#also makes me want to live in a house decor magazine

[buckysdollbarnes]

you are in love series - part one

one look, dark room

PAIRING: tfawts!bucky x grad student!reader

Summary: Moving to NYC to go to grad school, your friend's dad has a connection with the owner of a rental building in Brooklyn where you can live on your own, for cheaper than you could get anywhere else. On a student's budget, you strive to still make your place your own by thrifting as much decor as possible. Meeting your quiet and somewhat secretive neighbor, James, you gain some free labor to help you move the random stuff you buy, and with that he may be growing to love parts of the modern world he has been missing. With you in a big, new city feeling alone for the first time and Bucky wanting to make a connection with someone other than Sam and his therapist, maybe online marketplaces and a turntable will bring you both what you need most.

warnings: mild language

word count: 4.7k

a/n: this is my first time EVER writing fiction, usually I only ever write academic papers so this is fun. :) I read over and revised this chapter so many times, so I hope you enjoy it! Feedback is always welcomed and I'm excited to start on the next chapter.

a/n: also!! sorry for it being so long genuinely just so much had to happen in this chapter for it to be set up the way I wanted, which I think I did well enough. lmk what you think <3

Why did I think carrying this by myself was a good idea? It might be cute and a great deal, but I don’t think I'll be able to feel my arms tomorrow. I might need to hit the gym again before I find more bargains like this. Hell, maybe I'll even invest in a neck towel, because this heat is unbearable. I’ve been searching for some larger pieces to fill my apartment, and this vintage bar cart should fit perfectly. Just five more blocks to go.

Moving here alone has certainly come with its challenges: being on my own in such a big city, dealing with a lot of stress, and managing on a tight budget. But I’m determined to make it work though and prove everyone wrong. Growing up, you see so many romcoms where the heroine leaves everything behind to chase her dreams in NYC, landing a job at a magazine or fashion house, living in a gorgeous high-rise, and meeting the perfect guy. It’s a beautiful fantasy really, but the reality is much tougher. New York isn’t a movie set; it’s a real city with real people, and you have to work just as hard, if not harder, to be here. I know that, but it feels like a majority of my people back home DON’T know that I know that.

I came here for school. In about two months, I’ll be starting my Master’s program at NYU. I don’t think I’ve ever been as proud as when I received my acceptance email. I worked my ass off in undergrad to earn strong recommendations and good academic standing, and seeing it all come together was a huge relief—until the reality of the cost hit me.

Luckily, a friend's dad has a connection with a landlord in Brooklyn and got me a good deal on a place of my own. It’s incredible not to have a roommate in this market, especially in a place where your bed doesn’t touch your stove, though it can be a bit lonely.

Finally, reaching the stoop, out of breath, you set the cart down on the pavement. Wiping your brow, you notice the street is unusually quiet for this time of day. The city never truly sleeps, but the residential streets seem to take occasional naps. A little breath of air somewhere where it feels like oxygen is running out sometimes. Light filters through the trees, momentarily blinding you, and you turn back toward the building.

“How on earth am I going to get this up to my floor?”

Carrying it down the street was one thing, but hauling it up the stairs is a whole different challenge. Plus, who knows when the building's maintenance has last been here, the steps might not hold up under the cart’s weight. They usually feel like they could give away holding one person.

Deciding that falling to your death and being crushed isn’t really how you want to go, you open the double doors and drag the cart into the lobby, using the wheels on one side. Passing the main desk where the worker, who looks completely uninterested, engrossed in a crossword puzzle, you make your way to the end of the hall and start pulling the cart backwards up the incline of the stairwell.

“Nah, I can’t,” you say aloud, after struggling up two floors, letting the cart rest on the landing. There’s still three more floors to go, but your body is clearly telling you the cart belongs right here. Maybe the universe wants it to stay here—who knows, maybe the entire second floor needs a communal bar more than you do.

“Excuse me,” a quiet but rough male voice comes from behind me. You turn around to see him—a guy you’ve seen around your floor a few times, though you’ve never talked. One of the neighbors. You quickly realize you’re blocking the entire staircase.

“Sorry! Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry. I’ll move this um — just give me a second.”

You shove the cart closer to the wall to make some space for him to pass, but he stays put, his gloved hands in his pockets. He’s definitely handsome—tall and solid, but not intimidating. His furrowed brow and tight-lipped expression don’t exactly scream “welcome,” but he’s still got a certain charm.

He shifts a bit, clearly wanting to say something but hesitating. Feeling a bit awkward under his gaze, you decide to try talking to him again.

“You can just squeeze by if you want. It’s just really heavy, so I’m taking a quick break before I try lifting it up again.”

After a moment, he seems to make up his mind and asks, “Do you need help?”

Looking back at him, you consider saying no. You pride yourself on being independent and capable, and part of you wants to insist you can handle it. But then you think about the struggle of getting the cart up the last two flights of stairs—only this time, it's three—and decide against it.

“You wouldn’t mind? You’re headed down, I’m sure you’ve got somewhere else to be.”

He gives a little smirk that makes you feel a bit dizzy.

“Well, I’m already here so.”

You nod slowly, a small smile appearing on your face.

“Sure, you can take this end, and I’ll get this o—” you start to say, but before you can finish, he’s already in front of you, lifting the cart with ease and starting up the stairs without breaking a sweat.

“Hey! Be careful, uh—,” you pause, realizing you don’t know his name.

He picks up on your hesitation and hesitates himself, considering whether to give his name. He’s wary of how others might perceive him, potentially recognizing his name from past news broadcasts or papers, still dealing with the shadows of his past despite his efforts to make amends. Not wanting to be dishonest, he chooses the safe option.

“James.”

“Be careful, James. I don’t want you tripping and falling on my account.”

“Won’t happen, doll.”

“What-,” you start, caught off guard by the pet name, “what if it does?”

“It won’t, see?” With the last few steps, you and James arrive at your floor. “Already here.”

He must have seen you around before too, to know where you live.

He gives you a quick look and then carries the cart to your door.

“This is yours, right?” He turns and looks at you expectantly. You rush over, fumbling for your keys to unlock the door. If he’s willing to move it all the way, who are you to turn him down?

You lead James into your apartment, wondering if it looks anything like his. The layout can’t be that different; it’s not exactly a luxury building.

He strolls further into the room.

“You can set it right here,” you say quickly. “Thank you for bringing it up for me. I was honestly thinking about giving up when you showed up.”

Setting the cart where you indicated, he straightens up, rolls his shoulders back, and gives you a look that feels intense.

“It’s no problem.”

His gaze wanders around your apartment, taking in the mix of vintage furniture and eclectic decor. On a student’s budget, you’ve filled your space with secondhand finds. It’s more affordable and personal that way. The place might not be filled with new things, but it’s entirely curated by you. Finding beauty in the mix of old and new is something you do well, and now, thanks to James, you have one more piece to add.

James’s eyes land on your turntable setup. He seems intrigued by your collection of records but doesn’t say anything, turning his attention back to you.

“I have to go.”

Your eyebrows lift at his abruptness. Sensing your surprise, he quickly adds, “I’ve got an appointment.”

You nod vigorously, urging him to go and thanking him again for his kindness. Feeling a bit sad that this chance encounter with your new neighbor is ending so quickly, you call out as he heads for the door.

“I’ll see you around then? Since you live here too.”

He turns on his heel, giving you one last smirk.

“Yeah, you’ll see me.”

As he heads down the stairs, you shut your door and lock it behind you. Wandering over to where James’s gaze lingered, you pull an album from the shelf, lift the acrylic cover on your turntable, and set the record down. You close the cover, push play, and let the needle softly drop onto the vinyl. As the music starts, your mind drifts back to James.

Embarrassingly, you find yourself hoping this isn’t a one-time encounter. You don’t know much about him beyond his name, but there’s something about him that makes you want to see him again.

“Two hundred bucks for this is crazy,” you mutter to yourself, staring in disbelief at the sofa you’re eyeing on Facebook Marketplace.

“People are practically giving this stuff away.”

Not wanting to miss out on such a good deal, you message the seller to check if it’s still available.

Since you got the bar cart about a week and a half ago, you haven’t picked up anything else. With the July heat blasting, just thinking about moving a sofa in this weather makes you want to rip off your skin to cool down.

You can’t help but think of James, who you’ve seen briefly in the hallway since your last encounter. He just nodded as he passed by, and that was it.

Your phone dings, snapping you out of your thoughts. The seller confirms the sofa is still available and offers to deliver it since they have a truck.

Excited, you reply with a yes, and they let you know they’ll head your way soon.

You get up to rearrange your furniture, making space for the new sofa. You don’t have much to move since you’ve been slowly collecting things. As you shift the pieces around, your turntable stops, signaling it’s time to flip the record. After you do, you take a moment to picture how the sofa will fit in the space.

Then it hits you—moving a sofa is way heavier than the bar cart. If you struggled with that, how on earth will you manage this?

“Independent woman, my ass.”

With the delivery imminent, you decide on the only solution you can think of. Without hesitation, you head to the apartment across the hall and knock softly on the door. You wait, hoping James will answer. After a moment of shuffling and then silence, you start to wonder if you should just try something else.

Just then, the door cracks open, revealing half of James’s face. He looks curious but not annoyed—no one usually visits him.

“Hey! James! Great to see you again! I hope I’m not interrupting anything, but I was wondering if you could help me out a bit? I just bought a sofa from this marketplace deal, and the seller’s coming to drop it off right now. He said he’d deliver it, but didn’t offer to help get it up to my apartment. I realized a sofa is way heavier than a bar cart, and you saw me struggle with that, so I was kinda sorta hoping you could help me bring it up here?”

After your rambling, you offer him a hopeful smile, waiting for his response.

A few moments of silence later, that smirk you’ve been missing appears on his face. Opening the door wider, he comments with a grin.

“You bought another thing you knew you couldn’t get up the stairs?”

“I honestly didn’t think it through. The deal was too good to pass up. I’m really sorry for bothering you. I can try to find someone else if you’re busy.”

“I didn’t say I wouldn’t help, doll.”

The smile that blooms on your face is unavoidable.

As the delivery guy drives away, James shows you where to grab the sofa and effortlessly lifts the other end. He encourages you to take the lead, making sure the weight is on him as you both navigate the stairs. With minimal effort, you get the sofa up to your place.

After some awkward maneuvering, you finally get the sofa into your apartment through the thin door and set it down. You put your hands on your hips and exhale deeply, only to find James already looking at you with that same intense gaze from before. It makes you a little nervous.

You can’t help but feel grateful—there’s no way you would have managed this on your own.

“I could have handled the bar cart,” you say, nodding toward the cart now adorned with bottles in the corner, “but this? No chance. Thanks so much for your help.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he replies. “I wasn’t busy.”

As you look at him, you start to feel like you know him from somewhere beyond being just a neighbor. Maybe you’ve seen him around the city before you moved?

Brushing off the thought, you offer, “You’ve helped me out twice now, and it doesn’t feel right not to return the favor. If your whole evening consists of not being busy, why not stay for dinner? I promise I’ll cook something totally good and not poisonous.”

James looks surprised by your offer but quickly hides it.

“You don’t need to do that. You don’t owe me anything,” he says, not wanting you to feel obligated or uncomfortable. He worries that his presence might not be enjoyable.

He wishes he could be as charming as he was back in the 40s. Being friendly used to come easily, and if he were still the same person he was at 26, he wouldn’t have left so quickly after helping you on the stairs the first time. He wouldn’t have had a therapists appointment to go to and he wouldn’t have a hidden arm made of metal. He’d have asked you to dinner or for you to let him take you dancing instead in return for his brawn. Now, he struggles to make new connections beyond a few familiar faces, like Sam, and asking someone for a dance feels out of reach.

“No, no! Stay, I insist! It gets kind of lonely around here, doesn’t it? Why not have a friend dinner?” you press, hoping he’ll take you up on the offer.

Seeing your sincerity, though still feeling a bit miffed, he finally agrees.

“Yeah, sure. I can stay.”

James settles onto the sofa while you work in the kitchen. You’ve decided on making some stuffed ravioli and garlic bread—easy, delicious, hard to mess up.

Before getting into cooking, you switch out the record, letting new music drift softly through the space. Unbeknownst to you, James watches closely, paying attention to how you handle the records and the turntable. The care you take when putting a record back in its slip, taking a new one out of its dust cover, and gently putting it on.

Seeing you focused on cooking, James gets up and strolls over to your setup. He runs his fingers lightly across the spines of the record sleeves, feeling a surprising sense of comfort. He hadn’t realized people still used record players so often.

The setup looks quite familiar to him, with many aspects reminiscent of the record players he used back in his earlier days. In his life before this one.

As you finish preparing the pasta and pull the bread from the oven, you call out, “Hey, food’s ready!”

You glance back to see James hovering by the turntable. He quickly moves to the table and sits down.

Over dinner, the conversation flows comfortably. James seems to be relaxing a bit, his initial reserve fading. He’s still somewhat guarded, but what he does share is genuinely interesting. You sense that opening up is challenging for him, so you respect his pace and take whatever he is willing to give. Laughing with each other a few times and getting through some odd topics, he mentions that he hasn’t had a home-cooked meal in quite a while and thanks you with a smile.

After a pleasant dinner, you decide to bring up something you’d been curious about.

“You like records?”

Caught off guard by the question, James tries to answer without revealing too much about himself. It feels strange to be here, knowing you don’t really know who he is, but he worries that being too open might scare you away. He decides to keep his secrets for now, selfishly hoping to get to know you better before revealing more.

“Yeah, I used to have quite a few records as a kid. My ma would play them too, especially when she was cooking, just like you. I didn’t realize they were still so popular.”

Excited by this glimpse into his past, you push further.

“Oh, there’s definitely a huge market for vinyl. Lots of people who think it makes them superior, but also a lot who just love the physical aspect of it.”

“So which one are you?” he asks.

You laugh and reply, “Maybe a bit of both.”

You glance up at him from beneath your lashes, catching his rare smile.

“But really, I just like having it. There’s something different about the listening experience. It requires more effort than just hitting play on a playlist. It’s about choosing a full album and actually sitting down to listen. That feels more intentional to me, and that’s why I do it.”

James seems to ponder your answer, his expression softer than before. He then turns his gaze back to the turntable.

“So, since you mentioned you had records as a kid, do you not have any now?” you ask.

He shakes his head.

“Haven’t had any for a long time. Talking about it makes me miss them. Everything these days feels so complicated. I like simple things like that.”

Watching him as he looks away, you hesitate but notice the nostalgic shine in his eyes. You sense he might appreciate physical music even more than you do.

“If you ever get any and don’t have a place to play them, you’re welcome to use mine.”

He turns to face you, his expression unreadable.

“I mean, I know it’s not the most convenient offer, but it’s there. One record lover to another,” you add with a smile.

He returns your smile, saying, “Okay… thank you. I’ll keep that in mind, Doll.”

That night, Bucky lies on his makeshift bed on the floor, staring up at the ceiling and replaying the events of the day. You knocking on his door for help with the couch, inviting him over for dinner, and all the easygoing conversation you shared. It was such a stark contrast to his usual rigidity. He'd let his guard down just a little—letting himself smile or flirt ever so slightly.

He wishes he were better at this. It used to come so naturally. Hell, before he left for war, he’d gone dancing with both his own date and Steve’s at the same time. Now, he finds himself listening to you talk while struggling to share anything of his own.

He doesn’t want to pass up your invitation, especially since you’re inviting him into your space again. Clearly, his reserve hasn’t put you off too much.

“What would I even bring?” he wonders aloud.

All he’s ever listened to is 40’s music and big band. He doubts that’s readily available these days.

Rolling onto his side, he grabs the cell phone Steve had insisted he get before he went back in time to live his real life, without Bucky.

“You can do anything on here, Buck!”

Scrolling through the three contacts he has, he taps on the name of the guy who’s been trying to reach him for weeks.

“So, is there a valid reason why you haven’t picked up my damn calls?” Sam’s voice comes through.

“Sam, hi.”

“Did you finally learn how to click the screen? Is that why I’m hearing from you now, old man?”

“Look, I’m sorry. I just don’t like the thing. Too confusing,” Bucky says, grimacing as he fiddles with the phone.

“Okay, okay, what’s going on, man? You doing alright?”

“I’m fine. I just have a question and I’d appreciate it if you didn’t harass me about it.”

“Is it about wizards?”

“What?”

“Wizards. Is the question about wizards?”

“No, what the hell. Look, I had dinner with one of my neighbors tonight—”

“Was it a girl?”

“Does it matter?”

“Hell yes, it matters. And from that response, I KNOW it was a girl, so—”

“It doesn’t matter. She has a record player, which I didn’t know people still used, and she offered to let me use it, but I don’t have anything to play on it.”

“I’m not getting the problem.”

“I only like the stuff from the 40’s and—”

“Did you listen to that Marvin Gaye playlist I sent you?”

“Not interested.”

“C’mon, man, it’s good stuff. Give it a listen.”

“Not feeling it.”

“Alright, your loss, I guess. Still not seeing the problem though.”

“What do I bring? I can’t just bring around the stuff I know because where would I even get it?”

“Whoa, man, what do you mean, where would you get it? Just go to a record store and hit up the vintage section or something.”

Bucky pauses, mulling over Sam’s words.

“They have that?”

“Duh. You know, you could answer these questions a lot easier if you just looked them up on your phone—”

“Thanks, Sam. Talk to you later.”

Lying back down, Bucky decides that the next time he’s out to see his therapist, he’ll first stop by a record store to find something to bring over to your place.

Your easygoing presence was so comforting, and he found himself longing for it as he drifted off to sleep. He’d see you again soon enough.

Later in the week, as you wind down from a busy day, you focus on making your space as calming as possible.

You light some candles and turn on an orange floor lamp, the soft glow wrapping around you and setting the perfect mood to sink into your sofa with the book you’ve been neglecting.

You’ve just started settling into your reading when you’re jolted out of your half-nap by the sound of someone knocking on your door.

You get up and peer through the peephole, and there’s your dinner guest from earlier in the week.

Opening the door with a smile, you greet him.

“Hey James, unexpected visit! What’s up?”

His eyes linger on you for a moment before he speaks. You glance down and realize your outfit—shorts that really lived up to their name and a tank top—might not be the most guest-appropriate.

Brushing off your embarrassment, you look back up at him.

“I’ve got something I’d like to play, if that’s alright?”

Bucky’s mind races. Standing at your door, he worries maybe you only offered your place to be nice, and now he’s making a fool of himself. Of course, you didn’t want him there—he could barely talk.

Just as he’s about to get lost in his own head, your bright smile pulls him out of it.

“Oh my gosh, please, come in. What do you have?”

His doubt fades away as he sees your genuine excitement.

“Brought some Sinatra. Not sure if you’re into that, but I used to like his stuff when I was younger.”

You spin around abruptly, staring at him in disbelief.

“There’s no way you think I don’t know who Frank Sinatra is…”

Bucky stumbles over his words.

“Well, I mean, it’s not exactly new stuff so—”

“You think I wouldn’t know ‘Fly Me to the Moon’? ‘Singin’ in the Rain’? ‘New York, New York’? I mean, I even moved to New York—I had to get the romanticism from somewhere.”

“What are those?”

You pause, confused.

“Like, the most iconic Frank Sinatra songs. You are talking about Frank Sinatra, right? Not some other Sinatra I’ve never heard of?”

“No, you’re right, it’s Frank.”

“Then what do you mean?”

“I guess I don’t know those ones.” He admits.

“So, what era are we talking about?” You ask, reaching for the record.

As you grasp the sleeve, you notice a glint of light catching James’s bare hand. Realizing he’s not wearing gloves, confusion sets in before it clicks. You HAD seen James before.

Looking up at him, he seems frozen, obviously panicking. He planned to tell you eventually, but not like this. Not when you weren’t close enough yet.

He thought there is no way you are going to want anything to do with him now.

You thought there is no way was there's an actual Avenger in your apartment right now.

You’re frozen, just like him, but more in shock rather than fear.

“Do you… usually go by James?” you ask cautiously.

Hesitating, he shakes his head.

“What do you usually go by then?”

Bucky feels anxiety creeping up his back. You’re both still holding the record, and he can’t tell if you’re scared or just surprised.

“Bucky.”

You stay silent for a moment while Bucky’s nerves are on edge.

“So… metal hand…”

Clenching his jaw, he replies, “Arm.”

“You’re that Bucky.”

“Yes.”

After a long pause, you start again.

“You’re an Avenger and you didn’t tell me?”

Bucky hesitates, his discomfort visible. “I’m— I’m not an Avenger.”

“What do you mean? You’re totally an Avenger! Why wouldn’t you tell me? How did I not recognize you before?” you ask, laughing in disbelief.

Bucky’s taken aback. You really thought he was an Avenger? You’re not scared of him at all, which surprises him. You must not know much about his past if you’re still standing this close.

“No wonder you don’t know ‘New York, New York,’” you say, almost to yourself. “It’s from after your time! This is crazy, I—”

You’re interrupted by his response.

“Are you not scared?”

“Of course not.”

Bucky closes in on himself, panic evident. “If you really knew me, you’d want nothing to do with me. I’ve—”

“I might not know the version of you you’re talking about, but I’ve met James, who helped me not once, but twice  carry stuff he definitely didn’t have to up the stairs, stayed for dinner, has been very polite to me, and has given me zero reasons to be scared of him.”

He looks at you, his piercing blue eyes revealing an internal struggle. That one look holds more weight than his words. You can see the battle within him, torn between his past and the present moment.

