#Group Lucky Letter

[peppermintmochafem]

Would you let me play with some of the other pets in here, if they'd also like that? I'm sure you could match me with another puppy and we could playfight, get some of that energy out. You could watch and make sure it doesn't go too far. If you wouldn't encourage that, I mean.

Awww what are a good reminder that you are just entertainment for me to use and enjoy 🥰

[cherrymerrymuffin]

.[Princess Stuff.] Happy New Year and all the Best for you! von .Princess Stuff. Über Flickr: Happy New Year and all the Best for you! Taxi: maps.secondlife.com/secondlife/Souled%20Out/134/75/2503 Pls wear your Princess Stuff Grouptag - to get the Gift. PS: Last Day of Dez Hunts, Midnight Mania, Lucky Letters & Camp Chairs - will change the next days! xoxo Cat <3

[luckyletter]

Zen Creations Mainstore!

Zen Creations!

All Lucky Letters are Set on Group - but the Group is FREE to join!

Group: secondlife:///app/group/ab3fc169-724a-a25b-eedd-f03478672a81/about

(Ps: The have Great Groupgifts - all Free)

Taxi: http://maps.secondlife.com/secondlife/Island%20of%20Zen/127/80/2501

[timetothirst]

Simon Riley is (not so) secretly a huge sap | Part 2

(A/N)- FLUFF FLUFF FLUFF. and a little angst but mostly so much sweetness that it’ll raise your blood sugar. i banged this out in one sitting with no breaks so if it seems incorrect or weird then no it isn’t. i’m sleep deprived and v lonely i hope u understand. That being said enjoy my little goobers! MWAH

You love Simon’s tattoos. You trace them with your fingers whenever you get the chance, kiss the ones on his chest and shoulders whenever he huddles close to you in bed. You even managed to convince him to let you color in part of his sleeve once, provided you used washable markers. He lets you doodle on him too, if you like. You have to use black pen, though- he’s got a theme going, don’t you know.

Sometimes, when curiosity strikes you, you’ll point to a particular one, ask how he got it and why. His answers range from profound and emotional to “Eh, I thought it’d look cool. And I was right.” These ones are your personal favorites, the ones that are only there to fill out the tapestry on his skin. Like the small, quarter-sized ones hidden on the inside of his wrist, all grouped together; A bucket hat, a baseball cap and a little bar of soap. The symbol for TF141 on his bicep. Barbed wire, chains, and swirling flames that seemed to leap off his skin, even in black and white. A ballistic missile with a shark face painted on it, which- and even he would admit this- was a bit of an impulse decision, and kind of clashed with the rest of his sleeve, even though it still looked good.

There are ones you know not to bring up. Ones that clearly have dark memories attached, his own twisted way of explaining why he was who he was, ensuring he never forgot. It wasn’t healthy to have permanent reminders of his perceived failures etched into his flesh. He knew that now, but they still held sentimental value, however strange that may have sounded. A cockroach on his shoulder, dog tags. A rifle, helmet and boots, all stood up together. A date written above three skulls, side by side, one of them far too small. You didn’t ask about these.

It’s because of this that, when he brings you a gift one day, its importance isn’t clear right away.

You’d been together a while. It wasn’t a birthday or an anniversary, nothing too special. Still, hed gotten you something anyway

“Oh. Almost forgot…”

He was fresh out of the shower when he remembered, wearing a pair of sweats and little else. He spent some time digging through plastic bags in order to find it. “Popped by the shops and saw it sittin’ there. Thought it’d look nice on ya, an’ I had the cash on me, so…” he had explained with a shrug.

Despite his feigned nonchalance, you had known him long enough to tell that he was nervous about your possible reaction to his present. A bit unusual for him, but not strange, per se. When he handed you a small, rectangular box with shiny gold lettering on it- the name of some company or other, but you couldn’t read the font- you took it happily.

You thanked him even before you knew what it was, which he teased you for just before pressing a kiss to your forehead and telling you to open it.

It ended up being a cuff bracelet. In your preferred metal, of course. Simon remembered little things like that. It fit perfectly, and it was made to look like a key had been bent and wrapped around your wrist. It looked pretty sweet, actually, and your eyes were bright as you put it on and thanked him once more.

You could tell that there was something you weren’t putting together, though. The way he was looking at you, holding his breath and searching for a reaction of some kind. You fiddled with your new key bracelet and glanced around, but you couldn’t figure out what he was waiting for.

“…What’s happening right now? Is there, like. Something else, or-?”

He rolled his eyes then, giving a quiet chuckle. “Bloody hell. You’re lucky you’re cute, you lil’ idiot.” He teased, though there was nothing but soft affection behind his words.

“And you’re lucky you’re handsome, you big jerk,” You replied, your tone exactly the same and your smile never faltering. “Now, will you please tell me what i’m not getting?”

He was tense and silent as he nodded and took your arm, the one you had placed the bracelet on. He directed your hand to his chest and guided you to press your palm flat against the skin there. That was when you looked down and put two and two together.

It was one of the oldest tattoos he had, judging by the fading and quality, though it still looked just as good as all the others.

A shiny metal lock, just off center and resting right over his heart.

Lock tattoo. Key bracelet. Blushing, fidgety boyfriend that looked like he was going to sink into the floor at any moment.

Ohhhh my god.

For a second, you stood there, too stunned to say anything. You kept your hand on his chest and used your free one to cover your mouth, your eyes wide as you looked from him, to the bracelet and back again.

“I kept the receipt.” He muttered.

That snapped you out of your trance, and you immediately shook your head as you began to tear up.

“Simon…it’s beautiful. This is- I don’t even know what to say, it’s just-“ You choked out. You leaned forward and hugged him then, your grip tight and your head resting where your hand had been just moments ago. Thanks to your new closeness, you could actually hear his heart beating now. Much faster than normal, but beginning to slow down now as he wrapped his arms around you in return.

Simon was many things, but a poet wasn’t one of them. He didn’t even want to attempt to tell you just how significant this gesture was to him, not with words anyway. He didn’t even think he could if he tried, if he was honest with himself. But he didn’t have to. You understood. You were always good like that. His sweet, wonderful partner that not only filled a hole in him he never knew he had, but also helped patch up the old ones with soft touches and encouraging words.

“Thank you, Simon.” You whispered. He could feel your lips moving and your warm breath ghosting across his skin as you remained latched onto him, refusing to let go anytime soon. Not that he minded. He rested his chin atop your head, closing his eyes and savoring your presence just like he always did. When his voice eventually returned, it came out impossibly soft.

“No, thank you.”

[utilitycaster]

imagine. you are an deeply ambitious young woman in the rural Empire. you get a lucky break to go to the Soltryce Academy where you are hand-picked by one of the professors who proceeds to both favor and torture you and two others, with whom you become romantically entwined; he always does seem to favor one of the others over you. On the night of your final exam, when you poison your parents, that other student has a mental break, badly injuring you and you get him to the Vergesson Sanatorium. You continue on as a wizard assassin for years until one day, in your late 20s, he escapes. You hear nothing of him until he resurfaces when you receive a letter. He comes to see you. You talk. Not long after he and his friends are invited to dinner by your mentor and your mentor proceeds to offer the seat you thought was yours directly to him in front of you. He and his friends openly insult the mentor who has held you for years. You and your ex joke about racing each other to the top. You are then called upon to spy on them as they traverse Eiselcross for another Assembly wizard; they return to Rexxentrum and ask you to help them break into the asylum where your ex was once kept. You have a brief mental breakdown in an alleyway but you give them what they need. It does not go well and you are asked to chase them down but when you have them you find yourself letting them go. A few days pass and you track them down once more to a small temple. Your mentor is defeated and you are asked, after all this time, not to kill him. You leave in rage with your partner only to return when you realize you can have some small closure in testifying against him. You do so. Your mentor's seat is offered to your ex. He turns it down. It goes to you.

Seven years later the Assembly breaks from the empire during an era of mass unrest. You go and hide in a smut shop in Zadash. A group of fucking weirdos come in. One of them uses your ex's childhood name. They use every way they can trap you possible. When they finally succeed you realize they're being led by your ex's current boyfriend. You are pinned against the wall in a smut shop in Zadash. Every day Astrid Becke wakes up.

[cherry-leclerc]

stolen sweethearts ☆ cl16

genre: humor, angst, yearning, pining after three years so maybe slowburn??, fluff, second chances, whipped!charles

word count: 4.3k

Everything that leads to your wedding day and ends up with a knock on your door from your ex-boyfreind and an infamous letter.

req!...longer than intended, whoops! enjoy, anons :)

inspired by this !

“You’re making a mistake—”

Your eye twitches in the slightest, glossy lips curling into a snarl. “Shut up and be quiet.”

“What?” 

Looking down at your boyfriend, dressed in Armani from head to toe and a blank expression, you wince apologetically. You grasp his hand tighter, knuckles becoming white, and smile widely, tears brimming the corner of your eyes. “Not you, honey!” A wet chuckle escapes when he visibly relaxes. “Yes! Yes! A thousand times yes.”

The engagement party was a pleasant surprise, filled with congratulations and early wedding gifts. It also brought out a large group of your friends from hibernation. “Felicidades,” Carlos says with a teasing smirk. “I truly never thought I’d see the day you settle.” 

You bit the air. “Ha ha. That was the old me. New me is a completely changed woman thanks to true unconditional love. It’s crazy, try it out some time,” you shoot back. 

The Spaniard simply scowls and bows away, returning to his earlier conversation. You consider yourself lucky—as if you committed a successful heist and somehow got away with it. He was handsome, with bright eyes, dark hair, and tempting lips. There truly wasn’t a single flaw to your now fiancé. And if there were, no one ironically saw it but Lando.

“You’re making a—”

“Mistake?” you finish off his sentence, sighing and rubbing your temples. “So you say.” You were in the middle of ordering yourself another piña colada when he hounded you like a madman. The Brit blows out with a tired expression, as if he were giving up on all of humanity. 

“Yes. Yes. A thousand times yes.” Angling your head to aim a dirty glare, you silently flip him off as he uses your earlier words against you. 

“Aren’t you tired, Lan? It’s been three years, let it go.”

The blue eyed boy musters a threatening look and then rips your sweet treat away from your grip, immediately claiming ownership. Your brows fly up with an offended scoff. He chugs it all down before shaking his curls adamantly. “No, I will not let it go. Bloody hell, you’re one stubborn gal—you can’t go through with this.”

For the shortest second, a ray of hesitance strikes your face when you spot your fiancé, happily indulging in a round of shots with Carlos, Max, and Daniel. The group laughs with amusement over something he says. Your lips wobble, turning back to your friend, shooting lasers. “Why not? And please don’t say—”

“Charles.” Somehow, even with the mention of his name, your world still manages to spin off its axis, alarming your remaining sanity. Last time you saw the Monegasque was quite the day, ending with regretful words and inferior decisions. Lando grimaces when you let out a shaky breath. “You know you haven’t gotten over him. And I can guarantee you that this…” He spins his index finger around the flashing room. “Will not make the difference you're hoping it will.”

-

Have you made your Christmas list? I told you I need it at least two weeks prior. I work well under pressure, but for God’s sake, honey, this is too much. Charles chuckles, cleaning his pair of Ray Bans against the hem of your skirt. You sigh. 

Oui. Making his way over to his duffel bag, he retreats a crumpled up piece of paper. Oh, um, shit. The green eyed boy cringes with embarrassment, pouting modestly. You swallow the giggle sliding up your throat when he frowns furthermore. I swear I had it! It must've gotten crushed with all my stuff. You know what? Charles strolls over to the flight of stairs. I’ll just make a new one, give me a sec. 

As soon as he leaves, you yawn, stretching out like a cat. You can’t help the fluffy feeling; Christmas always adds to it. But something about this one felt distinctively different and you couldn’t place the reason why. 

Your orbs flicker across the dimly lit room before falling back to the thin piece of paper. Patting your palms on your thighs, you get up and delicately open it up, curiosity overflowing. It shouldn’t have mattered, he was going to re-write it anyways. 

His calligraphy had always been messy, and yet you always—somehow—understood; from the start of his sentences to the final dot. But this had to be the one and only time you wish you weren’t so comprehensive. 

I’ve been thinking about us

A lot recently, actually

I’ve had some thoughts over these past few weeks and

I think we should just end things.

You bat your eyes, already feeling the pressure forming behind, stinging harshly. Was this meant for you? For you to find? Had it been intentional the moment he pulled out the fucking note? Would he just not come back and was it all an excuse?

But he does. And his pale face answers all of your questions. 

Oh fuck, what have you done?

Rage fuels within you as you briskly brush away the acid sliding down your burgundy cheeks, heat rushing through your body. What have I done? What the fuck is this bullshit, Charles? 

The Monegasque instantly rushes over, trying to get ahold of the piece of paper. You rapidly pull it away and force a step back as you let out a wet chuckle. He winces at the cold sound. Why would you do that? Why did you do that?

So you’re not denying it? You wrote this? You knew he had, his writing was imprinted into your brain like a manuscript you had professionally studied endless hours.

His skin only loses more color with every passing second. I’m not trying to blame you! I did. I did write that—but that was so long ago, you have to believe me, and I can explain! He kneels down, silently pleading you to bless him with a spare minute. Just let me explain it all to you. 

I never took you for a poet, you bitterly spit out as you continue skimming through the full page. You have a lot on your mind—a lot. Scanning his desperate state, you can’t help but let out a soft whimper, scrunching your nose. 

I’m not, shit. He grips your thighs from where he is and lets out a set of shaky breaths. Do you remember when—

I don't want to remember, you let out. I just simply want to forget. 

He can creepily hear the way your heart is breaking and how his follows along with every word, puncturing his soul. You don’t even notice his coming arm, taking half of the note away and you irritatedly pull back, causing it to rip in half. 

That does it, bullying you down to the floor where you start to cry. Out of anger, out of betrayal, out of everything. The green eyed boy tries to soothe you, mumbling into your hair but you’re too busy zoning out that you don’t catch a single confession.

Leave.

Charles flinches; you can feel it as he presses close to you. What?

He almost doesn’t recognize you when you furiously push him off, crawling back with a sense of suffocation. Pain crosses his eyes as he watches you create distance. I don’t want you anymore. I don’t want you here anymore—leave.

Anyone who knows Charles would know that he never gave up. He either spoke down on himself and pitied for a while, but never ever gave up. So this was a first. A tough pill to swallow.

If that's what you want me to do, then…okay. He stands up firmly, but inside he’s terrified that his limbs might call out for the day. But I love you. So don’t ever ask me to stop. And he walks out of your life after evilly twisting the knife.

With a new note and ring box deep inside his pocket.

-

Despaired eyes flicker over to where Charles eases into a conversation with Carmen and George, occasionally clenching his jaw. You hadn’t invited him—that’s just absurd—but he had gotten word from blabbermouth Pierre and you didn’t have the solidity to say no. From the looks of it, he didn’t want to be here either.

“Well I’ve got news for you, my dear friend, I love Hudson, so climb on board because this is happening…” Your voice trails off the second your ex looks up, as if he felt your eyes drawn onto him. Normally they’re dazzling and filled with joy, but the unfamiliar injured expression is like a punch to the gut. Your conscience calls you out on it, slapping you back into reality. Turning to Lando, you purse your lips tightly. “Who even is Charles?”

-

“God! When I saw Charles had showed up I just wanted to dig up a hole and never come out! Who would willingly go to their exes' engagement party?” Like a spinning top, you fume at Kika whose eyes shine at the sight of you, even after barking. “You should have warned me Pierre would do that. God, I hate that jerk sometimes.”

The Portuguese hums. “Me too…” You flick a questionable brow. Kika giggles, fixing your white gown, feathering it out like a dove. “I know, I should have! Bad friend, bad friend,” she childishly says. You can’t help rolling your eyes, returning your attention back to your reflection. “But if we’re being truthful here, someone should have warned Charles.” 

“What are you talking about?”

Taking a quick sip of the complimentary champagne, she nods enthusiastically. “No one gave him a heads up. He thought it was just any other ordinary party—nowhere near a proposal.” 

Your stomach churns, mortification taking over at the sudden report. Charles’ reaction was odd, but you couldn’t help filling up with satisfaction, climbing onto your high horse when you saw it. Never in a million years did you ever consider that being a surprise to him too. Hellooo? Coughing awkwardly, you swat her hand far away. Kika yelps. 

“Yeah, well he deserves it.” You chug down the rest of her drink in a matter of seconds. Her wide eyes grow larger as she nervously giggles. “No one ever gave me a warning either.”

-

You were never one for being superstitious, but if anyone ever taught you something valuable, then it would be to never make contact with the groom before the wedding ceremony. He probably didn’t know any better—it of course wasn’t intentional—but that doesn’t stop your heartbeat from spiking up when you spot your fiancé sauntering over to where to stand.

“What are you doing here?” you hiss. Hudson furrows his thick brow. What are you talking about? I came to see you. You look fucking hot by the way. Squeezing your eyes shut, you shoo him, expensive jewelry clinking against one another. “Listen, that’s sweet and all, but you need to leave or else you’re going to ruin it!” You already did, the devil on your shoulder growls. You try relaxing, but can still feel the tenseness shifting between your shoulder blades. “Hudson, I’m dead serious, go.”

The stubborn brunette raises his arms in defense, mouthing a quick wow and walking back out. Were you being a tad bit colder than intended? Was there a better way to deal with the unwanted interaction? Yes. Probably. That’s what you tried to convince yourself because you knew the longer you pondered, the quicker you would realize that Lando was right.

You were making a mistake. 

Charles isn’t any better off. He twists and turns the entire night, debating whether he should attend the occasion he knew would most likely make him flat line, but the curiosity definitely got to him. He always wondered what type of dress you would exclusively choose, perfect in every detail. Your hair, your heels. Your smile. Because they weren’t all the same. There was the kind that would sort of slip to a subtle, shy frown when he would compliment you, so he often saw lots of those. Or the kind that would cause your eyes to crinkle—he witnessed those when he would tickle you half to death, laughing loudly as tears would start to form. What he would kill to see you beam back at him once again…

But naturally, he talked himself out of it. What good does it do for him? The following morning, as he blinks strangely at the white wall, he starts to reminisce to himself. Like your first date—which was originally for both Carlos and Isa—but you both weaseled your way in. Or the time he taught you how to skate; only to remember he doesn’t know how to skate. He kept apologizing as the doctor secured your arm with a bright pink cast, but you only laughed, begging him to be the first to sign it. You were probably high off of meds, but still. 

A peculiar feeling washes over as he spots an old shoe box. He almost dashes out of the arctic room when he realizes what it holds, but deliberately crunches down to open it. 

And he knows what to do.

-

“He wants to see you,” Lily shrieks, peeking out into the hallway, then jumping back in. The teal dress was doing wonders for her skin tone, but you couldn’t help the agitation. Tell him I don’t want to see him. We have a whole lifetime to do that, you groan, slipping onto your heels. 

Your bridesmaid clicks her tongue, widening the entrance as you hold back a much needed gasp. “I think you should tell him yourself…”

“I only need a minute,” Charles stammers, a thin layer of sweat coating his sharp nose. You’re too afraid to speak, so you robotically nod as you watch everyone scurry out, giving you two privacy. The twenty-six year old shyly gets closer, gently pinching a piece of paper in between his clammy grip. Your heart stops. “I walked beneath a ladder…on my way here,” he clarifies. You blink, long lashes fluttering like a fan. “I don’t think I’ll ever learn.”

-

If I had known you were this manly, I would’ve married you a lifetime ago. It slips out like a force of nature before you can stop yourself as your boyfriend halts from his task. The day was soon ending, late November, and you were both working together on painting the bedroom your dream shade. He had tried talking you out of it because it was simply—just white— but you had hounded him until he agreed. Now he stands here with a white coloring staining his dark gray shirt and you’ve never been happier.

Is that something you might want? Charles tries to play it cool, picking up from where he left off, lips itching into a goofy grin. To get married?

You’re almost glad he’s not facing you since you're as bright as a tomato. I won’t lie, I’ve definitely thought about it. You take a sip of water, suddenly caught with a dry throat. Could be nice. 

The Monegaque flips around to face you, placing the paint roller down and strolling over to where you sit criss-cross. You visibly gulp; electricity slipping into the small room. It would be, wouldn’t it? His pink lips ghost over yours as you lean in a bit. 

