#enjoy your freedom until next friday

[lotuspeacock]

the way it cut from this frame of rei sleeping peacefully

to kazuki looking like THIS

kazuki is never beating the homosexual allegations

[charliemwrites]

…. So Mister(s) steal your girl, huh?

Content: Unhappy Relationship, (Brief) Gaslighting, Sad Reader

Bombshells, you always thought, were supposed to making a whistling sound before landing. A high pitched warning of impending doom. Too late to escape the incoming devastation, but at least it wouldn’t come out of nowhere. There’d be some time to brace, for all the good it would do.

Maybe you watched too many movies.

Three months. That’s how long you got to enjoy the bliss of engagement before the world began to fall around you.

Your fiance came home and sat you down, his hand around yours. You thought he was breaking it off for some reason. What he did instead was worse.

In the aftermath you can only remember snippets of the one-sided conversation. Like tinnitus, an awful running in your ears left over from a dropped bomb.

Things like,

Still young, I want to explore…

How will I know you’re my forever unless I know what’s out there?

Last bit of freedom before being tied down…

If you love me and our relationship…

You love your fiance and your relationship. You don’t want to lose it just because you’re selfish. He’s still coming home to you, after all. You’re the one with the ring and all the plans for the future. So what if he wants to… explore? He’s even offering the same to you.

An open relationship, he calls it, like it’s some innovative idea.

You’ve heard of them before, never had much interest. Still don’t, honestly, but it was that or the desolution of 4 years.

You insisted on a long engagement. Your fiance promises that you two can revisit the open relationship when you’re married.

Within a week of agreeing, he’s leaves for the weekend. He doesn’t tell you where he’s going, who he’s meeting. He comes back Sunday evening smelling like someone else’s perfume with a hickey on his collarbone. When you refuse any advances, he sighs and says he “understands that this is a transition” and goes to shower.

It’s like that for six months. Weekends without him. Sometimes sending him off Friday morning and not seeing him until Monday evening. Lipstick on his collars, strange perfume invading the laundry. You start doing his clothes separately.

Six months. You spend months suffering in silence, sniffling through Saturdays and drifting through Sundays. Adjusting meal plans to cook for one.

The last straw is when you try to make plans on a holiday. You and your fiance haven’t done on a proper date in months. You want to go out, have all his attention on you, not shared with his phone.

“Ooh, sorry dear, I’ve already got plans with Malorie. Rain check, yeah? We’ll do something next week.”

You decide to go out anyway, sick of feeling sorry for yourself. Nothing fancy, just a bit of self care. You buy yourself a cute new outfit, put on a bit more makeup than usual, do your hair. Find an interesting little late night book shop. They serve wine and food and have comfy booths for people to read or talk or play board games.

The perfect place to be out but alone.

You’re debating the merits of a romance novel when a voice comes from your left.

“Love that one.”

You blink, glance up. Find a handsome man with eyes simultaneously so dark and so warm. Coals, you think. There’s a cheeky little quirk to his mouth as he nods at the novel.

“It’s good if you like will-they, won’t-they.”

You hum. “I’m more in the market for something… easier? If that makes sense.”

He hums, gives you a solemn look. “It does. Here, you might like this then.”

He plucks a book off the shelf and offers it for inspection. You feel awkward reading it the summary thoroughly, especially when you can feel his eyes on you. But you skim it, it looks promising, and a hot guy just suggested it, so…

“Read a lot of romance?” you ask curiously.

He ducks his head a bit, endearingly shy. “A bit, yeah. Call me hopeless.”

You bite the inside of your cheek, but can’t help saying. “I think it’s just romantic.”

His eyes light up. “Yeah? And what kind of books d’you usually like?”

Before you know it, you’re talking thrillers and horror novels with him. Recommending your favorite spooky novel and then following up that you always read a comedy afterwards as a palette cleanser.

You end up touring each other around the shop, talking books and authors and genres. Yet you’re somehow surprised when he asks if you’d like to sit with him. But you agree, a little thrill in your stomach that you haven’t felt since… a while.

You each buy a stack of books, then claim a booth and proceed to read none of them. He tells you his name is Kyle, that he’s in the military but on leave right now, stocking up on entertainment for flights or long spans of hurrying up and waiting.

You’ve never met a military guy before, and you trip over your curiosity. Trying not to pry but interested in what he does. He’s polite and patient, admitting there are a lot of things he can’t tell you but he’ll answer. You don’t stay on the subject long, figuring the last thing he wants to talk about it work.

He gets you back in the department of uncomfortable topics when he notices the ring on your finger. You’re quick to explain the situation, hot with shame all over again, eyes stinging despite yourself.

Instead of mocking you or just getting up and walking away, Kyle sits back looking flabbergasted.

“That’s fucking mental,” he says, “excuse me for saying.”

You burst into laughter. Haven’t told anyone any of this out of embarrassment, but hearing someone on your side is… good.

“I thought so too, but… he’s happy,” you admit.

Kyle frowns. “What about you?”

You blink, can’t look him in the eye. You know the answer but make a show of thinking about it.

“I’d… like to be again. This — the open relationship thing — seems to be working for him. So… maybe it’ll work for me too?” You shrug. “Worth a try.”

Kyle reaches across the table, a big warm hand enveloping yours. There are callouses you’re not expecting. Tantalizingly different.

“Would you like to try it with me?” he asks. “Don’t have to put a label on it or anything. But my schedule is a bit… it’s hard to keep up a traditional relationship, you know? But I like you, and I think your fiance is a knob.”

You snort, but flip your hand around, thumb brushing over his.

“Yeah…” you muse, and after saying it, a surge of confidence infuses you. “Yeah, I’d like to try this with you.”

His smile is absolutely brilliant. You won’t admit — not even to yourself for a long time — but you fall in love a little right then and there.

[pompomegranate]

homesick

⇢ miguel o'hara x f!reader

⇢ warnings | angst. casual alcohol consumption. mentions of death and miguel’s past in atsv. descriptions of loneliness, depression, etc. shifts from miguel’s pov to your pov. note that this part is not 18+ but the next part will be. meet cute? but not really? let me know if you want to be tagged in part two – i won’t block minors/blank blogs for interacting with this part one, but will for part two! edit: i’ll be fleshing this out into a longer series. read more about this in the next chapter/on ao3!

⇢ a/n | on the anniversary of the worst day of his life, miguel o’hara meets you. you can tell he’s suffering, so you do your best to comfort him. strangely enough, the loneliest man in the universe opens up to you.

⇢ chapter one | chapter two | ao3

One night per year, Miguel allows himself a break. It’s barely even that.

He eats, sleeps, breathes heroism. It’s embedded in his DNA – but there’s a small part of him (a very, very microscopic part at that) that aches for freedom. Freedom from the burden that comes along with shouldering the weight of the entire universe.

It’s not a holiday, per se. For anyone else, it’s just another day, but for Miguel, it’s the only day that matters. This time, it falls on a Friday – last year, a Monday. A Saturday the year before that.

He doesn’t tell anyone he’s leaving – save for LYLA, the only one who’s even remotely allowed to get close.

…until you.

It's not your fault you happened to be in the right place at the right time on a day like any other. You weren’t expecting to meet anyone.

The drinks slide down easy, the casual conversations even easier, but you want some time to yourself, so you settle in on the balcony, drink in hand.

The setting sun is balmy and warm on your skin. As the night approaches, the city bustles, alive and breathing beneath you.

The balcony is surprisingly calm, quiet. The buzz of the city below drowned out by the smooth beats rattling the thick walls of the bar. it’s loud in there, it’s loud down there, but not here.

You exist in this sliver of space that feels unreal, almost dreamlike, like the stars aligned perfectly so that you could take a deep, settling breath.

If the universe were as loose as your favorite sweater cardigan, you’d be nestled in the microscopic gaps, a sanctuary between its threads. You give it your thanks by taking a little extra time to drink in the sunset. You’re content. 