“Listen,” you say, finally letting go of the record, “if you don’t want to stay, you don’t have to. But I’m not scared of you, and I actually like your company. So, regardless of whether you’re James, Bucky, or whoever, you’re still welcome here.”

You pause, adding, “And we can still play this if you’d like.”

Bucky struggles with his inner turmoil. The idea that you know who he is but still want him around is foreign to him. He doesn’t feel worthy of the kindness you’re offering, but it’s been so long since he’s received such warmth that it’s almost impossible to turn it down.

He’s not comfortable with his identity or his past, but in this moment, he wants to push it aside. If you don’t care, maybe he can allow himself not to care, even if just for a bit. Maybe he can prove something to himself, or even his therapist.

Handing you the record, he relaxes his face slightly. You’ve always thought him handsome, but in the dim light of the dark room, he looks almost ethereal.

You’re hoping he believes you because your excitement for his company tonight feels more significant than it probably should, but you’re okay with that.

“I’m Bucky.”

You smile warmly at this change. “Alright, Bucky. What do you want to do?”

He gazes at you deeply, his look sending a shiver down your spine and warming your chest. “Play it.”

a/n: well, hope this was alright. as I mentioned before, ive never wrote fiction before, but ive definitely read enough to get the gist.

[lostloveletters]

Something Borrowed (Michael Corleone x Reader)

Summary: Michael Corleone is the last person you expect to see at your best friend Connie’s wedding, and the last thing you expect to happen upon seeing him again after so many years is spending the night together. Maybe, it'll turn into something more.

Note: Female reader, but no other descriptors are used. No hate to Kay, she’s my girl, but wedding scene Michael drives me crazy🤭 She’s off living her best life elsewhere in this. Also, it was a lot of fun writing pre-everything Michael. Do not interact if you’re under 18, terf or radfem, or post thinspo/ED content.

Word count: 2.8k

Warnings: Sexually explicit content involving unprotected sex. Light play fighting.

Champagne and giggles overflowed at Connie Corleone’s wedding to Carlo Rizzi. Plenty of red wine was passed around in pitchers for the old guard, of course. For you and the other women conscious of not staining the rainbow of cocktail dresses and flowing gowns that dotted the backyard, you opted for lighter fare in tall flutes that sparkled in the early autumn sun. 

Perhaps you were a bit too enthusiastic about the drink offerings, having already exchanged three empty champagne glasses for ones filled to the brim with glittering gold when the bride engulfed you in a hug. With a delighted laugh, you returned the gesture, kissing her cheek.

“I wanted to say thank you one more time for coming!” Connie exclaimed, her cheeks flushed pink from the excitement of the day. “God, it breaks my heart we couldn’t have gotten you a bridesmaid dress in time, but you look gorgeous.”

“Me? Connie, you look like a princess.”

“I feel like one,” she giggled.

“When you see your gift from me—I’m sorry it’s not more, I haven’t—”

“Stop it!” she scolded. “You came all the way from Europe just to be at my wedding. I couldn’t ask for a better friend.”

You didn’t bother correcting her. Her version of events sounded much nicer than you just got lucky with when the Red Cross put you on a boat home. “Anything for you.”

“I won’t keep you. This is probably the first time you’re eating real food in years. Mama, Sandra, and Theresa made most of it.”

Connie was right. You tried to savor your plate, packed with pasta drowned in homemade sauce, antipasto and crusty bread, and sandwiches that towered with fresh cold cuts. The Corleones knew a thing or two about good food, and had the means to pull the strings for the unfathomable ration books such a feast required.

A familiar yet unexpected voice startled you when your fork pierced a piece of mozzarella. “Is this seat taken?”

“Michael,” you practically gasped, taken aback by his even attending the wedding in the first place, but also how good he looked in his uniform. Cap tucked under his arm, medals and decorations on his chest, the photos you’d seen in the magazine didn’t do him justice. Finding yourself again, you gestured to the empty seat across from you. “Go ahead.”

“I can’t remember the last time I saw you, but you look great,” he said, his gaze fixed on you as he set his plate and glass down. He took you in, the girl he’d grown up seeing around the house and at school, now, without a doubt, a woman.

“You too, Captain,” you said, nodding toward the double bars on his uniform.

He snickered at your little joke, making you feel a bit more at ease in his presence. “I’m surprised you aren’t in the wedding party.”

“Honestly, I wasn’t even sure I was going to make it until a few days ago. I only just got back to New York on Thursday,” you said.

“You volunteered with the Red Cross, didn’t you?”

You nodded. “I was in England, and then France after the liberation.”

“Clubmobile, right?”

“Did Connie tell you?”

He shook his head, smiling the slightest bit. “All the pretty girls worked the Clubmobile.”

A mortifyingly girlish giggle escaped your lips. You quickly brought your glass to your mouth, though the champagne in it was likely the culprit of your embarrassing reaction to Michael’s compliment. Averting your eyes to the dancing guests, you tried to ignore the warmth that spread across your face.

You allowed yourself to look at him again a few moments later, relieved to find he was still sitting in front of you, amused, maybe even endeared, by you.

“You’re such a jerk, Michael,” you mumbled, only because he was your friend’s older brother, and when you were younger and starry-eyed and figuring out what it meant when your heart wouldn’t quite beat right around a boy, it was him who those tender emotions were kindled in secret toward—until you had your first real boyfriend.

He grinned at your remark, and the two of you ate and caught up in between his various family members stopping by the table to say hello. You weren’t sure what to make of his seeing you before any of them—flattered, a bit confused as well, but he laughed at your jokes and moved his seat closer to yours, so you must have been doing something right when he finally asked, “Do you want to dance?”

“I’d love to,” you said.

The chaos from Johnny Fontaine’s unexpected arrival and impromptu performance subsided when Michael led you out to dance. He held you close, the way soldiers had at the dances the Red Cross put on for servicemen, all to boost morale, or, as the war went on, to offer a break from reality. Among the many rules meant to be followed—and typically broken in one way or another in the haze of war—was to keep some emotional distance from the enlisted men, for your sake and their own, but with bodies so close together, tender touches and soft whispers over songs of twilight and moonbeams, it was tough not to be caught up in romance’s alluring snare.

Even then, with the war behind both of you, something about being in Michael’s arms made you truly understand why some girls risked their assignments for a man. There was something in how he looked at you, different from your childhood together, even from a few minutes prior. You felt breathless despite the slow song you swayed along to.

“Did you like Paris?” he asked quietly, throwing you for a loop.

You furrowed your eyebrows. “Paris?”

“You were in France, weren’t you?”

“Not Paris.”

“Where in France were you slinging doughnuts, then?”

“Little villages a few miles out from the front, mostly. More cows than people, but nice enough once the fighting stopped, and it was finally quiet—as quiet as it could get, anyway,” you said. “When Connie wrote you’d been wounded, I couldn’t help but think the worst. Plenty of guys out there—well, that article sure put me at ease. All the girls were jealous when I said I knew you.” You smiled. “I’m glad you’re alright, Michael.”

He glanced at your lips, and for an aching moment you were sure he was going to kiss you, but instead he gave you a smile, one that was real and made your heart flutter nevertheless, but left you disappointed.

“Where are you staying since you’ve been back?” he asked.

He seemed familiar with the hotel you were staying in when you mentioned it, offering to drive you back after the reception ended, and Connie and Carlo left for their honeymoon. 

“It’s only until I can find a boarding hotel that has space,” you said. “I mean, it doesn’t have to be the Barbizon, but I’m not moving back in with my parents.”

“Here’s to that.”

The rest of the day and into the evening, Michael hung around you, unless he was pulled away by members of his family, each instance an annoyance to him. You knew they weren’t exactly supportive of his enlisting, but the situation couldn’t have been that bad, not since he was home, safe and sound at his sister’s wedding.

The Corleones, though endlessly kind to you, always been an odd family, and you learned through your friendship with Connie not to ask too many questions.

But Genco Abbandando was dying, and Vito insisted Michael go with the rest of the Corleone men to pay his respects to the elder. When you offered to take a cab back to your hotel, Michael promised the visit wouldn’t be long, suggesting you wait at the house with his mother until he returned to drive you into the city.

Your foolish desire to spend more time with him led to your waiting in the Corleones’ kitchen for a little over an hour, when you likely would’ve been showered and in bed in your hotel room by the time he arrived back for you, in one hell of a hurry to get you into his car and presumably get away from his family.

“Do you ever think about leaving New York?” he asked when the house was out of view.

You laughed. “Michael, I only just got back.”

“That’s not what I mean. The war—it wasn’t going to be forever, but it let you see what life could be like away from all of this, didn’t it?”

“Of course it did. I’m honestly not sure what I’m going to do with myself now,” you said. “How about you? Are you going back to school? Dartmouth, I mean.”

He nodded. “I start again the spring semester.” At a red light, he glanced over at you. “New England’s nice. Better than French cow country.”

“And do you suppose I could study in the department of pouring coffee and serving doughnuts?”

“You’re smart. I think you have a real future,” he said, the sincerity in his voice startling you. “All of that back there, that’s not for us. It never has been.”

You were silent for a few moments. “I guess you’re right.”

The city lights twinkling in the distance took the place of the stars they blocked out from the sky, growing larger as Michael crossed the bridge into Manhattan, the center of the universe. You’d never tell a soul how you cried just a few days prior upon seeing it again for the first time in years.

Besides his talk of the future, Michael kept the conversation light, and you could’ve sworn he was flirting with you. Working the Clubmobile, you learned quickly how to pick up on it, some men laying it on thick while others were irresistibly smooth. Michael could’ve easily just been teasing you, the way a friend’s older brother would, but when he pulled up to your hotel, either your ego or curiosity prompted you to invite him up for a drink.

You sobered up on the drive into the city, enough to remember you didn’t have any drinks in your room. The two of you would have to go to the hotel bar for that, but then you and Michael wouldn’t be alone, not how you wanted, anyway.

To your relief, he agreed.

With Michael in uniform, few questions would be asked by hotel staff as to why you suddenly had a man with you when you checked in on your own. It would have been easy to lie, claim he was your fiance who had only just gotten back Stateside. But you supposed you and Michael already looked the part, walking arm-in-arm through the lobby without an issue.

Your confidence soared on the elevator ride up to your modest room, which you let Michael into, knowing he wouldn’t judge the state of your accommodations.

“Mind if I make myself comfortable?” You didn’t wait for his answer, pulling your blouse from where it’d been tucked in your skirt. Slipping out of your heels, you sighed softly in relief.

“It’s your place,” he said, setting his coat over the chair in the corner and loosening his tie.

You grabbed his cap from where he set it down and placed it on your head, tilting the brim over your face a bit and posing in front of him with a hand on your hip. “How do I look?”

He sat down on the edge of the bed, giving you a once over, “I swear I saw you pinned up in some guy’s tent looking just like that.”

You laughed, taking the cap off and flinging it aside. “Oh, I don’t even know why I invited you up here!” Your laughter faded as something in your stomach turned sour, the situation feeling achingly too good to be true. Alone in a hotel room with Michael, the two of you entirely capable of making your own mistakes on the off chance he wanted you too. “Or why you even agreed to come up.”

“I didn’t come up here to drink.”

“No, you did it to be nice, because we’ve known each other for so long…” You sighed, sitting next to him. “I always figured you thought of me as your kid sister’s annoying little friend or something.”

He shook his head, saying your name softly in either protest or reassurance. His hand cupped your face as he turned it toward him, his thumb rubbing soft circles in your cheek. “Not for a long time. Especially not tonight.”

You kissed him, hands gripping his shoulders, closing your eyes as you melted in his embrace. Your skin feverish at his touch, you shuddered when his hand slipped up your untucked blouse until his fingertips reached your bra.

To say you hadn’t fantasized about Michael would have been an unconvincing lie to anyone who dared ask, but even in your wildest dreams, it was never quite like this, so bold and irreverent in the face of the tradition the two of you had just spent the day celebrating.

“I came up here because you’re beautiful,” he confessed against your lips, “because you’re the only familiar face I saw at my sister’s wedding that didn’t make me wish I were somewhere else.”

Silencing him with another kiss, your fingers raked through his soft black hair as your body pressed flush against his, unsure if you could withstand hearing more of his tender words without falling to pieces. You couldn’t, not so early in the night, but his desire grew difficult to ignore when he pulled you onto his lap. The pressure against your pussy made you moan, and with a hasty desperation, you shimmied out of your panties as he unbuckled his belt, freeing his hard cock within a few moments.

You slipped a hand between the two of you, pumping his length, feeling the way it twitched at your touch and gasping when Michael’s hips bucked. His teeth grazed your bottom lip, a whisper of an intent to devour you.

“I need you, sweetheart,” he groaned. “Need to feel you.”

Lifting your hips, you whimpered upon feeling his head brush your clit as you positioned yourself, slowly lowering as he filled you, cock throbbing against your walls that clenched around him. He assuaged the pain of taking all of him with a gentle kiss and soft praises, urging you to take your time, that you had all night together.

All night. The promise he would stay, at least until the morning, sent a teasing wave of pleasure through you. Gripping his shoulders, you tried to keep a steady pace as you rode him, wanted to show him that staying would be worth his while. He’d been right in the car, you wouldn’t be a virginal, wedding white bride. The both of you had seen and experienced too much to be considered innocent any longer, but it was something you shared, that no one else from that day would have understood.

Your thighs ached as you neared your climax, desperately chasing it despite the exhaustion that was creeping up on you. Crying out in frustration, you buried your face in the crook of Michael’s neck.

“I’m close,” you whined. “Michael, I—”

“I’ve got you,” he assured you, his hands making their home on your hips. 

Your eyes fluttered shut as you let him guide your body, his thrusts doing most of the work while you rocked against him, seeking the friction against your clit that would bring you to release. It caught in your throat, a broken groan from your lips to his ears as you came, clenching around him, pleasure rolling through you, rattling your body like thunder. You barely caught your breath when he came, shuddering against you, practically cradling you against him as he filled you.

With a whimper, you lifted yourself off of him and rolled back onto the bed. Placing your hand on your chest, you felt your rapidly beating heart beneath your fingertips, focusing on it as it slowed the following minute or so and ignoring the stickiness between your legs, the evidence you slept with your best friend’s older brother. 

Michael leaned over, brushing back the hair that stuck to your face. “What are your plans tomorrow?”

“Looking through the classifieds for a job,” you said honestly.

“Wanna put it off for a day?”

“With what money, Michael?”

“I’ll give you a line of credit.”

You grabbed one of the pillows from behind you, throwing it at him with a laugh. “Jerk!”

He grinned, pushing it aside to grab for one of your arms. You put up a weak fight, your breathless laughter giving away his almost certain win.

Having pinned you down beneath him, he pressed you for an answer. “So?” He kissed you. “What do you say, sweetheart?”

You rolled your eyes, smiling despite yourself. “I guess I can clear my schedule for a dashing war hero like you.”

“Dashing, I like the sound of that,” he murmured, bringing his lips to yours again, softly, with a tenderness that promised more for tomorrow, and even the day after, if you’d have him. 

You smiled. “Me too.”

[thewritermj]

Favors (2)

pre-outbreak!Joel Miller x fem! reader part 2 (part 1 here)

summary: where you repay Joel for his favors. warnings: MDNI smut, drinking, petnames, oral (f receiving), unprotected p in v (please, use protection), slight daddy kink, a hint of daddy issues, and I think that's all a/n: english is not my first language, so go easy on me. it's my first time writing smut that's why it took so long for me to post it, sorry. hope you enjoy, I didn't, but who knows.

It was Friday night and Joel’s house was full of teenagers girls screaming and laughing in the living room with a bunch of snacks in front of them. A pack of magazines, make up, pink pillows and 2000’s movies were placed all over the place. The girls had put on some make up with lots of glitter to take photos. And Joel was having a hard time finding peace in the middle of it all. It was like he was caught in the middle of a war zone where the weapons were made of rainbows and unicorn and everything sounded like those fairy noises from Disney movies.

But Sarah had the brightest smiled on her face and she was almost out of breath with laughter, all the girly stuff was worth it.

Tommy had taken off to let the girls have some privacy, and he was on his way too, Sarah was big enough to prevent the house from getting on fire –or so he hoped-, and he wasn’t going far anyway, just the neighbour’s for some beer.

He was about to say goodbye when the doorbell rang. He frowned and walked over to see who it was. As he opened the door, he was met with a pair of big eyes staring at him.

“Hi” you said. “I just came by to give Sarah her-“ but you were interrupted by the girls hands pushing you inside.

“I didn’t know you’d come! Come meet everyone!” She hurried.

You smiled and greeted her friends, trying to process what all the seven girls were saying at once. Trying to catch your breath you seated on the couch and stared at Sarah wile she rambled some old histories about the time you were her babysitter. But all you could do was scan the house and mentally try to list everything that had changed since your last visit.

Like the new armchair, the matching curtains, the new TV, some more photos and little pieces of decoration. The kitchen had changed also, it used to have a door and now it was no longer separated from the living room. You liked, you could see the backyard from where you were sitting.

“Anyways…What are you doing here, y/n?” She widened her eye and glanced over to her dad who was watching the scene from the kitchen counter. “Are you and my dad going out?”

“W-what? No…I am…I just came by to give you this, Little S.” you explained in a blush, the girls giggling in front of you “Happy birthday.”

You handed her the blue box from inside your purse. Sarah sat next to you and almost ripped it out to get her to her present.

“Wow…” She said lifting the golden chain with an S attached to it. “It’s beautiful! Thank you, thank you, thank you!” and then she buried herself in your arms in a warm hug, you giggled and hugged her back.

She showed the chain to her friends and you took this as an opportunity to slip out of the circle and came to meet Joel in the kitchen.

“Hey” you said with a smile “Seems like your handling them just fine”

“Yeah” he chuckled “Unless you want your old job back, I don’t mind letting those little glitter bombs under your watch.”

You laughed “Gonna charge you more than just ten dollars an hour then.” You both laughed.

“Thanks for being so attentive over Sarah.” He said in a more serious tone, “She really looks up to you.”

You glanced back to where the girls were chatting in whispers.

“She means a lot to me.” You said “And I really miss seeing her every weekend.” You added.

“ Like I said, fell free to have your old job back.” I miss having you around. He almost added.

You laughed.

“So…where’s Tommy? Did the girls scared him away?”

“No, actually, Sarah wanted the house just for herself and her friends tonight. So Tommy headed off already, I was just leaving too.”

Your smiled faded for a second.

“Oh, I’m sorry if I’m holding you here, I have to go too, it’s getting pretty late”

“I can give you a ride, if you want”. He didn’t know why he said that, he wasn’t going to take the car out, but there was a strange need inside of him to just be useful to you, to being able to provide something, to take care of you.

You were about to answer him when a glimpse of the girls catch your eyes and you turned to see what they were doing. The bunch of girls were all cramped in the sofa, watching you and Joel closely with a big smile on their faces and giggling sounds.

Oh. My. God.

You knew exactly what they were doing. You used to do the same thing with your friends, it was what you called “Lover’s Spy”. Where you’d watch a couple chatting or kissing as if it was a real life romance movie. You did it to your parents, to your friend’s older brother and his girlfriend, and now, Sarah and her friends were doing it to Joel and you.

You must be so red, because you can actually feel the blood rising to your cheeks and you refused to look back at Joel.

“It’s fine…Uhm. I can walk.”

You gather your purse from the sofa and Sarah held you wrist.

“No. Dad can drive you! It’s dangerous at night” She said.

“It’s eight o’clock, Sarah.” You chuckled. “I’ll be fine”

You kissed her cheek and said goodbye to her friends, but before you could move another inch closer to the door, you heard Joel’s picking up his wallet and the car keys.

“Hold on, sweets, I’ll drive you. Was going to take the car anyway. Sarah,” he turned to her with both hands on his hips, a typically dad pose. “lock the door, don’t let anyone in or out. Watch for the pizza, the money is on the counter. If anything happens you call me or Tommy. I’ll be back whitin’ a few hours.” She nodded. “You guys have fun, good night”

“Good night, dad!”

“Good night, Mr. Miller!” The girls said all together.

You smiled and waved at them, following Joel outside his house.

He opened the front door for you to get in, entering the car soon after.

“So, your place?”

“Yeah. I was at my dad’s.” You said adjusting your seatbelt. “So, where are you going to do while the glitter bombs destroy your house?”

He laughed pulling out to the road.

“I was gonna meet Tommy and a friend for some beers. What about you? Nothing better to do on a Friday night then crash at a teenagers sleepover?”

You shake your head.

“Nope. I’ve been so tired I can’t even think about going our right now.”

Joel chuckled. “Wait to see how’s that on my age.” He let it slip, regretting it right after. In case you haven’t notice the age gap between the two of you.

The car went silent for a moment before you opened your mouth.

“You’re not that old” She said quietly. “Like, you’re not old enough to be my dad”.

What the fuck did you just said?! Why were you trying to justify the age gap and why, why the fuck did you have to use that example? You wanted to open the door and throw yourself on the road.

Joel hummed as he stopped at a red light. He was about to say something, but your phone started to ring –thanks, god-. But you cringed at the person that was calling you.

“Hey, dad” You said awkwardly and Joel turned to you with a weird expression. “Yeah, I’m going home right now.” He asked if you had called a taxi. “No. Joel’s driving me” “Who?” “Joel Miller…Sarah’s dad.” “Oh of course, say hi to him” “He said hi” you repeated and Joel smiled a little. “I’m gonna hang up, dad. Love you” “Love you too, honey”

“How’s your old man, doing?”

“He’s good.” You answered quickly, wanting to move on from the “father” topic.