Yeah…

Could kiss you anytime I want… Kiss. Fuck you anytime I want… Another kiss. My fucking dream.

You moan against his touch, melting away like an ice cream sundae. I-I-I really think we could do it; be married. You had been together for so long now, you’re honestly surprised you hadn’t had this conversation any sooner. I would choose that exact same shade for my dress, you squeal, pointing at the wet wall. He hums. Not eggshell, not timid white—whipped cream, if you will.

Ahhhh, smart girl, he teases, nipping at your bottom lip. You practice this shit when I’m not around?

You laugh. I’ve been taught all kinds of tones from birth. My father was a painter himself, remember?

Of course I do, mon amour. He only created the best piece of art yet, he announces with a cheshire smile, watercolor eyes pointing down at you. You blush. 

You’re such a klutz, you would probably do something stupid like walk underneath a ladder on our wedding day. You only do it every time, you say, wiggling out of his grip as he tickles you. 

I swear I don't do that shit on purpose, it just happens, okay?

Pressing your nose against his, you cozily sigh. As long as we don’t see eachother until the actual ceremony, then I won’t be too upset. 

Is that a promise?

You nod. That’s a fucking vow.

-

“You called it.”

Shifting uncomfortably, you chuckle when you nearly tip over. “Yeah, you’ve always been like that, but don’t think about it too much—it’s not like it’s your wedding.”

He clenches his sharp jaw. “Sure, but bad luck is bad luck, no? And I think I’m quite familiar with it.”

His words shouldn’t impact you so much years laters, but they do. Perhaps it’s due to his sorrowful stare, or his anxious tick, but it kills you just the same way it did that December night. You let out a light shudder, blinking away tears. “What do you want, Charles?”

“I wrote you a letter.”

God—a heartfelt note is the last thing you wanted and today was not the day to receive it either. Or ever. Not when it came from him. “I’m sorry, but it’s a bit too late for that. I’m about to be a married woman in approximately an hour.” You narrow your neat brows, flawless makeup shimmering against the sunbeams. “What gives you the right to walk back into my life, get shit off your chest for your own sake, and just for you to do what? Leave?” 

You’re not being fair; not completely, but you can't help it. For the longest time, you thought you were over it, but clearly not. Charles licks his rosy lips, closing the gap between you two. “This isn’t something I just came up with.” He extends his arm out. “I wrote this three years ago.”

You inhale sharply, suspiciously eyeing the white paper. Please, just read it. Back then you could never turn him down, as much as you tried…

And it appears like today wasn’t any different.

It’s almost hilarious to think about how much you cried on your proposal date and how much you are now. You were a light rain at best when Hudson got down on one knee, but Charles stands here, tall, and you’re a complete waterfall. 

“Y-you were going to ask me to…” A headache comes rolling in as you let out a wet cry. “This isn’t true; it isn’t real. You wrote this today and came here to fuck with me.”

The Monegasque shakes his head in panic, blood painting his higher cheekbones. “No—listen; the first letter you found, I did write that.” You grimace. “But I swear I took it back immediately. It’s just that you were getting so much hate during that time, and you would always cry, and then you’d say you were never crying…You were in a really dark place. Do you remember?”

How could you not? You knew not everyone was going to love you for dating one of the top Formula One drivers, but you never expected to read such brutal messages either. They were descriptive, and cruel, and ruthless, and it crushed you more than you’d like to admit. Which was fucking stupid since there was always a rather large community that loved and adored you, and Charles loved and adored you—and yet.

You release a shaky breath, desperately rubbing your eyelids. Lily would probably throw a fit at your now snotty and smudged makeup, but you couldn’t really think too deeply about any of that right now. “What does that have to do with anything?”

The brunette cradles your face and you hate when you lean into his warm touch. “I just wanted all of that to end; for you to feel better. And I could never actually say the words, so I drafted a letter, and I’m so fucking sorry, mon amour.” The tides crash inside your chest, getting harder to breathe. “It has been my biggest regret. Hurting you.”

He did more than hurt you; he broke you completely. Like a porcelain doll, like a trophy, like a mirrorball; it ruined you. But you know he knows that when his eyes slowly turn red. “But then I thought to myself, it doesn’t have to be that way! W-we could restrict comments, I could post something and stand up for the woman I love, and I could reassure her by vowing the most sacred thing there could ever exist…And I sat down and wrote this letter.”

If you thought Charles loved you before, then you’re a fool. He was utterly infatuated, devoted, obsessed and drowning in fervor. This letter may be old, slightly cutting loose around the edges, but it’s pinned as straight as can be. Not like the last.

“My only mistake was writing the first, and to even consider giving up on us. My best decision has been writing the second, and promising to stick by you the way I knew I was put on this Earth to do.” Charles carefully draws you in closer. “But I know nothing could ever fix the shit I’ve put you through, but I’m begging for the chance to try.” He kisses your temple and you relax against his lips. “I’m fucking desperate—just one.”

He slips out his original ring box and shines the gem back at you. It’s smaller than the one Hudson had given you, thinner too.

But it has you written all over.

A dizzy spell hovers over as you blink hastily. Charles doesn’t dare to breathe, waiting for you. “This isn’t…I just…” You bite your lower lip, glossy orbs flickering towards the band and then back at him. “Thank you for taking the time to apologize and clear things up; I really needed that, but I can’t do this.” You step out of his embrace, immediately freezing as if you were spending a winter in Iceland. His heart palpitates hysterically, green eyes skimming your features. “This isn’t what I had in mind—this isn’t what’s supposed to happen,” you press sternly.

“You’re right; it’s not.” Though you had just said the same, hearing him repeat it jams the knife deeper into your heart. You can hear chaos ensuing down the hallway, your friends chirping happily at one another. Contrary to what was going on in here. “It’s not because you can’t marry him. Because you know you don’t love him the way you say you do.” He laughs. “You tolerate him at best! I saw the way you avoided him getting down on one knee that day. You kept running off until you couldn’t anymore.” You burn up. “And who was the first person you looked for as he slipped that ring onto your finger? Me.”

“You’re paying too much attention to detail,” you retort, almost snarling.

 “Sure, and that’s eggshell.”

It’s like a slap to the face. Your blurry vision focuses onto your dress for a second before snapping back up. “It’s whipped cream. The way I wanted.”

The Monegasque rolls his watercolor eyes, nostrils fuming. “Open up your eyes and see—It’s. Eggshell. Nothing about this is anything you ever dreamt of for your wedding! From your dress, to your ring, to your fucking fiancé!” He huffs. “This ring is all I could have afforded back then, but I would have sold my heart to get you a fucking star if that’s what you wanted…But you’ve always liked the simpler things. You always said you didn’t need a huge diamond to prove your devotion. Look at you now,” he says, signaling to your ring that swallows your hand whole. “All of this is fake.”

You’re sobbing now. You’re bubbling with anger. Because he was here, with you, out of all days. Because he was still the same man who broke your heart and stitched it back up. 

Because he was right.

Brushing your nose with the back of your hand, you stare up weakly, defeated. “What do you want me to do?” you whisper, brows drawn together as he folds over completely over your goddess state.

“Don’t marry him and come with me.”

Though you knew that was what he wanted from the moment he walked past the door, it still knocked the last breath you held. 

Things were never easy with him. There were constant fights—but that never seemed to matter by the end of the day. There was constant hate—but you always braved through it because you needed him. 

And he steadied you. Charles was the first one to apologize, even if the majority of arguments weren’t his fault. Charles was the one who despite crushing his own heart, he wrote that letter to keep you untouched from his fans, from the media.

The letter hurt; like a motherfucker—and it would take a while to forgive…

But there’s no one else you would rather work through with it than with him.

Smiling softly, you nod, almost as if you can’t believe you’re actually doing this. Charles lets out a heavy exhale, laughing as he hugs you tightly, leaving you like a fish out on land. But you’re giggling through it all. “I have to talk to Hudson first, oh God, I have to talk to his family…” you shriek, pale and mortified.

“You know,” he starts. “We could skip all of that and just—”

“No,” you coldly press. Charles’ brows fly up. “I have to do this.” Distancing yourself from him, you wobble to the wooden door before looking back at the handsome man who stands proudly with his neat suit. Butterflies expand freely. “You’ll still be here when I get back, right?”

With a single hand pressed against his heart, he nods, as if you held the keys to all gates. “I’ll be wherever you need me to be from now on.” With that, you grin, eyes crinkling and exit the room.

What happened to your makeup? Lily squeals when she spots you running down the hallway, tripping over her tall heels as Alex catches her. There better be a reasonable explanation to this!

taglist: @blueflorals @starmanv @coolio2195 @lovrsm @weekendlusting@chanshintien @brune77e @myownwritings @timmychalametsstuff @milasexutoire@alesainz @c-losur3 @darleneslane @togazzo @urfavnoirette @namgification @lpab @d3kstar @val-writes

[clubforfrogs]

Heyyy, SLIP UPS- AWESOME, WOMAN HOW DO U DO THIS-?

Also a request...!!! M so excited!!

Sirius black x reader snape

Basically snake's younger sister, is constantly bullied by the marauders, cuz of snape yk yk, especially on her make up preferable her foundation, after lots of teasing and bullying, she lashes out on sirius n removes her makeup to show a huge scar imprinted on her face. Cuz of her family issues n stuff. I leave how sirius reacts and their bonding up to you.

I LOVE UR WRITING SM, I SWEAR ITS SO GOOD. M NOT EVEN LYING. UR MY SOUL WRITER.

French love from dxb, Mon cherie

Um hello?! You’re literally the sweetest🫶🫶. I also love this request so much, so I hope I did it justice. I came up with this little blurb- I really hope you like it!

I’m currently working on a Sirius ask and a little James blurb- so keep on the look out for those.

Of All People - Sirius Black x Reader

~ 1.7k words

•

Now let’s be clear, you loved your brother, but some deep, shameful part of you resented him for the attention he attracted. Your parents had instilled posh pureblood ideologies into your heads from young ages. Luckily, you were able to see through their bullshit. Severus wasn’t so lucky. 

He brought that thinking into Hogwarts, and was ecstatic when both you and him were sorted into Slytherin, where he took no time at all befriending other air headed Slytherins who thought the same. This, along with the simple fact of his existence, brought the full wrath of the marauders down on your brother, which also trickled down to you. 

The marauders would endlessly bully and tease your brother. Being the dimwit he was, he always decides to try and fight back, ultimately failing every time. They would cast small hexes on you in the hallways, just constant, small annoyances. Eventually, it seemed as though Snape wasn’t enough of a challenge for the marauders, which caused them to turn fully to you. Now you were the one getting harassed. Constant jabs at the way you looked, filth about you thinking the same way as Severus, and the never ending comments about the amount of foundation you wore. What kind of guy even noticed that stuff? 

To be quite frank, it sucked. You were stuck with a shitty brother whom you loved, and a group of boys who bullied you for that very reason. It was exhausting, which meant that you valued every moment you could find yourself at peace- like right now. You were sitting underneath a tree near Black Lake. It was the first of the warmer days at Hogwarts, so you blended in with the multitudes of students soaking up the sun. You hoped this blending would be enough to allow you some quality time away from the marauders.

You leaned back your head against the bark of the tree. There was a gentle wind blowing across your face, a gentle buzz of voices coming from the other students outside, and a heavy liquid falling down your face. Wait… what? You opened your eyes quickly and rubbed at your face. It felt as though sticky black tar had been dumped on your head.

Though the substance made it hard to see, you could hear the roaring laughter of James, Peter, Remus, and Sirius. “What the hell? What is your issue? You couldn’t leave it for one day?” You questioned. You had cleared the goo enough clear your eyesight, and could see the amused faces of the boys. Sirius had the biggest grin stretching across his face, “Aw, we wouldn’t do that to you. You simply look too adorable with black sludge covering your face. Honestly, it looks better than that makeup you cake on everyday.” 

You could punch him for the look on his face. You had already been having a crappy day, as your parents had sent you a letter reminding you that the summer holiday was approaching, and they expected you to not forget your manners like you seem so inclined to do. 

Basically, if you didn’t listen to every word they said, you were going to “get straightened out” like your mother always said. The letter was fresh in your mind, and with it, a need to punch something. Luckily for you, there were four perfect targets standing right in front of you. 

You took a step towards James, the closest of them to you. He looked slightly confused, but taunted you nevertheless, “You coming in for a kiss? Sorry, I don’t French with snakes.” That was all you needed. You reared back your fist, and punched James Potter square in the gut. He doubled over in pain, and you swear you’ve never felt so much joy. Peter and Remus rushed over to him right away. Sirius looked at you in shock and took you by the shoulders. “You’re such a bitch! I knew all of the Snapes were the same. Just leave Hogwarts! We don’t need another bunch of rancid, pureblood twats spitting nonsense around here!” He was screaming in your face, and everything about what he was saying infuriated you. 

“Excuse me? Have you ever thought of asking about what I believe instead of assuming I’m just like my brother? I don’t believe in any of that shit! And what’s even worse, I have to suffer the consequences of being a half decent person all the time!” Sirius looked confused at your last sentence, so you rolled your eyes and casted a simple spell to clean the liquid off of your face, along with the thick layer of foundation you had applied that morning. Underneath, a giant scar cut along your cheek. It was relatively new, so the skin around it was red and puckered.

Sirius sucked in a quick breath. The other marauders had stopped cooing over James, and looked to you with shocked expressions. “Oh Merlin, I’m so sorry-“ you cut Sirius off. “Just stop, I thought you of all people would know what I was going through, but I guess not.” You started walking away, but when you heard the footsteps of Sirius behind you, you sped up to a run.

The footsteps behind you also increased in their pace, and a large hand grasped your wrist. You turned to look at Sirius. Tears had started forming in your eyes, but you wiped them away in futile the hope that would stop Sirius from seeing them. Sirius didn’t speak right away, instead he chose to study your face. You squirmed, under his scrutiny, you just felt ugly. Your red rimmed eyes, stuffy nose, and large scar now visible. You were heavily considering bolting away again until he spoke up, “I’m sorry. I- I never even considered that you might not be like your family. And you’re right, out of anyone, I should have been the one to give you the benefit of the doubt.” You looked back up at him, his eyes seemed genuinely apologetic, but that didn’t mean you were letting him off the hook just yet. 

“Yeah, you should be sorry. You and your cronies have been ruining my life here at Hogwarts. My one escape from my family. And you’ve been taking the absolute piss out of my brother. I know how he is, but he’s still my brother. Talk to me again when you show me you want to change.” With that, you pulled your wrist from his grip and walked back to your dorm. You really wanted to give him a second chance, partly because you had been harboring a small crush on him since first year. But before you could even let yourself consider that, he had to prove that he wanted to change. You sat in your dorm thinking about that very scenario, wishing, hoping, praying, that he would make the effort.

And in the next few weeks, he did. There were certainly the occasional taunts thrown towards your brother in the halls, but you supposed you could live with that. There were no more cruel pranks aimed towards you or Severus, and Sirius had even made James, Peter, and Remus write out apology notes and deliver them to you personally. You had probably gotten way too much enjoyment out of that one.

As you ate in the Great Hall, surrounded by a few acquaintances, you felt a tap on your shoulder. Behind you was a nervous looking Sirius. “Would you like to come over and eat with us? I swear, no bad intentions. We really want to get to know you.” His voice was much smaller than you had ever heard it. You weighed your options back and forth, but with the genuine effort he had been putting into righting his wrongs, there was no way you could deny him. “I would be delighted to.”

His face lit up at that, and you could see his confidence instantly repair itself. He led you over to where he and the other marauders sat, guiding you by placing his hand on the small of your back. The simple act caused your face to redden, but if he noticed, he didn’t say anything. Once you sat down at the table, everything was surprisingly normal. The other boys made one more quick apology each, but then the conversation quickly migrated to more light hearted topics.

“Okay, James,” it was hard to speak through your laughter, “You went up to this fifty year old dude, and insisted he was your mom?” The entire table burst out in laughter. “It was an intense game of truth or dare, I had ten galleons riding on it!” Remus smirked at him, “Yeah, but you still ended up losing,” he then looked to you, “You want to know why, Y/n?” You looked at him nodding, as you heard Peter groan, “Don’t do this mate.” Remus only spared him a glance as he launched back into his story, “So the truth or dare game was down to just Peter and James, and neither of them would back out. That’s when Sirius came out with this absolutely vile looking plate of chicken. It was cold, half raw, and definitely spoiled. We dared James and Peter to eat it for the win. James backed out immediately, but Peter ate it and puked for weeks.”

You had been drinking pumpkin juice as Remus told his story. But once he reached the part where Peter at the chicken, you lost it. Laughter spilled from your lips, and juice came up out of your nose. This only made the laughter at the table increase ten fold. You realized that you were receiving from worried glances from the students around you, but the laughter clouded your mind and you couldn’t bring yourself to care. You finally managed to calm yourself, and Sirius handed you a napkin of while wiping away a tear. You wiped away the juice, and caught sight of the watch on your wrist as you did so.

“Shit, I was supposed to be working on a Potions paper due tomorrow! I’ve gotta be off, this was lovely though!” You hugged Peter who sat right next to you, the boy looked a bit shocked, but satisfied nonetheless. You saw the pouty look emerge in Sirius’ eyes, so you leaned across the table and pecked him on the cheek. His face immediately blossomed into a lovely pink hue as the boys shouted out variations of, “You’re in!” “When’s the wedding?” and “Can I be the best man?” You smiled as you walked away from them, hoping that you’d be invited to sit with them again tomorrow.

[obessedwithfictionalmen]

Kiss me before you leave.

John Egan X Female! Reader

Summary: Y/n and Bucky's relationship during the years of the war.

Warning: crying/ mention of POW camp/ use of Y/n/

Word count: 2k

1940, Manitowoc, Wisconsin

He was leaving, he was actually going on the boat and leaving to fight the war. She couldn’t believe it, and he just gave her a letter. She read it again, in case she missed something.

My dear Y/n,

I’m leaving for England today at 9:30 at the docks, I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you in person, but I’m so scared of hurting you. I want to fight for my country. When I come back, we’ll get married because you’re the love of my life. If you still want me, of course, I’ll send you a letter when I’m assigned to a base, so you can write to me. I’ll think about you every second, I’ll think about you in ways that can’t be written. I love you so much, my darling.

Forever yours, Bucky.

She looked at the time, it was 9:05, she could make it in time. Without even thinking, she took her brother’s bike and rode it down the street, she was pedaling so fast, but she didn’t care if she crashed, she wanted to see him one last time before his departure. She didn’t want to cry, but if she missed him, she was going to. She felt a lot of emotions, sadness, anger and love. She was sad that he was leaving, angry at the way he left and in love because he promised to marry her when he got back. Her hair flew in the wind, her skirt too, she couldn’t care less, she wanted to see him.

He felt bad for the way he left her, but he couldn’t bring himself to tell her in person. He was looking at the window when he saw someone riding a bike, really fast. Then he recognized his girlfriend. He let out a small laugh before sticking his head out the window. ‘’Y/n!’’ he yelled her name, she searched for a second the person that called her name, then she saw him. She ran in front of the window, but he was too high for her to reach him. ‘’Seriously Bucky! That’s how I learn you’re leaving? You could’ve at least kissed me before you left!’’ she screamed, in anger, but she was painting from the bike ride she just had. ‘’Sorry honey, I can’t hear you!’’ he was smirking, he heard her, he just didn’t want to argue with her.

Soldiers that were still boarding saw the scene. ‘’S’cuse me miss, if you want, we can help ya get up’’ one of them said to Y/n. ‘’Please’’ she begged. Next thing she knew, she was being lifted by a group of soldiers, she didn’t care if they looked under her skirt, she could reach her boyfriend. When she was equal to him, she pulled him by the tie, an inch to her lips. ‘’You’re really lucky that I’m in love with you John Egan’’ she smiled before kissing him. He instantly kissed her back, adding more passion to it. Soldiers beneath them were cheering for the couple. They pulled back to catch their breath. ‘’I love you too, doll’’ he smirked. They kissed for what felt like an eternity, but they were stopped by the boat horn.

