless mongrel

yet here he was hanging the slimey man the coins

the man all but rips your bodice open, eager to please the rich hybrid.

Minho feels an uncomfortable tightness in his pants. His mouth waters at the sight of your full breasts on display for him and he finds himself moving forward to touch, but the man steps in.

“The silver was to see not to touch. Three if you want to touch.”

Minho grunts and gives him what he wants. you don't seem impressed by him.

He cradles your breasts in his hands and leans down to pluck a pert nipple into his mouth, ear perked to the sound of your restrained gasp.

but then he hears the prince calling for him and he rips himself away from you and wipes his mouth harshly, panting as if he was under a spell.

Gulping, he spares your half naked form one last glance before he’s retreating towards his owner. As he slips back into the main room he hears the vendor call after him smugly, “We’ll be waiting for you, my lord.”

He does come back, this time more worked up than last time as he couldn't go to sleep thinking about you and he was reduced to getting himself off multiple time throughout the night just to cool down

his owner catches him this time though. "So this is why you were so eager to come back even though you hate the market. I gotta say I'm surprised by your taste." The prince grins. "Did you mount her yet?"

Minho blanches, feeling humiliated at being caught "of course not. I would never defile myself with such a mongrel."

The prince arches an eyebrow. "It's okay minho. Sometimes you need to slum it down a little. I get that urge too. Cheap prostitutes like her have their draw."

The prince grabs you and pushes her over a table, pulling your skirt up. "Come on kitty. Take her. I know you're dying to."

minho's hesitation evaporate when he sees your pussy exposed and waiting for him. he quickly comes up beind you, pushing his length into you even though you weren't wet. it's uncomfortable but it's not the first time a man shoves his dick into your pussy without bothering to get you wet

it's over soon anyway, the spoiled cat getting overwhelmed by your tight walls and ends up cumming embarrassingly fast. He stumbles away, watching his cum drip from your fucked out hole.

"We'll take her."

Minho looks at him shocked. "I finally have something for my precious pet to fuck. You're so picky."

AU 3:

You were standing outside the gymnasium for a quick smoke when a voice slurs behind you. "Where is your little boyfriend?"

You roll your eyes, already fed up with the boy that is talking to you.

"What, he couldn't stand the thought of fucking you tonight so he ran away?"

You narrow your eyes at him. How did he know you were planning to give your virginity to your Hyunjin tonight? If he had shown up that is.

You don't even know what minho's deal is. He wasn't always like this. You remember a time long, long ago when the two of you were friends. He was so nice and sweet to you when you first met as kids. But then suddenly out of nowhere he turned on you for absolutely no reason.

"Tell me, mutt. What was he gonna give you so he could get between your legs? A pack of cigarettes?" Oh yeah, that’s why. He looks down on you for not being a purebred like him.

You huff the smoke in his face in agitation, still ignoring him.

"Aw, don't be sad. If he won't do it, I can rise to the occasion. Just tell me how much." He goads you. You throw the cigarette to the ground, violently snuffing it out with your heels when an idea pops into your head.

Looking up at him, you reply simply. "50k."

"W-what?"

"You're so fucking obsessed with my sex life so you must really want me. So yeah I'll give it to you for 50k."

"You're a crazy bitch."

you were just messing with him. and he worked. he left you alone

what you never expected was for him to show up the next day at your door, shoving a heavy suitcase into your arms

"what's this?"

"50k." He mumbles.

“Is this a joke?”

“You said you’d give it to me for 50k.” He explains flatly, looking everywhere except at you.

you walk towards him. "You really are a sick pervert, aren't you? Buying my virginity?"

He stays silent, looking at the ground so you grab his jaw and force him to look at you.

"You're not in control. I am. Got it?" You sneer, and he stares for a second, processing that you’re actually agreeing to go through with this, then he nods enthusiastically.

AU 4:

you're a dog hybrid and he's a cat hybrid. He's been kissing you secretly since long ago

You know it's wrong but you like it so you keep it a secret. and you always get so jealous when his heat comes and he goes away to fuck someone else.

When he comes back he's apologetic and spends days trying to make you forgive him. He shouldn't have to. He's not yours.

You touch yourself while you're sleeping next to him a lot. He pretends he doesn't know but it drives him insane

He's waits till you have your first heat. You're supposed to be given to chan but he convinces you not to let your owner know telling you he'll take care of you

You know this is forbidden but you let him fuck you because you're in love with him.

"Oppa this is too much."

"Shh baby take it. You've teased me long enough."

He cums in you but doesn't pull out so he can fuck you more. He's been training himself for this in order to satisfy you.

You get overwhelmed and he laughs at how cute you are. ask him to kiss you so he does

"What a cutie. All mine."