The silence danced around the two of you in such a comic way. You were playing nervously with the hem of your black skirt, trying to remember if your apartment always were this far.

Joel kept his eyes on you through the mirror, trying to figure out why you seemed so nervous. He felt that weird sensation to your words and the awkward feeling it left in the car, put he wanted to put all that behind because sooner than he expected you’d be home and would say goodbye. And he wanted to cling to that warm feeling that spread across his chest every time you’d smile at him.

Joel took a moment to realize that you were cold. You were bracing yourself with the bare skin of your arms and your bare legs were shaking slightly.

“You want me to turn down the air?” He asked.

“No…Well, yes” You said shyly.

“No problem, sweets” He said turning it off for you.

Your top did nothing to cover you from the cold, and neither did your leather skirt. You could lie and say you picked it up for no exact reason, but the truth was that you picked that outfit for Joel. The white top crop accentuated your cleavage and gave him a pretty good view of your breast –not that he did look, always a gentleman- and the leather skirt was short, exposing more of the flesh of your thighs and made them look prettier. You felt hot in that outfit, and you knew you’d see Joel tonight. So, two plus two equals four.

“Okay, so you’re just gonna be all by yourself tonight?” Joel asked after a while.

“Yeah. Kinda used to it now” You watched as he parked in front of your place. “Unless…”

You didn’t finished it. Just tug off your seatbelt.

“What?”

“I was just wondering if you didn’t want to come in, but, Tommy and your friend are waiting for you. I just thought it would be nice having someone to talk to.” You paused, waiting for Joel to say something. “I enjoy talking to you.” You added.

“I enjoy talking to you too, pretty thing” He responded. “Guess I can stay for a while, they won’t mind.”

You cracked a smiled and both of you got out of the car, going upstairs to your apartment.

You opened the door for Joel for the second time that week and he took his shoes off going to seat in the couch while you turned on the dim lights.

“I don’t have beers but…I think I have a bottle of wine.” You said with a smirk.

Joel lifted his eyebrow in a suggestive way and nodded.

“Which one?”

“The cheapest one” You joked going to the kitchen.

You closed the door behind you to hid from him. You were about to drink wine with the most attractive man you’ve ever met. It felt like a dream, you had to shook yourself out of it to go look for the bottle and the glasses.

Before going out, you took a deep breath and tried to control all of your insecurities and thoughts.

You went back to the living room to find Joel sitting comfortably in you couth. Back relaxed against the cushions, left foot hanging loosely over the right knee and a soft smirk.

“Want me to open it?”

“Yeah” you admitted in a chuckle.

You handed him the bottle and the opener and in a blink of an eye, your glass was full with the red drink. You gave his glass a little toast before sipping yours and you settled by his side.

After a while and a few glasses, you were kinda tipsy and you head had a funny ache, but you didn’t mind as long as Joel kept talking.

“Consider this a ‘thank you’ for all your help, ‘round here.” You said smiling and Joel shook his head.

“No need to thank me, sweets.”

You both had talked for hours. About work, people, politics, everything. He was such an easy person to talk to, he could express himself just right, joking when he felt like it, using his hands to articulate his thoughts and the voice, that damn low voice he was using to talk to you, as if it was a secret no one could listen to. You were sure he was doing it on purpose, he had to be. There’s no way he didn’t know about the effect his voice had on you.

Or maybe, maybe, he was just as tipsy as you were. Joel was the one filling the glasses once they were empty and he was so careful to never leave it empty he might be getting a little bit drunk. Not with the wine, but with the way your eyes danced around his face and how you were paying full attention to what he was saying, the red in your cheeks he didn’t know if came from the drink or the hot temperature of the night. He could never grow tired of hearing your sweet voice talk about something he wouldn’t remember the next morning, but the sound of your voice was ethereal, it could drive him insane with just the thought of how you’d sound moaning for him.

“Oh…” You pouted. “The second bottle’s empty”

“Do you have another one?” He asked.

“Uhum, I’ll be back in a minute.” You said getting up.

Joel watched at the sight of your frame walking away from him, your hips swaying into the kitchen and he sighed.

You came back to find Joel in a different position. He had an arm resting along the arm of the sofa, almost inviting you into his side, closer. His legs were parted, showing off his thick thighs and he looked so godamn good like that, his lap looked so comfortable. The only place you’d like to sit.

And yet, you sat back in the couch, with both of your legs beneath you, so you were completely turned to Joel, his hand ghosting your shoulder as you shifted closer to his body.

“There we go” You said filling both glasses.

“Thanks, pretty thing”

You couldn’t help the giggle that escaped your lips. Joe smirked wickedly.

“Do you like that?”

“Yeah”

He nodded and took a sip of his wine. You rested your head on his strong biceps and sighed.

“So, tell me. How come there was never a Mrs. Miller?” You asked. “There must be a lot of women waiting on that line”

“I guess, yeah, back in the day there could be but, after Sarah…Everything just seemed least important, you know?”

You smiled softly at his confession. Joel really was a hell of a good father, and you were sure he would never choose some lame ass women to be Sarah’s new mom or something, you just wish your dad would have had the same ideal after the divorce.

“That’s sweet.” You said softly, still resting against his arm.

“But what about you, uh? I bet there’s a lot of guys giving your old man a headache.” He smirked.

You bit your lip shaking your head.

“No, not really. I don’t think I ever found the right guy. Or a guy that could give me what I want, anyways. It seems I have this thing about always going for the idiots.” You said in a chuckled.

For a second, the memories of your ex boyfriend filled your mind and all you could think about was all the bad things he had done. The lies, the fights, the cheating, the break ups, the ‘I swear I’m gonna change’ promises, all of that.

“And what are you looking for, pretty thing?” Joel asked, brining you back from the dark memories.

“Someone to take care of me.”

You didn’t know if it was the wine, or the fact that you could feel like telling Joel everything, the urge to open yourself to him. You had no idea why you had been so sincere about it.

Joel let the hand on your shoulder fall to your waist, holding you a little closer and you felt the heat run across your chest and face, looking at him with a puzzled face and big eyes. His free hand rest the glass in the wooden table and came to run his thumb through your cheek in such a sweet way that had you melting at his touch.

“Joel…” You said breathless.

“Yes, pretty thing?”

“What are you doing?”

He smirked.

“I knew I was bad at flirting with you, but I didn’t know it was that bad.” He chuckled.

“You…What?!”

Him…What?

He was flirting with you?

Joel Miller was flirting with you?

Did he find you attractive? Pretty? Interesting?         

Was this a dream? If it was, you’d prey you’d never wake up.

“I was flirting with you, y/n. Maybe I should’ve just being more open about it”

“But…I thought…” You were having a hard time focusing with his face so close to yours and…when did you get so close? “Fixing my things and going to the my shop once a week was you flirting?” You laughed a little.

He didn’t find it funny you calling out on his tactics, he just play along whit it.

“It worked, didn’t it?”

“ Yeah, I guess it worked, pops”

“Pops? Thought I wasn’t old enough to be your dad.” He strengthen the grip in your waist.

You bate your eyelashes in an innocent way ant lifted a finger to run a vein upon his bicep.

“Dad? No. Daddy, in the other hand…” You said normally.

His jaw clenched and he readjusted himself on his seat.

“What did you just said, pretty girl?”

You giggled leaning into his ear to whisper “Daddy”.

“Fuck, baby, come closer.”

And the next thing you remember it’s Joel’s strong hands coming to pull you onto his lap, with your legs on each side of his sides, and you finally sited in the most comfortable place in your whole house.

“Hi.” You said giggling.

He shook his head with an amused grin and then his lips were crashing into yours with an insatiable hunger. Joel kissed like it was the end of the world, like anything else didn’t mattered, but your lips, his hands were everywhere. At you waist, pulling you closer, at your neck, hair, tights, every little inch he could reach. He licked slightly your bottom lip and immediately you opened yourself for him leaning in closer to run a hand along his broad shoulders, pulling him impossibly closer, pressing your chests together.

But eventually, both of you had to gasp for air. And you were sure Joel was about to say something, but as soon as his mouth left yours, you pulled him by his collar back to your grip.

You wanted more.

 You let out a moan at the smirk he gave you. You wanted to feel every little movement of Joel’s tongue around yours, every breath he let into your face, every surface of your skin his hands would palm. Brining your own hands to his hair, you massage his scalp and tugged on his black locks, earning a low groan that didn’t nothing to help the slick that were gathering inside your panties.

“Why so desperate, baby? I’m right here.” Joel said when you broke the kiss.

He tugged some locks of your hair behind your ear and ran a finger across you cheek.

“So pretty” He hummed.

“Joel…” You mewled, “I need you.”

“I know, baby. I’m gonna take care of you, I promise.” He said in a smirk. “I need you too.”

And with that, Joel guided your hips so the rolled over his growing erection and you closed your eyes at the felling of his cock against you heat.

“I wanted you for so long, y/n.”

“You could had just asked, you know.” You said.

“I didn’t wanted to be a creepy old man.” He said in a chuckle.

You leaned in to press a kiss to his cheek and Joel’s heart flipped inside.

“You’re not, Joel. You’re the most respectful guy I’ve ever met. I put on a sexy top for you and you didn’t stare at my boobs for once in the entire night!”

He looked down to where your chest were moving up and down with your heavy breathing.

“I’m looking now.” He said lifting a hand to grope your right tit. “Nice tits, baby.”

You laughed and pressed a kiss to his lips again, as you rocked your hips against his, trying to find relief in the friction it brought to your core.

Before you cold register, Joel was carrying you around your house, your legs wrapped around his waist as his strong arms secured you to his body. He found the door to your room very quickly, swinging it open with a foot and closing it right behind the both of you.

He sat on your bed with you on his lap as he kissed his way along your jaw, founding that one spot under your ear that had you arching your back into him.

You felt like you were on fire. All your brain could think about was Joel, was how good he was making you feel even without landing a finger to your heat. He was burning you alive and you’d die a happy woman in his hold.

You whined at Joel’s hands coming under your top, leaving a hot trail on it’s awaken. He tugged the soft material and you nodded. Joel lifted the top above your head to find out that you weren’t using a bra.

“Fucking hell…” He whispered, lowering himself to press a wet kiss between your breasts. “You’re such a pretty little girl, baby.”

You moaned at the touch of Joel lips on you nipple. He smirked against your skin as he licked, sucked, bit, marked one of your tits, while his hand came to play with the other nipple, swiping it between his skilful fingers. You turned into a whimpering mess as his mouth abused your breasts and you tugged at his hair to prevent him from choking between the valley of your breasts when he buried his face in it.

“You’re wearing too much, daddy.” You complained.

He smiled devilish while looking up to you before taking of his shirt and throwing it somewhere in the bedroom floor. You smiled happy and pushed himself away from your skin to wonder around his torso, circling his abdomen with your nails and going to ran along his spine.

You bit your bottom lip and stared depply into his eyes in a silent request.

“Beg for it.”

“Please.” You said with a half smirk.

“You can do better than that, can’t you, baby? Come on, beg for daddy”

You left out a whimper at the sound of the name coming out of his mouth like that.

“Please, Joel, please. I need you so bad, need you inside me. Please, fuck me, Joel.” You said breathless.

He smirked and in one single motion, had you lying in your back for him, your legs swinging in the edge of the bed.

“Damn it, sweets, begs for it so easy.” He said slipping you skirt out of your body, leaving you in your pair of pink-laced panties. “Look at you” he cooed.

You felt your cheeks burn in embarrassment and a certain urge to hide suddenly tool over and you tried to close your legs, but Joel stopped you, holding your knees.

“Don’t hide away from me now, baby. Isn’t this what you wanted?” He asked concern in his voice and he let your knees go.

“Yes! It’s just what I wanted, Joel…I guess I felt a little shy”

“Shy? About what?” He leaned in to press a kiss to your lips, “You’re so goddamn pretty.” He said against your lips before cup your clothed pussy.

You whines and opened your leg for him once again, Joel smirk before lowering himself to level to the middle of your tights, staring at the wet patch that was showing in your –no ruined- panties. Joel pulled the last piece of cloth out of your body. You could deny and say you did not see him putting the pink pantie in his pant’s pocket, but you had to let go a giggle.

Joel moaned at the sigh of your wet cunt, he hummed and ran a finger in your slick.

“All that for me?” You nodded.

He smirked before licking a stripe of your slick and you let out a strangled moan.

“I know you’d be sweet, baby.” He said before diving in.

Joel’s hungry mouth devoured your pussy. He licked and sucked at your clit in a rough and skilled way, making your hips buckle against his face and your eyes to shut close.

You were a moaning mess, whining and calling his name over and over. Your hands were gripping the sheets with all the strength you had. Joel’s tongue was flickering into your folds, your wetness was pooling in his chin…and the roughness of his beard against your skin was driving you feral. Every muscle of your legs were screaming for you to close them, to keep Joel between then forever –and he might stay, if you let him.

You squirm when one of Joel’s fingers traced it way down your tights to your entrance. He looked up at you through lustful eyes before filling you in. You arched your back in the mattress, pushing yourself into his head and hand.

Joel groaned.

“Fuck, babe, you’re tight even for a finger…How do you plan on taking my cock, uh?” He said curling his finger inside you.

“Oh, Joel!” You almost screamed.

Joel chuckled and continued to fuck you with his finger, his tongue making perfect eights on your clit. The pressure in your stomach started to build, the familiar tickle inside your core.

Slowly, Joel added a second finger, laying still for a moment when you hissed, and then he stared to mimic a scissor inside your cunt, making you see stars. Of course, you had guys fingering you before, but none of them did it like Joel. He was touching you as if he had done that for ages, as if he already knew all your spots and as if your body was his own.

You were, right. Joel’s hands were as capable at sex as they were at work.

Joel Miller was fucking you open, Preparing you to take his cock. It was too good to be true, it had to be a dream.

With every move of his fingers, the pressure was amplified, his glorious mouth altering between sucking and licking at your clit.

You gasped for air and a strong grip landed in Joel’s hair as you came, trembling, shaking for him in a loud moan.

Joel moaned at the feeling, trying to catch everything you could give him, collecting your juice in his mouth. Big hands came to caress your shaking legs in a comforting way, Joel rested his head on your tight, waiting for you to come down your high.

“Kiss me” You asked.

Joel came up from the middle of your legs and leaned in to your face. You cupped his jaw with your hands, admiring the way you were glistening on his tanned skin.

Before giving him your lips, you stuck your tongue out to lick a long stripe of the wetness from his cheek.

“Tastes good, doesn’t it?” He asked before giving you a hunger kiss.

When Joel shifted closer, you could feel his hard erection against your inner thighs and you mewled into his mouth.

“Joel…” You stared.

“Yeah, I know, sweets, I know” He responded with a smirk. “Do you have a condom?”

You groaned in frustration. “No…But I’m good if your are?”

Joel smirked and pressed a kiss to your lips.

He then got off of you. Pouting with the loss of proximity, you clench your legs together.

Joel took of his heavy pants too slowly for your licking, but to your surprise, he was bare beneath his jeans, a line of hair was leading to his painful hard cock, the pre-cum liking from the tip.

Your eyes flicked to his in a wicked way, but before you could say anything about him going commando, he was on top of you again.

“Wait” You said, putting a hand on his chest and pushing him slightly. “Let me look at you, daddy.”

Joel smirked. “You can look as long as you want to, pretty thing.”

Joel sat back on the bed and you ran your hands along his heavy chest. You admire his length. He was big, he probably knew it, but goddamn there was no way he would fit inside you. He was thick to, with bulging veins across him. It made your mouth water and you hooked your fingers around it, they barely held him whole. Joel gasped as you slowly jerked him off.

When you lowered yourself, Joel stopped you.

“If I have your mouth now, I’ll come down your throat, baby, and believe me”, he stared to push you onto the mattress again “I rather do that somewhere else. Maybe next time, what do you say, sweets?”

Next time.

Next time.

Next time.

You just nodded and let Joel manhandle you. He let you in the pillow and pressed a kiss to your lips before settling between your legs, opening them wide for him do fit better. Joel stopped for a moment to take the view in; you spread for him, just for him. He had dreamed of this, of how you’d look, but now, you looked like a Michelangelo panting. Red cheeks, thin layer of sweet, doe eyes and the dim light making you glow.

“Can I?” He asked holding his cock with one hand, adjusting to the front of your entrance.

“Yes. Please, Joel” You plead.

Joel pushed in just a bit, watching as you closed your eyes and tightened around his tip.

“It w-wont fit” You said in a soft gasp.

“We’ll make it fit. I’ll make you feel good, I promise.” He leaned in to press a kiss to your forehead. Joel stopped a moment to look at you, concerned that it was hurting you, that was the last thing he wanted to. “Do you wanna stop? We can stop”

He pulled out and you immediately missed him.

“No! No. I don’t want to stop, I just need to adjust…Put it back in, Joel, please” You hushed, grabbing his hand to interlock with yours as he started to push in again.

You closed your eyes shut as you feel the stretch of Joel’s cock inside your pussy. He moaned at the feeling of you wrapping around him so deliciously. However, he gathered everything in him to stay still until you tell him otherwise. Joel watched as you shivered under him and how tears stared to peek under your closed eyelashes, he presses soft kisses around your face and whispered sweet nothings in your ears.

You opened your eyes, feeling his length deep inside your womb. You were stuffed with him, being one. The pain slowly melted into pleasure and you couldn’t tell where you ended and where he begun. You tried to move your hips forward, you hissed but it felt so good, the tip of Joel’s manhood peaking at your sweet spot just a little.

Joel’s hot breath in your neck, and the tickling of his beard in your skin gave you a shiver and a wave of determination went pass your body.

Joel Miller was on top of you, what the fuck were you waiting for?

“Move.” You said.

Joel pulled halfway and slowly came back in, earning a moan from both of you.

“Fuck, baby, such a tight pussy.” Joel groaned as he picked up a slow and gentle pace.

You whimpered and squeezes the hand that was in yours, Joel squeezed back.

“Tell me how you want it, sweets” He demanded.

“Hard” You panted.

Joel smirked. A devilish grin in his features.

He let go of your hand to grip at your waist, pulling you impossibly closer, making you slam against his cock as he readjust himself on his knees.

Joel started thrusting into you in a brutal pace. His cock going in and out of you making you gasp for air. The room was filled with the sound of you. Skin on skin. The wetness of your core, your moans and whimpers, Joel’s heavy breathing and pants.

You carved your nails into his shoulder, knowing it’d leave a bruise, but you didn’t care, he didn’t seemed to care either. You were saying his name like a prayer, over and over again like you were thanking him, it rolled so easily off your tongue Joel didn’t want to hear it any other way.

He readjusted his angle, leaning in to try to find that one spot he knew would be your last straw. That one single spot that would have you never forgetting what he fells like. And he did, with so much ease. The tip of his length hit it hard and you left out a silent scream as your hands gripped his flesh.

“That’s it, isn’t it?” He asked rutting his hips harder. “I know it is, baby.” You nodded.

You rand your hands through his torso, feeling his hot skin and his muscles unearth your finger, you pushed him down so you could press a sloppy kiss to his lips, all teeth and tongue. Joel had you moaning inside his mouth as his skilled fingers danced around your clit, adding so much pleasure you felt like you could explode.

He smirked at your fucked up state as he sucked a bruise in between your breasts, knowing it would go for days until it disappeared, knowing you’d look at it and remember who gave it to you.

“Joel….F-fuck. I’m close” You panted, heart racing like a thousand horses.

“I know. This fuckin’ pussy’s clenching ‘round me so good.” He lifted a hand to caress your hair “You’re taking me so good, pretty thing. Such a good girl.”

The praise made your eyes roll back as your orgasm came crashing in a hard thrust of Joel’s cock. Your eyes closed ad you repeated his name “Joel, Joel, Joel…” Until it became a bumbling mess in your lips as he rode you through your high. He never left your heat for once, he kept whispering sweet nothing into your skin as you shake and squirm under his strong body.

“Fuck, baby, gonna cum. Where do you wan-“

“Inside” You said breathless.

Joel moaned your name, no “baby”, no “sweets”,  no “pretty thing”, your name as he came inside of you, painting your walls with his cum. Whitin’ a few low thrusts, he finally collapsed on top of you, resting his head between your breasts as both of your try to caught your breaths.

Your fingers interlaced his hair as you smoothed him.

You don’t really know how much time had passed as the both of you stayed in that position, in silence, with his soften cock inside your cunt, preventing you from leaking.

“You gonna stay there forever?” You asked in a giggle.

“It’s my new favourite place to be.” He said.

But he pulled out soon after, taking his time to watch as his cum ran out of your abused hole, wetting your sheets and the inside of your thighs. Joel looked up to find you already staring at him.

“Don’t give me those eyes, I just fucked you” He warned with a smirk.

You laughed and collect some of the white load in your fingers, bringing them towards your lips.

Joel stared as you licked and sucked them clean, tasting yours and his juices, his cock twitched in interest ad you let your fingers go with a ‘pop’ sound.

“You’re wicked” He said covering your body with his to pepper kisses in your face and you giggled.

You were about to switch position with him when a suddenly buzz came from the floor and Joel turned his head to look at it.

“Shit. ‘S my phone” He got out of bed to pick it from his trousers back pocket. “Hey, Tommy”

You sat on the bed to watch him. Joel listened to Tommy complaining about his lateness to get to theirs friends, he murmured some excuse and reached to pack his clothes from the floor.

“You still there?” You could hear Tommy saying a ‘yes’ in a tipsy voice “So…The girls are all alone until now?” “Yeah! I was waiting for you, thought you were…Wait, you’re not home right now?”