‘’Be safe, I want my future husband in one piece!’’ she said as the soldiers brought her back to the ground. ‘’I promise, I love you so much!’’ he blew a kiss to her. She looked at the group of soldiers that helped her. ‘’Thank you so much, be careful’’ she thanked them. She smiled at Bucky as she watched the boat leave the dock. He was waving to her, she was crying from sadness, but smiling and laughing at the same time. Other wives and girlfriend were on the dock, crying too. ‘’Write to me!’’ she yelled. She only saw him make a thumbs up. She stayed on the dock until the boat was out of sight, she kept crying until tears didn’t fall down. She couldn’t wait to write to him.

1942, Thorpe Abbotts, England

Bucky smiled as he saw the envelope with his name on it, it was from his girl. He sat down on his bed before opening it. Inside there was a letter, a picture and one of her hair ribbons. He opened the letter, smelled it before reading it.

My dear John,

I miss you every second. Yesterday, one of the kids at school asked me if I was in love. I said yes and got to talk about you with little Timmy Harrison. I even showed a picture of you in class, Ruby said you were really handsome. I found out someone took a picture of us at the dock, I put it in the envelope, so you’d have it. I found it really funny and quite beautiful. In your last letter, you said that you were homesick, I hope it goes away. I hope you're giving the Germans what they deserve. After Pearl Harbor, a lot of men left, we woman, are lonely too. I also give you one of my ribbons, I thought you might like it. Oh, and I have gossip. Do you remember Olivia Dunham? Well, I found out that she cheated on her husband and got pregnant with none other than William Rogers, her music teacher. It was quite the gossip this week. You’ll be pleased to hear that the Yankees won their match and are going to the world series, but I think you found a way to listen to the game with a radio. I miss you, John, I pray that you come home safe, I can’t wait to be Y/n Egan. I love you so much. It hurts when you’re not around. But I know you’re away for a good reason. You’re my hero and the kid’s hero. They call you super John.

PS: Say hi to Buck, Croz, and Curt for me. And tell Curt to stop spooning with you, or I’ll come on the base to tell him.

Forever yours, Y/n

He laughed and smelled her ribbon; it smelled like her. He looked at the picture, he missed her so much, but he was happy that she was okay. Her job as a teacher was keeping her busy, so she had less time to worry about him. He put the picture on his wall, and he tied the ribbon around his right wrist. Bucky sniffed the letter one last time before putting it with the others. He couldn’t wait to get home, he wanted to be with her so much, so he picked up his pen and started to write.

1942, Manitowoc, Wisconsin

Y/n and Marge sat at the table with their letters in hand. Buck actually sent a letter to Y/n in 1941, asking her to look out for Marge, they became friends ever since. ‘’Ready?’’ Marge asked, holding her letter. Y/n nodded and opened the envelope, inside, it had the letter, a picture of a dog and a dollar bit that had two corners bitten off.

My darling Y/n,

Of course, I remember Olivia! I can’t believe she cheated on her husband. I’m glad that the kids like me and think I’m a hero because I don’t really feel like it. It’s hard here. Missions are more regular and harder. The dog on the picture is Meatball, one of the guys brought him on the base, and I know how much you like dogs, so I thought you might like him. He even flies with us sometimes, but he’s howling all the time. Tell Ruby that I’m already in love with someone, or don’t I don’t want to break her heart. Thank you for the ribbon, I wear it around my wrist. It’s my lucky charm. That’s why I send you my lucky deuce, I have a new charm, I don’t need my old one. The guys love the picture of us. They’re jealous of us. I can’t wait for you to be my wife. Thank you for the Yankees news. Can you keep me updated on their journey to victory? I love you most, my darling.

PS: The guys say hi. Curt says he can’t stop spooning with me, even if it’s the fifth time you asked him, it’s cold in England.

Yours truly, John.

Y/n was giggling at the letter, God she was in love with him. When Marge finished her letter, she was smiling too. She even had happy tears streaming down her face. ‘’What’s wrong?’’ Y/n asked. She showed the ring that Buck sends her. ‘’He popped the question’’ she giggled. ‘’Oh my God! I’m so happy for you! Congratulations!’’ she hugged Marge, laughing in happiness. ‘’Will you be my maid of honor?’’ she asked her. ‘’I will be honored to be your maid of honor’’ she smiled. They both squealed in happiness. ‘’I’m getting married!’’ she giggled.

1944, Stalag Luft III

He couldn’t wait for her letter, ever since he got captured, he missed her letters, he hoped she could get his. Because if not, she was going to think he was dead, he didn’t want that, but when his name got called by the mailmen, he was relived, he practically ripped the letter from how hard he grabbed it. There was just the letter inside.

Dear John,

I hope you’re well; I received your letters saying that you got captured. I hope these Krauts are treating you well, otherwise I’ll riot. The kids can’t stop asking about you, so I decided that everyday, 15 minutes before the end of class, I’m talking about you to them. I think Ruby is head over heels in love with you. I’m so happy you’re Buck’s best man, that means we’re going up the aisle together. Marge and I are doing well, we just can’t wait for you guys to return. To know you’re both alive and well is reassuring, we were worried. I love you so much, words on the street are that the war will be over soon. Be careful, say hi to Buck for me.

PS: I forgot to tell you in my last letter that the Yankees won the world series!

Forever yours, Y/n.

He was smiling like the idiot of the village. He couldn’t wait to be back home. He was happy she received his letters; he didn’t think she would. He hoped the war would be over soon, from the camp, he didn’t hear any news, the only one he had was from Buck’s handmade radio.

1945, Manitowoc, Wisconsin

A knock on the door made her jump, she wasn’t expecting anyone, and the mailmen already delivered the letters. When she opened, she couldn’t believe her eyes.

‘’Hello darling’’ he was standing in front of her, he was back. He survived. She dropped her book on the ground and hugged him tightly. ‘’You’re back! Please never leave again” she cried in joy. His embrace made her believe he was real; he was in front of her and real. ‘’I love you so much’’ he said, looking at her. God, he missed her so much. ‘’Come in, do you want anything to drink?’’ she babbled. He shook his head before kissing her, he wanted to do that since he left. ‘’I’m so happy you’re here, I still can’t believe it!’’ she mumbled. He smiled as he kissed her again.

‘’I’m back for good this time, darling, I never should’ve left the way I did, I couldn’t believe my eyes when I saw you riding your bike. I thought about you every second of everyday. Now that I’m back, you’re stuck with me. I love you too much to be apart from you again.’’ He got down on one knee. ‘’Darling, will you marry me?’’ he asked, smiling so hard it made his face hurt. ‘’Yes, thousand time yes!’’ she exclaimed as they shared another passionate kiss.

They were apart for long, but Bucky kept his promise, he was never going to leave her again. Till death do us part, they took their vow seriously…

[freeleyenrashespeakstruth]

By Kitty Werthmann

“I am a witness to history.

“I cannot tell you that Hitler took Austria by tanks and guns; it would distort history.

If you remember the plot of the Sound of Music, the Von Trapp family escaped over the Alps rather than submit to the Nazis. Kitty wasn’t so lucky. Her family chose to stay in her native Austria. She was 10 years old, but bright and aware. And she was watching.

“We elected him by a landslide – 98 percent of the vote,” she recalls.

She wasn’t old enough to vote in 1938 – approaching her 11th birthday. But she remembers.

“Everyone thinks that Hitler just rolled in with his tanks and took Austria by force.”

No so.

Hitler is welcomed to Austria

“In 1938, Austria was in deep Depression. Nearly one-third of our workforce was unemployed. We had 25 percent inflation and 25 percent bank loan interest rates.

Farmers and business people were declaring bankruptcy daily. Young people were going from house to house begging for food. Not that they didn’t want to work; there simply weren’t any jobs.

“My mother was a Christian woman and believed in helping people in need. Every day we cooked a big kettle of soup and baked bread to feed those poor, hungry people – about 30 daily.’

“We looked to our neighbor on the north, Germany, where Hitler had been in power since 1933.” she recalls. “We had been told that they didn’t have unemployment or crime, and they had a high standard of living.

“Nothing was ever said about persecution of any group – Jewish or otherwise. We were led to believe that everyone in Germany was happy. We wanted the same way of life in Austria. We were promised that a vote for Hitler would mean the end of unemployment and help for the family. Hitler also said that businesses would be assisted, and farmers would get their farms back.

“Ninety-eight percent of the population voted to annex Austria to Germany and have Hitler for our ruler.

“We were overjoyed,” remembers Kitty, “and for three days we danced in the streets and had candlelight parades. The new government opened up big field kitchens and everyone was fed.

“After the election, German officials were appointed, and, like a miracle, we suddenly had law and order. Three or four weeks later, everyone was employed. The government made sure that a lot of work was created through the Public Work Service.

“Hitler decided we should have equal rights for women. Before this, it was a custom that married Austrian women did not work outside the home. An able-bodied husband would be looked down on if he couldn’t support his family. Many women in the teaching profession were elated that they could retain the jobs they previously had been re- quired to give up for marriage.

“Then we lost religious education for kids

“Our education was nationalized. I attended a very good public school.. The population was predominantly Catholic, so we had religion in our schools. The day we elected Hitler (March 13, 1938), I walked into my schoolroom to find the crucifix replaced by Hitler’s picture hanging next to a Nazi flag. Our teacher, a very devout woman, stood up and told the class we wouldn’t pray or have religion anymore. Instead, we sang ‘Deutschland, Deutschland, Uber Alles,’ and had physical education.

“Sunday became National Youth Day with compulsory attendance. Parents were not pleased about the sudden change in curriculum. They were told that if they did not send us, they would receive a stiff letter of warning the first time. The second time they would be fined the equivalent of $300, and the third time they would be subject to jail.”

And then things got worse.

“The first two hours consisted of political indoctrination. The rest of the day we had sports. As time went along, we loved it. Oh, we had so much fun and got our sports equipment free.

“We would go home and gleefully tell our parents about the wonderful time we had.

“My mother was very unhappy,” remembers Kitty. “When the next term started, she took me out of public school and put me in a convent. I told her she couldn’t do that and she told me that someday when I grew up, I would be grateful. There was a very good curriculum, but hardly any fun – no sports, and no political indoctrination.

“I hated it at first but felt I could tolerate it. Every once in a while, on holidays, I went home. I would go back to my old friends and ask what was going on and what they were doing.

“Their loose lifestyle was very alarming to me. They lived without religion. By that time, unwed mothers were glorified for having a baby for Hitler.

“It seemed strange to me that our society changed so suddenly. As time went along, I realized what a great deed my mother did so that I wasn’t exposed to that kind of humanistic philosophy.

“In 1939, the war started, and a food bank was established. All food was rationed and could only be purchased using food stamps. At the same time, a full-employment law was passed which meant if you didn’t work, you didn’t get a ration card, and, if you didn’t have a card, you starved to death.

“Women who stayed home to raise their families didn’t have any marketable skills and often had to take jobs more suited for men.

“Soon after this, the draft was implemented.

“It was compulsory for young people, male and female, to give one year to the labor corps,” remembers Kitty. “During the day, the girls worked on the farms, and at night they returned to their barracks for military training just like the boys.

“They were trained to be anti-aircraft gunners and participated in the signal corps. After the labor corps, they were not discharged but were used in the front lines.

“When I go back to Austria to visit my family and friends, most of these women are emotional cripples because they just were not equipped to handle the horrors of combat.

“Three months before I turned 18, I was severely injured in an air raid attack. I nearly had a leg amputated, so I was spared having to go into the labor corps and into military service.

“When the mothers had to go out into the work force, the government immediately established child care centers.

“You could take your children ages four weeks old to school age and leave them there around-the-clock, seven days a week, under the total care of the government.

“The state raised a whole generation of children. There were no motherly women to take care of the children, just people highly trained in child psychology. By this time, no one talked about equal rights. We knew we had been had.

“Before Hitler, we had very good medical care. Many American doctors trained at the University of Vienna..

“After Hitler, health care was socialized, free for everyone. Doctors were salaried by the government. The problem was, since it was free, the people were going to the doctors for everything.

“When the good doctor arrived at his office at 8 a.m., 40 people were already waiting and, at the same time, the hospitals were full.

“If you needed elective surgery, you had to wait a year or two for your turn. There was no money for research as it was poured into socialized medicine. Research at the medical schools literally stopped, so the best doctors left Austria and emigrated to other countries.

“As for healthcare, our tax rates went up to 80 percent of our income. Newlyweds immediately received a $1,000 loan from the government to establish a household. We had big programs for families.

“All day care and education were free. High schools were taken over by the government and college tuition was subsidized. Everyone was entitled to free handouts, such as food stamps, clothing, and housing.

“We had another agency designed to monitor business. My brother-in-law owned a restaurant that had square tables.

“Government officials told him he had to replace them with round tables because people might bump themselves on the corners. Then they said he had to have additional bathroom facilities. It was just a small dairy business with a snack bar. He couldn’t meet all the demands.

“Soon, he went out of business. If the government owned the large businesses and not many small ones existed, it could be in control.

“We had consumer protection, too

“We were told how to shop and what to buy. Free enterprise was essentially abolished. We had a planning agency specially designed for farmers. The agents would go to the farms, count the livestock, and then tell the farmers what to produce, and how to produce it.

“In 1944, I was a student teacher in a small village in the Alps. The villagers were surrounded by mountain passes which, in the winter, were closed off with snow, causing people to be isolated.

“So people intermarried and offspring were sometimes retarded. When I arrived, I was told there were 15 mentally retarded adults, but they were all useful and did good manual work.

“I knew one, named Vincent, very well. He was a janitor of the school. One day I looked out the window and saw Vincent and others getting into a van.

“I asked my superior where they were going. She said to an institution where the State Health Department would teach them a trade, and to read and write. The families were required to sign papers with a little clause that they could not visit for 6 months.

“They were told visits would interfere with the program and might cause homesickness.

“As time passed, letters started to dribble back saying these people died a natural, merciful death. The villagers were not fooled. We suspected what was happening. Those people left in excellent physical health and all died within 6 months. We called this euthanasia.

“Next came gun registration. People were getting injured by guns. Hitler said that the real way to catch criminals (we still had a few) was by matching serial numbers on guns. Most citizens were law-abiding and dutifully marched to the police station to register their firearms. Not long afterwards, the police said that it was best for everyone to turn in their guns. The authorities already knew who had them, so it was futile not to comply voluntarily.

“No more freedom of speech. Anyone who said something against the government was taken away. We knew many people who were arrested, not only Jews, but also priests and ministers who spoke up.

“Totalitarianism didn’t come quickly, it took 5 years from 1938 until 1943, to realize full dictatorship in Austria. Had it happened overnight, my countrymen would have fought to the last breath. Instead, we had creeping gradualism. Now, our only weapons were broom handles. The whole idea sounds almost unbelievable that the state, little by little eroded our freedom.”

“This is my eyewitness account.

“It’s true. Those of us who sailed past the Statue of Liberty came to a country of unbelievable freedom and opportunity.

“America is truly is the greatest country in the world. “Don’t let freedom slip away.

“After America, there is no place to go.”

Kitty Werthmann

[drak3n]

THE LOST LOVE

ꨄ. SYNOPSIS: two lovers who went seperate ways years ago… one of the cases we love most!

ꨄ. CONTENT WARNINGS: exes to lovers, angst, hurt/comfort, age gap (reader was in college & toji in his thirties when they met), dad!toji, breakup, implied divorce, insecurities, smut, unprotected sex

bold italic quotes = letter excerpts

PROLOGUE. | SERIES MASTERLIST.

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ ♡•°`.

“i like to think that meeting each other was like a breath of fresh air. for both of us. wouldn’t you agree?”

wake up. go to work. get home. eat. sleep. repeat.

toji’s life was a vicious cycle, one of a middle age man with no goals in life. it was funny to him how people would actually call that a life.

the only times he truly felt like he was alive was when he was seated on the bleachers watching a good old horse race. or a boat race. or whatever it was that he had bet money on.

no one understood him.

toji knew that life rarely gifted him anything. he was no lucky man. in the many years of betting and gambling, he seldomly won. and the money he had won those few times was enough to cover the ticket and perhaps a nice dinner.

and although knowing he was probably going to leave empty-handed, he did it for the thrill. it made him feel youthful again. like he hadn’t wasted his years on useless things that aged him faster than he had hoped to. like he was still the same old teenager he had been years ago.

it wasn’t until one fated day that he found out that there were other things that could bring him back to his youth, other than doing useless crap that only burned a hole in his pocket.

said thing being you.

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ ♡•°`.

“the way we met wasn’t really romantic. it wasn’t like a scene out of a movie or a novel. looking back, it was quite comedic, even. i’m sure you felt the same way.”

there were a lot of terrible things that came with being a busy person, one of which you were facing right now. standing in front of a ridiculously long line at the grocery store.

you ran out of basic ingredients for cooking, it was a saturday evening, and you really did not want to order takeout again for a third time this week.

standing in front of you was a group of drunken kids — by kids you meant they were around your age, maybe in college like you — but they were different. they seemed carefree. they used their time to have fun and laugh instead of constantly grumping and punishing you with more work than you had.

you wished you could be like them, too. at least sometimes.

what made you get out of your train of thoughts was the sound of an item being placed on the conveyor belt, the rattling sounding too familiar for your liking. another person who hated cooking, so it seemed. and another person who barely had enough change to get a cup of instant noodles.

it was a man — you heard from the occasional sighs and grunts leaving his lips, and the way his cologne wafted over to invade your senses.

why did you suddenly have the urge to turn around and bond with this random stranger? perhaps hit him up with something like ‘heck, youngsters these days, right?’

absolutely not. that would be goofy as hell. and judging by how slowly the like progressed, you were likely going to stand here for at least ten more minutes. you would rather die than make a fool of yourself and then proceed to stand here for even longer afterwards.

oddly enough, the huffing stranger beat you to it. your breath hitched in your throat at the gruff voice sounding.

“s’cuse me, little lady.”

a bulky arm shot forward from behind you, making you step aside to grant him access to the side of the conveyor. you cleared your throat, turning around with an apologetic smile— and damn was he hot.

he looked quite a bit older than you, and he looked quite… distraught. sleepless, deep green eyes, unruly jet black hair that looked like he hadn’t gotten cut in a while, and a stubble gracing his jaw and chin.

you hated romanticizing people who weren’t feeling their best. so, you quickly snapped out of it.

“sorry for hogging the conveyor.” you chuckled, trying to lighten up the tense atmosphere as everyone else in the line was quite angry. the man gave you a halfhearted smile, scar on the right side of his mouth stretching. you wondered how he’d gotten that scar.

“don’t worry ‘bout it,” he waved your apology off, slightly motioning at the impatient woman huffing and puffing behind him. “someone’s just very fuckin’ annoying.”

you couldn’t help but chuckle at his words. then, your eyes wandered to the conveyor, staring up to meet his again. “you can get in front of me, sir.” you offered kindly, already moving to make some space in front of you, “don’t have to wait even longer for a single item.”

the surprise in his eyes was a dead giveaway that no one had been polite or nice to him in a long time. before he could make it obvious, he shook his head, uttering, “s’fine. thanks.”

but you insisted, for some reason. it wasn’t until he was standing in front of you, cup of ramen placed in front of your groceries, and the seething woman now standing right behind you, that you were happily smiling.

the man walked off after paying for his noodles when the line finally progressed what felt like years later, not even sparing you a glance. you were barely able to contain your disappointment as you bagged your groceries and shuffled outside of the store, ready to take the train back home with full hands.

just to see the man from the line in the grocery store thumbing at the instant noodle cup’s lid, lit cigarette dangling from his lips.

his hands wordlessly approached yours to take your bags of groceries, not even frowning at the heaviness of them, as he let out a puff of cigarette smoke.

“i’ll drop ya off, little lady.”

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ ♡•°`.

“our love was fierce. characterized by sleepless nights, stolen breaths and undying passion.”

ragged breaths filled the air of your small bedroom. it was dark, perhaps around nighttime, and the air was thick with sweat, arousals and the sinful smell of sex.

a lazy kiss was exchanged between you two with swollen, trembling lips as you settled down in each other’s arms. your eyes were shut as toji moved a little to light a cigarette.

your fingertips traced over his bare, built chest, post-orgasmic glow making his handsome face look even prettier. you were convinced he was the prettiest man you’d ever seen in your life.