And this place is where you find him.

Of all the places he could be, this seems like the last one he’d enjoy. He's stiff and unrelenting, his hard-ridged, tense body sucking the air right out of the sky as he peers down over the edge.

“Hey, want some company?” You’re hospitable as can be when you approach, still high off of the gorgeous atmosphere.

“No.” His response is immediate, the word, icy and biting, cuts through the air like a sharp blade. “Thanks.”

He says he wants to be alone, but… you sense his loneliness. He doesn’t need solitude, nor does he want it. But clearly, friendliness does nothing to crack his hard exterior.

You stay, elbows perched against the brick-lined balcony, the gentle summer wind caressing your exposed skin.

There’s barely three feet of space between you, but even then he’s a thousand miles away.

He hasn’t made a move to look at you; he hasn’t glanced your way once. Time keeps ticking, the sun slinking lower till golden hour envelops everything it touches, long brush strokes painting the city in its gilded warmth.

You’re nearly done with your drink. Is a refill worth it or should you just make your way home?

It should be an easy decision, but this chiseled stranger is anchoring you in place. You’re too curious to leave, but not nosy enough to prod.

“Apologies if I’ve made you uncomfortable,” he murmurs finally. “I won’t be here long.”

You shake your head, the movement catching his eye. He glances your way and you finally get a glimpse of his rich brown irises, a similar color to his disheveled hair, thoroughly raked through with his long fingers.

His brow is set, deep wrinkles framing his eyes like warning signs.

But… although everything else about him is intimidating, his eyes are not.

There’s a fire that burns in him, the flames threatening to lick your skin raw if you get too close, but his irises, sooty and morose, tell a different story.

You stamp away your nervousness, instead pulling from the little bit of courage you’ve gained from your curiosity.

“I’m not uncomfortable.” Stay.

His posture relaxes ever so slightly at your admission.

More time passes and it’s clear he’s reflecting. He can’t tear his eyes away from the street.

“You don’t seem like the type to take to strangers.”

A ghost of a smile and he turns to face you, finally.

“It’s easier this way.”

Something in the way he says it makes you want to embrace him.

He says it like there’s no other way, like he’s resigned to his fate. Like no one could ever possibly understand.

That doesn’t stop you from trying.

“It could be easy, though,” you start, taking a tentative step towards him. He doesn’t pull away.

“You don’t know me, I don’t know you,” you continue. “If you won’t judge me, I won’t judge you.”

You flash him your palms and shrug. “I promise I’m a good listener.”

“I’m not much of a talker.”

You shrug again, less animated this time. “There’s no harm in trying.”

He winces ever so slightly and a brief spark of something you don’t recognize flashes across his face.

“We could start with your name,” you say.

“Miguel,” he says, voice gravelly, almost unused. “O’Hara.”

“Miguel O’Hara,” you repeat back. “We’re getting somewhere.

––––

He doesn’t know why he told you his name. Of course, you wouldn’t know that he’s Spiderman, because this earth’s Spiderman hasn’t been bitten yet.

So, he’s safe – for now.

There’s a tiny part of him – buried deep – that wants to blurt it out. I’m Spiderman. I help people. It’s consumed my entire life. I’m a good guy.

Does it matter? If he told you the truth, you might not think so.

And similarly, any self-importance, any need for validation died inside of him when he lost her that day. Today.

He stares down at the paved road, soaks it in.

The parked cars and meandering bodies twisting between the spaces – careless sprints across the street to greet friends who linger in the lamplight. Beat up parking meters and camera phones flashing – idle chatter and the bliss of shared company.

Miguel soaks it in like he does every year, reliving the worst moment of his existence on repeat while the world keeps turning without him.

He can still feel the earth crumbling beneath his feet as he helplessly tried to outrun the inevitable – the demise that he brought upon himself.

She’s weightless and trembling in his hands, terrified and screaming for him – and then she’s gone.

One moment, she’s the center of his universe; the next, it’s as if she never existed.

One moment, he’s at the dinner table helping her with her homework, icing homemade cupcakes for her class party, bringing her to Saturday morning soccer games at the local park – and the next, the world he tried so desperately to fit into fades away into nothing.

Bound by fate, a finite end.

Miguel was never supposed to be happy. It wasn’t in the cards for him.

The universe proves it to him time and time again.

“So… Miguel. How are you? Really?”

He tears his gaze away from the ground and back to you again.

You watch him with a curiosity and care that he’s not used to. It’s been a long time since anyone paid attention to him like this.

Fuck it. Maybe it’s time for a change. A brief break in the neverending cycle.

----

sorry this is short !! i wanted to put out this part to see if anyone’s interested in being tagged in part two – which is going to include smut, and like i said in the a/n please have your age in bio! just comment below if so :-)

i’ll be putting this on ao3 tonight as well if you’d rather read it that way! likes/rbs/comments appreciated <3

[vixentheplanet]

afterglow

“just don’t go, meet me in the afterglow.”

shuri x black!reader | 18+

Summary: You've been dating Shuri for a year. For a year, your relationship has evolved, revealing the challenges and joys of deepening connections.

A disagreement puts a momentary strain on your communication after the two of you fail to see eye to eye. You stop for something that will undoubtedly capture Shuri's attention before your next journey to Wakanda.

part one: heartbeat

word count: 4k

themes: heiress reader, little couple disagreement, make-up sex

warnings: sex

hi 💋 - idek what the summary was for this but LMAO the first time i posted this i never specified how long they were together and everyone was like typical lesbians 😭 BUT IT DOESN’T MATTER 🙄 they got married and had kids i’ll post the last part later.

also idk if i’ll post versace on the floor it doesn’t really add anything unless people want to read it

Since you and Shuri began dating, your time was divided between home and Wakanda.

You were now Esmé's Head of Interior Design back at home. Your father appointed you to the role after you assisted in overseeing the interior development of the Monaco Resort. The next step was to renovate the interiors of all Esmé Hotels one city/country at a time. That entailed a lot of flying between countries to look at furniture and meeting with a number of designers to help you get the aesthetic you wanted. Surprisingly, you enjoyed all the hard work that went into it.

Wakanda was breathtaking, the most gorgeous place you'd ever seen in your life. Shuri took you on a tour of her lab, telling you about its products and features. You had no idea what she was saying, but her face lit up as she spoke, and you enjoyed seeing that spark of excitement in her eyes. She took you to all of her favorite spots, and you got to meet Okoye and M'Baku. It pleased you that she had a support system when you weren't there. Now that you were dating, it made little sense for Shuri to fly to New York when you had more freedom to come to her; she could remain where she was needed.

By the end of this week, you’d be back in Wakanda for a two-week vacation. The two weeks were strictly no work, phone calls, or emails. You were going off the grid and away. You would never expect Shuri to do the same thing, but she always prioritized you.

There was an issue, as excited as you were. You and Shuri were fighting, not fighting but at an impasse. Making your relationship public was a tricky subject. On the one hand, Shuri's response was a firm no. You could understand at first, but as things progressed and became more serious, you brought it up repeatedly, a no. So you pushed and pushed and pushed until finally, Shuri raised her voice, which she never does.

Every couple argues. It's human nature to find yourself on opposing sides. Nobody will ever agree on everything. In those moments when things got heated, your fault, Shuri would tell you she’ll talk to you once you calmed down. Never did you think she would yell at you. In response, you did the first thing that came to mind and hung up on her.

Though, from the outside, Shuri would appear to be in the "wrong," you knew it was primarily your fault. You felt bad for bringing up the topic, but you wouldn't live in New York if you were afraid of otherworldly danger. You eventually cooled off and acknowledged that she had a point and that perhaps you hadn't been as reasonable as you could have been, but a week had passed without either of you apologizing or bringing up the incident.