Joel stopped for a second before answering with a grin.

“No. I had to drive y/n home.” “Y/n? Are you…Are you with her right now?”  “Yeah”  “Oh. Do you want me to stop talking?”  “Hell, I do”  “Sorry. Tell her I said hi.”

Joel sighed. “Tommy says ‘hi’”. You smiled and laid back in the mattress, slowly opening your tights in a promiscuous way.  “Sorry, sweets, looks like I’ll have to get back home.”

“Now?”

“The girls are wall alone. I have to check on them”.

You pouted. Joel chuckled and started getting dresses. You watched as he slipped his jeans back on and tugged himself in, his arms flexed as he put on his shirt.

Suddenly you felt insecure. What if this was just it? Just one night stand and then you and Joel would never talk again, and you’ll feel uncomfortable in his presence? You’d have to stop seeing Sarah too. You couldn’t handle it. You didn’t want to be just another woman that had passed in Joel’s hands for a night of pleasure. Was it selfish of you to want more? Greedy? You had dreamed of it, of someone like Joel, someone who made you feel the exact same way he makes you feel. But you wouldn’t say anything, you didn’t want to pressure him, so you stayed quiet as Joel finished buckling his belt.

 You pushed the blanked to cover yourself and hide from Joel’s eyes, but he noticed.

“Hey, what is it?” He asked in a soft tone, sitting in the bed next to you.

“Nothing.” You lied. “I’m just tired.”

He didn’t seemed to buy it, but he nodded and placed his hand over your knee.

“I wish I could stay here with you” He said. “But I can’t leave them alone.”

“It’s okay, Joel, you don’t have to.”

“I wanted to, tough.” He sighed and leaned in.

Joel was coming to your lips, but at the last second, you turned your head and he kissed your cheek. He stared down at you for a moment.

“Y/n? Are you…Are we…Did I do something wrong?”

Joel tiled his head and gave you a puzzled look, trying to understand your twist on behaviour.

“No” You were perfect, Joel. It’s just, well, I…I wanted to see you again, you know. I don’t want you to avoid me as soon as you regret it.”

Before he could even say something, you spoke again.

“It’s okay that you don’t want to. I understand.”

“Who said I didn’t? And who said I regret it?”

Joel held your face in his hands.

“You better get ready, baby, I won’t be able to take my hand off of you for some good time yet”

You giggled.

“Is that so, old man?”

“I’ll show you who’s old” Joel said before taking you by your waist to put you on your feet in front of him. “Get dressed”

“Why?”

“I’m taking you home” He said handing you your top.

“I am home, Joel”

“My home” He explained. “Now, hurry up. I’m gonna call Sarah to make sure everything’s ok”

You smiled widely as you started to get dressed again.

Joel Miller was going to be the death of you.

[ihatesocialmedia45]

Chapter 7: For Better or Worse (In Sickness...)

06/06/2020:

Journal,

I saved for months to get front-row tickets to his V51 event; I'd planned to finally say something to him, though I don't know what. I just wanted... to see him. To feel the brush of his cape as he turned to go. He'd been staring into the cameras, though, never looked at the audience - but as much as that hurt, I understood. I hadn't wanted to look at the audience, either; the way they clamored for photos, begged for autographs when it was nearing midnight, and he must be busy tomorrow. He couldn't have known that somewhere in that crowd, was someone who at least tries to see. Tries to understand. Someone who also comes home to a lonely house - one that, for all my decorating, I can't seem to make less empty. 

I read up on his time with  Maeve, just to see, to imagine what it might be like to date him... it was hours of work; someone had wanted to keep it hidden. But I finally found an article, where Maeve had discussed it herself. The interviewer had asked her to summarize her relationship with Homelander in one word. She'd said "overwhelming".

I was angry. I was so, so, unbelievably angry - because I would do anything to be smothered, anything to be overwhelmed. To be loved so totally that there isn't room for anything else. I thought to myself - how could she appreciate that kind of love, when she had no idea what it took for someone to offer it? I love like I want to devour, to be devoured. And that day, I knew that he felt the same. 

Homelander... I want that kind of love. It's not too much for me. I want you to wrap me in it, subsume me. Hold me by the waist, kiss me, then drag me into your abyss. 

Hold me close, until I can't tell which heartbeat is mine, and which is yours.

Noir hung upside down from the rope in the center of his room, feeling the blood pool in his skull. He couldn't take off the mask to smoke, or drink - not that he'd cared for such vices - and so, in light of a particularly stressful meeting, he'd found his own alternative. Everyone in the Seven had a vice, he supposed. Everyone had their demons.

As he closed the woman's journal Stan had given him, he took a deep inhale, exhaling slowly. This... was worse than he'd thought. When he'd first been tasked to investigate the woman, he'd set off earnestly, hearing Sage and Maeve's plans of tailing Homelander and realizing that this developing romance had gotten out of hand. It was good that all of them were aware to the danger this union could bring. It almost felt like teamwork.

But as he'd spied, creeping into her apartment at night, he'd gotten a horrible feeling. Immediately, upon entering, he was struck with the force of the temperature. The entire place was sweltering, the very air shimmering with the heat. He'd actually had to pull off his mask for a moment, and rinse his face, before carrying on.  The way the apartment was decorated, firstly, filled him with a deep sense of foreboding, of unease. It was saccharine in its sweetness - an armoire full of porcelain figurines, flanked by two antique-looking lamps. A pastel floral wallpaper with vintage-looking teddy bears, pasted in the living room. A large glass table which held more figurines, old cards, a stack of magazines that all featured Homelander, another framed photo of him on the wall. A bearskin rug lay underneath the table, the eyes vacant and unseeing. Noir had sniffed, recoiling in disgust. It had been real. And the couch... that couch... Noir remembered looking at it, feeling an inescapable pull to rest in its embrace -  and, upon doing so, feeling like it was pulling him into its downy recesses, never to return. He gave a rare shudder.

What really interested him, though, was the small space behind the bookshelf in her bedroom. He'd been looking for more articles to take to Vought, possibly something with her DNA, when he'd moved the shelf, expecting a lip gloss - and finding a hollowed out space in the wall, where she'd set up a shrine.

Candles, articles - even a piece of old, hardened gum in a jar labelled "His", in deliberate print. And, of course, the pictures. So, so, many pictures. He looked through them, a vague sense of horror crawling under his skin, trying to piece together who she was, really - when he'd seen the most disturbing piece of her collection: a candid photo of Homelander, poised for flight, his cape billowing, and his head pointed high.

But he wasn't truly worried. Homelander and this girl... it would all be a disaster. But that was because she and Homelander were disasters, and there was no way for them to be anything else. Maybe, he considered dryly, it was fate that they met. Noir remembered watching John grow, from that spindly boy in the hospital gown, into the creature he was now. It had been like watching a supernovae; one bright flash, the hurling of all that molten rock and gas through space... and then the settling in of biting, unrelenting cold. If he never met her... Noir couldn't imagine things going any differently.

Sliding quickly into an upright position, he wobbled on his feet, watching the room around him warp and swirl, the hint of nausea in his gut making him hold a hand to his mouth. He waited for a moment, then uncapped the water bottle he'd placed on the desk nearby, pulling the water through the straw and his mask, taking a deep swig. Finally, he let out an inaudible sigh. 

Today would be a long day.

Homelander raced down the halls, his feet pointed to add a boost of speed as he flew, zipping past Vought personnel and ducking around groups of people. He had plans to meet her today, and he would not be late. She was going to cook him dinner, she'd said, the thought making him zoom faster. His mouth watered; he hadn't eaten since she'd given him the news, but he liked the way the hunger sharpened his focus, turned him into an icy dagger.

Breaking free of the doors of Vought, he skidded to a stop, landing lightly on his feet, considering the past few days with a smile that was almost serene. He'd been so ready to give up on them during their coffee date, he chastised himself, shaking his head. But she'd shown him, hadn't she? Shown that she was honest, that she understood. At least... he thought she might. He could never be too sure. Madelyn had seemed to understand, too. 

Pushing the thought of her from his mind, Homelander stepped into the florist's shop, a grin blooming on his face. He'd indulge her, for now, though he expected - no, deserved - some further proof soon, that she was exactly who she professed to be.

The woman stirred the white sauce she was making with a soft look in her eye, bringing the spoon to her lips to taste. Oldies music played smoothly in the background, and she hummed along, imagining the feel of Homelander behind her, turning to offer him the spoon. One day, it really might be like that - him, coming home to her, sweeping her into his arms, the tail of his cape enveloping her. She thought back to the kiss they'd shared, a grin lighting up her face. The way he'd held her... 

Too many times, other people had told her that her love was too much, that she was too much. They couldn't bear the weight of her embrace, and so they'd pushed her away each time she'd offered. She was on the verge of believing that there was no-one alive that matched her intensity, wanted that same intensity given back to them. He hadn't been interested in the façade she offered to everyone else, she considered. But was it really true? She wanted so badly to believe that it was, that she could present to him that dream of subsumption, and he'd accept - no, reciprocate.

"Oh, Homelander... I've just been hurt so many times," she sighed, taking the ground beef out of the oven and the sauce into the meat. She seasoned liberally, adding a dollop more of cream, before tasting again, a soft, satisfied sigh leaving her. The dinner was hearty, and cozy - solid; everything she'd wanted, everything she hoped to give him. She hoped he'd understand.

A knock on the door startled her, and she leapt for the door, a grin splitting her face. She checked her makeup in the mirror quickly, and looked around to make sure everything was just right; she'd switched out a few of the bulbs in her lamps for soft pink ones, and dropped a few leather and vanilla melts into her wax warmer, filling the air with a thick, rich scent. She'd adorned herself with a hint of perfume - the Yves Saint Laurent she saved for special occasions - on her neck, her breasts, her inner thighs. Tonight was the night, she'd decided when she'd told him about her plans. 

Taking a deep breath, she swept open the door, looking up into what should have been Homelander's face - but instead, she stared into a bouquet of roses so large they blocked out the outside. She gasped, pulling him in. "Oh, my goodness! Homelander!" She gently took the roses from him, inhaling deeply, satisfied to find a trace of his scent among the petals. She placed them into the vase on the table. "These are beautiful," she murmured, looking up at him, and taking him into a gentle kiss.

He pulled her in immediately, lifting her off her feet and pressing into her, the shift of their bodies guiding them to the couch. She relaxed onto its pillowy surface, pulling him on top of her and gasping when he pressed his lips to the shelf of her jaw. Lips parted, she sighed out contentedly as his hands roamed her body, squeezing, pulling her. Needing her. She explored his body in turn, drawing him closer with her arms, the brush of her thighs against his waist making him shudder.

Finally, they pulled apart, a dopey smile on each of their faces. "Hi," Homelander greeted her, the tip of his nose glowing a faint pink. She kissed the spot, her answering greeting just as shy. "Hi," she breathed, ending in a soft laugh.

Reluctantly, they moved off of the couch, though a spark of hunger still lingered in the air; Homelander raked his eyes over her, the feline curve of her spine, the shelf of her collarbone. She breezed over to the kitchen, ladling their dinner into bowls, a large mixing bowl for Homelander, a smaller one for herself. "I hope you're hungry!" she called. Homelander grinned.

You have no clue, he thought, rising to meet her.

Joining the woman in the kitchen was like stepping into another world, Homelander marveled. She'd carried that same warmth from the living room here, the frilly decorative towels and fluffy coasters making him feel... fuzzy. He'd gotten better about being angry at her for inspiring these feelings as of late; he still felt the unease, that this was somehow a cruel trick - like she might be some Vought honeypot cooked up by Stan to get him to comply. But he'd found out everything about her; she'd never set foot in Vought until he brought her. She worked at the office downtown. Despite the violent churning in his brain that told him not to trust her, not to grow weak... he couldn't help but feed the belief that she just might care. 

But had she made him weak? It certainly had felt like it, in the beginning. But now... that the thought that this wasn't like the other times clung to him fiercely, like a sticky wrapper on a piece of candy. She really might just... want him.

She looked up at him then, brandishing a spoon, offering him a taste - and his body immediately lit up with an intensity that set his nerves singing, vibrating. Dinner, just as she'd promised him.

He opened his mouth, letting her guide the spoon to him, closing his eyes as the flavors danced on his tongue. 

Savory. Hearty. Indulgent. Rich.

Homelander moaned, the sound shocking his eyes open - but when he looked down at the woman, she was staring into him with a voracity that made his stomach seize. She caught her lip in between her teeth, before subtly licking her lips, eyes half drawn in a hypnotic gaze. "That good, huh?" she asked him softly. He nodded, flexing his hands. 

But they'd have to eat; Homelander's stomach grumbled, and she laughed in response, patting his stomach gently. "Alright, alright! I'll get on it," she told it teasingly, setting their plates on the living room table with Homelander close behind. They sunk into the couch, letting a show run in the background as they ate.

"What did you do today?" she asked him. Homelander thought, brow furrowed as he finished his bite. "You know what? I think was actually on autopilot until I came here," he said. "I feel the same way," she said, scooping a bite into her mouth. "I woke up, got the ingredients for our dinner, then went to work... and I couldn't tell you a single thing I did." They laughed together.

"This is delicious, by the way," Homelander mumbled around a bite of pasta and ground beef. "Family recipe?" 

A tinge of pain flitted across her eyes - nearly too quick for him to notice. "No," she said, "I made this one myself, actually! I'd been experimenting with recipes I already liked, then I added truffle one day, and it finally clicked."

Tell me why that made you sad, Homelander urged. Tell me who hurt you.

"My little chef," he said instead, pressing a kiss to her forehead, purring when she melted against him.

It was too perfect, the both of them eating this cozy meal, in this dollhouse replica. Things were easy, Homelander thought, as long as they kept the mask on. But then, what was he doing here, if he was only going to pretend, and let her pretend? Pretend that they weren't lonely, pretend that there wasn't a darkness festering - at least, within him. Maybe she did share that darkness... but as long as she played the perfect girl, he'd never know. This couldn't go on. Homelander sat up straight, his eyes now sharper as he looked at her.

"I lied. Just now. I do remember what I did today." he faced her, daring (begging) her to meet his gaze. She did, and did not waver.

"I flew to China... and set fire to a rival company's manufacturing plant. I burned it to the ground. There were a total of 200 casualties."

A beat of silence passed as she looked into him, her gaze unflinching. Any moment now, he thought, would come the rejection, the horror. He'd torn them to pieces, just as he'd tear her apart for rejecting him after promising so much...

She cocked her head. "Why?" she asked simply, confusion coloring her tone. Homelander started. "What?" "Why... do it? Is Vought struggling? Were you under orders?"

Homelander struggled to process her question, so abruptly had it brought him up short. She was asking him why. Not running in fear, or begging for her life - but asking why he'd done it, as if she were asking if he'd like to go out for dinner. Homelander opened his mouth, then closed it.

"I..." Why had he done it? Some need to prove his godhood, his usefulness to Stan? Homelander grit his teeth. Even if it were true, he wouldn't tell her that. But the question bared answering; that was only fair. He'd confronted her with it - and she'd called his bluff.

"Because it needed to be done," he'd answered finally. There. That was true enough, he thought, a little irritated by the way she'd put him on the spot... but secretly relieved all the same. She resumed her dinner, a curious hint of amusement in her eyes.

You big silly, she thought, wanting to kiss him. You don't scare me.

"Then... I guess it was a good day for Vought," she said cheekily. Homelander narrowed his eyes.

"That doesn't bother you? I razed a building to the ground, with innocent people inside... and you're joking?" She set down her bowl and looked him fully in the face now, levity gone from her eyes. 

"Everyone has to die sometime," she murmured. Homelander gave a low growl.

"But - not like that! That... why are you okay with this?! Why are you okay with..." with me?

She leaned in, as though she'd heard the unfinished plea, and pressed a kiss, achingly slow, to the tip of his nose, looking back at him with that impossibly warm expression.

"Because... you'd said... it needed to be done. I believe you."

 A moment of disbelief, the Sword of Damocles hanging sharp in the air above them - and then he was kissing her, pulling her by the hips again, pulling her on top of him and pressing enough that he could feel the faint twinge of her heart against him. She felt it, too, moaned loud in his ear, kissing him breathless and coming up ragged for air. She kissed him like she wanted to make her home in between his ribs, merge into him completely; she wrapped her arms around him, gasping in the scent of him, feeling that perfect blanketing of her body when he flipped her onto her back, wrapped her in the cocoon of his cape. 

He pressed into her, insistent and hot, desire drawn all over his face, and she licked a slow stripe up his neck before taking him into another, slower kiss, melting into his touch, pressing herself into him at every point.

Homelander was murmuring into her skin, reverent snatches of words she felt rather than heard, each one binding something that had been broken inside her. He stitched her together on that couch - and suddenly, she knew what she had to do, to stitch him up in turn.

Lightly, she pushed him off of her, gathering her breath, her heart suddenly jittery in her chest. She hadn't wanted to do this - wanted to keep kissing, doing more - but he'd been honest with her tonight, done his part; now it was her turn.

"I want to show you something," she whispered, fear coloring her tone. Homelander's brow furrowed. 

This was it, then. She'd go into the other room, reveal that she'd been recording all along, that all the news stations would be reporting of his overseas massacre - and he'd have nothing left to lose. A vision of him, soaring through the sky and raining hell down on the city, flashed through his mind... and Homelander felt at peace. This was inevitable, he thought, letting her lead him away from the couch, and into her bedroom. It had been nice while it lasted.

He leaned down, to press one last kiss to her lips, as she opened the door. "Sorry for the mess," she apologized weakly. Homelander looked up, and gasped.

The room... was impossibly cozy. There was a crystal chandelier hanging from the ceiling, casting a rosy glow over the room, and pink and cream candles adorned the bookshelf and sewing desk. A dramatic coral canopy hung above her bed, and he flexed his fingers at the sight of the sheets, the duvet. Even from here, he could tell - it was real silk. A framed print hung above her desk, a zoomed in segment of the Creation of Adam, focused solely on their hands. She had painted over it; instead of empty space, the fingers now touched.

"This... is beautiful," Homelander murmured despite himself. The woman flushed. "Thank you! I've been decorating for years, it seems." Her face turned somber, a note of apprehension in her eyes.

"But... that's not what all I wanted to show you," she whispered. Homelander flicked his gaze over to her at the sound of unshed tears in her voice, and he suddenly felt the sense that this revelation would be something not even he had expected.

"Homelander..." she breathed. He took a step closer, eyes searching. "What is it?" he murmured, drawing her face to meet his with the tip of his finger. She took a deep inhale.

"All my life... people have called me... intense. Overwhelming. Suffocating. And for so long, I felt like there was nobody who would accept me, as I am. But that changed... when I met you. Oh, Homelander..." he kissed her, quickly, pulling away with an urgency in his eyes that froze her.

"What are you saying?" he whispered. Tears brimmed in her eyes. "If you're disgusted... if you... if you want to pull away from me..." she choked back a sob, "I'll understand."

The couple stared at each other, hearts racing. She looked up at him again, fear and resignation draining the color of her face. In the flickering candlelight, she looked like a tragic painting, all shiny eyes and swollen lips. Homelander fought the urge to kiss her tears away.

"I want you... to move the bookshelf." she said it like she wished she hadn't, wished she could snatch the words back... but it was too late, the air tinged with their weight.

Homelander shifted his gaze to the oak shelf, curled ornately at the top, a frilly doily draped across it. He peered inside at the miniature figurines inside, these more sensual than the idyllic ones in the living room. Two figures lay on their side, tangled in a heated embrace. Another set depicted a couple, engaged in the act of undressing each other. A book stood proudly on the top shelf, clearly thumbed through, a leather Kamasutra. Homelander raised a brow, but moved on, lifting the shelf, listening to the anxious racket of her heart as she watched him, eyes wide.

Leaning down, Homelander felt all the air escape his body in a sharp exhale as he took in the scene before him, kneeling to peer at eye level. Behind him, the woman tried to muffle the sound of her tears.

She'd built a shrine to him.

Homelander looked closely, plucking the small booklet of articles she'd handbound imperfectly, feeling the ripples of the leather cover. He thought back to their coffee date, and his heart seized. She'd wanted to tell him, all along. 

Flipping through, his heart racing, he saw every gesture, every kiss, every moment she'd professed her devotion... all proven to be true. The first article was dated to 2012. He'd been 24, young, lost. Alone, with Mirror John as his only confidant. He'd left the Bad Room behind, left Vogelbaum behind... but the emptiness still lingered. Vought had just proposed the idea of a league of heroes, and he'd been excited - only to have it all dashed upon meeting them. His lip curled at the memory.

But she'd been watching... saving these moments, revisiting them, this whole time. He looked up, saw the jar of what could only be gum that he'd chewed, and felt a sense of wholeness so complete that it nearly rocked him. He rose to his feet, resolute, and turned to face her.

Tears rolled down her face, the apples of her cheeks hot as she tried her best to keep from crying out. Homelander closed the distance between them, and held her in his arms, lifted them off the ground, and onto the bed, the duvet whispering against her back. He looked down at her, the coldness that had lurked before cracking open, revealing the breaking of dawn in his eyes.

 "You don't ever... have to hide from me," he whispered. "You will never... be too much for me." And leaning down again, he took her into a kiss, melding into her once more.

In the haze of their tearful union the couple kissed, the salt of her tears lingering on his tongue, the shuddering of his breaths rocking her body. Above them, Vought's hidden camera watched on, nestled securely in the corner of her ceiling, beneath the drywall.