“are you staying for dinner?” you asked, voice hoarse and quiet from how he had formerly railed you into your mattress. toji wasn’t a gentle lover. the word soft was very foreign to him. but you didn’t mind that. you didn’t mind him squeezing your hand too tightly whenever he held it. he didn’t know any better.

he exhaled the cigarette smoke away from you, large palm settling on the tender, bruised flesh on your hips. his thick, rough fingers traced over the softness of your skin that he had grabbed and kneaded mere minutes ago while manhandling you.

“sorry, baby,” he mumbled into your hair as you already knew what was coming, “gotta go. i’ll stay over next time, promise.”

you wanted him to stay, you really did, but with a sigh, you watched as he got dressed and left — not without pulling you into another kiss. missing the way his eyes twisted with a hint of guilt as he shut the door to your apartment behind himself.

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ ♡•°`.

“you weren’t a man of many words. you didn’t like talking too much about yourself. but you’d always listen to whatever i’d say. and whenever i wasn’t up to talk, we’d relish in each other’s silence. it was calming.”

“how many girlfriends have you had before me?”

the silence surrounding the air on your balcony after your question made you reconsider if it was a smart thing to ask.

it wasn’t. since when was it okay to talk about exes? you remembered it as one of the most off-putting conversation topics to ever come up with.

toji’s bare arms were propped up against the metal railing, gaze wandering from the unspectacular sight below him that consisted of old, run down buildings and sketchy streets, to you.

he knew it was too late to tell you the truth. he pressed his scarred lips together in regret, before opening his mouth to respond to your question.

“many.”

he saw the way your nose scrunched up at the ugly word — he wished it had been the truth. much better than hurting you with a fucking lie. made him wonder how you’d react to the truth.

“c’mere.” when you didn’t make a move to approach toji, he pulled you into him, dwarfing your body in his form. “you’re not mad, are you?”

“how could i ever be mad at you?”

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ ♡•°`.

“there was just one thing i wish you had just told me from the beginning. you know, i actually knew the entire time. i was just waiting for you to tell me.”

“dad, the show’s about to start.”

toji was now a couple of years older, about to celebrate his fourth decade of living in a few weeks. he wouldn’t admit that he was getting older. he had just plucked another gray hair from his scalp this morning, but no one had to know that.

sock-clad feet padded from the kitchen to the living room, bowl of salted popcorn in his hand as he placed it in front of his college-aged kid. toji was in awe at how the brat was becoming more of a carbon copy of himself the more years passed.

the only difference being his spiky, wild hair and blue eyes he had gotten from his mother.

“we’re not watching a match today?” toji sounded rather bored as he leaned back on the couch with a can of soda in his hand, legs finding the surface of the living room table as the younger man munched on sweets.

megumi shook his head, eyes focused on the screen that was still playing some shampoo commercial. “have you ever heard of TATMYLB?” the green-eyed man beside him narrowed his eyes at the obnoxiously long abbreviation, .

“kid. i don’t understand your language,” he grunted, “i’m headin’ out if it’s another high school rom com.” said boy only snorted as he pointed at the tv that happened to be playing a trailer of what was going to be playing next.

“reading today… TO ALL THE MEN YOU’VE LOVED BEFORE’s 26th letter!” toji kissed his teeth. of course it was going to be some sappy ass show. why was it so popular anyway?

he raised from the couch, scratching his belly lazily under his sweater as he pointed to the door with his thumb. “gonna check the mail,” he uttered, “we haven’t emptied our mailbox in days.”

megumi hummed, too immersed in what today’s live episode was going to be about. just as toji approached the door, curiosity got the best of him, and he found himself listening.

“unfortunately, she won’t be joining us today, but we have received a beautifully written letter by her! what a lucky man to have been loved like this.” the host spoke gleefully as the audience erupted into cheers and applause.

“our writer is a 29 year old lady from tokyo, a journalist for a very popular newspaper, which explains her splendid writing,” the co-host added, “she has met a man she refers to as her LOST LOVE nine whole years ago.”

toji set his keys down on the shoerack and walked back to the living room. megumi took notice of his dad walking back and smirked. “caught your attention, old man?” he only scowled at his son and placed his hands on the back of the couch.

the stage was beautifully built, and one could tell how much budged was spent on it all. it was a hell lot of pink, too much for toji’s liking — then again, any amount of pink was too much for his liking. the hosts were dolled up to the max, host dressed in a baby pink, frilly dress with her hair done up while the co-host was dressed in a pink suit.

“adding on to that… we have not received an answer or a reaction from the recipient.” a glum round of oh’s echoed across the studio, which made toji snort. “which doesn’t have to mean anything, of course! perhaps he’s just terrible at checking his mail.”

megumi stopped mid-chew as he side-eyed his father, who shot him a look. “old man, you don’t think—” megumi might have been young, but he had a very good memory of his father’s past lovers. especially that one woman who had changed him forever. you.

although he had never met you, he could tell it was you who had a huge impact on his father. and he figured that toji never opened up about having had a son.

“don’t be silly, bud,” toji laughed, reaching over to steal a handful of popcorn from the bowl in his son’s lap. he didn’t even like popcorn, why the hell was he eating it? it had to be the most annoying snack in the world with how the shell of the kernels always got stuck in one’s gums or throat.

you must have moved on years ago. it’s been almost a decade, for fuck’s sake. perhaps you were married already. had kids. he hated how the thought made his jaw clench. it was none of his business anymore, after all.

“mistakes. we all make them. so far, we have had a lot of letters speaking about wrongdoings,” the host clapped her hands together, “but how about keeping secrets? crucial ones?”

of course they were going to drag it on. what a bunch of clowns the audience was for eating it up. he totally wasn’t, not with the way he was clutching the couch cushions in anticipation.

he just wanted to know it wasn’t you, so he could move on in peace. because if you have moved on, then he shall do the same.

the audience was then asked to talk about their experiences with secrets in a relationship, before they started guessing what the person might have done.

eventually, an elderly woman received the mic and laughed. “it wasn’t another woman, so,” she paused, “i’d say hiding a child.”

the two hosts opened their mouths before knowingly looking at the audience, and toji cleared his throat. by now, megumi was fully facing his father, a look of disbelief on his face. before he could speak, toji raised a palm.

“i said don’t be silly,” he warned megumi, “it’s not me. jesus.” megumi shook his head before raising his palm to invite his father to a handshake, challenging him to a bet, “fifty bucks if it’s you, then.”

toji could never say no to bets. maybe he should have checked his mailbox first, though.

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ ♡•°`.

the show was halfway through, currently on a commercial break as you found yourself in the kitchen to prepare yourself a cup of instant noodles. the sight of the cup still brought you back to day you had met toji.

before you could open the lid of the cup, you were halted by the sound of your doorbell ringing. leaving behind the sounds of your kettle whistling, you approached tye door to look through the—

your hand immediately flew to the handle to fling the door open. to stare right at the man you hadn’t seen in over seven years.

there was a lot both of you wanted to say. he wanted to apologize for having disappeared out of nowhere, for having abandoned you when things had been going so well between both of you; while you wanted to slap him, cuss him out and scream at him.

alas, all that came out was a choked sob on your behalf. a sound forced out of your throat, displaying the despair you had felt out of the lack of closure.

toji watched with wide eyes as you broke down in front of him. he wanted to make you happy. or get yelled at. anything but you crying. fuck, he was terrible at this.

toji was only ever good at leaving. that’s what he had done back then when his family no longer served him; that’s what megumi’s mother had spat at him before she left.

screw the past. screw all of his fears. he had waited far too long to come clean. you didn’t deserve this at all.

“i’m sorry.” he breathed, taking a step closer, now partially surrounded by the warmth of your place that hadn’t changed in the slightest. “i hid him from you because—”

you shook your head, trembling hands raising to wipe at your reddened eyes, “i don’t give a damn, toji.” he shut his mouth, because respectfully, you had all the right to be angry.

what he didn’t expect was for you to chuckle through tears. “stop looking at me like that,” you pointed at his lips, “that stupid pout of yours…” he had a habit of pursing his lips whenever he was distressed. you hadn’t forgotten about it.

when you stepped aside to welcome toji inside, he was baffled. “‘course you didn’t read the letter,” you sneered, which made him look down grimly, “if you had, you’d know that i could never be mad at you.”

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ ♡•°`.

you didn’t ask toji to, but he told you everything. how he had just gotten divorced when he met you, and who had fought for split custody the entire time. who couldn’t have you over at his place because of the child’s room he had.

it wasn’t like he was ashamed to have had megumi. he considered him one of the very few good things in his life. but, he couldn’t risk scaring you off. not when he had found someone as perfect for him as you.

and when things got serious, he did what he knew best. which was to bolt.

it wasn’t a surprise to him that you already knew. he had the wrong idea of you by thinking you’d push him away just because he had a son. now he knew that you could have been the best stepmother megumi could have asked for.

if he hadn’t blown it all.

“so he’s in college now?” you were smiling as you were both situated on your couch. toji feld oddly calm looking at you. you hadn’t changed much.

“this was us at his high school graduation,” he couldn’t help but smile too as he showed you his phone wallpaper. the thought that you could have been on that picture too made your smile fade for a second before you found yourself melting at how proudly he glanced down at his son in his crinkled button-down shirt, one arm lazily slung over the boy who looked at the camera with an irritated, forced smile.

you wondered if megumi would have liked you and already accepted you as his stepmother if toji hadn’t left. wondered if you two would have been married by now—

thoughts like those were useless now.

it happened so fast. like the force of two magnets attracting each other, it felt like you were pulled towards each other. a mumbled ‘i missed you’ left your lips before they planted themselves on his, both of you getting lost in the sensation of the other’s lips.

toji’s lips tasted like salt and popcorn, whereas yours tasted of the peace of candy you had popped into your mouth while waiting for the water to boil.

ah… right. the water. the kettle had stopped whistling a while ago. but both of you were busy sucking each other’s faces to notice that.

you were sat prettily on toji’s lap, hands running across his muscles hidden by his clothes. the only sign of him having aged were the tiny wrinkles on the corners of his eyes. other than that, he still looked like the 31 year-old toji you had met in the line of the grocery store.

he was the same man you had given your heart to. and you were eager to do it all again.

your clothing was shedded in a matter of minutes, hastily and in a rush. it felt like you were being intimate with each other for the first time all over again with wide eyes and shaky hands.

toji pressed you into his chest as he slid inside of you, and it seemed like the world stopped for a while. toji didn’t do soft, he wasn’t gentle. but you could swear you saw nothing but softness and adoration in his eyes in this very moment.

once he started thrusting up into you, your hands straddled his face, fingers digging into his skin as if afraid to let go. toji saw and felt the fear in your eyes, and he took both of your hands to place soft kisses on them.

“‘m not leaving again,” he grunted, relishing in the tightness and warmth he was buried inside of, “promise.”

you whimpered, nodding as you pulled him into yet another sensual, messy kiss while you worked each other through your releases. out of all the times you and toji had sex, this had to be the rawest, most intimate time.

it wasn’t fucking. it was love-making. the kind you’d never expect from a man like toji.

he stayed inside of you after both of you came, buff arms trapping you as you listened to his slowing heartbeat as both of you trembled. neither of you wanted to move, if you could, you’d stay like this forever.

toji’s lips against your temple pulled you back from your daze, and you reached for your underwear to avoid a mess, sighing softly when he pulled out of you. “shower?” he asked, to which you nodded lazily.

before he could lift and throw you over his shoulder, you placed a kiss on his collarbone.

“let’s eat instant noodles and rewatch the episode after that. since you haven’t read the letter—”

oh, toji was never going to hear the end of this.

but he wouldn’t have it any other way.

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ ♡•°`.

[zebulontheplanet]

I hate when people say “I wish I was nonverbal”

Cause no, you don’t. A lot of nonverbal people are nonverbal/nonspeaking from birth. They had to work hard to get to the place where they are now where their communication needs are accepted, and sometimes they’re still not. From working hard to even get an AAC device, or AAC of any kind (letter boards, low tech, etc), some don’t even have access to any type of AAC, and they need to be talked about as well.

I think people automatically assume when they hear about nonverbal/nonspeaking people, that they are automatically accepted, given a high tech AAC device, their support needs are accepted, they’re given bodily autonomy, etc. and this isn’t the case for the majority of Nonverbal/Nonspeaking individuals. The nonspeaking/nonverbal individuals that you see online that do have these, are very lucky, and are a minority of people. Nonverbal/Nonspeaking people are automatically seen as less then. Some are misdiagnosed with intellectual disability, some are told they’d never be able to handle AAC, therefore they don’t, even if they are able to handle it, no one has just tried.

Wishing you were nonverbal/nonspeaking does not automatically give you everything you want. You want the good parts of it. You don’t want the reality and bad parts of it. You don’t want the autonomy taken away, you don’t want to be underestimated, you don’t want to be institutionalized or put in group homes, you don’t want any of that. You want the small bit that you see on the internet from later in life nonverbal/nonspeaking people. Who have access to AAC, who are able to write fluently or semi-fluently, who are able to form their opinions on the internet, who have supportive parents or caregivers or friends, who don’t have their autonomy stripped away. Who aren’t forced under guardianship. You want that. And that isn’t the reality. Y’all need a reality check because that isn’t how it is for 99.9% of nonspeaking/nonverbal people.

You want to be understood. You want to use your AAC device when you need it. You want to have supportive parents. And you deserve that. However, being nonverbal/nonspeaking doesn’t bring any of that. It isn’t a packaged deal. It isn’t something that every nonspeaking/nonverbal person has. You’re completely missing the point. You’re completely missing about what nonverbal/nonspeaking people say. You’re missing the horrors that we share. The stories about harassment, bullying, abuse, neglect, etc etc.

Relying on a device and other people to communicate isn’t for the weak. It isn’t sunshine and rainbows. It’s HARD. It’s absolutely infuriating. To rely on other people all the time, to rely on a device or alternative method of communication, it’s hard. It doesn’t replace verbal speech. The world wasn’t built for nonverbal/nonspeaking people. It just wasn’t.

Stop saying this. It’s time for some reflection. Ask yourself why you’d want to cause yourself more hardships. Ask yourself why you aren’t listening to actual nonverbal and nonspeaking people. Ask yourself that then get back to me.

[toournextadventure]

our little secret pt.iv

Summary: Your sins catch up with you.

Word Count: 11.9k Warnings: swearing, heavy religion and religious trauma (Southern Christianity), heavy religious homophobia, slurs, misogyny, guns, threats of violence, talk of death Pairing: Lorraine Day x Fem!Reader (our little secret i) (our little secret ii) (our little secret iii) (our little secret iv) A/N: this has super heavy religious themes, if you're not good with that please don't read, do what's best for y'all 🫶

Lorraine was coming home.

Well, they were all coming home, but you were only truly excited to see Lorraine. It had been nearly three months since you had seen her last. There was little to no contact because they were moving around a lot, but you would get her letters. Simple little things to tell you where they were, what they were doing, how much bigger they were getting in the industry.

Each letter felt more precious than the last. She never said anything explicit - though you couldn’t say the same for the rare letter from Max or Bobby-Lynn - but the message never changed. She missed you. Filming wasn’t the same when she knew she couldn’t go to you immediately after. Sometimes, if you were lucky, she would even complain about RJ.

The letters stayed hidden in a lockbox in Beau’s truck. You had wanted to keep them with you so they were easier to get a hold of, but both he and Huck had reminded you of the dangers of such a thing. What if someone found them? It would put both you and Lorraine in danger.

It wasn’t something that should have been a surprise to you, yet it partially was. You had gotten comfortable with the small group you surrounded yourself with. All but one or two knew of your little secret, and every single one of them was in support. Or at the very least, they were accepting. When you were with them, you almost forgot you weren’t supposed to be with Lorraine; you were supposed to be in your good, Christian, church-ordained relationship with Beau.

Yet, it was easy enough to keep your secret when Lorraine was away so often. You were so very proud of her and all she was achieving. Each time you saw her, you made sure to remind her of such. A kiss for each time you had felt proud of her while she was away, just to ensure she felt proud of herself. It didn’t matter what she did, all that mattered was she was working hard and moving through life successfully.

Beau and Huck had just gotten back from their own trip as well. They were scheduled to get back a few days after Lorraine, but out of some strange sense of responsibility, they had come back early. You wouldn’t complain. After all, you may not have been romantically interested in either of them, but you still loved them. They were family. They were your family. When they were around, life felt less chaotic. You could breathe and relax and feel however you wanted to feel because you knew, no matter what, that they loved you.

Things felt… good. As good as they had in a long while. You often spent your evenings with Roy. After talking with Jackson a few times, you had some idea on how to talk with your brother. He had been hesitant at first, seemingly not even able to comprehend his own thoughts. But slowly, day by day, you managed to get him to talk.

In the dead of night when you should have been asleep in your room, you sat across from Roy in the barn and listened to his rambling stories. I was an electrician, he had said, a pole jockey. You didn’t ask what that meant. Average life of a pole jockey is 7 seconds. For the first time since coming home, he showed you his overabundance of scars.

It was no wonder he felt trapped within his own mind.

“How’s it goin’, Roy?” Beau asked as he walked into the barn with Huck right on his heels. “Brought you some barbecue.”

Roy grumbled an acknowledgement before gingerly taking the Tupperware box from Beau’s outstretched hand. He always seemed to go fairly nonverbal when someone else was around. A small part of you felt proud that he trusted you enough to talk with you. It didn’t outweigh the feeling of knowing he would probably never get better.

“You goin’ to church with us on Sunday?” Huck asked gently. 

He took a different approach to interacting with Roy than Beau did. While Beau very much kept his “big boy britches” on (as he had so much fun saying), Huck was more outwardly compassionate. It wasn’t that they didn’t care, or they thought Roy incapable, they were just raised differently. At least it was better than how you were both raised.

At least they showed they cared.

“Our sweet girl is preachin’,” Beau continued.

Roy looked at you and raised an eyebrow comically high. If you hadn’t just been talking about people dying and his nightmares, you would have teased him for it. Maybe you should have, just to invoke a sense of normalcy in it all. You opted to keep your mouth shut.

“It’s just kids’ church,” you said with a shrug. “Nothin’ important.”

“You are shapin’ the young minds of America’s future voters,” Beau said with a finger pointed in your direction. “That’s mighty important.”

You laughed and kicked out at him, managing to barely catch his heel. “You hear that from the television set?”

“Yes ma’am, I did,” he said with that cheesy smile that made all the women in town swoon. “You’re doin’ the Lord’s work.”

“You still don’t have to go,” you said to Roy.

He looked at you with a small smile before looking back down at the food in his hands. Yeah, you knew that would be the answer. So did Beau, but he still tried, bless his heart. You looked at him as he continued talking with Huck and felt something tighten in your chest.

You wished you loved him the way you were supposed to. If you could just feel those butterflies whenever he held your hand, or kissed your cheek, or wrapped his arms around you, everything would be better. You could still love Lorraine, and you could still love Huck, but the guilt wouldn’t be sticking to your very bones, weighing you down until you could feel the very fires of hell licking at your skin.

Maybe you could learn. Perhaps you could learn to feel for him the way you were supposed to. Lorraine felt for RJ - or could at least pretend convincingly - and no one was the wiser. If you could pretend, or learn, then maybe things wouldn’t be so bad. You could get away with loving Lorraine if you could convince everyone that you felt for Beau the way you were supposed to.

While he talked with Huck and Roy, you sat back and really looked at him. He was handsome, you didn’t have to fancy him romantically to see it. Just near every girl in town thought you were lucky as could be; you couldn’t entirely disagree. His laugh, his smile, his kindness, he was everything a girl could want.

And you felt nothing.

It weighed heavy on your soul as the days kept passing you by. Each day brought you closer to seeing Lorraine again, which meant you distanced yourself from Beau. You desperately hoped he understood; you loved him dearly, and there was nothing you wouldn’t do for him. But you just couldn’t love him the way you knew you should.

You sighed and put your thoughts aside when a truck pulled up to the barn. It wasn’t one you had seen before, at least not one you could remember. But it pulled up beside Beau’s truck as if they had done it a million times before. Not even Jimmy pulled up so well, and he lived there.

“You invite somebody?” You asked whoever was listening.

“You say that like we got friends,” Huck said with a chuckle and a swig from his beer bottle. He didn’t even look.

“Then somebody invited themself,” you said.