She contacted you again to ensure you were still coming to Wakanda on Friday. Did she expect you to change your mind? Though you'd be back in each other's company, everything had been tense since that night. You hate it, and the distance wasn’t helping. You changed into your pajamas and went downstairs to the bar as soon as the call ended; it was more responsible than heading out to the club.

There were already people inside dressed in suits and designer clothes, presumably looking at you as if you were insane. Who cares what they think, this is your hotel. After all, you had more important things to worry about than the opinions of strangers.

"Marco, what do you do if you get into a disagreement with your significant other?" You whine as you stir the straw in your second Bronx Cocktail.

Macro paused in the middle of polishing a glass and placed a hand thoughtfully on his chin. "Well, Madam Esmé, I'd apologize."

The opportunity for apologizing had long passed. It was too late by the time you acknowledged you were being stubborn and that something this trivial wasn't worth it; there was tension in your relationship. "And when an apology isn't enough."

“Sex.” He responds as if it’s the most obvious answer.

You take another long sip of your drink. You're not drunk enough to start talking about your sex life in public. "Marco, be serious. I need a real solution.” Sex was tempting, but what if Shuri was too upset to consider it?

The bartender served a martini to an older woman seated a few seats apart from you. You figure she's alone until you notice a ring of at least ten carats on her finger. Impressive. Marco refocuses his attention on you, "That is a real solution. It's a way to reconnect after a fight, indicating that the relationship is still intact and that you still want the other."

"I don't mean to interrupt. I couldn't help but overhear." You look to see Mrs. Ten carats trying to interject herself into your conversation.

Well, she’s married, and at this point, no suggestion was a bad one, so why not listen? You turn your body to grant her implicit permission to continue. "Make-up sex is some of the most enjoyable sex you'll ever have."

“Sex can be an excellent way to reconnect with your partner if mixed with verbal communication to resolve your argument after," she explains.

Marco makes a sound of agreement. “Exactly! Sweat it out before you talk it out.” That makes you laugh. You can’t believe you’re having this conversation.

They were both making good points, but you had one other concern. “And what if this significant other isn't in the mood?” You say, frowning.

To be honest, you and Shuri fucked like rabbits. When the two of you were alone, you couldn't keep your hands to yourselves. You've lost track of all the places you and Shuri have spent private moments. A limo, her lab, the Sunbird, inside your purple Maserati, which was impressive considering how little the back seat was. Perhaps it was the distance, but every time you saw each other, you had to go through several rounds to get everything out of your system.

You could not believe you were doubting yourself, given your track record. You just wanted this resolved; this issue had you questioning everything and bringing up sex with Marco and strangers. Jesus.

Nonetheless, you needed to consider all the variables.

“You’ll just have to get very sexy.” The woman says, shrugging her shoulders. “Shouldn’t be hard for you.”

True. Still, you groaned. “Ugh, do you know how hard it is to already be sexy and have to be extra sexy?”

You down the rest of your drink, “You two be happy you don’t have my problems.”

“I would not dream of it, Madam.” And with that, you thank the woman and Marco for their advice and leave a generous tip before heading back upstairs.

The next day, you found yourself in a downtown luxury lingerie and bodywear store. You had your assistant call ahead to reserve the store so you could shop comfortably. You didn't need anyone in your business. Amaya was with you because shopping with a companion is always more fun, plus she was probably the only one you hadn't stopped talking to.

“Wow, you must really be in love.” Amaya is watching you with curious eyes.

“What?” You ask, confused at such a random outburst.

“At first,” she pulls something from the rack, stopping to look at it before shaking her head and putting it back. “Everyone thought you were joking about this relationship.” ‘Relationship’ in air quotes. “Because you never brought them around. Then you entered what I’ll assume is your honeymoon phase because you cut everyone off. Then you started working for your dad. You’ve changed.”

When you and Shuri began dating, you were enamored and wanted to spend as much time as possible with your girlfriend, which led to you spending a lot of time in Wakanda, away from everyone. While it is true that you cut everyone off, it was because you understood your worth and didn't want to be around people who took advantage of you. Furthermore, partying gradually faded from your daily activities, and your time was spent on more important matters.

You roll your eyes, “First of all, outside of you, I don’t know those people. Second, yes, I’ve changed. Sorry, I don’t want to take shots off of strippers anymore.”

“Don’t be so defensive. I’m not saying you’ve changed in a bad way. Whoever this is, it must be serious. You're clearly in love. They’re good for you.”

No doubt you're in love, and it was serious, but how serious? You'd never doubt Shuri's emotions, but you can't spend the rest of your life together, fearful of the outside world. It was a complicated matter which neither of you could agree on.

You were starting to feel overwhelmed. You had twenty-four hours before you had to depart, and you had far too many options before you. Everything looked stunning, with 24K gold hardware and satin elastic banding paired with various luxurious fabrics. It's a lot of choices.

“Do you think this is too much? We should just go to Victoria’s Secret or something.” You ask Amaya while admiring a garter on one of the mannequins. Interesting.

Amaya scoffs as if you said the most offensive thing in the world. “Cheap things like Victoria’s Secret are meant to be thrown off. Altier lingerie like this is meant to be admired. It’s an art, while your body is the canvas.”

She calls the sales associates over for assistance. “Let’s start with a color. Trust me, whatever you pick will drive whoever this is wild.”

Something was off.

Ayo, not Shuri, escorted you to Wakanda. "The Queen has been quite focused these past few days. She will meet you in the Golden City." Ayo explains. Fine, you could accept that. It happened in the past, so that wasn’t out of the ordinary.

However, when you arrived in Wakanda, Shuri was nowhere to be found. The personnel at the Palace recognized you for who you were and your close relationship with their Queen. Two attendants take your things.

"Uh, the pink box is a present you don't have to unpack," you tell one of the staff. The woman nods in acknowledgment.

When you enter the Citadel, two additional Dora Milaje members are waiting for you. "Miss Y/N, the Queen has arranged a spa day for you. These attendants have come to accompany you."

Spa day? “Where’s Shuri?”

“The Queen has business to attend and regrets not being here upon your arrival.” She says immediately. It almost feels rehearsed.

A relaxing day is fun and all, but you want your girlfriend. You put on a robe and a bikini. The facial and massage were comforting, but while you sat in the heated pool, you couldn't help but wonder. Nothing made sense. She didn't pick you up or greet you; now you're being pampered. Wow, she’s trying to distract you. What exactly were you expected to do? Can you imagine going two weeks without seeing each other? You sighed as you exited the pool and found your towel. How can you unwind while your girlfriend is avoiding you?

You put on the robe once more and proceed past the staff, who are prepared to attend to your needs. “I’m fine, thank you.” You say, despite their best efforts to care for you. You figured you would keep your distance and await Shuri in her chambers. You take the elevator to Shuri's floor and notice a familiar face entering the hall.

“Ah, Y/N, it is good to see you. I thought you’d still be in the spa.” Okoye said. So this was definitely planned.

"I was, but I won't be able to relax till I see my girlfriend." You say honestly. You didn’t mind opening up to Okoye. She has always been so kind to you, plus Shuri trusted her.

She hesitates for a moment as if carefully considering her response. "It's not my place to ask, but did something happen between you two?"

"Both yes and no, but yeah." You confess with a sigh. "I know she's avoiding me, but I need to find her and apologize."

"I think if you know your partner well enough, you know exactly where to find her,” Her tone is cryptic, allowing you to determine Shuri's whereabouts. Of course.

You smile. “Thank you, Okoye.” You both go your separate ways after she gives you a slight nod.

Inside, the pink box sat on the rectangular table in the living space. With more difficulty than you would like to admit, you change into the lingerie you bought. The Bordelle set matched perfectly with your YSL sandals. You take a second to admire it in the mirror before wrapping your silk robe over it to conceal what’s underneath as you travel down the hall and into the elevator to Shuri's laboratory.

“Panther, Y/N-“

"You're trying to avoid me." You accuse, cutting off Griot’s introduction of your presence. Shuri is sitting alone in front of the multiple displays, typing away at something. You can see her shoulders stiffen as she turns around at the sound of your voice.