[clatoera]

Always Remember We're Burned For Better Chapter 20: We Will Never Go Back to That Bloodshed

Well everyone...we made it. It has taken nearly nine months but here we are. We are at the end of ARWBFB (save for the Epilogue). This has been one of my biggest undertakings and I am so so so proud of it. You guys have followed me through two board exams, applications, and so so so many different speciality rotations during this journey. You have been incredibly patient but also incredibly supportive. I NEVER could have finished it without you guys. I wanted to get this up sooner or at least on the 13th. I failed at both of those, but I hope you will understand when you see that this chapter is the longest by a significant amount. I am so proud of this fic, and I hope you all decide that it was worth giving your time to sharing with me.

The chapter title comes from The Great War. A fun fact would be that this line actually loops back to "we will never go back to that bloodshed, crimson clover" with Crimson Clover being the title of chapter one. It's come full circle (save for the epilogue).

This chapter is designed like Chapter 4 was. Each segment is divided by a lyric that encapsulates the vibes. It is not as happy, but it is the start of happily ever after.

AO3

Masterpost

As always..this is for everyone who has helped me and loved me and supported this story. I cannot even tag everyone but I will try. A LARGE portion of this goes to @ohhowwehavefallen who has talked about MOST things that happen in this chapter with me in depth and has enabled me (VSC immortalized forever with this one, so is Cato buying the academy). @kentwells who actually helped me make major decisions regarding the sequel, which affected the way Marvel and Glimmer ended here. Thank you for putting up with me. @dukeysquid and @mackcoleslaw for the constant constant support. @clarascrabarmy who talks me off the ledge and is my go to night reader (and night validator that im crazy). @mollywog who has tolerated this fic for 9 months. @crookedlyniceperson who comes in with the memes EVERY single time. @cyansadnessI dont even get to talk to you much any more but you were an OG reader and I am giving you kisses for your love. There are so many more who I am afraid I may have missed (and I know I have missed) but i'm emotional and hormonal and crying as I type this.

This is, and always has been, for you guys who have given me your support and love. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. I never would have finished without the love and support of every single person who has read this.

Thank you.

How evergreen, our group of friends

The kitchen, despite the literal war that had raged on outside in District One, was quite literally untouched. Untouched, as in, no one had ever used it even prior to the games or the war that should have resolved the house itself to rubble. 

They had quickly discovered that despite varying levels of damage to the districts, the Victors Villages were left nearly untouched. Call it symbolism, call it fate, call it making a point, but this was not a fact any of the surviving victors were going to debate or question. 

For now they were all just going to be thankful to even have a place to live, especially one that wasn’t an underground bunker in a district that resented them. 

It’s Clove, who is opening and shutting every single cabinet in the bright white kitchen. The golden handles and marble countertops are pristine– perfect and completely new. Every drawer is completely stocked with spices and the same sorts of things her own home had come with, but it is evident that these cabinets had remained untouched from their initial stocking. There was no dusting of cinnamon around the pores of the bottle, no slight film of salt from pouring over a steaming pot. They were still perfectly alphabetized, perfectly aligned in the spice drawer, as if the kitchen itself was taken right out of a capitol home decor magazine. 

Funnily enough, though the kitchen was clearly new, it was so…Glimmer. Or at least the Glimmer she had been forced to become.  

Gorgeous white marble countertops, shimmering golden metal for every door handle and knob on every drawer. The utensils were a beautiful gold, and even the appliances were designed to blend right in with the shining and glamorous surroundings. 

In one drawer, she found incredibly sharp knives with mother of pearl handles, in another were soft baby pink pans. It was very much designed for the fifteen year old teenage girl who had won the house as part of her victor’s spoils.

Somehow, even without the Capitol’s influence, Clove still believes Glimmer would have turned out a golden, pink-loving girl. Or at least, it’s comforting to imagine it that way. 

Clove curls her fingers around the shimmering handle of one of the paring knives, bringing it to eye level to inspect it. The blade is alarmingly sharp for one designed to dice vegetables or carve into fruits, further supporting Clove’s suspicion that it had never been used prior to well, right now. She weighs it in her hand, feeling the way it settles in her palm. Her other hand comes to run over the couple of inches of metal, evaluating the quality. It was top of the line in terms of cooking, of course, nothing but the best for any victor, but it may even serve well in terms of slicing through-

She drops the knife, flinching only a little at the realization of how the metal colliding with the marble will dull the beautiful little blade. It startles her, not the sound of the metal on rock, no that any District Two girl could sleep through like a lullaby, but by the harsh realization of her own thoughts. She would likely never slice through anything but food again, there would be no more blood spitting on her from pulsing arteries, no more tendons severed. 

Clove would probably never kill anyone else ever again. The thought is both disconcerting and comforting, leaving Clove alarmed and settled.

“Are you okay?” A soft, sleepy voice asks from around the entrance to the kitchen. When Clove looks up she sees Glimmer, rubbing at her eyes with her long cream colored sleeves. She shuffles into the kitchen in fluffy white slippers, a sweater that reaches halfway down her legs, and exceptionally messy loose braids that tell Clove that yeah she probably did just wake up.

“Good morning, Princess.” Clove scoffs, gently grabbing the dropped knife and twisting it nimbly between her fingers. “It’s four in the afternoon, Glimmer. Did you have a busy night?” 

“I was with Cash and Gloss all night, we’re trying to figure out what to do about our parents.” Glimmer sits herself at the island continuing to rub at her eye with the heel of her hand, exhaustion written all across her pretty face. “I didn’t come back until this morning.” 

Clove flinches at her own insensitivity– while she was well used to being, well, alone. An orphan. On her own. Whatever, it was..new for the others. Cato’s family was still in the wind, but Glimmer and her siblings, as well as Marvel, were new to the world of being parentless. “God, Glimmer, I’m sorry–”

At least Glimmer had Cashmere and Gloss, the same could not be said for Marvel, who was the only surviving member of his entire family. Clove could easily relate to that, because even if anyone survived, they were dead to her long ago. 

Glimmer just nods her head, acknowledging but not verbally accepting the apology her friend offers. 

Nothing had been necessarily right between the four of them since the vote. Cato and Clove, they were perfectly fine, of course. Marvel however had lost any progress he had made with Glimmer, and Cato nor Clove had yet to fully return to her good graces. It wasn’t even like any of them could blame her for being mad. She had been right. 

“Thanks for letting us stay with you.” She decides, instead filling the space between them with gentle words of appreciation. “Like..literally in your house with you.”

“You don’t have to thank me, you know that.. It’s nice not to be alone.” Glimmer sighs, resting her chin on her hand and looking across the island to Clove, who is still twisting a knife in her hand. “I don’t know if i’m quite ready to be alone yet.”

They weren’t necessarily far from anyone. Marvel spent the days over here with them, Brutus was in one of the empty houses, Cash and Gloss each in their own and then Enobaria was– “Is Enobaria staying across the street in the empty one or down the road–”

Glimmer cocks an eyebrow, the littlest smirk making an appearance on her face. “She’s staying with my sister.”

“Oh!” Clove looks nearly taken aback as she opens another drawer, absently sorting through the perfect, unused cutting boards and kitchen aids to distract herself from the awkward tension between her and her host. “I didn’t know they were even friends.”

“Girl..” Glimmer giggles, leaning in closer on the island, nearly pressing her upper body into the marble. “You know Enobaria and Cashmere are..” She makes a gesture with her middle and pointer finger that Clove can’t interpret, and the confused look on her freckled face must convey that to the blonde girl.  “Right?”

“I don’t know what that means.” 

“Do I need to spell it out for you, Clove? They’re fucking. They’re a thing.”

“What! No, I mean just because they’re staying together doesn’t mean–” The heat in Clove’s cheeks at the realization leaves her flustered, and flustered is not a look Clove wears well. 

“Well that's what everyone thinks about the four of us.” Glimmer teases, before bringing her hand out infront of her to inspect the remnants of her nails. “Seriously. They’ve been a thing for like…god Cash won sixty-four? So… ten…ish years? Probably? I dunno. But it’s not a secret. I’m shocked you couldn’t tell.”

“Well I didn’t see them together much, okay? And noone thinks that the four of us are all fucking, Glimmer. That’s crazy Capitol type shit.” Clove defends, desperately looking through the drawers for a change of topic. Maybe she could understand why Enobaria got so irritated when ever she and Cato got caught–

Yep. Okay. Makes sense!

“Sure they don’t Clove, you don’t see the looks people give us?”

Clove digs through the drawers, finding the still boxed mixer and the perfect white plates, nothing seeming even a little out of place. She is flustered and the heat in her neck and face won’t even allow her to respond to such comments. 

“For fucks sake, Glimmer, have you used anything in this kitchen.��

“Drawer closest to the refrigerator has two little plates and two forks. We used to …uh…we would eat a lot of cake.” Glimmer finds herself grabbing at the skin around her nail with her teeth, tugging at the cuticles until they ripped off. She couldn’t resist the urge to constantly be picking at and degrading something about her body, and right now her nails were all she had access to.  “Other than that, not really.”

“How did you survive, Glimmer? Seriously?” Clove rests a hand on the back of her hip, strumming along the top of her hip while also trying to massage out some of the pain of her lower back that never seemed to go away. 

“Well, everything I ate was precooked and preweighed, I had to keep a certain look you know?” Glimmer shrugs, kicking her feet just a little at the height of the chair, twisting just ever so slightly to keep herself comfortable. “I wasn’t really allowed to go beyond that. Cooking was never important.”

“You’re gonna have to learn to make something Glimmer, especially if you ever have kids–” Clove teases, but the biting response of Glimmer wipes the smile right off of her face. 

“I told you in the Capitol I'm not doing that. I’m never doing that. I don’t want to.” Glimmer snaps before she pushes herself out of the chair so she can make a quick escape if the conversation goes any further south. 

“You used to, I’m sorry, Glimmer. That's who I knew you as. The girl who wanted to settle into her life and be someone’s mother. And for what it’s worth, Glim Glam, I think you’d have been good at it.” Clove puts a hand up in defense, before she awkwardly goes back to going through the remaining cabinets, stopping prior to the refrigerator and pantry.

 She pauses, and turns to face her friend. She gives a heavy sigh, bracing herself on the counter behind her, when she begins.

 “I’m sorry. I am. About the vote. You were right, and as soon as you pulled me into that room– I knew you were right. About his sister and about our friends’ kids and everything. I just wanted to feel like some wrong was made right, Glimmer. It wasn’t going to be me back in the games, and I wanted them to feel what it was like. But then you mentioned Cora, and god knows if she’s alive, but if she is she couldn’t ever go to the games. Or Finnick’s kids, or yours or– I don’t know. All of a sudden it wasn’t just like..nameless kid tributes. It was people we knew. It was kids we knew. It was little girls who looked like you and little red heads in four and! It was kids we love or will love and– you were right. And I’m sorry.”

There is a stunned silence for a few seconds that feels like years to Clove, as Glimmer looks at her with the look of a doe caught in the lights of a car. 

“....thank you.” Glimmer whispers in response, but something palpable has finally shifted between them. Whatever permafrost had threatened to take hold on the boundaries of their friendship started to melt away in that moment. Maybe not a heat wave, but a start. “I…thank you, Clove.”

Clove gives Glimmer another once over as they stand staring at each other. The months of this war had taken a toll on Clove of course, evidenced by the aches in her body and the scars along her skin. Her scars would fade, as her bruises had, and even the pain isn’t visible. On the outside Clove still looked almost exactly like she always had. 

On Glimmer though, the changes were blatant. The golden glow of her skin was long gone, replaced by pale, nearly gray undertones. That long platinum hair was longer than ever, but now revealed multiple inches of a honey blonde natural color that had been hidden since before she even won the games. Even the actual structure of her face and body had changed. Any capitol enhancement had long since grown out or metabolized away, leaving Glimmer with deep collar bones and sinking skin on her cheeks. 

She looked exhausted but she also looked starved. She looked sick. 

“Glimmer…you look hungry.” Clove gives her a look that must be riddled with pity, for the blonde looks away and at her hands instead. “Will you please let me make you something? I know there probably isn’t much in here but I can send the boys out…” B

Before Glimmer can argue or decline, Clove swings the door open to what she expected to be a barren refrigerator and is taken back by the fully stocked fridge that awaits her. 

Well. Full. And Stocked. Maybe not with actual kitchen staples or ingredients for meals, but definitely full. 

“What in the fuck–”

“Marvel does that sometimes. And Cato’s been talking nonstop about your cooking for literal months. They went yesterday, I think. I..don’t think either of them knew what they were doing but they’ve got the spirit. They mean well.,” Glimmer explains, not bothering to put up a fight with Clove and deny her this opportunity. Even if she didn’t eat it– Cato and Marvel sure fucking would.  This was their new Hunger Games.

“Good intentions…that's why there’s seventeen tomatoes?” Clove raises an eyebrow, the ghost of a smile gracing her face as she surveys the fridge. Sure it was a little..odd.. Seventeen tomatoes, three bags of flour, at least fifty eggs, a dozen heads of garlic… odd but good intentioned nonetheless. “I’m going to guess they wanted pasta?”

“That sounds right. I think I heard Cato saying something about that, but they lost me when I heard them trying to remember if onions and garlic are the same thing.” Glimmer shrugs, but finds herself going back to sit at the island, no longer on the verge of running out of the kitchen at any moment. 

Clove starts grabbing armfuls of the tomatoes to transfer them to the countertop, feeling the soft flesh of one under her fingertips. She probably wouldn’t even need the chef’s knife, but damn if she wasn’t going to take the opportunity to use it. “Do you have a big- you know what, nevermind.”  

She decides against asking for a stock pot, knowing fully well Glimmer would have no idea what she was talking about. Instead, she rummages through the cabinets until she does in fact find a blush pink soup pot practically bigger than Clove herself.  She immediately sets herself to gently slicing the skin off of the tomatoes, delighting in the way the acidic juice dripped down over her fingers.

“You should give him a chance, Glimmer, he’s a good guy.” Clove suggests, tossing each individual skinned tomato into the giant pink pot one at a time. 

“I’m not the one not interested, Clove, you know that.” Glimmer reminds her bitterly, reaching forward to attempt to grab a tomato, dropping it when the acid in the juice burns the raw skin around her nails. “He doesn’t want me.”

“Now that isn’t true and you know it. You two seemed fine and then the vote happened and you shut him down again.” Clove points out, turning to the cabinet behind her to grab her selection of the endless array of unused spices. “Which, I get it, you were hurt–”

“He can’t just make my trauma a personal vendetta, Clove. He can’t advocate for slaughtering babies in an arena under the name of defending me and the things that happened to me.” Glimmer hops off the chair once again, this time letting herself scope out the refrigerator and whatever the hell the boys had come up with to fill it with. 

“It happened to him, too, Glimmer. Maybe not as much as it did to you. But it happened to him, too.” Clove collects salt and sugar and various other jars of spices she currently can’t name but knows for some reason she needs to add them. “Glim. Sometimes we care more about avenging the people we love, rather than actually doing what's right. The things that are done to people you love..sometimes that's just worse.” 

“You don’t know what it’s like, Clove. To be seen as the girl who fucks everyone. Whether I wanted to or not. And trust me, I didn’t want to. And no matter how hard I try, for the rest of my life, that is how everyone is going to see me. Do you know what the best part of all this is, Clove? That I never have to be seen in public ever again.” She filters through the fruit– half a dozen containers of strawberries, a single mango, an entire box of blueberries– before letting herself grab a single blueberry for a snack. 

“We don’t see you that way, you know? Not me, not Cato, and god Glimmer you know Marvel doesn’t either.”  Clove assures, using the palm of her hand to measure out the various herbs and spices she’s tossing in. There’s no recipe– she’s just doing what feels right. Such is the theme for all aspects of their lives right now.  “And you never have to do that again. Hell, never have sex again at all for all I care, obviously I do but–”

“Yeah, Clove, I know. We share a wall. The wall your bed is on.” 

“Oh! Right! Well.. anyway!” Clove fakes a grimace and mouths ‘sorry’ before she places a lid on her creation. “Come on. Let's go find the boys, then I'll show you how to make the pasta.”

“I think they’re laying in the yard.” Glimmer waves off, before grabbing another handful of berries to pop into her mouth.

“They’re…laying in the yard?” Clove raises a dark eyebrow, confusion mapped across her face. “Are they dogs?”

“Something about missing grass and fresh air in Thirteen, I don’t know, I could hear them through the window.” Glimmer shakes her head, but stands in the doorway of the refrigerator. “Do you need anything out of here?”

“They’re fucking weird.” Clove clears off a workspace to knead and roll out the pasta, recognizing that this is probably the first time these counters have been used for anything ever. “uh yeah I need eggs and flour… Honestly, I usually make Cato come do this part because I like to watch his hands knead the dough but…let them…become one with nature or whatever they’re out there doing.”

“Why do you need flowers in noodles? I didn’t think you could eat those?” Glimmer cocks her head, holding out the cardboard carton of a dozen eggs to her, but pausing with a perplexed look on her face as she searches the refrigerator for a bouquet of some sort. “I can go check the garden–”

“What? No Glimmer, Flour not flowers.” Clove wipes her hands on the side of her shirt– Cato’s shirt, actually–, and comes next to her friend to point at the various bags on the bottom shelf. “It’s like..it’s white powder, I can’t explain it. It makes bread. Noodles. Cookies… pizza. It makes all the good stuff you probably don’t eat. But we are going to change that.” 

There are a few moments of  silence, as Clove measures things. It’s nearly peaceful, with the only sounds coming from the dough being flopping and kneaded into the marble. 

Silent, that is, until Glimmer finally breaks. 

“Thank you for staying with me.” Glimmer manages to get out, when tears Clove didn’t even know were coming just start pouring out of her friend. “I-i’m going to be alone for the rest of my life, I don’t want to be alone yet.”

Clove pauses her hand folding, brushing her flour covered hands on her shirt before she rests her elbows on the counter, leaning in to truly hear her friend. “Glimmer, you aren’t going to be alone forever.”

“But I am! Yeah, Cash and Gloss are here but..they aren’t here. My parents are gone. You and Cato are going to go home, I don’t want to be alone yet.” Glimmer sobs, furiously wiping at her eyes with her sleeves, Mascara from god knows when smearing along them. “Noone wants a girl that everyone has had, at least not for more than a night, Clove! I’m alone and when i’m alone I just..I swear it’s like someone’s going to come in and they’re going to touch me and they’re going to hurt me and–”

“You’re scared.” Clove realizes, and her heart completely and utterly shatters for the girl. She sees her not as the twenty something girl in front of her, but instead a scared fifteen year old victor she never got to grow out of being. “It’s okay to be scared, but no one's going to hurt you anymore.” She nearly reaches for her hand, she nearly reaches to do anything to comfort her, but something tells her that sudden touch is the furthest thing from what Glimmer needs right now. 

“Someone is always ready to hurt me, Clove. It’s all anyone wants out of me. Noone wants me but they all want me. I just think about all the things they’ve done to me, Clove. How many times they’ve shot me up with something or gave me a handful of pills and just told me to swallow them. Who knows what they’ve done to me…” Glimmer cries, hot tears tracking down her face and onto the fabric of her sleeves. They speckle her sweater, soaking into the cream colored fabric and turning it dark. The levee has broken within Glimmer, and the rushing waves of grief cannot be stopped. “When I won..my sister and brother used to sleep down here. So when I wake up screaming they could come up to me. And then in the Capitol I was NEVER alone and as soon as I was…Cash would come in. She’d hold me, tell me how sorry she was that she let me become a victor, that she didn’t stop me from trying to go to the games. And then, god, once I had Marvel, he practically moved in and he slept me and I actually felt safe. I could sleep. Even back when we were just friends…he’d let me sleep in his room in the Capitol, he was never touchy or pushy or anything. He just let me sleep and sometimes he’d hold me and it was the best sleep I had since I won.”  Glimmer wipes at the tears  again, ignoring how messy she had to look right now. It was her own kitchen and really what did she have left to lose? Glimmer rambles on,  “And you two are here and so I try to sleep and it isnt working as well as it used to and in thirteen I was so afraid every time I heard someone was in the hall that they were going to come in and —“

“When was the last time you slept, Glimmer? Actually slept?” Clove eases, sliding her a dish towel to use to clear the tears from her eyes. “You have to be exhausted.”

“Probably the games, funny enough. Weird that I felt safe enough there but- it is what it is. I tried in Thirteen! And here! it’s just…I can still feel their hands on my skin a-and feel them breathing on my neck and hear their voices and the sound of their feet coming to get me. If I fall asleep they’re there taunting me and grabbing me and-and-and!“ Glimmer  continues to recount her nightmares and real life horrors, her breath catching in her throat and coming out in heaving, panicked, desperate gasps. “I just don’t see what the point of all this was. I don’t have anyone and I’m terrified in my own house and my parents are gone and what did I survive it all for if I’m going to be alone?” 

“You aren’t going to be alone. You aren’t, and you can stay with someone or something but, God Glimmer. Out of all of us, all of the things we have gone through, you Glimmer deserve a happy ending. You deserve to feel safe and loved and god, Glimmer, you deserve to be happy.” Clove finally grabs at her arm, gently squeezing her forearm. “You are safe, Glimmer. And no one gets to hurt you ever again. I promise, Glimmer. You are going to be happy.”

Glimmer…does not learn how to make pasta that day. 

Ten minutes of egg and flour stuck to her fingers is enough to send her back to the verge of tears and back to a safe distance away where she instead watches only. 

Once the dough is chilling and the sauce is stewing, they retreat to the living area, sprawled out on the baby pink couches. 