The lights of the truck were still on, seeming brighter as the sun continued to dip beneath the horizon.  It would have silhouetted the still-budding cotton field if not for the blinding lights. Not many people made it a habit of coming out to the barn; they went to the house with daddy and not much else. There really wasn’t much sense in coming out this way.

Roy’s knee pressed against your thigh before you heard something scrape across the concrete floor. Hesitantly, you stopped looking at the truck and turned to look at him. His eyes were glued to the truck, and his hand was wrapped carefully around the handle of a pistol. A pistol that you hadn’t known he still had access to.

“I got it,” you said softly as you reached out to place your hand on top of his. He stiffened beneath you, but nodded once and let go of the gun.

You would need to figure out what to do about that another day.

The driver’s side door opened without a creak - something unusual in your bunch - and someone stepped out. You stood up and took a few steps toward the truck in an attempt to see who it was. With the truck’s lights still on, you couldn’t tell. You couldn’t even properly see their silhouette. When the lights turned off, you were stuck blinking erratically; the beam of light wouldn’t fade quickly enough.

“You lost?” You called out. The words carried across the now-silent driveway. “Town’s the other way.”

“I’m where I wanna be.”

Every atom of your being sparked at the voice. If you had been thinking logically, you would have remembered Roy was sitting on a box behind you. There were witnesses to your actions. But you weren’t thinking logically. You could never think logically if she was around.

There wasn’t an ounce of hesitation before you practically sprinted toward the truck. Your arms knew where to go; they secured themselves around Lorraine’s shoulders as if that was where they belonged. In return, her arms wrapped around your waist, and her breath hit your neck, and her giggles reached your ears, and you were home.

She was your home.

“Got back a few nights early,” she said. Her arms squeezed tighter around your waist. “Thought I’d come surprise you.”

“It’s a good surprise,” you said softly.

You would have been content to stand there for the rest of eternity. With her head resting between your collar and jaw and her arms holding you like a lifeline, you didn’t have a single complaint. Why would you even want to leave? She was your home. She was what made your heart beat so fast you started to question if it would even hold up to the abuse.

“Look who’s back.” Beau’s voice came from behind you like the mighty voice of God himself; calling you out for the very sin of feeling love.

Lorraine pulled away to give everyone a hug, and you watched her do so. No one cared about your… affections for Lorraine; if Roy noticed, he certainly didn’t say anything. He even reached out to squeeze her hand, which was much more than he did for most.

Did he know? When Lorraine pulled up a box right beside yours and let her thigh rest only a hair’s breadth away from yours, did he see? It hadn’t ever occurred to you that Roy might know more than he let on. He was traumatised, not blind. How much did he see that you weren’t aware of? 

Would he hate you? Had daddy gotten to him before you had even been born, teaching him that your very existence was a blight on the earth? Your stomach twisted into knots at the possibility. Jimmy was younger, he was more open minded, but Roy? The very thought of him condemning you to hell even after everything he had seen made your chest squeeze and tighten.

“You get yourself a new truck?” Huck asked as he held out a newly opened beer for Lorraine to take. “Looks mighty clean.”

“It’s daddy’s,” she said as she grabbed the bottle by the neck with her good hand.

“What happened to the truck I was fixin’ up?” You asked.

“He gave up on it,” she said with a shrug. “Said she was done for.”

“She was not done for,” you grumbled.

The toe of Lorraine’s shoe pushed gently against your heel; a teasing gesture she had adopted when other people were around. Just something small to let you know she acknowledged what you were saying. A habit you almost wished didn’t exist. The very existence of it meant you both were well aware of the ramifications of any sort of potentially scandalous words or activities. It was humiliating.

Your thoughts wouldn’t stop when everyone started talking and catching up. Lorraine was being particularly open. Nearly every time she came back from a trip, she stayed distant for a few days. The entire town knew you were all best friends, but you both tried to keep nothing but professional. It was fake. It was painful.

What about this break made her throw away that distance? Your chest warmed at the possibility that something had happened with RJ; perhaps everything wasn’t so awful. It wasn’t likely, but you let yourself relish in the feeling even if just for a moment. God could spare you a single moment of peace.

“We all gettin’ together Friday night?” Beau asked. “The usual?”

“Sounds good to me,” Lorraine said. She turned to look at you with a sparkle in her eye. “Think you can handle it?”

Roy’s knee pressed against your thigh at the same time Lorraine’s thigh did the same. Something about the potential judgment from your brother and the warmth from the woman you were forced to love in secret pulled at your insides. Tugging them in different directions, stretching you thin until you wanted to fade away into oblivion.

A moment of peace.

“I’m your huckleberry,” you said with a shrug.

Lorraine’s smile eased the tension in your chest. For the moment.

—---

The worn-down barn had been rearranged since the last time you had visited. The bar took over the better half of the left wall, and the makeshift stage had been reinforced at the back. Your usual table, which was originally found near the front of the barn, was now located closer to the back end of the bar; you could see directly out to the pitch black fields.

That was where your crew found themselves that Friday night; sitting at the table with more than a few empty drinks scattered around. It wasn’t like the Mexican restaurant down the road. There weren’t waitresses and people working there to clean. It was your responsibility to take your empty glasses back so they could be cleaned and reused. And on that night, it was your turn to be the waitress.

“Hey sugar,” Beau called to you when you were grabbing the empty cups to take back. “Get us another round?”

“You’re gonna have me lookin’ like an alcoholic,” you said with a pointed look.

You ignored Lorraine’s angelic giggle.

You also didn’t say no.

“What can I get for ya, Preacher?” Stevie - Stephen on Sundays - asked. “Your boys are throwin’ ‘em back.”

“So’s Rainey,” you said with a slight shake of your head. It didn’t erase your smile. “How’s about somethin’ watered down.”

“You truly are doin’ the Lord’s work,” he said with a smirk that most girls around town fell for. “A small bit of whiskey and some sweet iced tea.”

You mouthed a silent thank you as he got to work on the drinks and you turned to look back out at the scene. It was no surprise to see Beau and Lorraine already up and dancing. They couldn’t get you to dance to save your life, but you knew how much Lorraine loved it. She could have fun and laugh and smile without a care in the world. Did it help that she only danced when she was drunk? Yes, but that didn’t really matter.

The sight of her smiling has that vice grip closing around your heart again. It was cold and made you feel like you were drowning on dry land. Something about it didn’t sit right with you. Love was supposed to be something warm, something you could crawl back home to. It wasn’t supposed to hurt so bad, was it? Surely there was more to love than the hurt that you couldn’t even tell anyone about.

God was looking down on you. You could feel it. He was looking down at you, waiting to smite you where you stood. If he could hear your thoughts, could feel the way your body reacted to just hearing Lorraine’s voice, he would command Satan himself to drag you down to hell. You would feel the fiery pits of hell before you could ever show anyone how much you loved her.

But a part of you didn’t care. You would face whatever was thrown at you just to see her smile again. To feel her fingers brush against your hand when you passed her a bible at church because she had forgotten one again. You would have stood in front of God himself and rejected the heavenly gates if it meant you could hear her voice each morning you awoke beside her.

Blasphemy.

You knew it was.

You’re condemning your God for something that will never come to fruition.

You knew that too.

“Here ya go,” Stevie said, pulling you out of your downward spiral into a controlled madness. “Should help ‘em sober up a bit.”

“Thanks, Stevie,” you said with another polite smile as you grabbed the glasses he held out to you.

Lorraine and Beau were still dancing when you placed the drinks on the table and drug yourself into your seat. It was one of those tall seats that you almost had to climb into if you were a little shorter. Beau always teased you for it, but you at least got to tease Lorraine in return. She was shorter than you, after all.

“Please tell me these don’t have alcohol in ‘em,” Huck said even as he pulled the glass closer to him. “I can’t keep up with those two.”

“Little bit of whiskey,” you said, “mostly iced tea.”

He nodded once. “I can work with that.”

“Think they’ll dance all night?” You asked, turning your head to look at your boyfriend and the love of your life. That ball in your throat reappeared. You pretended not to notice it.

“They’re already stumblin’,” he said with a shake of his head. “I reckon they’ll come back in a bit.”

You nodded absentmindedly and continued to watch the pair. This very scene was a repeat of when she had gotten back a few months ago. The scenes played out in your head perfectly as you imagined the sound of Lorraine’s laughter to go with her dancing. It didn’t cover the sounds of her moans or the feel of her on top of you, but you were allowed an indecent thought every now and then.

If you were going to hell, you may as well enjoy the moment.

God, your mind was a mess. Maybe you needed to get away from town for a few days.

Lorraine’s voice reached you before she did. If you had been blinded, you would have been able to pick her voice out within a moment. Hers was the voice that guided you through your days, instilling a confidence and comfort that nothing else truly could. It rivaled God himself, and you understood how the prophets could be so comforted when listening to Him.

“You didn’t get yourself a drink,” Lorraine commented when she sat down beside you with the same grace as a newborn lamb.

“I’ll just share yours,” you said.

Her toothy smile sent a jolt to your very core.

“You’re dancin’ with me next, darlin’,” Beau said. He attempted to point at you, but just ended up making a mess and spilling half his drink.

“Ask me again when you’re sober, cowboy,” you teased.

“You goin’ to church with us on Sunday, Rainey?” Huck asked.

“Don’t talk about church,” Beau whined. “We’re tryin’ to have some fun.”

“Yeah, I’ll go,” she answered anyway. “So will the rest of the crew.”

That was new information.

“They’re here?” You asked.

“They said they missed y’all,” she said with a smile that was far more sober, almost even bashful.

“You sure they won’t burst into flames when they step foot inside?” Beau asked. You did your best not to laugh when Huck slapped his arm. Lorraine laughed aloud anyway.

You all talked about everything. You talked about nothing. You talked about plans that meant nothing and everything all at the same time. A vacation, perhaps out west, to see the ocean. Perhaps another one to Tennessee, where Huck knew a family that made moonshine in their shed. Or up to those big ole cities like New York, where rumour had it you could get yourself some crab that you didn’t catch out on the Gulf.

Lorraine’s thigh was flush against yours. It was just warm enough outside to warrant shorts, and even though you were wearing your sundress, you could feel her bare skin against yours. The very thought was indecent to its core. There were so many people around that had no idea of the indiscrete touch, yet it was enough to shake you to your very soul.

“I wanna watch you dance,” Lorraine whispered in your ear. It’s possible it wasn’t a whisper at all, but with the band and talking all around, no one else would have heard.

“I didn’t think you liked watchin’,” you said with a straight face that completely contradicted your teasing thoughts.

“I like watching’ if it’s you,” she said with a mirrored expression.

Damn her and those beautiful brown eyes of hers.

“Come on, lover boy,” you called out to Beau even as Lorraine brushed her knuckles against your thigh underneath the table. “You get one dance.”

“I’ll take it,” he said quickly.

He downed what little was left in his glass before hopping down from the stool. Your feet had barely touched the dirt floor when Beau grabbed your hand and pulled you with him. He was far past tipsy, though you wouldn’t quite say he was drunk. He was, however, well on his way.

“Just a nice lil two-step,” he warned you.

“Don’t drop me,” you warned.

He smiled the dopey, crooked smile that Huck loved so much. “Darlin’, I wouldn’t dare.”

As much as you hated dancing, it wasn’t half bad with Beau. He was one of the best in town, there was no denying the fact. There was something about his two-step that made it different, a little more special. He could have led the blind with how confident he was. Each step, each twist, each dip, you just simply had to follow. Not once would he ever leave you to falter.

You gave him more than one dance; after all, how could you stop when you had seen the look on Lorraine’s face as she watched? What would it feel like to dance with her, you wondered. Would she prefer to lead, or follow? How would her hand feel resting on your hip for something as simple as a dance? Would it send the same jolt of passion through you as everything else she did?

Once the music started to die down, you could feel the blisters starting to form on your heels. You couldn’t recall the last time you had danced in boots, and your feet were reminding you of such a thing. With a small grimace, you realised you would have to take care of them once you got home. The last thing you wanted were untreated blisters.

“I’m done,” you told Beau. You weren’t looking at his face; you were too focused on your feet. “I think I’m gonna regret this come mornin’.”

His grip on your waist tightened. “How’s about one more?”

“I ain’t losin’ my feet for a dance,” you said with a light laugh. You went to turn towards the table, but he pulled you back.

“Just one more,” he insisted. “Then I’ll let you escape.”

You tried to pull away again. “I reckon I really just need to sit dow-”

-Beau’s lips were pressed against yours before you had time to acknowledge the fact. He was pulling you tight, and your hands pushed lightly against his chest. His lips were chapped; they were nowhere near as soft as Lorraine’s. That was the only thing you could think about as the kiss seemed to drag on.

Until it clicked that you were kissing Beau.

No, he was kissing you.

You finally managed to push him just far enough away for you to look at him. He was looking down at you with startlingly sober eyes. That wasn’t like him at all. In all your years of knowing him, he had never sobered up so quickly in his life. He wasn’t a lightweight, but once he was gone? He was gone.

“What the hell was that for?” You asked softly enough for no one around you to hear.

He didn’t answer.

“Beau,” you insisted.

His eyes flickered above your head before meeting yours once again. What was he looking at? You shouldn’t look. The internal voice that so often resembled your guilt sounded more desperate. Desperate like the look on Beau’s face. It was right, you shouldn’t look.

You turned around anyway.

You didn’t immediately see anything out of sorts. Stevie was starting to pack up at the bar, indicative of either shift change or the barn being out of alcohol for the night. At the table, Huck was facing the bar and throwing back a shot that you didn’t recall him getting. Hadn’t he said he was done drinking? He wasn’t really one to go back once he was done.

Until you locked eyes with Lorraine. Who was standing right outside the barn in front of a kneeling RJ. Who’s left hand was clasped between both of his. Who looked painfully sober while he slid a ring onto her finger. Who looked at you with the same look you got from Jimmy and Huck and Roy when she was with RJ.

You weren’t supposed to look.

Each beat of your heart hurt.

“I think I’m done for tonight,” you said around the lump in your throat.

Beau’s arms held you tighter to his chest. “I’ll take you home.” His heartbeats hurt too.

“No thank you,” you said before finally turning back around to face him. You tried not to think too much about the look on his face. “Stay here with Huck and celebrate.”

“Baby-”

“-It’s alright,” you interrupted with a smile that convinced no one. “Stevie’s goin’ my way anyway.”

Every inch of your body was both numb and engulfed in pain all at once. You stood on your toes - ignoring the sting of raw blisters on your heel - and pressed a lingering kiss to his cheek. He had a bit of stubble; it was scratchy against your lips and made a nice momentary distraction. It wasn’t enough.

He only tried to hold you close for just a moment more. It was nothing more than a half-hearted attempt, and the instant you pulled away, he let you. With each step, you focused on your heels. On walking carefully so the rough leather of your boots wouldn’t tear them to shreds. A practiced walk that any true Southerner had mastered by the time they were old enough to dress themselves.

The hair on the back of your neck stood up when you approached the table. It was itchy and you wanted to scratch it until you ceased to exist. But you didn’t, you kept your hands clasped politely in front of you until you grabbed your hat off the table.

“I’m headin’ on home,” you said to whoever was sitting at the table.

You knew who was at the table.

“You okay-”

“-Just feelin’ a bit sick ‘s all,” you interrupted Huck with a dismissive wave and a fake smile. No one was convinced. “Guess I can’t hold my liquor.”

“Need us to drive you home?” RJ asked. His voice alone set your nerves alight and a new pain radiating across your skin.

“I’ve got a ride,” you said. The next word forced its way out of your mouth. “Congratulations.”

She was looking at you, and you knew it, but you couldn’t bring yourself to do the same. After all, why would you want to see the confirmation on her face?  Did she not know what that would do to you? Your heart was barely getting by as it was, you didn’t need to add her pity to the mix.

You patted Huck on the shoulder before turning away, placing your hat back on your head in the process. It still smelled like Lorraine from when she had worn it earlier in the night. The act had made your fingers tingle with hidden excitement. No one had guessed the hidden meaning behind it; it was lovely.

Now it didn’t matter.

“You alright, sweetheart?” Stevie asked. Oh. You were at the bar. “You’re lookin’ a little green.”

“Just feelin’ a bit tired,” you said. “You headin’ my way?”

He tipped his hat. “Sure am.” A shit-eating grin took over his face. “Want a shot and smoke for the road?”

You should’ve said no. Stevie was someone you trusted greatly, and it was clear he wasn’t planning on taking the shot with you. Well, it wasn’t clear, but he only set one shot glass on the bar, so you assumed as much. But it wasn’t about his potential drinking and driving, it was the way it would look. It wasn’t proper for you to be leaving the bar with a man who wasn’t your boyfriend.

Your hands shook. Then again, it wasn’t quite proper for RJ to show up on your night out and propose to the woman you loved, either.

“I’d love one,” you told Stevie with a smile.

“Atta girl,” he said as he poured the whiskey into the glass. Bottom shelf; more than suitable for the job. “The smokes are in the truck.”

The hair on your arms stood up again. You tried not to think about it as you threw the shot back. The sting of alcohol hit your stomach like a semi hitting a brick wall. Nothing was appealing about it, and yet you weren’t disappointed. The sting was better than the pressure getting heavier and heavier on your chest.

“Alright, you ready?” Stevie asked when you slid the glass back toward him.

“Yessir,” you said with a smile that you hoped was more convincing than the last few.

It seemed it was.

The whole group was staring at you, you could feel it. Looking at you in pity, like a stray dog no one wanted. Everyone would feed it, would love it, would treat it well until the moment it came time to go inside. Then it would be left on the streets to fend for itself. With any luck, it would survive until the next encounter, but no one would take the risk of bringing it inside.

“Here you go,” Stevie mumbled as he held the cigarette pack out to you. It was so worn you couldn’t even tell the brand. You didn’t care. 

He held the lighter up, and you leaned forward to get the spark. When you inhaled, the scalding ash burned every inch of your throat. It coated your lungs and took the pressure off your chest, if only to relocate it. The truck started driving off before you could exhale that first cloud of smoke. That was okay. You quickly inhaled again.

The burn showed you what hell felt like.

—---

The sun had risen long ago, and you were still in bed. The dusty yellow curtains were drawn, allowing only the thinnest sliver of light to penetrate your room. Whenever you dared to face the world for a few seconds, you could see the dust motes floating in the air, almost like spring snowflakes.

Momma had talked to Mrs. Day on the phone that morning. You hadn’t been present, but you could hear her through the walls. Her excitement at the news made you sick. You simply held your head out of your window and let yourself be sick before crawling back into bed. The blankets did nothing to block out the world, but you could at least pretend to hide away for a few hours.

You tried not to let yourself think about Lorraine; no easy feat considering she held your heart and soul in the palm of her hand. No, if you thought about it for too long, you felt you might turn into Roy. Stuck in your own head, unable to go about the intricacies of life without the trauma constantly looming over your head. You were more than content to lay in your bed and just rot away.

Hell could go ahead and take you. Surely it was no worse than what you were already experiencing.

“Come on, lazy bones,” momma said as she finally made the bold move to open your bedroom door. “Gramma’s here to help with the garden.”

She didn’t wait for you, but you knew the expectation. When momma asked you to do something, you usually had about 15 minutes before she started to pitch a fit. If you wanted to avoid a guilt trip, you would at least be up and in the process of heading outside by the time she started to get irritable.

You made sure to take up every minute you had. The slightly windy weather was perfect for a pair of jeans, so you made sure to take your time picking them out. The worn pair of garden boots sat in the corner; your heels stung just looking at them. It wouldn’t hurt to work barefoot for the day. After all, God brought you into the world without boots, you could experience another day without boots.

Momma and Gramma were already kneeling in the garden by the time you finally managed to make your appearance. Your hat hung low on your brow to block out the high afternoon sun. It was already hot on your arms, but you could work with it. A bit of sun wouldn’t kill you.

No one said a word as you grabbed the trowel and kneeled next to a still forming row of… well, you weren't sure what it would be this year. Last year it had been carrots, but they hadn’t lasted long. Perhaps this year you would make a bold suggestion of black eyed peas again. You knew you could get it right if you had another chance.

“What’s got you so down today, honey?” Gramma asked after what felt like far too long in the sun.

It had only been about five minutes.