"Open your mouth." He lets a trail of spit fall from his mouth and you obediently open up and take it like you've been taught. He groans and kisses you softly. You whine in his mouth as he fucks you again.

"Not gonna go to that mutt right baby? Only I get to do this to you."

AU 5:

he's the queens pet and you're the leader of a mercenary group the queen has hired to fight a battle for her

he immediately takes an interest in you and follows you around thinking that he's slick

In the beginning, his infatuation was merely amusing to you as you took to teasing him whenever you got the chance--cornering him when the princess wasn't looking and whispering filthy things in his ear. It was both easy and fun to work up the needy kitten.

What you hadn’t expected was for him to walk in on you while you were fucking one of your own hybrids, Chan. The big wolf tended to get rowdy so you were often rough with him to keep him under control, and well that's how the masochistic hybrid liked it too.

You expected him to be terrified of you after that, he certainly looked the part, but he surprised you by coming to you teary eyes and whimpering pleas so moving that you couldn’t resist giving him whatever he asked for, which was badly worded and clueless seeing as he had never been in any kind of physical relationship before.

He’s never done something like this before. His owner, the queen, kept him on a tight leash, untouched and forever pure. He had been taking suppressants ever since his very first heat and, before he met you, he had barely remembered what it was like to feel that painfully delicious pang of pleasure in his belly.

He holds onto you as you pleasure him, one hand fisted in your clothes and the other wrapped around your wrist as if he was afraid you were going to hurt him. If you were to look at his expression, you would think that you were hurting him, a small frown on his face as he whines and whimpers.

You stroke his cheek softly with the back of your fingers, finding it hot to the touch. “What is it, kitten?”

“It hurts.” He sobs.

“I know, baby. I’ll make it go away.” You almost feel guilty for purposefully prolonging his pain, the stimulation you give his cock designed to make him reach the edge at the slowest possible pace, but the truth is you weren’t sorry at all.

“You know, kitten, you should come with me when I leave. I’ll hide you until we’re out of the castle walls. Your princess won’t even realize you’re missing until it’s too late, and when you’re with me, every moment will be filled with pleasure. I’ll take care of you like she never did. I’ll show you a whole world of pleasure. How does that sound, kitty?” You seduce as your thumb flits over his weeping slit, distracting him and seducing him. “Hmm, you wanna come with me?”

“I--I’m not--I don’t know.” He answers nervously, his brain too hazy especially as you finally speed up your strokes, jumbling up all his thought process.

“Don’t think too much, kitten. Don’t you want to feel good?” You purr, tightening your fist around his cock to give him more pleasure.

“Yes, but--”

“No buts, darling. Don’t you wanna be a good kitten for Master?” You ask, referring to yourself and he gasps, his cock jumps in your hand. “Yeah, you like that, don’t you? You’re a dirty little kitten, aren’t you?”

“No!” He cries, shaking his head from side to side, but there is no denying the way his stomach tightens and his hips buck off the bed as his orgasm approaches and his primal senses take over. “I can’t take it! Please, help me. I can’t--”

His seed splatters across his abdomen as he cums, and you talk him through it. “That’s it, baby. Let go for me. Let it all out. Good kitten.”

you ruin him so thoroughly that he gives into her and lets her fuck him in front of the queen herself

"Lino stop that! You sound like a common whore."

"I can't help it. Mistress… is making me burn up." "Ah fuck." He keens

"Your precious kitten is getting fucked regularly, that’s why he sounds like that. He’s nothing but a loose slut right now. I fucking ruined him. Isn’t that right, kitten?"

"Hah... touch my cock." He drools on the sheets under him and you laugh, grabbing his cock from underneath and starting to milk him. “See? Just a dumb slut.”

___________

A/N: one of these will most likely get a proper fic but I couldn’t keep these to myself

#stray kids smut #minho smut #sub!idol #dom!reader #sub!reader

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221bshrlocked · 2 years

Note

Hey Maggie, I just had a thot out of the blue that I had to share with you, so I hope it's okay 😂

Imagine you're next door neighbor with Javier, you share a wall, and sometimes when you hear him with another woman you get a bit horny and start pleasuring youself.

One night, you hear him again with some random woman and you get to your business, but don't really like the sounds the woman is making so you start making your sounds.

and perhaps they're a little too loud which you don't even notice, but Javier hears you and quickly covers the womans mouth with his hand so he can hear you, and then basically he and you are getting off to the sounds you're making.