They sit in comfortable silence while the sauce cooks, Glimmer curled up on the foot of the couch, Clove outstretched on the other end with a book of District One history spread out in her lap. 

It’s peaceful. Comfortable. Safe. 

When Clove notices the Glimmer has fallen asleep, she grabs the fur  throw blanket from the back of the couch and tosses it over her friend. Never in her life had she planned to care for some random victor girl from District One, with enough trauma and abuse in her short life for all of them combined, but here she was. War, she supposed, changed the way you see the world. 

She doesn’t even need to call the boys in for dinner like a mother calling for her kids to come in at sundown, because like the bloodhounds men tend to be, they all but run through the glass back door like the children they never got to be once the smell of dinner reaches the outdoors. 

“Clove? Clove, are you cooking? Do I smell food?” Marvel slips in the door first, literally just edging Cato out to get in before him. “Holy mother of god, that's food. I can SMELL the spice, there's salt in it isn’t there. You’re a fucking saint.”

“You’re a moron.” Cato rolls his eyes, but pushes Marvel out of the way just so he can beat him to the island. “…there is salt and stuff right?”

“You’re also a moron.” It’s Clove’s turn to roll her eyes instead, as she fishes a single pasta noodle out of the water to try it. “If i remember correctly you did talk about my cooking every day for weeks…”

“Months.” Glimmer chimes in as she makes her appearance. It’s only been a couple of hours since she fell asleep on the couch but even the brief nap has her looking noticeably better and more rested. “Every day for months.”

Clove catches Glimmer (but not Cato) off guard with how fast she moves when she reaches out to grab Marvel’s wrist as he goes to dip a spoon into the sauce. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

“Clove, I'm serious,this is the best moment I've had in months, let me have this. I need something good in my life.” Marvel half pleads, and the tired tone in his voice paired with the exhaustion behind his eyes is all that it takes before Clove is releasing his wrist and turning away. 

“Do NOT go in twice, I will cut off your fingers.” She threatens and has to nearly slap Cato’s fingers away from the pasta noodles where they are cooling. “You two are like fucking children.”

“Oh my god.” Comes from Marvel, but it sounds somewhere between a cry and a gasp. “Clove this is the best thing i’ve had-maybe ever. Maybe that's the war trauma but-” Ignoring her threats he risks it for another dip, and then steps immediately a few steps out of her reach. “Can you stay here? Seriously, can we keep you? Cato you can stay too, if that helps.” 

Marvel slides to the other side of the island, safely out of reach of all three of them as he debates just dipping a coffee cup and drinking the sauce. “For fucks sake, Cato, kiss her. Or Glimmer, you do it. I don’t care. One of you..just..appreciate her.”

“I’ll still kill you.” Cato warns, but he is slightly distracted by the handfuls of fresh pasta he is dropping into his mouth. “Clove is very appreciated, thank you very themuch.”

“.....are you crying?” Glimmer leans onto the counter, propping her chin in her hand as she outright smirks at her once boyfriend. There's the spark of light behind her eyes that Snow had snuffed out long ago starting to glow just a little again. 

“No!” Marvel defends himself indignantly, but they all hear the sniffle and the stifled“......maybe a little.”

I can go anywhere I want, anywhere I want just not home

Two months after their initial arrival in One, at the end of the second great war, after months of Clove feeding them, many tears from Glimmer at their goodbye, and promises of continued communication under the new mechanisms and options– phones communications, along with travel between districts, were allowed once again– Clove, Cato, Brutus, and Enobaria were on their train home. 

Maybe it was irony, or maybe it was fate, but they take the incredibly short trip home on the same train they had come to the Capitol on in their prior games. Neither had ever noticed how the high speed trains went from One to Two in under half an hour, but then again, why would they have paid attention when they were young invincible victors with the entire world at their fingertips?

Still, even a twenty seven minute train ride feels like absolute eternity when you do not know what waits for you on the other end. 

She is sitting as she always has on these trips– curled up with her back against his chest, settled between his legs, head resting on his shoulder. Her fingers snake up to where his arm is resting on the back of the couch, and she laces her fingers in with his. 

Clove sighs as her eyes flutter shut, choosing not to watch the passage of destroyed buildings, burned farms, and mass civilian graves.  There was a time in her life where no amount of bloodshed or the loss of life made her bat an eye— it was what they were trained for— but now…something about it made her stomach turn. 

“It doesn’t feel like we’re going home.” Cato mumbles into the crown of her head, sliding his other hand firmly around her waist and holding her tighter to him. “It doesn’t feel like we even have one.”

“I don’t think we do.” Clove twists in his arms just a little so that she can see his face and languidly brings her free hand up to graze along his jawline. “I mean, we have a house, but I don’t think anyone will want to see us. Exiled to Victor’s Village ..” Her nails scratch along the planes of his skin gently, as she cranes her neck back to really look at him. 

She has spent over half of her life looking at him, learning with him, and ultimately the last six loving him. Looking at him now, though, it’s almost like seeing him through new eyes. 

Scars that the capitol would never take from him along his arms from retraining, golden blonde hair that had grown out enough it reached nearly to his eyelashes, the brightest sky blue eyes that harbored exhaustion far beyond that of a twenty one year old man. 

And yet. It almost felt new to look at this man right now, in the same position on the same train they had been in time and time again. 

It was new to see him in a world without The Hunger Games. 

In a world where they would not wake up day to day to train the next class of tribute children, a world where they would not mentor victor and victor to parade home with pride to their district. A world where they would not raise their own children to volunteer for the games, where they would sacrifice them with a smile on their faces for the glory of being the parents of their own victor child, or pretend it did not shatter them to lose that same glorified baby to the games because they wouldn’t want to raise anything less than ideal little victors. 

There was a version of them, somewhere, that dedicates the rest of their lives to the Hunger Games. 

This is not that version of them. Not anymore. 

Maybe it is because she knows what the life of a victor truly holds now. She learned in the confessions of Finnick, in the strangled screams of Glimmer in the middle of the night. She learned in the stories of Johanna, in the depravity of Haymitch. She learned in the desperation of Katniss, the destruction of Peeta. She learned of it in the loss of her mother. 

She learns of a different life of a Victor, now. In the disapproving, but secretly adoring, looks from Enobaria when Cato carries her across a room. In the appreciative murmurs of Brutus, when he has pancakes with chocolate chips before him. In the updates on Annie’s growing family, in Marvel’s silly, stupid, but nonetheless endearing jokes. 

Above all else she learns of it in the love of Cato, who saw her at the lowest shell of herself, and loved her even still. 

Cato raises an eyebrow at her, shaking her just a little. “You’re thinking of something.” It’s his turn to bring a hand to her face, unwinding from her waist so he can tilt her chin up to meet his eyes more properly. “The corners of your lips twitch when you’re thinking too hard.”

Clove smiles gently, allowing the corners of her mouth to come to a soft grin. “I was just thinking about the last time we were on this particular train. On our way to the Quell. I didn’t think we’d be on our way back like this.”

“I also thought we were only leaving that arena in pine boxes. I didn’t think I’d be coming home. I never thought we’d come home together alive. ”  He nods, looking past her rather than at her as he recollects the feelings and emotions of that day, leaving their district for what they expected to be the last time. Their days were numbered, or so they had every reason to believe. 

For the first time, maybe in the entirety of their short lives, that was no longer the case. 

Clove stretches both her arms out to wrap them behind his neck, relaxing fully and truly into his arms. “Is it crazy to say it feels like we won?”

The station is barren and silent when the train stops. There is no great crowd to welcome home the newest victor this time, no officials to celebrate them. 

And yet, when the four of them are back on the train platform,  surrounded by the rubble of what was once the greatest district in the country, there has never been a sweeter homecoming. 

My house of stone, your ivy grows, and now i’m covered in you

The walk home is harrowing. Two months of cleanup had barely touched the majority of the evidence of the violence, especially along the bases of the mountain, where the various villages had to stack their dead. Slowly but surely they had been transported back to their towns to properly be buried under the traditions of each of the different villages.

That, of course, was just for the bodies that had even been recovered. 

Nearly half of District Two’s population was unaccounted for, and reconstruction efforts had only barely begun to move the piles of rocks that represent the rubble of what was once towering buildings and neighborhoods full of homes. 

The true carnage of the war, the gravity of the loss in this district alone was yet to be understood and tallied. Cato cannot say a word on the walk home, as every time he thinks about the bodies of his parents and sister rotting away under the ash of two, his throat feels like it is going to close on him. Clove by extension says nothing either, only threading her arm around his, holding that same arm with her other hand. There are no words to negate the pain of loss, to ease the ache of the unknown. 

The gate to Victor’s Village is somehow perfectly intact, and from what they can see beyond, so are the pristine lines of ornate houses. A layer of ash covers the ground like fallen snow, and the air feels unseasonably cold up here. It is as if the ghosts of the victors, the families, all of the dead haunt these gates, encasing them in a blanket of melancholy as a reminder that they are the survivors yet again. 

The chill especially wraps around Clove, sending an ache deep to her joints, a reminder that while she is a survivor, she was a victim, too. They have survived but they do not come home unscathed, they do not come home the victors they left as. 

There are lights on in the two houses across the street from their own, and the reminder of life of their mentors is one of the only calming thoughts they can cling to.The rest of the houses sit empty, stale air circulating through them with no victors left to call them home. There is no evidence that there was once life in these houses, no shoes on the porch, no watering cans in the yards. Just like that what was once the fullest victors village has become a ghost town. 

The decision to come back had not been an easy one. District One was in a far better condition, and frankly, none of them were quite ready for life on their own after so much time relying on each other for company and sanity during the war. They didn’t even really have motivation to come back– what did they have waiting behind for them. Eventually the announcement came – much to the dismay of many many many citizens– that the surviving Victors would continue to receive monthly stipends (albeit not near as much as pre-war days) as reparation for the torture and violence inflicted on them at the hands of the prior government  ever since their victory. It made it easier to know that upon their return they weren’t going to have to assimilate into societal roles (and for Glimmer, the real relief came that she would never have to work in retail in one). 

Ultimately, the decision to come back was their own. This place, despite the horrors, the violence, the brutality…it was their home. Maybe it was those things that made it home. 

They stand in the charred grass at the very edge of their yard, Clove with her head resting against his body, Cato running his hand over her arm in an attempt to warm her body to ward off the ghosts of pain that the cold brings on. He rests his head on top of hers as they look at the grandiosity of the home they left behind, still frozen in time, as a relic of the time they were eighteen and in love, feeling invincible. 

“Hey…babe?” Cato wrinkles his brows together, lifting his head from atop hers. “Do you have a key?”

Well of course they didn’t have a key– it wasn’t like they had considered leaving one under the doormat on their way to their certain deaths. 

“Fuck.” Clove laughs against his arm, burying her face in the dark wool of his coat. Her laugh is contagious to him, and he’s shaking his head with a laugh not too long after her. Out of all the obstacles that should have kept them from ever crossing the threshold of their home again, they had not thought to anticipate a key being one. 

She flashes him a playful smirk, raising her eyebrows teasingly. “Are we going to break into our own house?”

Sure, Cato could probably just go through the front door. Of course with the current state of Two, that door would not be replaced because a couple of kids broke into their own house. 

“We left the bedroom window unlocked.” Cato reminds her, catching her off guard as he grabs her by the waist and throws her over his shoulder. “I mean.. I hope we left the window unlocked.”

Clove nearly shrieks as she ends up in the air, his hands giving taunting pinches on the very top of her thighs as he fully carries her to the back yard. The grass is overgrown in some places, burnt in others, Clove notices as she stares at the ground from her place on his shoulder.

Cato surprises Clove again when he flips her from his shoulder to his arms, one hand under her knees and the other under her shoulders as he cradles her against him. “Okay. You’re going in.”  

It’s not even surprising how easily he lifts her to a standing position on his hands, how he can push her towards the bedroom window with such ease. All that to say, Clove's short arms and legs do not make it any easier, with her fingertips barely able to reach the window screen to pry it off. When she does she sends it flying down behind her, and only from the groan she hears from Cato can she tell it hit him. It is using all the dexterity of her little fingers that she is able to slide the window up and open.

“Got it!” Clove calls down to him, and lightly twists her ankle in his palm. “You gotta throw me a little.”

“I can’t throw you through the window–” Cato scoffs, shaking his head adamantly. “No way in hell.”

“Cato I can’t reach, You need to just give me a little boost-”

“A little boost i’m already holding you above my head–” 

“Cato! A little toss!” Clove insists, jolting her foot with a little annoyance. “I’m serious, we need to get in–”

“Fine! But if you bust your face open don’t blame me.” Cato grumbles, and grabs her by the bottom of her shoes. “Okay, ready?”

Clove nods, already bracing her hands on either side of the window. When he gives her the little bit of a toss (more than a little, considering the strength he doesn’t even realize he exerts sometimes), Clove is able to flip in through the window. 

All Cato can hear is a slight scream from his wife as she tumbles into the house.

“Clove…babe…you alright?” Cato calls up, an edge of panic infiltrating his cool tone.  “Baby…”

Clove appears in the window, resting her elbows on the window ledge as she smiles down at him with a coy smirk. “You look like you’re here to beg me to sneak out.”

“If I remember correctly it was me who had the house first..” Cato responds to her smirk with his own, running a hand over the side of his hair. “Will you let me in? I didn’t throw you through the window just so I could still break down the door.”

“Patience, patience, Cato.” Clove teases, but the smile on her face could keep Cato going for the rest of his life. “I’m coming, meet you out front.”

Cato beats her to the front door. Patience has never been his strength, and frankly, it’s fucking cold and she is taking a weirdly long amount of time before she comes down. “Clove open the door, I'm not playing around.” 

When the door does swing open to Clove, somehow already changed into one of his shirts and one of his shirts only, she greets him with a dark smirk, looking up at him from thick lashes. “Welcome home.”

The thin layer of dust that covers every surface in their house is a problem for another time.

Later…after.. Clove sits between his legs in the bath, the water as hot as they can possibly get it, soothing every ache in the crooks of her spine. His fingers trace imaginary shapes over the back of her hand, her head against his chest and shoulder. Hot water had been one of the biggest losses in Thirteen. Clove had imagined this particular moment for months. So much so that it was the first- well…second– thing they did once they were back in their home. 

Their names were still carved into the bedpost, their laundry still in pre-sorted piles on the bathroom floor.  Clove’s skin yearns for the softness of the clean sheets they had left behind (though maybe they were not so clean with the dust and ash layer on every surface). In the morning, Clove will treat herself to tea with the rest of the honey in the cabinet above the sink and to the left. 

“You know, I think Enobaria had the spare key.” Cato realizes with his lips on Clove’s neck, and he deserves the light smack to the side of his head once he says it.

“I do not want to think about Enobaria right now, thank you very much.” Clove mumbles, tilting her neck so he can have more more more as she feels his other hand wrapping around her waist and sliding lower. 

“We made it home, sweetheart.” Cato kisses into the skin of her neck, pulling her somehow even closer. “We’re home.”

“We are home.” Clove repeats, but the emphasis she places changes the meaning of the statement. Yes, they are home. But they are home. 

He is hers and she is his. 

They are home. 

And If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were still around. 

Home is not as idyllic as they may have remembered, but it was home. 

The thunderstorms that once lulled her to sleep, jolted her awake with a racing heart. The sound of rain no longer rain, but too identical to the distant sound of bombs in their homeland.  When she ends up sitting on the porch in the middle of the night, forcing herself to face it, she is always joined by a heavy blanket being draped around her shoulders, and Cato sitting wordlessly beside her. What they don’t know is that in a district not too far away, another girl screams herself awake from nightmares of the past, and is joined by the innocent affection of a man who slides into bed next to her only to sleep, who holds her only with the intention to comfort her while expecting nothing in return. 

The cold hurts more than she imagined it would. It is not just the recollection of nearly freezing to death that frightens her anymore, it is the pain in her body. Their home is somehow always chilly, her wrists and shoulders and back always aching fiercely. Cato knows her, he has her entire life, and is always adamant to add another blanket to the bed or turn up the heat even when it leaves him himself sweating. 

Brutus and Enobaria still let themselves in multiple days a week for breakfast.

A few weeks into their return, a knock on their front door long before breakfast startles them both. He’s sitting at the kitchen island admiring the concentration on her face as she carves into something she will undoubtedly transform into something fantastic in an hour or so. 

“Who comes to see us?” Clove raises an eyebrow, but doesn’t look away from her task before her. “Enobaria and Brutus have never knocked, and you know Glimmer and Marvel couldn’t be awake this early..”

“They’ll leave.” Cato shrugs, reaching out a hand to nab some of the intricately carved strawberries Clove had already finished with. “Ignore it.”

The knocking only increases in frequency and volume, and Cato rolls his eyes as he pushes himself away. “I’ll get rid of them.”

Clove can’t wipe away the smirk that rises as she watches him walk away, all shirtless with sweatpants slung so low on his hips that it wouldn’t take much effort from her when he comes back to–

She hears the door swing open but does not hear him scare anyone off with a threat, nor does she hear anything at all. “Babe?” Clove calls out behind him, wiping off the blade of her knife with a towel before she lays it down on her cutting board. “Cato?” She calls again, quickly covering the distance from the kitchen to the front door. Cato isn’t even in the doorway, and Clove doesn’t know why that makes her heart race.

Once she makes it to the door, to see what is waiting on the porch, her heart fully stops. 

Wrapped around Cato’s torso are the long baby limbs of his baby sister, little arms clinging around his neck, long blonde curls covering where her face is absolutely buried in his neck. He’s got both arms around the girl, one hand holding her head to his shoulder.  Immediately to his left, with her hand on his arm, is his mother. War was unkind to her, as the woman Clove once looked up to and yearned to emulate in some ways looked more fragile than ever. 

“Hi Clove, Honey.”  Cato’s mother greets her with an exhausted, bone tired smile. There is a lack of light in those blue eyes, a sorrow Clove hopes never to imagine. 

Clove furrows her eyebrows, tilting her head just a little and it is enough of a question for the older woman to perceive it.  

His mother takes in a sharp breath and shakes her head very quickly in the negative and it is all Clove needs to see to know that this is it, this is all that remains of Cato’s family. A mother and a sister.  

“I missed you, so so much kiddo.” Cato whispers to the girl, gently running his hand over the back of her head over and over again. 

Clove steps forward and gently places a hand on the taller woman’s arm, ever so slightly squeezing. “I’m so sorry.” 

The blonde woman presses her lip together and nods, taking her arm off of her son and instead wrapping them around Clove in a hug. “I’m glad to see you again. I don’t think he would have survived it without you.” 

“I wouldn’t have either.” Clove admits, allowing herself to squeeze a little tighter to the woman, analyzing her change in body structure. 

“He’s been gone a long time.” His mother informs them both, patting Clove’s cheek gently before she goes back to wrap her son and little daughter in her arms. 

“Where have you been?” Cato gets out, his voice nearly cracking as he looks down on his mother. “Where did you go?”

“We’ve just been on the move, huh baby?” His mom brushes Cora’s little arm, pulling her attention from where she is hiding in her brother’s arms. “We have just moved constantly, no one could catch us if they didn’t know where we were.”

“Is home…” Cato starts, unable to force the rest of the words out into the world. 

“Gone. long gone.” His mother explains, as Cora raises her head and latches eyes with Clove. 

“You can stay in my house.” Clove immediately offers out, waving slightly at Cora. “Hi, sunshine.”

Immediately Cora lifts her little blonde head and practically wriggles out of Cato’s arms, nearly running into her once she has her little feet on the ground. With his arms free Cato wraps his arms fully around his mother in a hug, and Clove can see the way he melts into his mother;s arms like a little boy

Clove initially wants to kneel to Cora’s level, to become eye to eye with her. However, this six year old child is nearly to her shoulder’s already, and Clove is taken back by how tall this little girl has become. “You’ve gotten so big!”

“I’m as tall as you!” She cheers, and this bright angel of a child wraps her arms around her sister in law. “I missed you, Clove.”

“We missed you too, Cora Jade.” Clove promises, leaning down just a little to kiss the top of her head. “I think you’re going to stay in the house next to us for a little while!” She can no longer scoop her up, with how tall and gangly she has become in the last year. Clove tries anyway, scooping Cato’s sister to sit on her hip despite the fact they are nearly the same size. Cora immediately relaxes against her, and somehow, some way, Clove feels like something deep inside her relaxes with relief, too. 

And though I can’t recall your face, I’ve still got love for you 

For kids who had been trained to kill, who have taken lives, they were more surrounded by death than ever before. They hadn’t expected the influx of funeral services and war memorials they would be expected to attend. 

His father had of course been the most painful, with the heart broken sobs of his baby sister, asking when she’d see her daddy again. It was devastating for Cato, too, who had to learn how to be an adult man in a world without games without his father to guide him. The loss had hit him harder than he dared to admit. 

At the end of what felt like the tenth funeral service they felt obligated to attend, this one of an old classmate and her younger sister, while Cato played nice with another ex-classmate Clove found herself wandering to a part of the cemetery that she had never allowed herself to cross into. 

It was sacred ground, really, treated with utmost respect. Perfect lines of simple limestone grave markers stretched in perfect lines of 25, save for the last row. No tribute came home to be buried from seventy five. The victors, they were in a separate area even still, with lavish, over the top headstones. But here, in a well maintained corner of the District Two cemetery, rest every single tribute who did not make it to victor status. 