“Does it have to do with Rainey gettin’ engaged?” Momma asked. The question made you sick to your stomach again.

“Yeah, kinda,” you said with a shrug even as you refused to look up at either of them.

“Oh honey,” Gramma said softly, “don’t be upset.” You couldn’t help it. “Beau will propose before you know it.”

Oh. Right.

You didn’t want Beau to propose. You couldn’t imagine anything worse than putting Huck through what you were feeling at that moment. Knowing that his heart would break every time he looked at you, no matter how happy he would be for you. He would have to sit on the sidelines, pretending to be joyous about watching his lover marry someone else.

Would he question God the way you did? Because you couldn’t comprehend why you were getting punished for the very fate of falling for someone you shouldn’t have. It wasn’t like you had planned on falling in love with Lorraine; did He really think you would do this on purpose? After seeing how painful life could be, why would you willingly choose such a life? To not feel a single thing for the man you were “supposed” to be with.

Surely it couldn’t have only been you. Surely you weren’t the only one who didn’t feel a certain way for Beau. Momma felt things for daddy, didn’t she? She had to, there was no other explanation. People didn’t just marry someone they didn’t love, did they?

Did they?

“What does love feel like?” You asked aloud to neither one of them in particular.

“What do you mean?” Momma asked.

You set the trowel down and leaned back on your heels. It stung. “When you look at Daddy, do you ever get, I don’t know, butterflies or somethin’?”

You finally looked up and saw both Momma and Gramma look away in thought. You needed them to confirm it. Needed them to tell you that yes, they felt something for Daddy and Pappy. They felt butterflies, and their palms got sweaty, and they wanted to do everything for them because they loved them. They needed to say it.

“Don’t think I ever have,” Momma finally said.

“Never?” You asked indignantly.

“Not that I recall,” she confirmed.

“How about you, Gramma?” You asked.

She needed to answer differently.

“Not for your Pappy,” she said with a shake of her head. “But I’ve felt somethin’ for someone else before.”

“Mom,” Momma scolded.

“Oh please,” Gramma said with a dismissive wave of her hand, “we’re all grown now.” She turned to look at you. “A man I grew up with.” You kept your eyes locked with hers. “Every time we were together, I’d get this giddy feelin’ in my chest.”

“Did you love him?” You asked.

“I believe I did,” she said with a nod. “He was certainly the one I wanted to spend my forever with.”

The pressure in your chest returned. “Why didn’t you?”

“He wasn’t the one I needed to love,” she said with a shrug before going back to digging up a few weeds.

“How d’you know?” You asked. The sweat made it harder to hold the trowel in your hand.

“God told me,” Gramma said as if it was the most logical answer in the world. “I was s’posed to love him, but I needed to love your Pappy.”

The pressure in your chest turned sharp.

“And you?” You asked Momma. “God told you to love Daddy?”

She nodded instantly. “He certainly did, and I thank Him every day for it.”

“But you don’t feel nothin’ special for him?” You asked. You wanted her to deny it.

“I feel what I’m s’posed to feel,” she confirmed.

You looked back down at the dirt. The tiny little splinters of the trowel handle dug into your fingers as you gripped it tighter. If you looked close enough, you could see a worm or two digging through the rich soil. Would it be easier to be that worm? To not have to worry about who to love, or if God would punish you for desiring someone else?

“Don’t worry, sweetheart,” Momma said, and you felt her hand rest on your shoulder. “Beau seems to be both the one you’re s’posed to love, and the one you need to love.” You felt sick. “You’re mighty lucky for it to turn out that way.”

“Yeah,” you said with a small smile before digging into the soil again.

Even though Momma and Gramma got back to work, you dug mindlessly with your bare hands, the trowel all but forgotten. Perhaps you had given your Momma too much credit. After all of this, she had ended up with someone that she didn’t love. Gramma had missed out on someone she loved because it wasn’t proper. Three generations of women who were stuck.

Was it a punishment? Surely God wouldn’t punish three generations of women for having feelings for someone. Someone that wasn’t ordained as the “right one” for them. No one could be quite that cruel, could they? What happened to love being something pure, a true gift that was to be held dearly?

Maybe your Momma had fallen victim to the same sin as you. Destined to love someone you weren’t meant to be with. The thought made you sick to your stomach. You were your mother’s daughter. And you were all suffering for the sin of love.

—--

Somehow, some way, you had managed to avoid any sort of small talk with people before church had started. You had stood at the doors to tell everyone good morning, giving Beau and Huck quick hugs before ushering them in. Daddy was already in the chapel talking with everyone, and you were more than happy to practically push the Days in without sparing them a second glance.

You ignored the coiling in your stomach when Lorraine gave you that pity-filled smile.

“You clean up nice.”

For the first time in two days, you allowed yourself to smile for a moment. Maxine was the first to give you a hug, then Bobby-Lynne, followed up by Jackson and Wayne. Truth be told, you had missed them too. There was something comforting about knowing that they accepted you, all of you, and wouldn’t shame you for a single thing.

Except for being a preacher. They still teased you for that one.

“And Beau was convinced you’d catch fire when you stepped in,” you said with a small smile.

“Not yet,” Bobby-Lynne said in her most confident tone. It was a good look for her.

“Everyone’s already inside,” you said with a gesture of your head, “go sit where you’d like.”

“We’ll behave,” Wayne said as he tipped his hat at you.

“Please do,” you called out to their backs.

Only a few more people were left before church started and you could finally close the doors. The kid’s church was in the small connected building on the side of the church. It wasn’t anything fancy, but the whole town had pitched in one year to build it. Something about having their own building made the kids more excited to go to church than anything else. And quite frankly, no one cared what the children enjoyed about it as long as they were excited to go.

“Alright y’all, let’s get started,” you said as you closed the doors behind you.

Daddy had made it clear you would never be the head preacher at church; that right was reserved for when Jimmy got back from seminary. You had tried not to act hurt when he had broken the news to you. The original plan had been for you to go to seminary because Jimmy wanted to go to an actual college. But it seemed none of you would get what you want, and you were all having to live with the cards you were being dealt.

Leading kids’ church was something you enjoyed, so you wouldn’t complain too much. After all, kids were far more open to learning than adults were. They wanted to hear whatever they wanted to hear and nothing else. You couldn’t count the number of times you had preached to the adults and they had come up to you afterwards to debate the meaning of a scripture. The joke was on them, though; you had taken enough seminary to know some of the original translations, not just the watered down version they preferred.

It was a wonderful lesson for the day; love thy neighbour. Something most people seemed to have trouble with at one point or another. Hell, even you had issues with it. There was more than once you had wished trouble up on a neighbour. Particularly when they attempted to belittle you when you were trying to live your day-to-day life. You wouldn’t take it back, but you accepted it had been a fault of yours.

“Alright y’all,” you said when the clock on the wall hit 12:30pm. “Let’s pray for our neighbours before we go.”

“Except those faggots, right?”

“Excuse me?” You said as quickly as the words had reached your ears.

Mr. Dylan’s son - Scott - tilted his head in confusion. You had known it was him; he was usually the one who spoke out the most. And his views were… well, they were perfect copies of his daddy’s views, and that wasn’t something you accepted. Especially not when they came out sounding the way it just had.

“I ain’t prayin’ for those faggots up north,” he repeated.

“Don’t say that word,” you said. “Why would you even say that?”

He sighed and looked at you like you were stupid. “Daddy says those fa-” he paused at the look you gave him, “-homosexuals are dyin’ cause they’re sinners.”

That coil in your stomach from earlier had turned into hot lead. A part of your mind told you to keep your mouth shut; you were in the middle of a church in the middle of a very Baptist town. It was dangerous to say anything that could be considered problematic or un-Christian.

But those people were dying and no one cared. They were suffering for loving someone society told them they shouldn’t. No one was trying to help them, they were just being condemned for something they couldn’t help. All the guilt of the world was being thrown onto them for nothing more than the sake of putting the attention on someone else.

Like you, they were being punished for the sin of loving the wrong person.

You could feel a heat growing in your chest. “They’re God’s children too, and they deserve prayers and love just the same as you and me.”

“That ain’t what my daddy says,” Scott defended.

You couldn’t recall another time you had been itching to beat a child.

“Your daddy is divorced,” you said, “and that’s just as much a sin as anything else. We still pray for him, don’t we?”

Scott thought for a moment. “Yes ma’am.”

“Then we pray for everyone, understand?” You said.

“Yes ma’am,” he replied.

“Good,” you exhaled. The heat in your chest wouldn’t go away. “Now bow your heads and let’s pray.”

The prayer was half-assed at best. You couldn’t stop thinking about what Scott had said. The absolute nerve of Mr. Dylan to tell his son such a thing. You could only be so upset with Scott. He was a kid, and kid’s would mimic whatever their parents said. It was natural, and you wouldn’t fault him for it.

But you could certainly fault Mr. Dylan.

The kids all ran out of the church to go meet up with their parents in the parking lot. The sun was starting to shine down on everyone, and you could feel the asphalt burning through the soles of your shoes. They were a horrible pair, but they were the only ones you had that didn’t rub the blisters on the back of your heels. A small price to pay for the sake of not having nasty scars on your feet.

Across the parking lot, you could see the whole crew leaning against their cars. They were all talking and laughing, most likely catching up. You desperately wanted to go over and talk with them. You wanted to be part of their family again, to feel the comfort in acceptance.

But RJ’s arm stayed wrapped around Lorraine’s waist, and you just couldn’t bring yourself to go through that just yet.

You turned your body to go back into the church; you hadn’t grabbed any of your stuff, and Daddy usually wanted help cleaning up before heading out to lunch. If you could help him then maybe God would forgive you for the day. Surely he wouldn’t hate you if you were in His house-

-a loud smack hovered below the ringing in your ears before you felt the sharp sting.

Your eyes teared up almost instantly, before you could even bring your hands up to press against the tender flesh of your right cheek. That heat in your chest from earlier had frozen, leaving you motionless even as the threat loomed above you. Even though you couldn’t make out the words, you could vaguely hear the low rumble of a voice over the ongoing ringing.

When you finally managed to blink away a few tears, you looked up. First you saw someone’s back; they were so close you could smell them. Beau. In front of him was Mr. Dylan, standing tall and furious. He looked like one of the avenging angels. Was he coming to kill you? To end your miserable life and escort you down to hell himself?

“We may not be in the church, but this is still holy ground,” Beau said. He sounded angry. He was never angry.

“Then you best take her out back and beat some sense into her,” Mr. Dylan said just as angrily. Perhaps more. “If she defends those faggots again, I’ll beat her myself.”

“You’ll keep your hands to yourself,” Beau said. At least you thought he did. The ringing still hadn’t gone away. “And you’ll take yourself on home. Now.”

You finally locked eyes with Mr. Dylan, and you wished you hadn’t. He was furious. You couldn’t recall a time you had seen such raw hate in someone’s eyes. What could have caused him to have such a visceral reaction to someone’s differing opinions on life? Was that not one of the better parts of life? Being able to disagree and live in harmony?

“I’m watchin’ you,” he said as he pointed a finger in your direction. But just as Beau had commanded, he turned around and left.

“Are you okay?” Beau asked almost immediately.

“I’m fine,” you said slowly, ignoring the slight copper taste in your mouth. “I just wanna go home.”

“I’ll tell your daddy,” he said. “Go get in my truck.”

You didn’t really listen to what he was saying; the ringing had mostly gone away, but things still sounded a little dull. But you knew you could make it to his truck. Your steps were uncertain at first, and you felt like you were drunk. With the way the world tilted ever so slightly beneath you, you were sure you looked drunk too.

You passed the crew without a glance. If they were looking at you, you didn’t notice. The only thing you could focus on was stepping up into Beau’s truck and the warm metallic blood on your lips. Had it come from Mr. Dylan’s ring? Or had you bitten your lip when your head snapped back? You weren’t sure; you didn’t think it mattered.

The window felt cool on your cheek. It was a welcome feeling, easing the stinging sensation ever so slightly. What you wouldn’t give to have a cold steak on it. Maybe a cold washcloth if you could swing it. But as your eyes started to close and the noises stayed at a low thrum, you figured the window was more than good enough.

You were asleep before Beau came back to the truck.

—---

The barn was empty on Tuesday afternoons. Those were the days you used to find yourself hanging in the rafters with Lorraine. Sneaking away before you had found better ways to be together. Your fingers ran over the rough wooden beams that you had sat on time and time again. Even though it ached, you smiled at the memory. You were thankful you didn’t have to pick splinters out of your ass anymore.

“Beau said you were here.”

You could hear the creaky wooden ladder before you saw Lorraine pulling herself up onto the rafter. It had been just long enough for instinct to kick in, and you looked at her left hand. That ever-present pressure in your chest eased a little when you noticed she wasn’t wearing the ring.

You should have been ashamed of being relieved.

You weren’t.

“How’s your cheek?” She asked. Her hand lifted and hovered over your cheek before she thought better of it and let it fall back to her side.

“Fine,” you said with a shrug. You both knew it was a lie. The bruise had turned an ugly dark that circled your eye and highlighted the split of your lip.

“I don’t love him,” she said without hesitation.

“I know,” you said with a nod as you sat down on the barely-standing hay bale.

Lorraine sat down beside you and let her head rest on your shoulder. You desperately wished she wouldn’t. Her touch still sent a fire down your spine. The feel of your heart beating in sync with yours was enough to drive you to near-insanity. You craved her touch far too much for her to be so gentle with you.

“Can we please talk when I get back?” She said softly. “We have to.”

You didn’t want to talk. Honestly, that was probably the very last thing you wanted. No part of you wanted to hear about her having to marry RJ and pretend to be happy about it. Yeah, you knew it was going to happen. Some part of you had always known it would happen eventually. You were hopeful, but you weren’t stupid.

What you really wanted was for her to hold your hand. To pull you in for a kiss without fear of getting lynched. You had just gotten beat outside of a church, but you wanted to be able to feel love without fear of reprise. And you couldn’t even have something as simple as that, because you wouldn’t dare put her in such a position.

Lorraine lifted her head when you still hadn’t said anything. Her eyes held that pity that you hated. They always seemed to hold that pity when she looked at you. You dared to lift your hand to cup her cheek. The scars were healing up nicely, and you could barely tell the difference when your thumb rubbed lightly against her cheek.

You shouldn’t have done it. The crew was in the driveway, waiting for her to come down so they could get going. You didn’t care. You leaned forward and kissed her lightly, ignoring the sharp pain in your cheek. Her lips were warm and soft; they always were. She tasted of home.

As you sat there, kissing the woman you loved with the desperation of a man on his deathbed, you believed you would be happy if those were your last moments. If God had come down in that moment to take you, you would have been content. The last thing you would have experienced was a moment of love and the taste of Lorraine on your lips.

“I love you,” you mumbled against her lips.

You hoped she understood the many other things you were trying to convey with those three words. I love you. You’re my home. I have betrayed my God and my family for you, and I would do it again. The world hates me and wants me dead, but I would give up everything for you. Only you.

“I love you too,” she said just as softly before leaning forward into another kiss. Something softer. Somehow holding more desperation than the last.

It was all over far too soon. It was bound to be over too soon. Lorraine had a life outside the four walls of the barn, and you were being called back to the church. When she pulled away, you chased her lips for a moment more. One more kiss, one more touch, one more instance of the comfort and turmoil and peace that she instilled within your soul.

“I promise I’ll be back,” she said. “Please be here when I get back.”

You nodded. “I’ll always be waiting for you.”

Her answer was one more kiss, filled with everything she didn’t have time to say. It could have lasted for the rest of your life and it still would have been too short. When she pulled away, everything felt cold. But you were brave. You watched Lorraine head back to the ladder and pause. The tears in her eyes matched your own. As much as you hated to see her cry, it left a feeling in your chest that she hated leaving just as much as you did.

“I love you,” she said. Perhaps a bit too loud. You didn’t care.

“I love you,” you repeated.

She bit her lip and continued her way down the ladder. You let the tears fall freely as you listened to her boots on the gravel making their way to the van. It started up quickly and they were gone almost as soon as the van door closed. The barn didn’t feel so familiar when she was gone. No, it felt empty, foreign.

Sinful.

You waited until the moon was high in the sky before coming down from the rafters. It wasn’t wise to be out so late, but you had nowhere else to go. Beau and Huck had left the night before to help with an emergency, and home held no comfort. All you would have done was rot away in your bedroom, and even that didn’t sound desirable.

Instead, you found yourself walking to the church. It would take a solid thirty minutes, but that was alright. After all, what else would you be doing? You were certainly in no mood to sleep. You wanted to stay awake so you could remember the feel of Lorraine’s lips on yours for as long as possible.

She was right, you would need to talk. Even if it was a talk to cut everything off completely, you both needed to be on the same page. Neither one of you had to be happy about it, but the inevitable was coming to fruition. At some point, one of you was bound to get married. And not to each other.

Perhaps you could all still live near each other. It wouldn’t be the same, and you would still have to hide away, but it would be better than nothing. All you wanted was to stay close to Lorraine by any means necessary. If that meant you could only stay close to her as a friend, you would do it. It would drive stakes into your heart day after day, but it was better than losing her forever.

Your feet were aching by the time you reached the church. Like the true Southern child you were, you had gone barefoot for the night. Your body was used to it, but that didn’t mean the long walk on dirt and gravel wouldn’t leave its mark. Not a single part of you cared about the dust as you opened the church doors and walked into the chapel.

The candles up front were the first things you lit. They weren’t numerous, but they were enough to light the small part of the pulpit that you kneeled in front of you. The carpet was rough against your knees; you must suffer to worship God, your Daddy had said at one point. Nothing about your beliefs were easy, and that was the point.

You rested your hands on your thighs as you looked up at the cross hanging behind the pulpit. It was a simple wooden cross, stained white. If you looked at it hard enough, you could see every one of your sins staining the cross. A horrific red against the startling white.

You wanted answers. You wanted to know why you were being punished. Had you not been good? Had you not been dutiful in your passion for Him? You had done everything you had been told. You had preached, you had read His word, you had followed His rules to the letter. Most people struggled to follow the most basic of rules, and they certainly weren’t being punished.

Tears welled up in your eyes not from sadness, but from anger. He had created you. He had known everything about you and had created you anyway. And now you were being punished for that very same existence? No, you had been good, you had behaved. You were a good girl. What would it take to prove that you were good?

The church doors clicked.

You hastily wiped the tears from your eyes and stood up. No one was supposed to be at the church, it was late. Whether it was a person or an animal, no one was supposed to be around. Should you defend yourself? Daddy usually had a gun at the church, but he had started taking it home lately to prevent accidents.

“Needed some extra prayers?” Mr. Dylan asked. His voice gave him away before you even turned around.

He was in his usual work clothes, but his pistol rested loosely in his hand. Part of you hoped he had brought it for protection from the coyotes and wild boars that liked to roam during the nights. You weren’t entirely stupid enough to believe your own hope.

“How’s ‘bout I pray with you,” he said as he walked closer.

You didn’t want him to. You wanted him to go on home, and you would go on home as well. Neither one of you needed to be in the church so late at night, you both needed to be home. Your families were waiting for you, weren’t they? It wasn’t proper for you to be in the church alone with a divorced man.

“Mr. Dylan-”

“-go on,” he insisted as he used the pistol to gesture to where you had been only moments before. “Kneel and pray.”

You did as instructed. “What would you like me to pray about?”

“Ask God for forgiveness,” he said. You couldn’t see him from where you were kneeling. “For the both of us.”

The carpet still stung on your knees.

“Forgiveness for what?” You asked. Your heart was beating so loudly in your ears you weren’t sure if you would even hear him.

“See if He’ll forgive you for that hellish demon you’ve been afflicted by,” he said.

You kept your mouth shut. You couldn’t recall what he meant. Yes, you had defended homosexuals on Sunday, but surely that wasn’t worth threatening you over, was it? He was a bit rash in his decisions, but he wasn’t ignorant. He wouldn’t risk jail just for this.

“And for you?” You asked.

“See if He’ll forgive me for doin’ His work.”

You heard a familiar sound from the pistol. Your hands shook. Your mind was screaming at you to turn around, to face him. He wasn’t the bravest man, there was no way he would kill you if you were looking him in the eye. And yet, your heart told you to close your eyes and pray.

“Somethin’ ‘bout you never sat right with me,” he continued. “Never figured you for one ‘a them queers.”