You proceed to list all the things that are wrong with today. "You didn't come to pick me up. You didn't greet me, and the spa was a distraction." As much as you tried to be annoyed, she looked great in her black tracksuit, hair braided back, and the gold of her habitat peeking through the collar. She’s so fine, and it turned you on already.

Shuri lets out a heavy sigh rubbing a hand over her face. “I know. I’m sorry, my love.”

“I wanted to give you some space. I'm ashamed of how I spoke to you, and I wanted to do something nice."

Your heart ached as you saw Shuri's pained expression and realized how guilty she felt. You were so preoccupied with your thoughts that you didn't recognize how your argument affected her.

"I've been putting something together for you." She motions to the panoramic screen as if you comprehend anything on it. You'll ask afterward. "I planned on finishing it before dinner so I could properly apologize, but I see my actions have made matters worse."

You sit on one of the empty surfaces making sure to keep everything intact. With a crooked finger, you beckon Shuri over, and she comes, stopping right in front of you but not close enough. “We can talk about it later. Right now, I don’t want space. I want you.”

You take her hand in yours, putting it underneath your robe so her fingers can brush against the garters on your thigh. Shuri bites her lower lip. “You have five minutes to join me in your bedroom, or the next two weeks will be hell when you can only look but not touch.” With that, you remove Shuri's hand. Her eyes widen at your boldness before smirking, and her pupils dilate, signifying arousal.

It took everything you had to get up from the lab table and walk away from her. As much as you didn't want to, you knew you had to. "Five minutes, Shuri," you call out.

With that, you left, making the journey back to Shuri’s bedroom. You hadn't even gotten past the entryway when you felt a pair of arms lift you from behind. "How long was that?" Shuri whispers into your ear. All you can do is giggle as she carries you inside and places you softly on the bed. She watches you curiously from a distance.

“Want to show me what’s hiding under that robe?” You smirk, making a show of untying the knot in the front and letting the satin fall open and slip down your shoulders. Shuri bites her lip, her eyes roaming all over your body. Your body truly is the canvas showcasing the art of the intricate designs of this atelier body wear.

“Griot,” Shuri called to the AI, flinging off the jacket to her tracksuit. “Please inform everyone in the Palace I will not be disturbed for the rest of the evening.”

“Yes, Panther.”

“All this for me?” She asks, placing her kimoyo beads on the side table.

“Only for you.” You tell her biting your lip.

Shuri comes back in front of the bed. “You look so beautiful, angel.”

You raise your eyebrow. “Are you just going to stare?” She was taunting you, and god, you needed her now.

“I’m just admiring how gorgeous you look before I ruin you.” And that does. You moan while the moisture between your legs grows. The power she has on you, and she hasn't even touched you.

Shuri spent the first part of your evening activities between your legs, using her tongue to coax some of the most delightful screams out of you. You had no idea how long this had been going on; your mind clouded. Shuri adored the sounds you created so much that once was never enough. She took her time taking you apart. Her warm, wet tongue spread you open and greedily soaked up everything your body had to offer.

“Baby,” Your fingers rest on top of her head as your breath hitches. You weren't sure whether to push her away or fully surrender to the pleasure again as she sucked and licked all your most sensitive spots.

Shuri wouldn't let you go when the sensation finally became too much for you. You attempted to escape, but she grabbed hold of the elastic straps that covered your thighs and dragged you back. The flutter in your abdomen grows into a warm pressure, and you know you're coming again.

On instinct, your thighs close around Shuri’s head. She slaps your legs as a warning, and you let go, leaving them parted. As if to reward you, your girlfriend slips two fingers inside you, finding a rhythm that creates the right amount of pressure.

You have another moment of euphoric bliss as you grind down on Shuri's face and fingers. Shuri's palm has a solid hold on your trembling thigh, but it's spread just enough that it doesn't restrict her access. She doesn't stop until you're gasping for air, and you can only say her name as if it were a prayer.

Instead of getting up, she licks her way up your body, and a trail of moisture follows behind her tongue as she stops at your lips. You waste no time bringing her lips to yours, tasting yourself on her lips. Intoxicating.

When it comes time for you to take charge, you're still a little dazed and sensitive. Shuri is relaxed and lets you do all the work as you sink into the strap. With the strap being designed to fit inside you, the stimulation is instant. Not only was it ideal for you, but Shuri created it to provide the optimal pressure level for your girlfriend, which you can control based on the pace and depth of your movement.

“You’re doing so good, baby.” Shuri encourages you while you ride her. As you bounce up and down, you place your hands on the bed above Shuri's head for leverage. Shuri breaks your rhythm when she pulls you close to her.

Even though the bra is sheer, she tugs it down just enough to expose one of your breasts and begins sucking on the nipple. You groan at the suction. Your new position forces you to change your movement, slowly swirling your hips. "Fuck," you gasp, overwhelmed. You sense another climax near and decide to shift angles.

Leaning back slightly, you press both palms on Shuri's thighs behind you. “Mmm, such a good girl.” Shuri groans. The praise makes you throw your head back and work harder.

Your hips stutter as you cry out. The feeling is too strong, and you know your body will stop you, rejecting the possibility of another orgasm. Shuri draws you back to her as if she understands your hesitation.

"Baby, come here." Shuri rises and brings you in closer. You wrap your legs around her waist. Your arms encircle her, and you nuzzle her neck with your face. It was the closeness you had been desperately craving. You were so blissed out that you couldn’t speak anymore.

Shuri guided your hips to create a steady and consistent rhythm. It was slow, but you could feel the warmth increasing with each rock of your hips. Your entire body quivered. “You did so well.” Then she tells you how beautiful you are and how hard you've worked.

“Are you going to come again for me?” You nod.

"You don't have to say anything, but you have to look at me." Shuri rasped, her breath heavy as you let out gentle gasps as you felt her moving inside of you, the heat flowing through your body again, and you wanted to cry. It's way too good.

You lift your head from her neck and stare into Shuri's dilated pupils. Everything is heightened because you can see the intensity in her chocolate-colored eyes and how fixated she is on you. This position is less physically demanding, enabling you both to concentrate on how the pressure is affecting you.

When you come, your sighs become moans, then screams, as the hand on your waist rocks you back and forth faster and faster, driving you further into oblivion. It's pure desperation. Your head is flung backward, and your spine arches as your body spasms. When Shuri comes, the hand guiding you freezes as a loud shout of your name fills the room.

As you melt into Shuri's arms, your body becomes light. The intense orgasm and overwhelming intimacy take you over the edge, and you find yourself crying. "I know, baby," Shuri replies as she strokes your back. "You did amazing."

It takes a few minutes for you to let Shuri separate from you so she can get you both comfortable. It was a normal part of your routine to practice aftercare, but today you found yourself overcome by emotion. When Shuri returns, she removes the remainder of your garments and wraps you in her arms.

Later, when your bodies are intertwined under the tangled sheets, you start talking. You look at Shuri and whisper, "Hi," to find her looking down at you with such tender eyes.

“Hi,” she says, kissing your forehead.

Though you regained your voice, the rush of the orgasm has you fuzzy, so you speak whatever comes to mind. "I'll never have sex with anyone but you." Shuri laughs and shakes her head slightly.

"I hope so," she replies, reaching out a hand to caress the side of your face. "I apologize, my love."

"I'm sorry too." You pout because you adore her.

Shuri intertwines your fingers and brings your hand to her lips, leaving a warm kiss on the skin. "I love you, and your safety is something I will never bargain with. That's why I got angry, but I shouldn't have yelled at you."

“But, I realized instead of saying no, there are other options. So, when you're ready, I'd like you to live here with me." Shuri says it plainly as if she isn't proposing that you spend the rest of your life with her without a ring.

“What?” You can’t believe what you’re hearing.