The boy from her games did not even have solid grass on top of his grave plot yet, and the ceaseless bombing did nothing to aid in that process. The girl from Cato’s games is a little further grown over, with a thin but respectable layer of fresh grass that grows in all directions. She can remember some of the others, mildly. The boy who lost against Glimmer, the girl who Johanna took out. 

It is not her own peers, though, that interests Clove. 

She weaves through years and years of games, of either single or double headstones from every single Hunger Games, from 75 to 62, and finally to the one she had avoided the entirety of her life. 

Six feet below her feet was the remaining body of Sevina Kentwell, being the closest Clove has been to her mother in nearly eighteen years. 

It is a simple marker, like all of the others. With the name of the tribute, the date of their birth, and what place they came in their games.  Somehow, seeing first runner up, though she had known it the entirety of her life, manages to rip her heart from her chest, coating the white limestone with the spray of hot, wet blood. 

Or at least it’s how it feels. 

There is no mention of the life Sevina had prior to the games. No mention of the daughter she left behind, how she was a mother who loved deeply and to the last day of her life, how she was the daughter of a cruel woman who only became that way after the loss of her child. 

Clove does not know when exactly she ends up on her knees, kneeling before the stone that is no taller than her in this position. 

It is when she notices the little symbol on every stone– some knives, some stars, some hearts– that she realizes there is some small personalization that makes these tributes people. Children. 

Clove’s right hand reaches out, shaking just enough that she notices, as she traces her pointer finger over the etching of her mother’s name. It is then, as she reaches the I, that she realizes the dot over the initial is a clover. 

The weight of a war, of physical torture, of two Hunger Games, the destruction of her home, and a loveless, empty childhood hits her. If she were not already on her knees she would have fallen to them, as it feels like she is the one who just had the breath slammed out of her against that cornucopia. 

The death of her grandmother meant next to nothing. She had openly spoken out against Clove after her appearance in Two, proudly sharing the narrative that she was a traitor and that her daughter died because of this mistake of a child. Yes, she raised Clove and turned her into a victor with her cold demeanor and cruelty, and for that Clove had no choice but to be thankful, but still, she did not feel a great loss at the news of her death by rebels in Two. 

She thought nothing of the news that her father and his entire new family also died in the roles of loyalists. He had been dead to her long before the war. 

The entirety of her family would die with Clove. Maybe tomorrow, maybe in sixty years, but there would be no one left to remember any of them after her inevitable death. 

Maybe that was the gift she could give to the ghost of her mother– the erasure of the people who treated them so cruelly. 

That of course meant the erasure of Sevina Kentwell and Clove herself, as well. 

While Clove had spent the entirety of her life to become a victor, to carve her place in history, right now the idea of slipping into anonymity and living a mundane enough life to not be remembered didn’t sound like the worst ending in the world. 

Sevina Kentwell died nearly eighteen years ago, but somehow it hits Clove like it is the first time all over again. This feeling– the elephant on her chest, the choking, gagging sobs that she could not control, the tears that felt like burning salt on her cheeks– may as well have been from the little girl whose mother never came back for her. 

She felt an overwhelming need to speak out loud– to the air, to the universe, to whatever could hear her– that she couldn’t really explain. It felt silly, to just speak into thin air, and yet she doesn’t have it in there to stop herself. 

Clove wipes her tears on the back of her sleeves, rocking back to sit on her heels. She pushes her hair behind her ears, before she crosses her arm over her chest, tucking her hands along her hips on opposite sides of her body. 

“I’ve always kind of wondered what was so wrong with me as a baby, if I was so unlovable of a little girl that it was just..so easy to leave me. Grandma always told me thats the case…that I’ve been fucked up since I was born and that it was easy to leave a crazy little girl. That the risk of dying was better than having to spend eighteen years with me. I believed it, too.” Clove leans her head back, squeezing evergreen eyes closed and taking a deep, shaky breath to the sky, desperate for cool morning air to fill her lungs and quench the burning that ravages the back of her throat.  “I can’t remember what you look like. I’ve seen pictures but I can’t remember. I don’t remember the sound of your voice, or what it was like to be held by my mother.”

“I want to be angry and I want to blame you for everything that is just so fucked up about me, but I don’t know. I probably wouldn’t have been sent to training if you were a victor, huh?” Clove sniffles heavily, the skin of her face burning from the continued assault of tears that just cannot cease to flow. “And then I wouldn’t be a Victor..And then I never would have met Cato.” 

She isn’t quite sure she can believe it, though it is rational. If she had not needed to win the games herself, she never would have been sent to training to become a victor, and by extension would have never crossed paths with Cato. 

There is another part of herself though, the far less rational part, the part that let her fall for her training partner, that believes in any universe, in any version of reality, some way somehow, they would always find each other (though that she would never say out loud). 

“I married him, you know. I’ve never said it out loud.. I’ve never told anyone about it.” Clove whispers to the universe, words barely falling past her lips. “But I did. I guess I wasn’t so terrible and unlovable after all, or maybe I was, and he’s a little terrible and fucked up too. We’re made for each other in that way. He’s…the love of my life.”  She finds that her right hand is twisting at her left ring finger, the empty digit lacking any physical or public reminder of such love. It didn’t matter. They knew. “Enobaria took really really good care of me, too.  Like she had promised you. I don’t know if I would have survived without her. Both literally as a baby, but also in the games.” 

She exhales shakily. Her breathing is weighty and consuming, as she feels her throat tightening with the burning feeling of exhaustion. “I wish I had a mom these days, not that you’d know what a world without the games is like anyway…but it would be nice. To have a mom for the rest of my life….Whatever it looks like.”

Clove rests her body weight on her hands in front of her, steadying herself as she catches her breath and regains her composure. She raises her left hand again, branching herself on her mother’s headstone so she can push herself to a standing position. She brushes off the grass on her knees, smoothing down the skirt of her formal black dress. Digging the heels of her hand to stop the tears, she is unconcerned with the fact her makeup is certainly smeared around her eyes. Clove takes a shaking, stabilizing breath, gently reaching down to pat the top of the rock. 

“I miss my mom. I miss you, and I don’t even know you but I know that I love you.” Clove brushes her deep hair behind her shoulders, standing up straight like the victor she will forever be. She is all that is left of, and all that there will ever be, of the woman who eternally rests deep under her feet. “I owe you, quite literally, for my life. In all senses of it. So uh..thank you. For ruining your life to give me mine.” 

Clove takes one final shaky breath, craning her neck to the sky to stop the flow of tears. She wipes at her cheeks quickly, before shoving her hands in the pocket of her coat. Clove weaves back through the tribute corner, and before she even reaches the little gate she sees Cato leaning against one of the metal posts, one ankle crossed over the other, hands in the pockets of his own coat.

As soon as she’s within reach his arm is around her shoulders, using his hand to smooth down the hair at the top of her head before he kisses the crown of her hair gently and swiftly. Of course he can see the tracks of tears, the pink tint under the field of freckles, but he doesn’t comment on it. This was a private moment for her. 

“Ready to go home?” He pulls her in closer to his side, body heat warming her against the cool, rainy air. 

“I think we have one more stop to make.”

Everything you lose is a step you take

The only thing left of the academy which they met, trained, and ultimately, became themselves is a set of chipped marble stairs. The grand archway is reduced to piles of rubble, the long stretch of the building that was once home rests in various piles of rocks and decay. 

Their classmates were mostly dead, either after being forced into roles as peacekeeper soldiers or victims of various bombings. There were no more dorms that they had once snuck around, no more rooms full of knives or spears or dummies to use as target practice. There were no more closets to sneak off too or bad showers with cold water and low water pressure. 

All that was left of their childhood were the very steps they sat on now. 

Cato sits beside Clove, hand in hand. 

“I thought we’d spend the rest of our lives in this building.” Clove admits, brushing the hand that is not interlaced with his over the remnants of the grand staircase. “I imagined we’d be the most successful mentors, well, ever.” 

“Spend our lives in the building? I thought we’d own it. Rename it to the Kentwell-Hadley Training Academy, then we could claim every District Two victor forever. It would be like our legacy.” Cato teases, but the longing edge in his voice tells Clove that no, that is not entirely a joke.  He clears his throat, shifting so his chin was sitting on top of the crown of her head instead. “Do you ever think about the day we met?”

“Yeah, you broke my collarbone.” Clove smirks, craning her neck so she can look him in the eyes. They would never be back in the place they met, in the place she realized she loved this arrogant, temperamental boy. This, right here, was as close as it would get. “I thought we were going to hate each other forever…that we’d go out killing each other in the most violent, showy way we could. 

“And you stabbed me!” Cato indignantly nudges her with his shoulder, but brings his other hand up to cradle her face in his. I never thought, in a million years, we’d be lucky enough to be right here, Clove.”

“Alive?” Clove teases, but takes the opportunity to lean in and press her forehead to his. “On the rubble of the academy?” As much as she teases, she knows what he means. He means hand in hand, far from the enemies they were the day they met. He means the love they share.

“Together. I never thought we’d get to be together.” Cato admits, leaning in somehow closer still, so that their noses also could touch. “All this shit Clove, and the only constant in my entire life, from the time we were actual children, has been you. It has always been you.”

“Yeah, well, you’re not getting rid of me any time soon.” She promises, wrapping her arm around his neck so that she can pull her upper body flush to his as she finally finally finally connects her lips with his. Clove melts in his arms as he fully wraps his arms around her and holds her as close as he humanly can to him. When she pulls back, resting her nose against his once again, she laughs. “What do we do now with the rest of our lives?”

“I could say each other–” Cato taunts, but laughs as he gives the slightest shrug before she can refute him. “I don’t really know. We’ll figure it out, like we always do.”

“Together?” Clove teases, leaning back so she can fully lock eyes, green with blue, as a coy little smile creeps onto her face. “I love you. More than I loved the games.”

“Aren’t I special.” Cato soaks her in. Wet dark curls framing her face, freckles like constellations across her nose.  If he got to see this for the rest of his life.. He’d die happy. Hopefully not for many many many years, but happy nonetheless.“I love you too. More than anything.”

“You just have to one up me..” Clove rolls her eyes playfully, but she does not actually move from her place in his arms. “You know, if you want to actually get married again, you do have to ask again.”

“Are you going to say yes?” He pinches her hip playfully, causing her to squirm in his arms which he uses as the opportunity to grab her even tighter. 

“Depends on the day.” She warns, but grabs his face in both her hands immediately after. She can see it all in his eyes. The nine year olds they once were, the twenty one year olds they are now. Their entire past lies crumbled beneath them, but with her arms around his shoulders and his around her hips the entirety of their future rests in their arms. 

All the uncertainty of this new world, it didn’t matter. The future, whatever it would be, would be okay.  Whatever their future held, would be just fine, so long as it held them. 

Cato and Clove.

“Always and forever, Cato. It’s you and me, always and forever.”

I had the time of my life with you. 

[violentchronicill]

Tinsel | König x Gn!Reader

hiiiii guysusyusys i haven't posted any writing in literal years but i love könig so fucking much i had to do something for him even if it's short 🫶 . a lil something Christmas-y to get me into the holiday mood! not proofread my bad g 🫡 

summary: königs first Christmas! a little bit of hurt/comfort but it's fluff i promise. he deserves good things only. the reader is gender neutral no descriptive features in the fic.

word count: 969

Being home for the holidays wasn’t anything out of the norm for most people but it was anything but normal for you and König. The little time he did have outside of his work he loved spending with you, so when he mentioned how he had vacation time he needed to fulfill before the year ended, excitement couldn’t describe how you felt. You could tell there was an uneasiness about König once he started seeing the many decorations you began putting up around the house. 

The first thing he noticed in the dining room was a new tablecloth, adorned with different snowflake patterns and candy canes. You had also bought a couple of new mugs with snowmen and gingerbread men designs etched across them. This wasn’t the end of it, however, as the holiday decor slowly began to appear in the next room over. Several different candles were displayed across the mantle, which soon enough had the room emanating different holiday-inspired scents as the days passed. Ones he could recognize included fresh sage and pine, cinnamon, and.. sugar cookie? The latter which he wasn’t particularly fond of as it became overwhelming the longer it burned. 

It didn’t take long before the entire length of the staircase at the forefront of the home had garland strung tightly around each rung of the hand railing. Little red bows were carefully placed at the top of each bunch of faux greenery. It honestly resembled something out of a Home and Gardens magazine. While he couldn’t say he didn’t find it beautiful, it caught him off guard. He was seeing his home transform before his very eyes into something he could only imagine in a dream.

Even though his home country was very much for the celebration of Christmas or rather Christtag, he often didn’t celebrate as a child or even into his teenage years. Christmas was a holiday centered mostly around being with your loved ones, baking, and caroling. Königs unstable family dynamics never really allowed for him to indulge himself in the holiday spirit so it became something almost foreign to him as an adult. As the years passed while he was active in the military, he could only watch on as his comrades left around this time of year. Assumedly going home to their respective families to celebrate. He would be a liar if he said it didn’t tear him up a little inside thinking about it but he never let it get to him. 

“It’s just a holiday, one day out of the year.” he would repeat to himself. 

The very next day, he came downstairs, turned into the living room, and stopped dead in his tracks. Before him stood a tree, a real pine tree. It was completely bare not a single decoration on it. In front of the tree were two large storage bins labeled “CHRISTMAS” in what he recognized to be your handwriting. He stepped closer and stared at the bins, not entirely sure how they got there but he had a pretty good idea.

“You ready to help me decorate our tree?” he heard from his left. He turned and saw you standing in the doorway to the dining room, smiling softly. Leaning on the doorframe with one hand holding a cup of what he assumed to be coffee and the other hand gripping at the loose material of your sweater. Our tree? He looked back to the tree as you started to make your way toward him.

Setting your cup down on the nearby table, you slowly brought both of your hands to his left arm, wrapping them around entirely hugging it close to you. “Our tree?” he asked aloud. “You want to decorate with me?” he asked panning his eyes down at you. You could see his gaze become soft, eyes glazing over in something you could almost recognize as hope. You released your grip on his arm and raised your right hand to his face, which he leaned into blinking his eyes slowly.

“Of course I do love. I wouldn’t want to do it without you,” you said softly. Your voice filled with reassurance and adoration as you looked at the man before you. You smiled again “I even went through the trouble to go up into the attic to get these boxes down, so you HAVE to help me now.” He huffed out a half chuckle and closed his eyes. Of course you did, of course you wanted to celebrate with him. What was Christmas without family after all? He opened his eyes again and let a small smile appear on his lips. “Well if you put it that way…” he took your hand that was on his cheek into his own and pulled it down to his side, lacing his fingers between your own. “I guess I will begrudgingly oblige.” he teased. His smile grew larger as you playfully shoved him and moved to sit down on the floor in front of one of the two bins.

You opened it to see various styles of ornaments and lights inside. Garland and tinsel weaved in between various shades of blue, green, and red ornaments which you slowly began to detangle. “Well..” you started, craning your neck up to make eye contact with him. “What do you think? Should we use the white tinsel or the red tinsel on the tree?” you asked while holding up both in your hands. He moved down to the floor and sat across on the opposite side of the bin, the smile he had never leaving his face. He looked at you as you grinned at him, eyes crinkling at the corners. God, he was so lucky. Humming softly to himself as he pondered your question. “Definitely both.”

[majaloveschris]

As an anon said in the past, if I were Chris, I would be really concerned about someone apparently from my inner social circle leaking info to blogs about my private matters such as wedding and house. If someone is actually leaking his info, he really should reevaluate his friends and the people he lets into his life (but well, he basically allowed a racist, antisemitic into his life so he clearly isn’t very smart when it comes to that). If the house is his I still don’t feel like he would live there and the decoration doesn’t seem to be his style (or even Alba’s style but she probably doesn’t care about anything as long as she keeps getting attention and we know she molds herself to what benefits her the most). If this house has the name of his trustee, does that automatically make it his? I don’t think Chris is the only client they have. Also, I read some people saying that the Carlisle house was bought by him in 2018 according to Tara’s page? She more than anyone should protect the privacy of her friend but she’s an attention seeker too so I don’t really have much faith in her.

I also don’t know why would Chris want to have pics of his house in a magazine like AD and then hold back because of “keeping his privacy”, he knows very well what would happen if he did that feature for AD so I don’t buy that shit either. L&D lying about the location seems weird to me too, because the damage has already been done since the beginning of this shitshow, why would they try to “protect” anything now? And if they lie that clearly shows how unprofessional they are and that they only care about the attention as well.

Sorry for the long rant but like everything else in this “happy and healthy relationship” seems the opposite and with a lack of sense

For now, this is the last ask I share about the Carlisle house. Some people in my inbox are going crazy over this topic. Not even their alleged wedding caused whatever this is.

We actually talked about this with a good friend of mine yesterday and how having those addresses on that site is really unsafe. I guess it works for her as a portfolio, but still. She could have all the other details but the address. I think she should've already removed it. However, I still have a hard time believing that anybody from his circle comes to Tumblr to share information about his personal matters, such as his wedding, for example. I always say this and will continue to repeat it, that even DM said that his circle is very tight and that she never really has anything on him or gets info. If somebody from his circle wanted to leak something, they wouldn't come to Tumblr. Neither would Justin. If they decided to betray him, they would want to do that on a bigger level. If somebody comes here and shares legit information about him or his personal life, I'd rather say that's his team, or if it's even somebody closer to him, they do it to plant something; they do it for PR reasons. A lot of rumors start here, but if somebody would leak something or do something to harm him, and not to help sell a narrative, they would go somewhere else, not here.

I also don't think that house is really his style, and I also doubt he would want to move into such a big house. The other MA one isn't one he is currently living in.

My very good friends explained to me that all the houses are owned by the same company but by different trusts.

If this whole thing was about "protecting privacy," having an AD article wouldn't have even crossed his mind. So they did the whole photoshoot, the whole interview, or whatever, and then he was like "Nah, I'd rather have my privacy with this one". I don't think that's how it works. And again, saying "privacy" and "Chris" in the same sentence is, at least for now, ridiculous. Since Alba is in the picture, somehow everything involving her has lost the privilege of being private.

Interestingly, this is the first time L&D cared about the mean comments and DMs they got because of Chrisba. This was definitely not the first time I saw them receive hateful comments because of them, and they clearly didn't seem to care about it, and now suddenly they even changed the location because of that. I don't really think that the privacy and hateful comments/DM explanations are working here right now.

And I'd like to ask everybody not to go to L&D's page and leave hateful comments or send hateful DMs. It's inappropriate; it's a bad thing to do. Leave them be.

[fandomohana]

Panic attack settling in, and all I can think is, where is bottom? How does bottom keep getting deeper?! I'm not okay. The stress is slowly killing me. I'm struggling with hygiene, and the barest necessities in life. The house is just awful. I don't mean a little hair, and some displaced magazines like most people think. No. It's awful. My mom is drowning in junk mail, our dining room is accessible by turning sideways, and scooting through. The kitchen has had some decent spot cleaning, but not the deep stuff I've done in the past. Nebbie is too scared to use the litter box every time, so she poops under our couch. Our recliner couch. The couch with a metal bar at the bottom, so just sticking a broom under, doesn't work. So the poop has to pile up until I have the oomph to pull half the room apart, and lift the couch. Rug hasn't been vacuumed in I don't know how long. There are cobwebs everywhere. The whole house smells bad because we can't keep up. My mom is constantly helping others, so she's not here much, she can't do heavy lifting, she has fibro, and wants to help more, but also has back and neck issues. My room hasn't been vacuumed in months. My luggage is still sitting in my room from the vacation in June, and there is still a box of Christmas decorations that haven't made it to the attic. Our garage is a hoarded nightmare. The attic and basement are a hoarded nightmare, the back room is a mess, as is my sister's old room, and Mom's. I haven't cleaned our main bathroom in months. Mom does what she can in there. But there is no one to fix it. No one. I'm dependent because my mental health keeps me from working, and now it keeps me from helping around the house. Huge unexpected costs hit us like a ton of bricks, I don't have the energy to fix even basic food, so I burden my mom by eating out. I'm drowning. I literally feel myself deteriorating, and there's nowhere to turn. The only thing my therapist had to offer is hospitalization without the sleepover, which will make my mental health even worse. So I'm literally in a fucking circle of, I can't support myself, I can't keep up with the house, my mom won't live forever, I don't know how to function as a real adult, I'm lonely, tired, frustrated, and I can feel every part of my body deteriorating. I know no one will see this, or read it, I just needed to get it out.

[firewoodwander]

and if you want: mistletoe 20 (established relationship) for the toma parental polycule (SparMij/Jango17) - MBW

Mistletoe prompts

@mandalorianbrainweasel 🤍

Winter holidays in their family are always chaotic, always bursting with extended family and friends, and always, always, Spar decorates his house to within an inch of its life.

Or Mij’s, Alvha amends with some amusement when the man walks into the same set of icicles hanging from the chandelier that he’s walked into three times already. In a day or so he’ll learn to dodge, but before then he’ll be swearing at them under his breath until the cows come home.

“Why don’t you just move them,” Jango says, like he does every year. He’s tucked into his corner of Spar’s sofa with his head in a magazine.

“You know I can’t,” Mij replies, like he also does every year. “And besides, that would be admitting defeat.”

“They look good there, you can’t move them,” adds Spar, who swans by with a plate of brownies that will last all of twenty minutes once the boys get home. Alvha reaches out to snag one but Spar changes course and dances away, grinning at her, holding the plate up over his head. “Hey now, these are for the children.”

Alvha advances on him at the same time as he steps farther away. “Honey,” she reasons, “you know it’s generous to call any of us here adults.”

Behind her, her husband snorts, but Spar continues backing away with an expression of challenge.