You had heard of this happening. Really, you shouldn’t have been surprised. But you were. You were scared. There was no beating around the bush, you were flat-out scared. He was holding a gun to your head. Wasn’t that something Daddy had always talked about in church? If someone held a gun to your head and said he’d shoot you if you were Christian, would you admit it? You had thought it was just some silly question he used to get people to think about his lesson.

You had never imagined he would be right.

“I shoulda done somethin’ ‘bout you years ago.” He just couldn’t quit talking. He’s nervous. “I ain’t gonna let you ruin these kids.”

He cocked the gun again; he must have uncocked it at some point. He just needed to get it over with already, what was he even waiting for?

The shaking in your hands stilled. Perhaps it would be for the best. The suffering would end. What would it be like not to hurt? Surely Lorraine would be alright, she had RJ and the crew. Beau and Huck would keep her safe. They always did. You wouldn’t have to feel that pressure in your chest and you could still watch over her anyway, couldn’t you? Probably better than you were now.

Something cold pressed against the back of your head.

“Say one last prayer.”

You risked tilting your head up to look at the cross one more time. Maybe it was time you died for your sins. After all, you hadn’t lived with the guilt for years without thinking this would happen eventually. How long had you truly thought you could get away with such a secret? No, this was bound to happen.

Lorraine had been smart enough to get out of town. She had gotten herself a beau that would be suitable for the purpose and had left. No one had any time to question her, and as much as you hated it, she had been right. Maybe she could be safe after all of this. Maybe she wouldn’t have to be so afraid.

She would forgive you. Lorraine had never been one to hold a grudge against you. Against others, sure, but not you. You were glad you had told her you loved her earlier. It eased the guilt. She knew you loved her; she knew you would have died for her. You were just upholding your end of the bargain.

You squeezed your eyes shut and let the guilt start to fade away. You had spent so long afraid of what God would do to you for your sins. Seemed He didn’t really care all that much; it was man who cared. No one was going to come save you. You let your mind wander to Lorraine as the barrel pressed harder against the back of your head.

I don’t want God’s forgiveness. I want Lorraine’s.

The metallic sound made you flinch, but you didn’t hear the shot. Your body froze completely. Had you missed it? Were you already dead? It didn’t even hurt, maybe it was quick. That was the best anyone could hope for, right? For it to be quick and painless.

You cracked your eyes open and looked around. It was still your church. The cross still loomed over you like some holy judge and executioner. Were you in purgatory? Well now, that would just be worse than hell, you believed. An entire afterlife full of nothing? You would rather burn in the fiery pits.

“I suggest you step away from my sister.”

“Roy?” You asked immediately even though you knew you should have kept quiet.

You turned around quickly, ignoring the carpet burns on your knees. It was him. Roy was standing near the back of the chapel, rifle held in steady hands. You didn’t know he still had one. It was aimed directly at Mr. Dylan who, for the first time, looked surprised.

“You’d best put that gun down, boy,” Mr. Dylan said. “This don’t involve you.”

“It does if you threaten my sister,” he said again. He wasn’t looking at you but gestured his head. “Come on, sweetheart.”

“Stay where you are,” Mr. Dylan said. He froze when Roy readjusted the rifle.

You kept your eyes on Mr. Dylan as you slowly pushed yourself up to your feet. His grip on the pistol tightened, but he otherwise stayed still. Each step you took was slow, calculated. It felt like you were walking before God to the gates for judgment. Your every move was scrutinised and all it would take was one wrong step.

But he never did anything. He just watched you until you were standing firmly behind Roy. The shakiness that accompanied his every move was gone, replaced with something you didn’t recognise. It was reminiscent of the old Roy, the one who had never gone to war. The only difference was the dull look in his eyes.

“Go get in the truck,” Roy said softly.

“What?” You looked at him. “I ain’t leavin’-”

“-Now.”

There was a harsh tone to his words. Authoritative. He sounded just like Daddy when he was preaching. It left no room for argument; his word was law. There was too much comfort in the way he held the rifle. If you left him, would he kill Mr. Dylan? Would he kill a man in the middle of the church?

He had nearly done the same to you.

Perhaps that was a good point.

“Okay,” you said aloud since he wasn’t looking at you.

You backed away slowly, keeping your eyes glued to the both of them. The last thing you wanted was to turn around and have something happen. It would have been shameful to go out that way. But no one else moved; they just stared at each other until you were out of the church and could run to Roy’s truck.

The silence was almost painful. You could hear the crickets outside creating a symphony with the locusts. If you strained your ears, you could hear a few frogs. But you weren’t listening to the wildlife; you were listening for the gunshot you were afraid was imminent.

Each second ticked by so slowly you felt you had aged another few years. What was taking him so long? He needed to leave Mr. Dylan alone so you could both go home. You could all get some sleep and pretend none of this had ever happened. You wouldn’t tell anyone if he didn’t, you just wanted it all to be over so you could see Lorraine again.

It felt like your heart had nestled in your throat by the time Roy walked outside. He wasn’t even looking back at the church. The rifle was casually slung over his shoulder, and for a moment, you could imagine him in the war. But then he got in the truck and tossed the rifle in the backseat.

He didn’t even put on his seatbelt before driving off.

“What happened?” You asked.

He didn’t answer.

“Roy,” you said again.

He missed the road to your house.

“That’s our turn,” you said aloud.

His hands gripped the wheel tighter.

“Roy, what the hell is goin’ on?” You asked again.

“We stay here, they’ll kill you.” The blood in your veins froze. “I know some guys out East.”

You leaned back in the seat and looked out the window. It was dark outside, but the stars were bright. Orion’s Belt was there, just as always. Night after night, he appeared to give you consistency and comfort. You didn’t entirely feel it.

“What about Lorraine?” You asked. There was no point in hiding it anymore; Roy wasn’t stupid.

Roy sighed. “She’s got Beau and Huck.”

His words didn’t put the pressure back in your chest. No, it was something worse now. It wasn't pressure, it was a knife. A knife that had missed your heart completely, keeping you alive as it twisted deeper, touching your very soul with its fiery edges.

Lorraine wouldn’t know what happened to you. She wouldn’t know where to find you. What if something happened and she needed you? What if you needed her? That wasn’t supposed to be the last kiss you gave her. You weren’t supposed to leave without even telling her goodbye. How were you expected to keep going when you knew you couldn’t see her again?

A hot tear fell down your bruised cheek. God had a cruel sense of humour.

You would have rather died. At least it wouldn’t hurt so bad.

[hwanchaesong]

┗🖋️ Behind the victory is a spice / Ball tagged onto the prize / Then the touch is nothing but a vice / Inhaled not once, but thrice 📖

🎧: Taylor Swift - The Alchemy

wc: 1.6k

genre & warnings: fluffff, tinier than a dust angst, college setting, football player!Riki, inaccurate game of football, cursing, mentions of beer, appearnce of other enha members, bisco and konon as special guests, etc etc

a/n: this is a part of The Tortured Poets Department series. if y'all want, you can read the other album inspired fics of other groups here.

The incessant knocking on your door made your head ache even worse, the scowl that greeted the person behind the annoying sounds disappeared when you saw who it was.

"Riki, I told you I don't want t- oh? Konon? What are you doing here?" you frowned apologetically at the girl, to which she only shrugged off.

"I'm here to give you this." she hands you a piece of clothing, a familiar one and you can't help the nose scrunch.

"Uh.. thanks. Take care on your way back." you mumbled, not believing that your boyfriend has to send his sister here in order to accomplish his mission.

"Wait!" she hurriedly says, stopping you from closing the door, "I know that my brother is an idiot for doing what he did. But he does love you, given that he's been sulking since your fight."

You laughed a bit at the snitching, imagining the tall boy pouting, "Thank you so much, Konon. Don't worry, we'll work things out."

She waves her hand, "I'm not worried in the slightest!" she giggles, "He deserves the silent treatment, but I do hope that you'll attend his game."

You nod, bidding each other goodbyes and you sigh. Looking at the item in your hand before spreading the oversized fabric out, a small piece of paper falling from it.

You raised an eyebrow, picking the paper up and examining its contents and it gave you a major facepalm moment. Still, finding it uniquely endearing.

Good day to the prettiest girl who is reading this! You have been given the honor to attend my (Nishimura Riki aka your boyfriend) game tomorrow at exactly 4 PM.

Please encircle your answer from the following options:

1. Yes

2. Yes

3. All of the above

Thank you! (ily)

You rolled your eyes at the silly content of his letter, tucking it gently on your coffee table and proceeding to your room to match the jersey with fashionable pants.

He basically wants you to come, so might as well give in. Besides, their team calls you their lucky charm. So you do have to attend either way, or else those rowdy boys will bust your ear out at uni.

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

Riki nervously looks around the stadium, eyeing for the familiar figure that he hasn't seen for days. (and it kills him deep inside but he would NEVER admit it)

"She'll come." one of his teammates, Heeseung, pats his back when the older noticed his anxious expression, "We explicitly told her to attend our matches because she brings us good luck. She'll come."

"True that." Jake butts in, giving the younger a comforting side hug, "Now stop pouting and let's do the huddle."

Riki gets hauled into the middle of the field, joining the nestle of hyping the team up, but he couldn't fucking concentrate.

Focusing was proven difficult if he hasn't seen or felt your presence before a game, and it shows.

It was clear to anyone with eyes that their japanese star player had something in his mind- you.

He is getting icky, his teammates were exasperated as well. They are 5 points behind and they are all shouting for Riki to get that touchdown.

Can he do it?

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

You took a deep breath when you heard the loud cheers inside the stadium. Wiping your clammy hands on your denim pants and boosting yourself up to go in there. 

Finally, you entered the arena, the bright lights blinding you for a second as you took some time to adjust. Moving through the plethora of watchers is a damn journey, finding the VIP spot that is always reserved for you. 

You sighed out of relief when you saw the seat was not taken because for real, you did overthink that someone might have stolen your place. 

Your eyes scanned the area, gazing at the scoreboard then towards the players. You hear their coach yelling, then you focus on the man that you had been avoiding for a while. 

Football is something that you never truly understand, sports in general, but your beloved is passionate about it. That is why amidst your studies, you put in the maximum effort to learn about it. That is why you can confidently say that you somehow understand the situation after analyzing what is happening.

Expanding your lung capacity, clutching on the metal bars that separate the bleachers from the field, you did the unexpected.

“Nishimura fucking Riki! If you don’t score a touchdown, I will not cook your favorite bungeoppang anymore!” you screamed like a madman, and it was like thunder struck the stadium as your voice echoed throughout the field. 

Who knew that L/N Y/N has the power to momentarily stop the whole crowd from cheering and the players to stop moving. 

Riki grins widely, scouting the bleachers and seeing you in the same seat that he has always saved for you during his games. 

The boy gave you a salute and even if you can’t clearly see his face due to his helmet, you know that he’s sporting a smug and victorious expression because you can’t resist him. 

Blood rushed into your cheeks and you tried to hide your embarrassment, concentrating on the game instead as the world started spinning again. 

You watched your school team defend like their life depended on it, more importantly, you stared intently at Riki’s running form, getting nearer to the end zone. 

You clasped your hands together, adrenaline coursing through your veins, praying for him to go for it. To win this and make you proud. 

And he did. 

Before the time ended, Riki successfully reaches the ball behind the plane of the opponent’s goal line. The side of your university in the arena went nuts when the broadcaster announced an overdramatic: "Number 10, Nishimura Riki, scores a touchdown! That makes Decelis University our champions for this year's league!” 

You clap your hands in celebration, beaming in happiness as you witness the chaotic scene in the field. The whole team is popping beers and splashing water, removing their shirts wildly, throwing their helmets, squawking like crazy and lifting the man who set the winning shot up in the air. 

Just then, Riki’s eyes meet yours and he immediately runs over to you, ignoring the trophy that was being handed to him by their coach. He does not give a fuck about the barrier separating you two, hoisting you above it, making you squeal around his arms. 

“Oh my god! Riki! No, let me go!” you laugh, gripping his shoulders for support as he walks back to his teammates.

“No can do, princess.” he smirks, raising you even further and declaring you as the team’s personal four-leaf clover. 

All members howl in excitement, agreeing with his statement because truly, ever since they met you, everything has been going their way. You are an amulet that blocks any ill-fated situations that might fall upon them.

“Put me down, Riki! This is embarrassing!” you covered your face with your hands and he finds it incredibly adorable how the tips of your ears turned pink. 

He follows you though, smoothly setting you on the grass field and gently removing the obstacle that interrupts him from getting a peek on your gorgeous face that he missed dearly. 

He holds your hands in his stupidly large ones, his fingers caressing your knuckles and he leans down until your noses are touching each other. 

“Thank you for coming, my princess. And wearing my jersey too.” he mumbles and you disconnect your intertwined hands, reaching to push his sweaty hair back and resting your palms on the back of his neck.

“I can’t possibly miss an important game of my MVP, right?” you chuckled and it was such a tender moment. Like no one was around you, well, in your point of view they are all blurry as the man in front of you invades all of your senses.

Riki hums, holding your waists and pressing your lips together without any further ado. 

He can’t help but smile into the kiss, the reality of having you in his arms like this outweighs any shiny prizes that he could ever dream of. 

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

You giggled when your boyfriend kept on leaving feathery smooches on the expanse of your neck, frowning when he suddenly stopped to look at you with such sassiness.

“By the way, you have to explain yourself, missy.” he says, tightly holding onto you as you two cuddle on the sofa. 

“About what?”

“About why you’re late at my game yesterday.” 

It was like a light bulb turned on in your brain, a wicked smile on your face that it somehow scared Riki despite being a menace himself.

“Well, I still haven’t forgiven you for the shit you pulled last week.” you admit and he groans, complaining that he only lent the jacket to some unknown girl to make you jealous. 

“Exactly!” you pout, grabbing his face and squishing his face, making him look like a baby duck, “So I have to do something about it.” 

Riki raised an eyebrow, suddenly curious at your story.

“What did you do?” a question that Riki regretted when you spilled the answer to it.

“I went and retrieved the jacket from the girl,” you put a finger on his lips, “don’t ask how I got her address. Then I gave the abomination to Bisco. He really loved playing with it, turning it into tiny little pieces of fabric. Very artistic.”

Riki’s movements came to a halt, his eyes slowly moving towards his pet who is currently chilling on the carpet, giving him a nasty side eye when he lightly glared at the Maltipoo. Then his gaze returned to you, gaping like a fish. 

“That jacket was expens-”

“The jacket smelled like a girl, unless you want it back?” the tight smile you gave Riki was enough sign for him to shut up.

“No, princess.” he hugs you closer to him, leaving a peck on the crown of your head, “I don’t want it. I can always buy another one.” 

taglist:

@ramenoil @shakalakaboomboo @slutforjeno

[barrenclan]

PATFW: Animal Name Systems

As more non-Clan characters get introduced to the story, I’ve been having fun coming up with the naming systems for various animals. In real life there would probably be more natural variety within a whole species, but also making up little systems is fun so I don’t care. Also, as a technical note, obviously none of these names are in “English”. They’re in whatever language animals speak. So, like, Hacksaw is not literally “hacksaw”, it’s the animal word for that object. 

Cats - with the exception of warriors (who obviously have an incredibly specific naming system), cat names tend to be more loose, and can be named after many things. In general, they are shorter. House cats are also an exception, as they are named by people and so their names can be very different. Ex. Cashew, Summer, Rowan, Egret, Thrasher, Jackalope

Wolves and coyotes - like cats, wolves also have a more loose naming system. Often wolves are named after someone else, to honor them. Coyote communities are heavily linked to wolf communities, so their rules are similar. In general, they are longer. Ex. Coldbreath, Nightshade, Lucky-Foot, Antlerhorn, Ranger

Deer - deer are always named after plants. No exceptions to this. Often the plants are ones that the parents admire or enjoy. Ex. Wild Rose, Juniper, Hyssop, Maple, Lingonberry

Mountain lions - they are named after some kind of aspirational trait at birth that their parent is hoping they fulfill. Sometimes this leads to funny, ironic circumstances, but usually the kitten is shaped by their name and strives to embody it. Ex. Ferocity, Swiftness, Cunning, Power, Caution

Porcupines - for the first year of their life, porcupine kits are named after the order in which their mother gave birth to them. Ex. First, Second, Third, etc. When the porcupine has come of age, they are given their adult name. These names are short and functional, usually no more than four letters. Ex. Mud, Snap, Snow, Blue

Falcons - chicks are never given names by their parents, and are generally treated as indistinguishable when young. Once they leave the nest, falcons name themselves whatever they like. Frequently these names are inspired by human artifacts, as falcons (and many other bird cultures, as well as raccoons) value their liminal relationship to humans. Ex. Hacksaw, Highway, Black-Wing, Perils, Artemis

Bears - at birth, bears are given short, silly names, meant to be inconsequential. Ex. Fuzz, Seed, Bug, Baby. When they come of age, they are given an adult name by the eldest bear, whether it’s a large group or just a family. These names are structured as some kind of brag about the individual’s qualities, to impress others and display dominance. They are composed of two words in the trait separated by a hyphen. Ex. Longest-Claws, Fiercest-Roar, Strongest-Jaw, Thickest-Pelt. However, if the bear is disliked or considered weak, they can be also be called a version of this structure that is an insult. Ex. Dullest-Mind, Weakest-Strike, Softest-Heart. The greatest shame of all, though, is an adult bear forced to keep their childhood name. 

[toxicanonymity]

like literally refreshing the page all the time for more raider!joel.. I just love him I don't know why I can't explain it he's just so..

Gun Hug

3.8k, raider!Joel x f!reader | raider master

mood board by @milla-frenchy

SUMMARY: joel spanks you, kills guys while you c*ckwarm him, and he gives you a gift. WARNINGS: I8+, canon-typical violence, horniness, dark fluff, Joel's temper, spanking, dacryphilia, humping, threat of sexual violence (not by Joel), cockwarming while Joel kills people, unsafe P in V creampie, scars/injuries, superstrength, dark fluff.

A/N: Prev. story (not mandatory): Close

When you wake up and roll over, you’re surprised to find Joel still in bed. He’s staring at the ceiling. It was a long night. The two of you killed two trespassers, then you patched him up from whatever happened before that. He never explained. 

“Morning,” you whisper. You want to cuddle up to him, but you’re still skittish from the time you tried to kiss him. 

He glances over at you, but that’s all. A few seconds later he mumbles,  “Morning,” still staring at the ceiling. You watch his bare chest rise and fall.

“Who were those guys we killed,” you ask.  

He sighs. “From another group.”  He glances at you again then does a double take and faces you.  His stitches look sexy. He sees you checking them out and it reminds him. His hand comes to his brow. 

“Try not to touch it,” you whisper.

He reads your face and asks, “Are you okay?”

“Yeah”

“After-” After you shot that guy Joel thought was dead. 

“I’m fine,” you reassure him, and you are.  He was more shaken up than you were the night before.  Only because he thought you were shot. 

He’s quiet for a few seconds then says, “I’d ask where you learned to shoot like that, but I reckon I was there.” 

You smile and hide your face. 

—---

You’re sitting in the kitchen window nook and Joel is in a chair facing you drinking his coffee, apparently still thinking about it. “One shot, dead between the eyes,” he marvels. “Moving target.” He looks at you skeptically. “You really never done that before?”

“I didn’t say that,” you quietly admit. 

“What?” Joel asks.  He sets down his coffee and puts his hand on his knee, manspreading. His other elbow is on the table.  His breath deepens. His face has a look of betrayal, like you’ve been keeping something from him. 

“Not like that,” you backtrack. “I mean, infected. . .  I had to try.  Everyone does."

He's quiet. 

You continue, "Got lucky sometimes. But you taught me how to do it right.”

He slowly nods as though digesting the information. He cocks an eyebrow and looks at you again. It occurs to you he might be seeing you in a different light and you wonder if it's an opportunity. You’re tempted to ask if you can come on a raid again. He hasn’t taken you on one since your failed escape. You keep quiet for now. 

“Do you think there are more of those men?” you ask him. 

“Not sure, sweet pea.”  He looks concerned.  He’s not looking right at you.  

“Am I staying home today?” you ask. 

“No,” he says immediately. "not leavin’ you after that."