"I know you want to make our love public, but I can't protect you if we're thousands of miles apart. I'll know you're safe if you live here." Not only does Shuri agree to publicize your relationship, but she's also asking you to move in with her in exchange. Did your orgasm transcend you to a parallel universe?

“I was working on an A.I. for you. If you agreed to live here primarily, I wouldn't expect you never to leave, but significant security precautions would be put in place. Non-negotiable.” She watches you, waiting for a response.

You don't realize how much you're grinning until your cheeks ache. "I'm going to require a closet with an elevator." Shuri rolls her eyes and leans in, your lips joining for a kiss sweeter than any you've shared tonight.

"You can have whatever you want, angel."

[thewritergremlin-rae]

Finding Your Forever Home

Home

Pairing: Alpha!Bucky x Omega!Mutant!Reader (a little slice of Steve/Sam) Characters: Bucky, Reader, OFC, Steve, Sam Rating: E Words: 2,815 Content: 2nd person, omegaverse au, mute reader, AFAB reader, dirty talk, oral (f receiving), heat sex, unprotected sex (p in v), knotting Summary: Your heat is on its way so you take off to visit the only other member of your pack. Your Alpha, James.

Neither of you know what fate is getting ready to throw at you. Ao3: HERE Notes: Omegaverse AU. Post Winter Soldier - Bucky is running around keeping his distance and trying to remember himself.

The Avengers are a pack. This includes - A!Steve, A!Tony, BSam, B!Natasha, B!Clint, O!Bruce, Thor and Loki. Thor and Loki are not exactly omegaverse dynamics but we'll get into that in a later part.

Reader had their vocal chords removed but does not remember howhow/why/any of it.

I have so much world building I want to word vomit but this is it for now.

Banners by cafekitsune

You waved to grab Miss Jones’ attention as the kids filed out of their last class on a Friday afternoon, heading to the common area or their rooms for the free time they had before dinner. 

She smiled, looking happy but with an edge of exhaustion, like she was ready for the weekend. Even if she still had to help watch the kids, you knew from experience that weekend duty was easier than weekday teaching. “Do you need something, dear?” Miss Jones asked, soft voice carrying as she paused her tidying to give you her full attention. 

You typed out the words on your phone before showing her the note; ‘I’m heading to a friend’s place for the next few days, do you need anything?’

Miss Jones continued to smile, considering the question. “Hmmm, no, I think we’re set for the weekend. Are you going to be ok, though? Your heat is coming up.” 

Living in, essentially,  a mutant boarding school, the teachers needed to know when everyone’s heats and ruts fell, as far as possible, to avoid any accidental triggering of each other or dubious consent going on between teenagers. You had to admit, the teachers had a hell of a job in just doing that, never mind having to try to keep everyone’s powers under reasonable control and teach them all.

You nodded, face heating a little. Oh, your ‘friend’ would definitely help you with that. Kind of hard to explain, though, that you’d found an Alpha from your pack who didn’t want any paper trails leading back to him. 

Lacking the ability to physically speak was the least of your problems in explaining that one.

Miss Jones pinned you with a steady gaze, the moments ticking by before she chuckled softly. “Sometimes, I forget how all grown up you are now. But just keep us updated, alright?” You nodded and gave her a brief hug before grabbing your bag from the back of the class and heading towards the garage. 

Soon on your motorbike, you hit the road, enjoying the freedom of the ride. You parked in a familiar city car park, ducking into a bathroom to change out of your leathers. Still another 10 minutes to go until you reached James' place, winding through alleyways and shortcuts, avoiding main streets and their CCTV to reach the back of an apartment building. The fire exit loomed high above, but instead you directed the wind around you to lift you to James’ window. 

You knocked using the pattern you’d decided on during the last visit. The slight twitch of a curtain was the only indication of life in the apartment before James’ fingers unlocked the window and slid it open. You floated in, hearing him close and lock the window once more as you took your boots off and carefully set your socked feet on the thin carpet. 

You released a breath you’d been holding before James’ scent hit you and he wrapped you up in his arms - your feet leaving the floor again. 

You wrapped your arms around him, relaxing in his hold and tangling your fingers in his hair, stroking gently.

He buried his nose in your neck and breathed in deeply, a quiet groan escaping him. “Omega- You’re close,” he huffed, concern coming across gruff as he nipped your shoulder. 

You squirmed in his arms, knowing that his close proximity  had your heat speeding up. You pinched his shoulder and he carefully put you down. ‘Tomorrow’, you signed at him. He didn’t look entirely convinced but relented, crossing to the fridge. “Good thing I stocked up on food.” 

But his face twisted into disappointment when he glanced across at his poor excuse for a bed. You’d never complained about it, knowing the thin mattress stemmed from his inability to deal with anything too soft.. Already half a step ahead of him, you emerged from the cupboard with an armful of a blanket, a spare pillow, and some of his shirts. 

He chuckled softly. “Those were in the laundry basket for a reason, doll.” 

You shrugged, looking perfectly happy; that just meant they smelt more like him. You dumped them on the mattress and started to arrange them into a comfortable pile, nuzzling into them and drowning yourself in his scent. 

James watched from behind the kitchen island as he prepared snacks, food, and drink bottles. but mostly just watched you relax and get lost in your own preparation. Your scent became more relaxed and content with each passing moment. 

You sat down in your nest, wearing only underwear and a stolen Henley, tugging James’ pant leg and patting a space next to you. “I can come in?” You nodded and tugged on his metal hand. James shirked off his clothes until he was down to his boxers and joined you on the mattress. 

You crawled into his lap, sighing contentedly as his broad arms wrapped around you - one significantly warmer than the other. “How’s everything at the school, doll?” James murmured into your hair, nuzzling and inhaling your scent. 

‘Fine, just got a couple of new kids arrived, one with telekinesis and one who can make ice-cream. She eats in class a lot.’ A few short breaths escaped you, laughing after showing him the notes app on your phone. 

“Some mutants have interesting powers, huh?” James asked. Not all mutant powers were necessarily useful. “But that must be great for a kid.” 

‘So long as she doesn’t make herself sick with it.’ You typed. ‘Or all the other kids.’ James’ warm hand settled on your back, rubbing warm, slow circles. 

“Yeah, she’ll be popular at parties, that’s for sure. Any kid would wanna invite a kid who can make ice-cream.” You nodded and put your phone away before beginning to push and tug at him. Always he easiest way to manipulate his body into what you wanted and you knew you could only do it because he allowed it. You laid on top of him and nuzzled into him, stomach fluttering with pleasure. 

Your heat was close, phantom pains warning of the cramps due to set in, but being buried in his scent after the absence of it was driving you insane. 

James’ hands drifted up and down your sides, squeezing and stroking as he buried his nose back against you. “Missed you,” he whispered, words barely audible despite the silence of the room. You nodded into his chest. Missed you too, you wanted to say, but all you could do was show him with your actions. You placed a delicate kiss over his heart, nuzzling and settling there. 

His arms squeezed gently as you buried yourself in your little bubble that smelt of James and home. 

You woke with a groan at the ache that had settled in your gut. James’ hand felt warm, already stroking absently, though you felt pretty sure he was still asleep. You tugged a blanket closer, nuzzling into the soft texture and breathing deeply.

Your mouth opened on a silent yelp as James dragged you closer. “Morning, omega.” he rumbled sleepily, nuzzling into your neck and kissing lightly along the gnarl of scars that served as the only hint of your muteness. He pawed at your stomach, rubbing soothing circles that eased the cramps and lit your nerves on fire.

Your breaths left you in heavy pants, James familiar with all the minute changes in your body. You never knew quite how, but he seemed to hear every hitch of breath no matter how silent, notice every change in temperature when your body burned for him. And, most frustratingly, knew right when you teetered on the cliff edge of an orgasm. 

But in your heats, he showed you mercy and took orgasm after orgasm until you were too exhausted to keep even one eye open. 