In the end, maybe you moan his name and maybe he moans yours and the rest is history 😏

Javier is shameless. He won't give a flying fuck if he's shushing the woman he's fucking. He really wouldn't. Because he's only with this rando because he couldn't get his mind off of you. The sweet, smart, sexy fucking neighbor that he knew very well he shouldn't mess with because how awkward would it be when he got past the "i wanna fuck her" phase and moved on to someone else. But as he hears you moans his name along with the occasional-

"faster baby"

"fuck me harder Javi"

"cum in my pussy"

"use me to get your cock off"

"feel so good Javi please, fuck me like you own me"

"no one fills me up like you"

"mark me up...paint me with your cum...choke me harder...spit in my mouth"

"you're so fucking hard for me baby i can feel you everywhere"

"make me cum on your cock please"

"you make me so wet baby, just hearing your voice gets me going"

"give it to me baby yes oh fuck yes yes yes Javi baby I- I'm so close I-"

And he normally lasts all night long. He does. That's why all of Colombia knows him. But as soon as he hears the high pitched sound of you coming hard, he can't hold back and he groans and bangs against the wall as he pulls out and makes a mess of the woman he's with. He feels like shit because he completely forgot to make her cum but he doesn't like anyone to leave his bed unsatisfied so he slithers down and fucks her with his tongue and thick fingers and she keeps screaming and he wishes he can drown her out but he can't so he hopes you're listening in so you can tell that he's as much a giver as he's a taker and when she finally cums, Javi brings her some water and tells her she can stay if she wants. But the woman leaves and thanks him for a fun night and as soon as she's out, Javier slips into a pair of jeans and moves out into the escape ladder to smoke and even though he knows he shouldn't be a creeper, he can't help but take a step to the side to peek into your room and what he sees makes him hard all over again because there you were, naked and sweaty on top of your sheets, with your hands still between your thighs and he doesn't know what's gotten into him so he just knocks on the glass window and he's ready to apologize for scaring you but you smile and open your legs wider and Javi just throws the cigarette butt before raising your window and slipping inside and he stands at the foot of the bed as he stares at you and studies the way you're teasing him and-

"you're this wet for me bebecita?"

And you whine in return and Javier slips out of his jeans before he makes his way up your body and he can taste the sweat on your skin and as soon as he comes face to face with your cunt, he doesn't waste a second before he devours you and-

JAVIER FUCKING PENA IS A MENACE TO SOCIETY BUT I WOULD TOTALLY LET ME DICK ME DOWN!!!

#javier pena #pedro pascal #thot #headcanon #drabble

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starlessea · 3 years

Text

Sea Witch (Daryl Dixon/Reader)

Era: S4

Summary: You sing just like a siren, and it makes Daryl realise why some sailors chose to drown.

Words: 1521

Warnings: Language.

Daryl was bewitched. He'd tip-toed his way out of the cellblock like a ghost haunting the hallways - careful not to wake anyone. He'd always had trouble sleeping, and found himself sneaking out for a midnight cigarette more often than not. Though, he'd run out of them the week before last, and had only recently managed to find a soggy packet on yesterday's supply run. He'd been waiting for this, and his fingertips traced over the carton in his pocket - feeling antsy to breathe in that first breath of smoke.

Except, he had forgotten all about them when he made his way outside. It was dark, and usually Daryl would find a secluded spot in the courtyard to flick his lighter like it was a sparkler in the night, and let the ends of his cigarettes burn his fingers just so that he could remember the feeling. But tonight was different.

He thought it must be the witching hour, because the world didn't quite feel like it had when he’d left it. The moon was out, and it cast a hazed glow over the fields, and made Daryl's hands look a lot paler than they were. Yet, the sky was clear enough that he could see the countless stars hanging in it - like peering sets of eyes staring down at him. Daryl wasn't the type of man to spook easily, but something about this night set him on edge.

Then, he heard it. He wasn't entirely sure from where, but he could definitely hear it nonetheless. The man took a few tentative steps, whipping his head around to try and find the source of the noise. He couldn't, but he kept searching in the dark, as if some strange magnetism wouldn't let him leave. Daryl was bewitched - but by what exactly, he did not know.

You stood in the watchtower, overlooking the rolling fields and the forest that concealed any world that may exist beyond the prison. It was like you all lived on an island, lost out at sea. You wished that were the case - and that whoever dared to try and come for you would drown in their manmade boats and leave you all in peace.

Everything had been calm since you'd taken down Woodberry, but you couldn't help but feel it was the calm before the storm. So, you watched. You peered into the dark like you expected to see something there, and counted down the minutes until you could switch your shift and rest your eyes for good.

On nights like this, you felt an unease creep into your bones. You had no explanation for it, except the fact that everything felt too quiet. You didn't like that very much, so you decided to change it. Humming softly to yourself at first, you let your voice get gradually louder, as it got carried off by the wind like a ship to the current.

"My heart is pierced by cupid-" you sang, the words coming out sweet and thick.