It makes your heart swell and you absentmindedly run your fingers over the letters on your chest. 

—---

“Lemme see that,” Joel mutters. You pull your shoulders back so he can see and feel your whole chest, lightly running his calloused fingertips over it.  You can’t see it very well from your standpoint. Only in the cracked, dirty mirror. 

He grazes the mostly healed scabbing  and you could swear you see a hint of guilt in his face. But then he says, “Not deep enough." He glances at your face. "Gotta be too close to read it.”

Scared he's going to 'fix it' with his switchblade, you cover your chest and whimper, “No!”

His face hardens.  “What'd you say?”

“I’m sorry, I just–it hurt–and if it gets infected this time–”

He bends forward and takes your jaw in his hand. “You say ‘no’ to me?”

"I meant-"

"Get up." He releases your jaw and grabs you by the elbow to bring you to your feet. He turns you around and bends you over the window bench.  Then he lifts up your dress and asks, "which side?"

You whimper, "left" because you sleep on your right.  He brings back his left hand and to your surprise you feel a wave of arousal in anticipation. You look over your shoulder and bite your lip. 

He hesitates for a split second and looks at your eyes then your mouth, then his hand lands on your asscheek with a sting and your yelp sounds like more of a squeak. He lets your dress down and you shrink back into the window bench, wincing as you sit down.  

He bends forward and looks at you with his hands on his knees.  Your eyes feel weak.  He tongues the inside of his cheek and shakes his head. 

“I'm sorry," you whine. "Whatever you need to do." Your eyes cloud with tears. You hug a knee, cover your chest with your hand and press your head back against the wall.  "It's ok, Joel. I'm sorry." 

His face softens but it's too late. A tear rolls down your cheek.

"God damnit," he mutters.  He reaches forward to brush the tear away with his thumb. "Wasn't gonna cut ya. Damn." He brushes away another tear off your cheek. He sucks it off his thumb then sits down on the other side of the window bench, facing you. He brings one knee up and leaves the other foot on the floor, mirroring your posture. 

"Then what are you gonna do," you sniffle. 

"figure somethin' else out." He sighs and opens his arms.  "C'mere."

----

He leans back against the wall of the nook. You settle in between his legs and can feel he's getting hard. 

He crosses his arms in front of you and inhales your hair as he lightly traces his name on your chest. "It was for your own good, sweet pea," he justifies to himself. "You were real brave."

Then he noses the skin and hair behind your ear. He leans forward, bending you forward with him, dipping his head.  He inhales against your neck then lightly caresses the other side of your neck with his fingers.  You used to be ticklish there, but you guess you're not now. "We'll figure somethin’ out," he whispers. 

He puts a hand on your abdomen and  pulls you in close, leaning back against the wall of the nook again.  His cock is harder now. He takes a deep breath and slips a hand into your neckline to palm your breast. You sigh and your head falls back against him. He buries his nose in your hair and rests his free hand on your bare knee, then slides it up your leg.

"You got nice legs, baby." His fingers drag up your inner thigh and when he reaches your panties, he lightly drags two fingers up and down the crotch, patiently up and down, with a hint of playfulness. You’re squirming under the light touch with his cock twitching against you.  He continues until he feels your arousal soak through, which doesn’t take long. Both of his wrists lift your dress as his hands slide up to your hips and he hooks his thumbs into your panties. You lift your ass and he pulls them off. 

He puts a hand on your lower belly again with your panties wrapped around his fingers.  You scoot back, pressing yourself into him.  

"Good girl." His cock swells harder. He wedges his other hand between your bodies and unbuttons his jeans–

There's a loud knock at the door. 

-----

"God fuckin damnit," Joel rasps. He uses his pelvis to push you up off him, the push of his hardness making you throb. When he stands, he doesn't button his jeans. His tank top has ridden up  and there's a trail of dark hair pointing down to the protrusion he doesn’t try to hide.   He answers the door and holds it open with your panties still balled in his hand. It's Carter, one of the men he trusts as your guard.  

"Not a good time, buddy," Joel says. 

Carter's eyes fall on the panties in Joel’s hand.  Joel doesn’t flinch.  Carter awkwardly bumbles his gaze around then says,  "well you said to let you know if Jackson came, and he finally did."

"Oh shit," Joel mutters, then his demeanor changes entirely.  He springs to life. 

"But I can do it for ya," Carter says. “Just take him out if ya want. I dunno when he’ll be back”

"No, no," Joel says. "Wanna do this myself." 

Joel leans back and elongates his torso to button his tight pants. "’Don't fuckin' tell anyone I'm comin'. I'm still up here. Shit, I'm nowhere. She's there, I'm not.  You keep'em away from the back, got it? Can you get me ten minutes?" 

"You got it, boss." 

“Gonna be a good day, Carter.”

Carter leaves and Joel says "Shoes on.  Now." 

You look at the bulge in his jeans, and your eyes must look hungry because he says,  "Not now, sweet pea. We gotta move." He puts on a body holster with a pistol over his tank top while you put on your shoes. 

You hold out your hand for your panties. Instead, Joel gets them ready and holds them for you to carefully step into with your sneakers already on. You and he pull them up together then he gives your ass a squeeze. 

—--------

On the way down the hill, Joel explains the plan. He's going to sneak in through the back with you. He'll be in the room with you. The one with the radiator where you were chained up before. The one where you briefly had company. Carter will mislead Jackson and the others into thinking Joel is gone. Carter will pretend to be pissed at Joel and willing to let them use you. Then if (when) they try, Joel will take them out. Simple as that. 

"Nothin's gonna happen, I'll be right there."

—--------

You and Joel make it into the room undetected. It feels like you’re waiting a long time. You have one wrist handcuffed but you’re not cuffed to anything. You’re laying on the cot and Joel’s sitting in front of you.   “What the hell are they doin’,” Joel mutters under his breath. 

Finally, you hear indistinct voices, then Carter telling the men, “Gimme a few minutes, lemme take her to the bathroom and lock her up again.”

Joel sucks in an angry breath at the implication of those words, even though this is the plan. Carter comes in and signals you to clink the handcuff to the radiator so they think you’re  being unchained.  Joel pats your head and whispers “It’s okay, sweetpea, go ahead.” Carter takes you to the bathroom, and on your way back, you feel eyes on you.  Terrible eyes, like the eyes of monsters under a bed. Your heart races and you feel like prey. You run straight to Joel.  He opens his arms for you and you get in his lap facing him.  

You hug him tight and bury your face in his neck, handcuff digging into his back.  Your breath is shallow and fast. Joel is facing the door and watching for Jackson with you wrapped around him. Carter comes back and says “They’re gonna eat first.” 

“God damnit,” Joel says under his breath and begins to recline back against the cot. He puts his elbows and forearms down so his head is up but his back is flat on the dirty mattress.  He's holding the pistol with his finger on the trigger.  You’re still  wrapped around him as he reclines back. 

“Can I be like this,” you whisper and look up at him, still straddling his lap, folded at your hip in some version of child’s pose with your head now on his chest and arms to his sides. 

“Mm-hmm,”  He nods with a straight face, his eyes still glued to the door. His stitches make him look even more serious.

There's a gunshot outside and a plink. "Shootin' cans," Joel shakes his head. 

-----

Joel adjusts his hips slightly and you feel his arousal swell under you.  He takes a deep breath through his nose and his free hand begins to play with your dress. Again it feels like you’re waiting forever. You adjust your arm so the handcuff isn’t digging into the same spot on your wrist. Joel’s hips shift under you again and he twitches under you, still unrelieved from when your breakfast was interrupted.

Your hips reflexively roll into his and a quiet growl escapes the back of his throat. You inhale sharply and he grunts with a lift of his hips. You look up at him and he nods to where your loins are throbbing needily against each other. He rises up a little.  His left hand squeezes your thigh.

You sit up and reach for the button of his pants, the handcuff dragging against his jeans. He nods. You look behind you, afraid of either of you being surprised. You start to say "I-" but you don't. You didn't mind the spanking this morning but you wanna be good for him.  Your core is rapidly moistening itself, but you assume he wants head. Joel keeps his eyes on the door as you unbutton him. You stall by running your hand up and down his hardness and he lets out a low sigh that makes you twitch.  A throbbing desire to have him inside you is beginning to drown out everything else.  

You slowly tug the zipper down and hesitantly look up at him. Then you look behind you again. 

His voice is deep and soft. “Eyes on me, baby.” Your head snaps back to face him.  He only glances at you briefly before returning his gaze to the doorway. 

You finish unzipping him and slide your hand without the cuff into his pants.  You gasp when you hit the warm, smooth skin. He gently thrusts into your hand. You smear his precum around the tip, then begin to get off his lap to suck it. But he sits up enough to grab your arms and pull you back toward him. You scoot forward again, and he nudges your dress over his cock. Then his hips press his naked arousal against your mound and you feel its warmth through the soft, thin fabric of your panties.  A wave of desire rushes through your whole body.  

It’s crazy, this is crazy, and so is Joel, but you trust him. He'll keep you safe. He wraps his left hand around the base of his shaft. He has his pistol ready in one hand and his cock ready in the other. You lift yourself over his tip and pull the damp crotch of your underwear to the side, careful not to let the handcuffs hit his cock. You moan softly when the swollen head hits your dripping folds, and he sucks in a chest full of air.  You take his cock in your hand and use the head to nudge your folds open, wedging the tip into your entrance with the aid of gravity as you let yourself down. You look at Joel and he swallows, eye fixed on the door, finger on the trigger. 

You sink onto him and as your tight, dripping sleeve consumes his shaft, his girth pushes a moan out of you.  Joel sits upright and pulls you down, bottoming out with his mouth shut, lips in a straight line, determined not to make a sound.  He lets out a breath through his nose.  

“Tell me you didn’t get started without me,” Jackon’s voice echoes from the hall. 

"Ears," Joel whispers. For the echo.  You sit perfectly still, impaled on his stiff cock and bring your hands to your ears, handcuffs jingling, then dangling from your wrist.  Boots clap in the hall and a belt buckle clinks outside the doorway.  Jackson chuckles darkly.  Joel aims the gun toward the door with both hands, his biceps lightly squeezing your hands on your ears, further dampening all sounds.

Jackson walks in and says "whoa, oh–"

Joel’s biceps flex against the backs of your hands. A gunshot, a grunt, a cry, then another shot, and the thud of a body falling into a heap. 

"That's right," Joel mutters.  “Piece of shit.” 

Then he murmurs into your hair.  "You did good, baby." You bring your hands down to his sides.

Joel begins to rock his hips, moving you on his cock. 

More footsteps approach from the hall, then a man’s voice. "Jackson? I wasn't ready, man."

"Ears." Joel stops moving his hips. His eyes are wild.   He straightens up, resuming the same position as before with his biceps pressing against your hands on your ears as he points the gun.  You’re sitting there full of his cock. 

The other man rounds the corner. He registers who he’s looking at and gasps, "Joel."  You can only imagine the look on his face. "I wasn't–" his voice is shaky with guilt and fear. 

“Yeah,” Joel says darkly.  “Me either.”  His cock twitches inside you. His arms flex. Just one gunshot this time. Joel sighs then wraps his left arm around you, leans back, and holds the pistol against the mattress. He thrusts up into you with a wild look behind his eyes. 

"Thank you," you whisper. Now you have two less of those heinous men to worry about. Probably the worst two. 

Joel shakes his head and squints at you as his cock moves inside you. "'s'my job," he pants, his eyes still alive.  It’s a mystery where bloodlust ends and the lust begins. "Nothin' more important," he adds.

He thrusts up sharply and you gasp. He braces himself with his gun hand on the filthy mattress as he sheathes himself deep inside you, making you so full.  He moves a little further in short pulses with each flex of his hips.  The pit of your stomach begins to buzz.

Carter Knocks and says, "That's it, they're leavin'. Want me to. . ." Joel doesn't acknowledge him. Instead, Joel looks at your face, watching the pleasure weigh your eyelids down as he fucks you from the bottom.  You see the hint of a softer smile behind his maniacal eyes. Carter's footsteps recede. 

—

Joel nudges you up, helping to lift you off his cock, and you whimper, "no." You look back at the bodies out of morbid curiosity but he wrangles you onto the mattress face down with a forearm on your back and you can't see. You lift your ass and tilt your hips for him. 

"Good girl," Joel breathes and peels off your panties for the second time today. He lines himself up with your cunt again. Then he hovers over you with a hand on the back of your neck holding your damp panties against your skin.  

He plunges into you with a groan and you hum “mmm.”   

He retreats then bottoms out again. "Ohh, fuck." He pounds you fast and rough, grunting and breathing heavily. “Yeahh.”

You moan on the verge of bliss. He slams his hips into you harder and asks, “that feel good?”

"Yeah," you manage, the force of his thrusts punching the air out of you.

Joel grunts and growls as he rails you. He hovers over your back. Your orgasm gathers tighter and tighter with each sound he makes, each firm drag of his cock.  Then it bursts in your core and you groan into your arm. 

"It's ok, baby," his hips keep moving. He lowers his speed but maintains his power.

You moan as he fucks you through it. 

"Fuck," he pants, and thrusts harder, "god damn, you choke it good." You sigh as your body stops jerking but continues to be pounded. “Ohh, yeah.”  He slows a little more. “Ohhh, fuck.”

Joel glances across the room to the floor and begins to pull out.  He hasn’t come yet.  You beg "please, I want it." He pauses and tilts his head at you. “Please, inside” you plead. You look back over your shoulder at him and push your ass back, sheathing his cock entirely once again.  His hair is wild and his chest glistens.  The hint of a smirk plays on his face.  Joel nods then slowly pushes all the way into you again with a grunt.  He backs up and slams in. “Want it, don’t ya.”

“Yeah,” you whine. 

“Want it to trickle down those pretty legs.”

“Yeah.” 

He buries his length in you a few times fast, and you feel it coming.  He slows way down.  He plunges into you with a groan and begins to pulse as he bottoms out.  He repeats this, slow and hard as his balls empty.  You close your eyes and feel him fill you up like a hug from the inside. He vocally sighs as his cock pumps into you.  Like something intimate he can’t give you any other way. “Yeah,” he pants as he finishes.  His big hand squeezes your shoulder before he carefully pulls out. 

Then he puts your panties back on you, and takes the handcuffs off your wrist.  He sits on the edge of the cot and helps you off of it so you stand between his knees.  He fixes your dress and your hair. “You did good, sweet pea.” He looks from your eyes to your mouth, then abruptly stands up.  He puts his arms around you loosely, putting his body between yours and the ones on the floor as though protecting you from the scene. He nudges you toward the door and down the hall. 

Joel lets you rest on a cot in the unloading room while he sorts through some things and has someone take care of the bodies. He doesn’t ever leave the room, he just barks orders and keeps you in sight.

—

That night, Joel is heating up some spaghettios and you’re in the nook looking out the window.  He’s looking good, still wearing the body holster, muscles pumped up. He comes and sits down next to you. He spreads his knees and looks around the kitchen, then reaches for the pistol.  He takes it out of the holster, checks to make sure the safety is on, and hands it to himself so he’s holding it by the barrel.  Then he hands it to you.  “This is yours now.” 

“Really?” You try not to let your eyes well up in tears, but it really moves you. 

Joel nods twice, then something flashes across his face and he swallows. “You’re brave, sweet pea.” 

You put your arms around his neck and climb into his lap facing him with your wrists crossed behind him, gun in one hand. Joel meets your hug, wrapping his arms around you tight, pulling you into his chest. After a moment, he pulls his head back enough to plant the lightest kiss on your forehead.  

Then he clears his throat and nudges you off of him. “Don’t want it to burn.” He goes back to the spaghettios.  

------

------

RAIDER POLL

FAQ: pregnancy HC. raider has a vasectomy. so why was he gonna pull out? To use his cum for a deranged display of dominance

------

Thank you so much for reading. If you liked it, please consider commenting and/or reblogging. It doesn't matter how many followers you have if any, if still means a lot. I really appreciate your engagement!!

🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤

you can follow @toxicfics and turn on notifications for just the good stuff. make sure your phone has push notifs enabled for tumblr.

and @gab-thelamb-onthemoon i hope you like it ily <3

[moe-moe-kyun]

Malicious Compliance

Synopsis: MC gets annoyed at Lucifer's bossiness and decides to toy with him a little.

Tags/Warnings: Nudity, suggestive, gender neutral reader, lucifer x MC, lucifer x reader, cursing, explicit language

Minors DNI!!

Notes: I'm writing a smut version of this :3 it just got a lil long and im doin all this on mobile lol

Condensation masked the mirror as you stepped from the shower, steam saturating the bathroom air. You tossed a towel over your shoulders and tappen the screen of your D.D.D. to awaken it- did Asmo finally send you that link for the up-and-coming influencer's DevilTube?

Lucifer: 6 Missed Calls

Fuck. You were boned. How had you not heard the phone vibrating?

Lucifer's profile image- a picture of the two of you on a task to the Human World- popped up as he called you again, and you were quick to answer.

"Finally. Come up to my office, we need to discuss your latest progress report." He sounded stern.

"Okay, I'll be up in, like, 5 minutes? I just-"

"Now," Lucifer cut you off before abruptly ending the call.

"The boning continues," you murmur. You move to finish toweling off but think 'Fuck it. He wants me there now? Bastard gets a wet floor,' and affix the towel around your waist while stepping out of the bathroom.

It took until you were halfway to Lucifer's office for doubt on your malicious compliance to creep in. The nearby railing was a lucky godsend to keep you from falling as your wet feet slipped on the hardwood floor. Too late now, you resolved, and continued the journey.

The doors to Lucifer's office creaked open. He didn't glance up at your entrance until he heard the soft 'plap's of water droplets colliding with the floor. You were moving to shake off more water as he finally met your gaze.

"MC, why are you not wearing clothes?"

"Because someone refused to listen when I said I needed a few minutes to dry off and get dressed," you snarked in response as he sighed.

"Please dry off and change, we can discuss the report when you're decent," his gaze was squarely on the desk before him, the faintest tint of pink blessing his pale cheeks.

"No."

"Excuse me?"

"No," you approached his desk as you spoke, "if I leave the office now I'm not coming back. What'd you need to talk about?"

Lucifer begged his gaze not to slip to where the towel was slipping around your waist, the faux knot coming loose little by little.

He clears his throat before beginning, knowing better than to try and argue at this point: "very well. The latest report from you Flora and Fauna of the Lower Circles of Hell course is less than satisfactory. There's a missing report and two assignments marked as C's." Lucifer points out each part of the progress report to you as he lists them. You stay quiet, leaning over from behind his chair, as he speaks.

"Huh, professor must not've updated it. There was an issue with TurnItIn that night and almost every student got a submission receipt while the teacher's end didn't get the actual paper, so that's square. The low scores were group assignments, see?" You move to point at the paper where 'Group Work' is printed in small lettering, and your bare chest brushes against Lucifer's back. You pretend not to notice how his spine stiffens in response.

"I will follow up with your professor to corroborate, but I suppose your explanations are satisfactory in the meantime," Lucifer says, placing the report down next to the others from your classes.

"Ooh is that one from Devildom Law? Move I wanna see what he said," you speak quickly, excited at the opportunity to see your grade.

Lucifer isn't sure how to react as you push your way in between him and his desk, sitting in his lap as you go over the report. He can't help the bulge growing in his pants, his cock getting harder the longer he looks at your bare back, water droplets still sliding down until they absorb into the loose towel around your waist.

"MC," he manages through grit teeth.

"Yeah, Luci?" He could hear your grin.

'They've known what they were doing this entire time,' the realization hits him as you slide farther back onto his lap. Lucifer's hands grip the armrests so hard his knuckles turn white.

The coy smile spreads greater across your face when your ass comes in contact with Lucifer's dick practically twitching in its confines. Just when it seemed you were about to grind against him, you stood. Relief flooded Lucifer's veins. How embarrassing this situation was- he prayed you would leave him with a shred of dignity and not acknowledge his arousal.

"Okay, well, if that's all?"

"Yes, you are free to return to your prior activities. Thank you for clarifying the report with me," Lucifer replied. He would never admit how much effort it took to keep his voice level as he met your gaze.

"Okiedokie, see you at dinner!" With a cheerful goodbye you pranced out of the office, leaving Lucifer to deal with his problem alone.

"Cheeky human," he muttered.