“Take these off, doll, you’re not gonna need them til your heat is over,” he breathed , plucking at the waistbands that already hung low on your hips. You wriggled out of them as fast as possible, the feel of the fabric only irritating the heat beneath your skin.

James caught your wrist before you tossed everything aside and dragged your clothes up to his nose. You shuddered at the deep rumble that made its way through his chest. “Fuck, doll-” He tore your clothes from your hand and tossed them aside before your back hit the mattress. He knelt on the bed, dragging you closer, your hips settling in his lap before he tugged your legs over his shoulders.

He ducked down, his warm mouth sealing hot over your clit, sucking and teasing with his tongue as his strong hands clamped over your thighs to hold you against him. Your mouth fell open in pleasure while he ravished you, sucking on your clit before his tongue licked slow paths from your cunt back to the sensitive bundle of nerves.

You squirmed to no effect but your breath hitched and caught on each desperate gulp of air to fill your lungs as your brain only grew fuzzier with pleasure. 

Your fists clenched, eyes snapping open as pleasure suddenly consumed you and your first orgasm washed over you, James’ moans vibrating through your core as you soaked him with your orgasm and the extra slick your body would need for the heat. 

Something between a groan and a growl escaped James as he licked you into a second orgasm that had you squirming and sensitive, pinching his thigh when it became too much. 

“Need to be inside you, doll.” He eased your lower half down and pushed you onto your front. You started to lift your ass, trying to get your knees beneath you but a warm hand settled on your lower back. “Not yet, jus-just stay like this-” James pushed your thighs a little wider before the heat of him engulfed your back and you could feel his thick cock filling you up. 

Home, home, home. The voice in your head chanted as he nuzzled into the back of your neck, sniffing and scenting enough to have your pussy clenching around him. You tapped the bed with your hand in a sequence that was the equivalent to a long, whiny ‘Alphaaaa’ before you signed ‘home’. 

James growled and rolled his hips, grunting and groaning into your ear. “Yeah, omega, home. Fuck- you feel so good. Almost forget how good every time.” He nipped the back of your neck, claiming you with a few harder thrusts that had your body shaking again in desperation. “Dunno how I let this sweet pussy go every time.” 

You were having similar thoughts about his cock and the knot you could feel just teasing at the entrance of your pussy. If you could just tilt your hips a little… Your eyes practically rolled back as the angle brought him deeper, James grunting and groaning above you until you felt the pressure of his knot and the relief when it pushed past your muscles.

Your body squeezed hard and desperate as you were pushed over the knife edge of pleasure, his cock hitting the perfect spot with each rut as he soon emptied himself inside you. Hot, thick ropes of cum filled you up and you couldn’t tell if you came again or if the last one had just continued for  that long. 

A heavy breath escaped as you sunk into the mattress, not caring about his weight on top of you. It felt perfect and his hands rubbed along your arms, twining your fingers with his. James didn’t always talk much but you didn’t need it when you could feel him, could hear him snuffling and kissing any skin he could reach.

It would take a while for his knot to go down but his cock stayed hard inside you. You’d never had anyone to ask about that; an Alpha’s knot was supposed to keep you two locked together but James always remained hard. He let you rest and calm a little before he whined and started rocking his hips again. 

Then he got more talkative and filthy. He nipped at your ear, claiming your attention, as if anyone else could right now. “So hot, so pretty, ‘mega. Wanna - hnn - stay inside you all heat. Fill you so much you can see it.” 

You shuddered hard as he moved, trying to move with him, but he hushed you gently. “Shh, shh, just relax. Just relax, I got ya.” His knees slid below the two of you, his hands finding your hips, claiming a few vigorous pumps of his cock before his hands found your soft belly. 

Pleasure lit up your spine like a highway, a huffed groan slipping past James’ lips as your delicious walls squeezed around his fat cock. “Gonna give you all my cum, omega. Will that make you happy?” You nodded furiously, managing to rock back a little to pull him deeper; even if there was no deeper to go, you needed it. 

James rolled his hips, starting a slow but steady pace. He held you tightly, pinning you, to claim and touch all those sensitive places inside you he’d already claimed once. He groaned out a curse, hips slapping harder against your skin as neediness and desperation claimed his actions once more. Soft growls and snarls echoing above you as he chased that second release and filled you up once more with his seed. 

He settled that time, placing gentle, loving touches to every part of you he could reach. He could smell your satisfaction, for now, and let that warm the both of you as his cock softened but his knot kept you firmly connected. 

You knew once it started to deflate that you’d be desperate for him but for now you could enjoy the satisfaction just a little longer.

You returned to the school with a bounce in your step. Sure, it would be another week or so before you could see James again, but he’d left you feeling so warmed and cared for that you still floated on cloud nine. 

Huh.

You circled an unfamiliar car in the garage, not seeing anything untoward, before heading inside. You padded through the building, looking around for Miss Jones to let her know you’d made it home. A light shone beneath her office door so you knocked and waited. The soft sound of conversation stopped and the door opened, Miss Jones peering out.

“Oh good, you made it home ok!” She gave you a quick hug before raising an eyebrow. “Friend, hmm?” Miss Jones teased and you flushed but she only continued to smile. “Make sure you have something to eat before you go to bed. We have a couple of guests here for some lectures. I’ll introduce you in the morning.” 

Curious about the guests, food and cleanliness called your name far more insistently, so you gave a nod and a wave goodbye and drifted off.

Miss Jones watched you go before closing the office door again. “Sorry about that, gentlemen! So your room will be in this area of the school, this area is for omegas only - there are signs on the door so don’t worry about accidentally wandering in.” 

“Sure, thanks!” Sam smiled at her but turned to Steve, who hadn’t said anything. He seemed lost in thought, staring at the closed office door. Or more like trying to look right through it. Laser vision was not a super soldier power, right? “Hey. Steve?” 

He jumped a little when Sam’s waving hand tore him from his head, the room coming back into focus. Good thing Steve knew how to be mindlessly polite. “Yeah, great, thank you.” 

Miss Jones was kind enough not to say anything as she led them from her office over to the room they’d be staying in until they headed back to the States. 

Sam said goodbye to her, Steve clearly just going through the motions. “What’s going on with you?” he finally asked when the door had clicked shut and the two were left to their own devices. 

“The omega that knocked on the door…” Steve murmured. There had been something familiar about the scent. He hadn’t been able to tell if it was the omega or someone else's scent on them but it tugged desperately at something he couldn’t place. “Their scent was kind of familiar but I…” Steve shook his head and sank down onto the bed. “I don’t know, I’m probably just tired.” 

Sam nodded and squeezed his shoulder. “It sounds like they live here so we’ll get a chance to meet them, might jog that old memory of yours.” He gave Steve’s head a nudge, and got a gentle hit on his leg in reply. “And we’ll find Barnes,” Sam assured him, cupping his cheek. 

Steve pressed into the touch and breathed in Sam’s calming scent. “Yeah.” Some day. 

He hoped.

[yelenasdiary]

For FicMas or whatever you gonna call it 🤭

So I still can't get these two out of my head but Headmistress Maria Hill and Vice Headmistress Yelenas Belova. They run a huge Private College in Paris. The college students have to wear uniforms but they don't care if the boys wear skirts or the girls wear pants they just have to wear the college colors and the college symbol. Reader is one of the top students studying culinary. She's close with Maria and Yelena since they used to tutor Reader when she was younger because she had a hard time learning then. On Winter break Reader asks them if they would like to join her and her family for Christmas and they said that they were busy with stuff as the Headmistress and Vice Headmistress of the college but Reader begged them to go with her and they finally gave in and agreed. Reader's family welcomed the two in with open arms and treated them like family. The three spent all week together until it was Christmas and they watched Reader open all of her presents before giving her a small box (necklace or bracelet I don't care which) and then they have Christmas dinner and laugh and chat about stuff.