“Besides, Boba and Omega can only have half each…”

“You are ruthless,” Mij comments, but he doesn’t disagree with her nor does he take his eyes off the plate. “Don’t drop it, or Lovely will get them all.”

Spar glances back just a fraction of a second too long to check for their trip hazard of a dog and Alvha darts in, quick, taking him around the waist and pulling him under the archway that divides the living and dining rooms, where Spar’s hung an array of festive evergreens and a conspicuous mistletoe in the centre.

“Caught me,” Spar sighs, though he shifts the plate yet again out of her reach. “Better pay the tax.”

Alvha rolls her eyes good-naturedly and leans in to claim her kiss. “Wouldn’t dream of skipping out.”

Mij, the bastard, is not morally opposed to using her distraction for his own gain.

“Oh dear,” he says, just as Spar makes an irate noise against Alvha’s mouth. Alvha glares at the blatant brownie-stealer as he perches on the sofa arm beside Jango and offers him the plate. “I suppose I should say thank you.”

Alvha growls and wraps her arms around Spar, who laughs and leans more into her, clearly tired from spending all morning in the kitchen. “I’m stealing your husband. You don’t deserve him. He’s mine now.”

“That’s all right—I’m sure yours will rally to my side, right?”

Jango, mouth full of chocolate, looks between them with wide eyes. “Sure,” he says, and then because Alvha literally cannot take him anywhere, “he gives decent enough head.”

Spar cackles loudly, gripping Alvha’s arms for support. Eventually he escapes her hold to go reclaim the plate and collect his kisses from the two absolute comedians they chose to marry.

(Jango saves half his brownie for her, in the end, so maybe he’s not a total lost cause.)

[detachedfacade]

part three of gay steve ficlet

it took eddie a while to finally reach out to steve. it was true he hadn't stopped thinking about him since they last saw each other. since steve came over to his place and he thought, in the back of his mind, maybe they would fuck, maybe it would be a one time mistake and they could move on. and maybe eddie wanted that, to feel close to someone he cared for with the knowledge it couldn't end in a broken heart, just good sex and avoid eye contact after. but god, steve was so sad, there was no way that was happening and eddie began to feel guilty for even thinking that, for choosing to view steve as not only a cheater but also someone who he could just use. so with that, knowing he was in a messy relationship, worrying he didn't mean it when he asked him to call, he had convinced himself it was best to keep his distance. but he was lonely himself, his friends were visiting their parents over the holidays and since waynes passing he didn't really have anyone to return to. he knew, too, that steve didn't have a great relationship with his parents, figured he may as well page him, see if he calls back, not a big deal no pressure

but he did call, almost immediately

hey, eds! I was wondering if you'd-

that was quick, nothing better to do? eddie joked, didn't know why it came out so harshly. felt bad when steve took a second before replying.

hah yeah well I'm in the office right now, lots of people have taken holiday leave for christmas so its basically empty. not much to do so I just...yeah

eddie felt bad that he had already managed to make steve uncomfortable, tried to make up for it by inviting him to the bar he worked at, offering free drinks - didn't expect that only a few hours later he and steve would be sat in the same booth steve had been stood up in a month earlier.

they had a lot to talk about, it turned out. caught up on the kids and robin and nancy, talked about hawkins for way too long and then talked about getting out of there

and steve revealed he'd bought a place, in the city. with help from his parents on the deposit and help from brick in moving his stuff over he was basically settled in

its not too far from here, actually. if you wanted to -

yes absolutely I need to see how king steve decorates

dont get your hopes up , steve grumbled and they headed out the bar and walked along the thin curb aside the wide road, barely a sidewalk that turned into barely an alley into a cul-de-sac of bmw's and jeeps

this is a whole house, eddie said, arriving at the door. you live here alone?

well bricks over a lot and - my parents wanted it to be a forever home, didn't wanna have to fork out for a deposit again. they want grandkids

eddie parked himself on the leather sofa, kept getting distracted by signs of life - photos on the wall, magazines with pages folded over and torn out, rings of water on the coffee table from glasses used without coasters - until he said, off hand and barely thinking

and do they know that you can't have kids?

steve, still lingering in the doorway, stood up straight, furrowed his brow, took to tidying up about the place before he continued

yes but you know they like to pretend. anyway its - i still want kids

does brick?

we're not - steve stopped talking. stopped moving too

what? eddie asked

me and brick we aren't gonna make it to that point. thats obvious right?

is it?

steve ignored eddie, took himself to the kitchen, returned with two bottles of beer and sat down beside eddie

are you single? steve asked

I am, yeah, as always. eddie replied.

I'm gonna break up with brick. steve replied, let the silence linger for a moment then reached over to the coffee table to pick up the remote

you wanna watch a movie? he asked.

eddie nodded, didn't know what else to say, just watched the movie and wondered when was the best time to head off. he didn't intend to wake up the next morning on steve's couch, his neck at an awkward angle as he blinked up at the sunlight pooling through the blinds. he could hear the angry whispers of two men coming from the hallway, if only they were in the kitchen he could have snuck out. but no, they were blocking his only exit and so he sat awkwardly on the edge of the sofa, took a sip of day old beer and waited for his chance to escape

part 4 coming soon <3

tags under read more - let me know if you want to be tagged in updates

@caelestbliss @phantypurple @romantiklen @plyerice27

[aneenasevla]

Spookengan 8 - Haunting Memories

Previous/ MasterPost

Made in Collab with @useless-bi-otch

Ohma looks at the skull ornament. "How weird, putting skulls to decorate a party…", he was about to hang it when Kanami says from the kitchen: 

"No, no Ohma, the skull ornaments are not for hanging, they go in the table…"

"Oh, okay" he says, putting the bag somewhere else "And what do I put up here?"

"Look for the bone strings or the pumpkin strings, whichever looks nicer in this corner" Kazuo intervenes, holding the said strings. One had leaves and miniature pumpkins, the other a bunch of little bones hanging like a Christmas ornament, only in a different way. The Halloween-like way.

"This is even weirder", he points to the bones "What are these things for, Yamashita Kazuo? Aren't bones for dogs and, like… for cemeteries?"

"Ahaha, it's kinda weird, isn't it?" Kazuo laughs a little at his confusion "But Halloween is a festival adapted from a very old custom. Some cultures believed that at this time of year, spirits returned to the world of the living to visit them. What's better to represent this than bones and skulls? … And yes, I read this in a magazine to find out more about the subject" He admits, pouting "The boys like these Americanized celebrations, it doesn't hurt to know more about…"

"I can answer that too, Mr. Yamashita", Kanami smiles "And yes, that's pretty much it."

Ohma nods, but still grimaces at the bones "Okay, but the pumpkin is at least edible. Bones remind me of empty plates and garbage.” He picks up the string with the pumpkins.

"Good choice, these pumpkins are cute", Ryuki comments while holding a very confused Dorobo in his arms "Put the bones near the cats, Mr. Yamashita. Then it'll look like they just ate a monster."

"Ooh, like they're protecting the house or something?" Kanami gets excited, looking at the boy holding the cat "Sounds cool! I bet that'll scare off evil spirits!"

"Is this really that scary?" Ohma raises an eyebrow "I think it scares the living, at best."

“The objective is to scare the shit outta everybody, man. That's the fun of Halloween" Koga smiles sharply "Just wait 'till you see the costume I got, then you'll know what a real scare is."

"Please don't" Kazuo groans "I'm too old to be scared like that. You don't want to take advantage of the month of the dead to make me join them, do you?"

"Don't say stuff like that, Mr. Yamashita!" Kanami shivers.

"If you do join them, can you please let grandpa know I'm fine?"

"Ryuki!", Koga and Kanami exclaim at the same time. Ohma chuckles.

"I'm sure the Old Man is with my master, since he was also his master. But old Yamashitakazuo has better things to do here, right?" He taps the old man on the shoulder, smiling mischievously.

"Ahaha, I- I sure do!" Kazuo, who had turned a little pale, smiles nervously and raises a thumb "I want to live long enough to see Yasuo giving me a daughter-in-law, and maybe a grandchild. And to see the two of you tying the knot..."

Kanami's eyes widen, her face turning red. Ohma, on the other hand, only smiles more.

"Nah, you need to put more goals in there, Yamashita Kazuo, our knot is already tied enough..."

"Ohmaaaa!" Kanami whines, mortified.

"What? I live here, and so do you. What's more tied than that?"

Ryuki smiles, looking at the kitten in his arms "And they also have two kids!" he shouts while lifting Dorobo by his armpits.

"You mean Ohma and Sis are 'pet parents'? That's so freakin' cheesy, hahaha" Koga chuckles.

"Have some respect, they're a piece of work just like kids!" Kanami exclaims, pointing the meringue-full whisk at him "I was already a 'pet mom' even before Ohma brought Dorobo home!"

"So you were always cheesy and he got infected just by living under the same roof, hehe… hey, calm down, sis, it's a joke!" Koga starts running when Kanami drops the whisk and threatens him with a wooden spoon instead; a much more effective weapon. Kazuo just watches them, smiling tenderly. He really missed that laid-back atmosphere, the silly, familiar banther, which felt as natural as breathing. It reminded him of when Kenzo and Yasuo were little, when his wife was still with them, when they were a happy, functional family…

The thought brought a cold, unpleasant feeling to his chest, and he tried to distract himself as he arranged the skulls on the dining table. He hated when that melancholy came to disturb him at the most inopportune moments…

"Hey, Yamashita Kazuo" Ohma calls for the old man "Relax, we were joking' about the bones, but you aren't supposed to join them. They are for Kanami's birthday."

"What? Oh no, Ohma, it's not that'' He shakes his head quickly "I was just thinking, reminiscing a few things…" He tries to smile "Seeing everyone getting together like this just brought back some bittersweet memories, nothing more."

"Hnmm… Kanami said that she also has bad memories of her birthdays" he looks at the decorations "She said that everyone got bummed after a while, with the parties lookin' the same every single year. Then I said I wanted to see it… and she replied with something very interesting."

"Oh?" Kazuo adjusts his glasses "And what was it?"

“It will be nice to make new memories with you.” He smiles sideways, watching Kanami guide the two younger men while Koga decorated the cat tree and Ryuki made meringue bones on a platter.

Kazuo can only stare at him, eyes wide. Ohma had a very simple line of thought, and it was in that simplicity that he managed to express a wisdom worthy of a philosopher. He'd always done that, as long as he'd known him...

And with that thought, the old man ends up smiling. Ohma had really changed his life, hadn't he? He helped him reconnect with his sons, taught him to be more confident and assertive, to persevere even when things seemed too difficult… his family had even grown thanks to him. When you had someone like him always encouraging you, making brand new memories sounded marvelous.

"New memories, eh…? I used to think I was too old to make something like this. But apparently there isn't an age limit for that" he concludes.

"You bet. Come on, there's more bones to toss around the house, and they're not yours" Ohma jokes, nodding.

"Hahaha, and I'm glad for that!" Kazuo shivers, but still laughs in the meantime "As I said, I still want to live for a very long time."

And he really hoped he still had a good few years ahead. He didn't want to miss out on any more new memories that Ohma and he would create, alongside the little family they'd formed.

Next Chapter Here

[risqui]

Meet The Besties - SIMply Posted #135

Your song today is Through Me (The Flood) · Hozier.

Otherwise, welcome!, welcome!! This is the first 135th issue of my little project: Simply Posted. Not sure what possessed me to want to make a magazine for my Sims but here we are! Some sections are more gossip-y than others but just assume that someone else wrote that column haha.

I don't know If I'll post a lot here but I needed somewhere to put the many screenshots of my sims sooooo enjoy! :). Below, you can find the actual magazine! It has bonus pictures of my favourite parts of their respective homes!

I really really really love J and Seraphina's living room, especially the conversation pit. It's also a bit more cohesive as I do genuinely like the decor of the 80's-90's. Very brown and a shit ton of wood but I like those vibes (I don't have a typewriter and walkman for nothing)! Their dining room is cute too but the kitchen is my second favourite and If I can't have one exactly like it, I will spontaneously combust. It's been a very long time since I downloaded the CC but I think the fridge is from Ravasheen and is modeled after Smeg's appliances. I think the Oven and microwave are from @caio-cc retro appliances (the cabinets may be from them too).

Adonis and Young-Hee's side is supposed to be more of an Asian Fusion/ Outlook on the future. My sims take place in the 80's and I initially wanted their side to be more of the iconic space age type of furniture since Young-Hee is more of an old-fashioned dolly and uppity girly girl. Pin-up. But it's so hard to find CC that fit! In hindsight, their side would be very close to Seraphina and J's just.. less brown. I am gonna redo it but, for now, I'm happy with their ultra expensive waterfall in the living room 🤧. My favourite part of their house is the walk in closet behind their tv. Both sides have one but I think it suits Young-Hee and Adonis more as Young-Hee is, allegedly, a famous thief. She'd have more expensive things, right?

Anyway, I hope you enjoyed the rambling! I'll talk more about their fashion, ages, etc in the next Issue!

[daisychainsandbowties]

orchid, edelweiss, aloe vera, and nutmeg! c:

orchid - what’s a song you consider to be perfect?

ooo i have to pick the two that just occurred to me. first ‘above the clouds of pompeii’ by bear’s cave. i can only listen to it when i’m somewhere i can cry. one of those songs with perfect lyrics - just captures a feeling i have of living in anticipation of grief since i was nine, and the core idea of how loving someone is accepting the moment you lose them - ‘with roses red come lilies white.’

the second one is ‘i’m still here’ from that pixar movie Treasure Planet purely for the way it kept me company as a trans kid & made me feel seen.

edelweiss - how’d you think of your url/ what’s it associated with?

i know that daisy chains has something to do with the feeling of falling in love for the first time watching a girl make me a little daisy chain crown. i think i also just thought it sounded nice?

aloe vera - what’s something (mundane) you really want to experience in life?

oh something really embarassingly soft like getting married to someone i love 🫠

nutmeg - how is your room/home decorated?

my contribution to the general house aesthetic is my multicoloured metal gecko wall art. he’s been with me for seven years and he’s all faded from the sun but still so cute. the pictures on my walls are all very nature-themed. my favourite tree painted from below in autumn colours and a little fox on a blue background, very basic but very cute. aside from that the theme is books absolutely everywhere and cut-outs from magazines of the perseverance rover. i tend to favour greens and greys because i find them calming 😌

[invincible-selfxmade-punk]

My birthday has been a Bittersweet event for the last several years. After my mom died my sister Terri promised to take care of me. But my poor sister was not the most stable person in the world and my other sisters and brother treated her horribly.

Then her husband committed suicide. And a few years after that her daughter committed suicide and after that she just pretty much gave up on her life. Every single year though without fail she would send me a birthday card with a little bit of money in it.

Some years it was $20, some years it was $5. But she always said something.

The last birthday she was alive for she arranged for a surprise visit for my brother whom I had not seen in 20 years. She also gave me two bags brimming with stuff from the dollar store. Some of it I used, some of it decorates my classroom, and some of it I keep in the backseat of my car and have had for the last 7 years because it just makes me feel close to her.

Another aspect of my birthday is that I share it with my friend Tina. I have known Tina since we were in second grade. She was a year older than me but she got held back. Tina looked like Dustin from Stranger Things. She had the same type of mouth and teeth problem.

She didn't have any friends. It was pretty much just me and her and her sisters. We went to prom together w/ some other girls and the girls got really upset that Tina wanted to be in the prom pictures with us but I insisted. I'd give anything if I had those pictures now.

Many many years later, after high school and college, and years after her dad's death, Tina confided in me that he had sexually & physically abused her, her whole life.

Because of this she was never in a relationship with a man--- or with anyone to be honest ---and only configed this in 1 other person. I'm not even sure if you told her mom.

Well her two younger sisters went away to school and eventually got married and had kids in their own Tina stayed with her mom and took care of her after she had 2 heart attacks. Together they remodeled her house until it looked like something out of a magazine. They both put in so much hard work.

And then Tina died of covid.

Tina's mom sold the house and moved to North TX to live with Tina's youngest sister.

So now every year my birthday reminds me that it is Tina's too and I'm here and she isn't.

[awkwarddystopianwarlord]

What to be When I Grow Up

From a young age, I knew I would always be poor. I loved too many artistic paths and made peace with the fact that they wouldn’t bring in much of an income. Granted, neither does working a normal people minimum wage job, but I digress.

Fashion designer: I love clothes, I love putting together outfits. I also loved the concept of designing whatever I wanted, whatever I couldn’t usually find in stores. I wanted also, to create styles that fit larger body types or, at the very least, curvy ones. Then I realized I had to know math… which I don’t.

Interior designer: organizing is a desirable pastime for me. I thoroughly fancy fitting items in my house into the perfect spots. I enjoy making livable spaces in less-than-ideal places. I find it satisfying to turn a room into a home. I still dream about doing that with a future home, and I dreamt about doing it for the homes of others. Then I realized I had to know math… which I still don’t.

Manhunt participant: I vaguely knew of the show Manhunt, but I really wanted to just play the game for a living. I wanted to run around in the forest and hide and climb trees and bound over mud and dive into thorny crevasses. I knew this wasn’t exactly a realistic option, but I could still hope.

Actor: I did an acting program after graduating for three months. I had an agent. I went to three auditions, though one was for a magazine shoot and only one was for a show. The agent dropped everyone on his roster to pursue making youtube movies, whatever that means. I decided against moving to Vancouver when I moved out because the pandemic was beginning and I didn’t want to be alone in a city as the world went to shit. I also knew that since it’s so ungodly expensive there, I’d have no time to go to auditions since I’d be stuck working multiple jobs to pay my rent.

Digital artist: I still hope to do this one someday, I just cannot afford an iPad right now. I love drawing and creating and have a lot of interest in animation. Maybe when my brain starts working and my wallet stops crying, it could become a reality.

Author: Again, hoping to do this one someday too. Just need time and a working brain. I have three books in my head, probably around eighty characters now, a show, a soundtrack, and many spin-off side-quest stories within the existing fictional universe. I have all the things in my noggin, just no noggin fuel to get it all out.

Dancer: I was always on and off with this one. I’ve done dance for twenty-one years but I don’t have a lean figure, I like food, and I never really knew if I was good at it or not. In the last year, this occupation’s spark has been rekindled, for now I know I’m good enough, I know people who think I’m worthy, and I know I can keep improving. The only thing holding me back is my deteriorating body, but once I figure out why I’m suffering, dancing is first on the list.

So there you have it, my answers to “what do you want to be when you grow up?” They haven’t changed, I’ve had the same hopes and dreams for more than a decade. I still want to gallivant in the forest, design my own clothes, decorate my house, act in fascinating shows, draw fanart for my unwritten book, and dance away my chronic pain. If I have a high school reunion, I’m curious to see how many of these dream occupations I’ll have crossed off my list.

[luminois]

Omg can I just say I love all your ships ❤️ literally the cutest things idk how you’re so creative with it ahhhh 🥰 and congratulations on 100 followers!!!

Hi I’m Natalie, it’s nice to meet ya! I’m the mom friend (sometimes the grandma friend lol). I like to go on walks wearing stompy boots and dancing to angsty rap, but then come home and waltz around the kitchen and cook to Frank sinatra. My favorite season is fall, when it gets cold at night and the stars look sharper. I like reading in the shade until I lose track of time, closing my eyes to feel the wind on my face, curling up in an oversized flannel, multicolored string lights, and vanilla candles that crackle when they burn. I’m a morning person because that’s the quietest time of day, and I love watching the sun rise and set ☀️ sunsets are my favorite to paint, though

thank you, i’m glad you like them 🥺 i don’t really know how i come up with it, i just go with what my heart tells me hehe but anyways, i think you’d go very well with seungminnie

he definitely shares your love for quiet and warm things

you both would go all out when fall approaches

your house would look like those perfect pictures you see on home design magazines

candles lit in every room, curling up in front of the fireplace, warm drinks at all times of day

but even without all those things the atmosphere would still be cozy and full of love

he truly just needs to be with you to feel fuzzy and at ease

jazz would constantly play when you’re cooking in the kitchen or spending time together on the couch

he would definitely start singing when the right songs come up and you pull him by his hands to dance with you

he can’t say he likes it as much when you take full control of the aux and hard rap starts to play but he still goes along with it because you enjoy it so much

you both go on walks together as often as you can, holding hands despite the cold while you’re covered up to your nose by coats and scarves

you don’t have to talk, just enjoy the scenery and sit under a tree or a cute bench to read

the colors of the fallen leaves on the ground would create such a magical atmosphere, and that’s all he really needs to be content with you

he would enjoy watching the sunrise with you so so much

minnie would make both of you tea or coffee and just sit with you on your house’s front porch

snuggled together with a blanket covering both of your shoulders

it feels like a magical experience everytime despite the impressive amount of early morning he has already spent with you

one of his wishes is to spend every morning just like this for as long as time will allow

sunsets are a different story

you’re usually more focused on capturing the right colors and shades on your canvas than just watching the sun disappear on the horizon with him

he doesn’t mind through, because he loves sitting back and admiring both the sunset and you standing next to it

his favorite thing to do is bringing out his guitar and humming out soft tunes to make the moment even more special

when you turn around to show him your finished painting he smiles and compliments you to no end everytime

to him, it doesn’t matter that every painting is a little similar to each other

there isn’t that many different ways to paint the same thing, and yet you always manage to make it memorable

he would surely keep every painting you make like it’s the most precious thing, because to him it truly is

this makes me want to live in a fall themed hollywood movie where i meet my soulmate at a coffee shop or something, so romantic 😭