"I distain all glittering gold. There is nothing can console me-"

The breeze had died down, so that your voice rang clearer in the stagnant air, seeming to carry all away to that forest and beyond.

"But my jolly sailor bold."

Daryl thought he'd gone mad. He paced around the courtyard like a fish bobbing around a lure - except, he couldn't see the lure dangling right in front of him. His cigarette remained unlit between his lips, and was mostly unsmokable from how much he'd chewed it between his teeth. The song was unlike anything he'd ever heard before, and he couldn't let himself return to his cell until he found out who sang it. It was strange; he felt more trapped here, outside, than he had done within the prison.

The moonlight allowed him a good enough view of the area, but he could see no other figures aside from his own shadow. He wondered if he was stuck in the midst of a dangerous game - but he felt himself too far gone to turn back now. The man spat the cigarette out from his mouth and stomped over it with his boot, grumbling under his breath about how much of a waste it was.

He turned on his heels, ready to call it a night - albeit a disappointing one. Then, he heard it again, and Daryl Dixon was no quitter.

"His hair it hangs in ringlets, his eyes as black as coal-" you continued, staring out into the abyss like you expected to see a ship break through the misty fog and drop anchor at your gates.

"My happiness attend him wherever he may go."

Then, you saw him. A figure stood below the watchtower, looking up at you like they'd just stumbled upon the new world. You let your words trail off and squinted, trying to get a look at whoever it was.

Daryl stood triumphantly at the base of the tower, having found the source of the siren song. He hadn't expected it to be you - but that was probably intentional. Daryl batted all thoughts of you away like they were oncoming attacks, not letting him alone for more than a minute. He really did feel bewitched by you, by your unassuming smile, or the way you laughed at other people's jokes that weren't his - and how he wished he'd been the one to tell them. He hadn't thought you'd been the one singing, but that was only because he tried to think of everyone else it could be, first.

"Who ya tryna lure in?" Daryl called up at you, and you flinched.

You hadn't expected for the shadow in the dark to be him, but you couldn't say that you minded, either.

"Jesus, Daryl!" You yelled back, resting your hand over your heart. "You scared me."

It wasn't a lie, but it wasn't entirely the truth. You'd seen him before he'd even called out. The only thing that had scared you was realising it was Daryl. The man left you utterly speechless on a good day, and you wondered whether tonight was a good night.

"Nah, ya scared me." He grumbled in response, keeping his voice loud so you could still hear it.

You couldn't make out any of his features from where he stood, but the moonlight illuminated enough that you could see him looking straight up at you - like you were the beacon atop of a lighthouse.

"Thought my time was comin' to an end." He remarked, and you stifled a laugh. "Jus' wanted a cigarette an' I got the sea witch over here singin' some creepy shit."

You felt your cheeks burn, suddenly feeling too tongue-tied for someone who'd spent the night pouring over all the lyrics and melodies you could remember. It was like you'd used up all your words on your songs - leaving you silent for longer than you'd like.

"It's not creepy!" You argued, after a few seconds, but the man already knew.

Daryl wasn't sure why he'd said that, and suddenly wished he could take it back. He glanced up at you, leaning on the railing of the tower as your hair draped over the edge of it. To him, you almost seemed like an apparition - standing there against the ghostly moon like you were made to exist for this night.

"Ya got a pretty voice." He mumbled, wanting you to know what he’d really meant to say.

You bent further over the guard, trying to hear what the man had muttered into the night.

"What?" You shouted, calling out to him. "I can't hear you from down there."

He remained silent, or maybe you'd just missed what he'd said again. He felt so far away from you, and you wished he'd just come closer.

"Are you going to come up?" You prompted, but felt your heart sink as he quickly shook his head.

"Nah." He replied. "Don' fancy drownin' tonight."

You raised an eyebrow, not having the slightest clue what he meant. The man didn't give you much time to mope, however, as he called back up to you before he left.

"Maybe tomorrow." He said, and you watched the angel wings of his jacket catch the light as he turned around.

"Okay." You smiled to yourself. "See you around, Sailor!"

And so, Daryl returned back to the cellblock for the night, thumbing over the near-full packet of cigarettes in his pocket. The prison was as quiet as it was when he'd left, and he wasn't sure if any time had even passed since he’d been gone. The man slumped back onto his mattress and felt himself drift off to sleep like a boat adrift over waves, feeling more tired than he’d done in a long time.

Daryl fell asleep to dreams of peering, starlit eyes and a sea witch who stood among them, and you continued to sing until another figure was lured to your watchtower - this time, to take over your shift.

A/N I was listening to this cover of Jolly Sailor Bold whilst writing this. It’s honestly so enchanting-

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