You can decide whether or not there's smut at the end of it. If there is you can also pick if they're Intersex or not!!! 🤭

-🌊

Trapped by Snow

Pairing: Headmistress! Maria x Vice Headmistress! Yelena x Fem! Reader (Platonic)

Summary: After finally convincing your headmasters to join you for Christmas, a snow storm has a mind of its own. 

Warnings:Comfort, No Warnings | 1.8K

AC:I hope you enjoy this!! It was really fun and something different to write xx

Holiday Special Masterlist

"Have a great Christmas break everybody! Stay safe and have a wonderful Christmas!" your culinary professor said with a smile as they dismissed the class for the much-awaited Christmas break. You packed up your belongings, the class was a rather relaxing session of theory catch up allowing you that extra time to get those extra marks that you wanted. Being one of the top students in the class was something your parents where very proud of, you weren't always great a schoolwork but if it was something you were interested in, you were able to get some of the top marks for said class. 

You threw your backpack over your shoulder before making your way out the door, leaving the thought of your studies behind. The hall was crowded with other young adults making their way to the doors of stressless freedom. Fridays wishing you a happy holidays in passing as you made your way through the people and turning the corner. Unlike everybody else, you weren't aiming to get out of the building, instead you were on your way to the headmaster's office. 

"Good afternoon, Y/n!" The receptionist greeted you with a warm smile. 

"Good afternoon Alice! Excited for the Christmas break?" you asked as you took your backpack off and pulled out a container of freshly baked Christmas cookies. 

"4pm couldn't come quick enough" she chuckled. 

"Well, hopefully these can help you pull through the next hour" you replied as you handed the small container to her. Her eyes lit up, everybody loved your baking as well as your cooking and you couldn't bring yourself to leave the college without spreading a little Christmas joy to those who have been working so hard over the year. 

"You're a gem!" She complimented as she snuck a cookie and closed the lid, almost melting with the taste exploding in her mouth. "These are delicious!! Thank you" she added with a smile. "You're welcome! I'm glad you like them, is Maria and Yelena in?" You asked. 

Headmaster Maria Hill and Vice Headmaster Yelena Belova have known you since your parents made the big move from the States to Paris so you could attend the college without the stress of being in a different country alone. At first, it was a rocky start. Trying to fit in somewhere and understanding a whole different concept of learning had eventually taken its toll on you and the two women were always there to make sure you were okay. They even tutored you during the first 2 years of your studies, you grew pretty close with the two women and decided to invite them both to join you and your family for the holidays. 

"They sure are, go on through" Alice mumbled with a mouthful of cookies. You thanked her and wished her a happy holiday before making your way to Maria's office, knocking on the hard wooden door. 

"Come in" you heard Maria's voice softly travel from behind the door. You opened it slowly to be sure you weren't interrupting anything before making your presence known. Both women were heads down at their desks in paperwork. 

"You know you're supposed to take a break every hour" you spoke, gaining the attention of the two headmasters. Maria smiled while Yelena just chuckled. "I wish, we have so many new enrolment forms that we have to get done before the next of the week!" Maria explained, running her hands through her hair to adjust it. You took a seat on the large leather sofa that the headmasters had in their office for decoration, making yourself at home. 

"Well, you're going to have to take a break because it's Christmas break and I am inviting you both over for Christmas!" You said full of confidence. Yelena looked up at you as if you were joking, "you know we can't" she replied earning a nod of agreement from Maria. "You can't or you don't want too?" You challenged the blonde, a cheeky smirk tugging at your lips, "it'll be fun! plenty of food, games and my parents would love to have you both over" you added. 

"As much as a we would love that honey, we just have way too much to do before the end of the year and getting things ready before you all return after Christmas" Maria replied. Yelena chuckled knowing full well that you weren't going to take no for an answer, she watched as you pulled out another container of freshly baked cookies and began to munch on one. "I mean it" Maria added as she playfully shook her head at you while you chewed on the Christmas treat. 

"So do I" you replied shortly after, "come on, it's one day! There's plenty of food, trust me! My family can really cook up a feast, then after, we open some gifts and may I add, I did put a little something under the tree for you both as a thank you for a wonderful year and again, did I mention my parents would love to have you both over?" You added knowing you had already won Yelena over minutes ago. The room went silent, strong eye contact between you and Maria was shared before a defeat sigh came from her lungs, "Alright, we'll be there" she broke causing you to give her a rather big and very proud smile. 

---

Christmas morning came faster than you could blink. You woke up to the sight of snow covering the front lawn of your home, a warm smile tugged at your lips as you grabbed your robe and raced down the stairs to greet your parents. "Merry Christmas love!" Your mother hugged you tightly, your father just gave you a soft nod as he was still downing his coffee and adjusting to being awake in such cold weather.

"Merry Christmas guys!" You smiled at the two of them. 

"There's a snow storm coming in so I thought while I was getting lunch ready, you and your father would go out back and make sure everything is secure" your mother went on, already in her traditional Christmas apron. Although it was a little after 10am, your mother was always cooking early on Christmas day. "I'll just have a tea and go change into something else" you smiled before making your way over to the kettle. In the background, the daily news gave updates on the coming snow storm that you knew your mother would have on all day, your father wasn't one to worry so much about these type of things so he was a little more laid back. "Do you know when Miss Hill and Belova are arriving? I sure don't want them to get stuck out in the snow!" Your mother asked with concern.

"Uh, I did say we have Christmas lunch around 1pm so I think they mentioned something about being her around midday" you replied, pouring the boiling water into a mug. Your mother nodded and returned to her cooking while you took a seat next to your father and enjoyed the warm drink in your hands. 

After helping your father in the backyard you took a shower and got ready for the ready. You could hear the chitter chatter from downstairs that told you that your two guests had arrived and you were rather excited to give them their gifts after Christmas lunch. 

"You guys made it! Merry Christmas!!" you smiled as you greeted the two headmasters in the living room with a hug each. "Just! The snow is just getting worse!" Yelena replied.

"Lunch isn't too far away, please make yourselves at home" your mother inserted before you could say another word. You offered the women a glass of eggnog before the three of you sat around the living room talking about the school year. 

----

After lunch it was time to open gifts, this was your families usually tradition, lunch then gifts. The smile on your lips grew with anticipation to give the headmasters the gift you've had wrapped under the tree for weeks. It was almost impossible to even talk to them the way your parents were talking to them! They loved them, especially your father who thought it was great that you were still close with them or maybe it was the hopes deep down you'd learn plenty of leadership skills from them the two. 

"Roads are now closed due to the conditions of the snow storm, officials advise everybody to stay indoors until further notice!" The news reporter's voice caused the living room to turn silent. With the different conversations and plenty of shared laughs over lunch, the snowstorm was forgotten about. You looked outside the window which was already half covered in snow. 

"Well, it looks like you two will be staying here until it's safe" your mother said, "I'll set up the guest room a little later, I hope you both don't mind sharing a room" she added. 

"Don't stress, it'll be fine, thank you" Maria smiled. 

You grabbed Maria's gift from under the tree and handed it to her before going back to get Yelena's. "Y/n! you didn't have to get us anything!" Yelena spoke as she kindly took the gift from your hands. "I know, but I wanted too"! You replied with a smile and returned to your seat to watch them open their gifts. Maria started first, slowly she peeled the Christmas themed gift wrap off each end of the present and pulled out a book you knew she was looking for. 

"Oh my! Y/n, I have been looking everywhere for this!" She looked up at you, "where on earth did you find it?" she asked. 

"I was able to find one online, took me forever to find it!" You replied knowing she loved the present. 

"Thank you so much! I am lost for words, you shouldn't have!" 

Yelena began to open her gift next, her eyes widened when she saw the ghostface action figure that she wanted for her collection. "How did you know?!" She asked you but you just chuckled and playfully shrugged your shoulders. 

Maria rose from the sofa and handed you a gift, "this is from both of us, you're worked really hard this year, and we are both really proud of you" she smiled as you kindly took the gift. 

"Thank you!" You smiled before you slowly began to open the gift. A silver bracelet with an engraved quote in a fancy font sat gracefully in the black box. "The future belongs to those who believe in the beauty of their dreams." Read the quote as you picked it up to read. "This is so beautiful, thank you!" You smiled once more before getting up to hug the two friends. 

Even though being snowed inside for the holidays wasn't on the list of things you wanted to happen, you were rather glad it did. You got to enjoy plenty of time with those you loved and cared for the most.

Taglist: @red1culous | @bentleywolf29 | @jeyramarie | @lissaaaa145 | @high--power | @parkerdaramitzzzz | @mmmmokdok | @wackymcstupid | @kiwiana145 | @valiantmugcowboyscissors | @observeowl  | @nattyolw | @ripofflizzie | @get-the-fuck-outta-here | @goofy-goonie | @makegoodchoices | @apollo2907 | @marvelfan98 | @wandaroman0ff | @dumb-fawkin-bitch | @lovelyy-moonlight | @santana1437 | @fluffyblanketgecko | @puta1 | @inluvwithfictionalwomen | @tintedrose12 | @jaymieflorissssssss | @tita001 | @youralphawolf72 | @crescent-witch | @randomnessbecausewhynot | @natashamaximoff69 | @a-dorkier-book-keeper | @hehehehannahthings | @secrettoallofyou | @romantic-slaps-on-the-asss | @marvel-fan-2021 | @mmmmokdok | @riveramorylunar | @ripofflizzie | @toldthatdevil | @itsmv3 | @katiemay-025 | @maria-403 | @boredandneedfanfics | @wandamaximoffspuppup | @xox-little-troublemaker-xox | @irishhappiness | @music-4ever | @hyper-fixated-delusions | 

[arealphrooblem]

Mutually Assured Destruction Part 8

Part one here

Part seven here

They spent Friday on the couch, addicted to, of all things, an interior design competition show. Civilian felt fine enough for work but Jonathan refused to take them back. And when Civilian nearly fell over from dizziness in the shower, they begrudgingly admitted that he had a point.

At first Jonathan only glanced over occasionally from the doorway of the kitchen as he prepared tea and soup, or from his armchair as he read one of his books. But then his gaze lingered more and more until the third episode ended, when one of the contestants was declared winner of that round.

“What the fuck?” he said, sitting straighter. “That design was dogshit and everyone knew it.”

Civilian snorted. “They’ve been kissing this contestant’s ass all season so far. I don’t know why.”

“If he wins, I may have to break this television.”

“That’s not going to change the outcome.”

“No but it might make me feel better.”

When the asshole contestant lost, Jonathan fist pumped the air. Civilian couldn’t help but laugh behind the throw pillow.

“You are way more invested in this than I am,” they said.

“The world may be grossly unfair, but I like to pretend meritocracy exists on trashy reality shows.”

“Have you ever seen another competition show? That’s the last place for meritocracy.”

“Shut up and let me enjoy this young woman’s victory.”

Civilian grinned. “Or what?”

He glanced at them side-eyed, as if weighing his next words. “Or I’ll poison your soup with a laxative.”

Only a small flutter of nerves responded to his threat. It wasn’t necessarily the threat itself that caused it, but the matter-of-fact tone that delivered it. Joking or not, Jonathan’s threats never sounded empty. Even so, Civilian was going to trust him on his word. If he betrayed them and killed them anyway at the end of all this, at least Civilian didn’t live the rest of their days in a constant state of fear and panic.

“I’ve been on a mostly liquid diet the last three days, I don’t think you’d need a laxative to get the result you wanted,” they pointed out.

Jonathan pulled a face. “Disgusting. Point taken.”

“And speaking of soup . . .” Civilian let their eyes dart meaningfully to the kitchen.

“You’re hungry again?” Jonathan sighed and stood up from the couch. “Well, it’s a good sign I suppose.”

Civilian wondered, as Jonathan cooked for them on command, if he was lonely too. He had said he’d given up everything for his freedom. Perhaps he regretted such a high cost.

Or perhaps this was a long con, making Civilian feel warm and friendly to him so they wouldn’t snitch. You could never tell with Jonathan what, if anything, was sincere.

This time Jonathan included a thick grilled cheese with Civilian’s soup. They hid a smile — perhaps the laxative comment really did get to him.

“Will you let me go home tomorrow?” they asked as they stirred their soup.

“You ask that as if you’re my prisoner.”

“You mean, after forcing me to come here, making sure I have no idea where I am, and the ability to stop me from leaving, I’m not a prisoner.?”

“I — okay. Fair point. But you were the idiot who showed up to work with a 102 degree fever. Your judgment couldn’t be trusted. I don’t regret it.”

“You’re not answering my question,” Civilian said.

Jonathan rolled his eyes. “Yes, you can go home tomorrow. I could drop you off at the parking garage after dinner, even. I’m sure you’re dying for your bed again.”

Civilian’s eyes lit up. “Really? Tonight?”

“So excited,” he drawled. “You make it sound like I’ve kept you chained up in the basement this whole time.”

“Maybe if you had a basement you would have,” Civilian retorted.

“Don’t tempt me. You’d make a very nice prisoner — docile, sweet. That pulse of yours jackrabbiting in your chest while I spoon feed you soup.”

A strangle shiver danced along Civilian’s spine. Jonathan wouldn’t need chains to keep Civilian where he wanted them. Jonathan could steal every avenue of rebellion away from them, too.  They should hate the thought of it. And they did.

But part of them didn’t. A part that Civilian didn’t want to analyze right now. Or ever.

After one last nourishing bowl of soup — during which Civilian did not imagine Jonathan spoon feeding it to them — Jonathan packed Civilian back into his car. He did not force Civilian to close their eyes on the way, but asked instead.

“The less you know about me, the safer you will be,” he pointed out.

Civilian complied, keeping their eyes shut tight the entire drive back. They didn’t even dare peek during the stoplights. Jonathan delivered them safe and sound to their car in the parking garage. Ever the gentleman, he got out first and opened the door for Civilian.

They hesitated. The entire “vacation” spent with him had Civilian chewing on the same question, caught in an endless debate on whether or not they should ask it.

“Well?” Jonathan asked, gesturing widely to the parking garage. “Don’t tell me you want the basement now that I’ve driven you all the way back here.”

Civilian swallowed their nerves. Screw it. Now or never.

“Your grand plan . . . .Is it going to hurt a lot of people?”

Jonathan gave them a cautious look. “Does it matter? It’s going to happen regardless.”

“I know. I just — don’t know what to expect out of you. Ever.” They swallowed and looked away. Maybe it was stupid to ask. What kind of answer could they even expect out of a person like Jonathan?

“My grand plan,” he replied slowly, thoughtfully,  “is going to ensure my freedom in a way that can’t be threatened. And if it works the way it’s supposed to, then no. I’m not going to hurt anyone.”

Relief flooded them, a sudden weight lifted they hadn’t known they were carrying. Freedom. That’s what he wanted — not power or death, just freedom. Civilian couldn’t begrudge him that, no matter how screwed up their circumstances were.

Fingers tipped their chin back up to his gaze, which had turned steely.

“But no one had better get in my way.”

“I won’t,” said Civilian. “You — you deserve your freedom. I don’t want to jeopardize it. I know you probably don’t believe me but —“

He shushed them with one finger pressed against their lips. The hard glint of his eyes had softened. “It’s not safe for me to believe you. But I appreciate it all the same. Now go home, Civilian.”

Something strange fluttered and twisted in their gut at the feel of his finger on their lips. Civilian nodded, mute, before unbuckling the seatbelt and getting out of the car.

“Civilian! So good to see you back and at it again!”

Gloria popped her head between the divider wall of their desks, scaring the shit out of them.

“Yep,” said Civilian awkwardly. “It’s . . .good to be back?”

“Well I wouldn’t go that far. I noticed Jonathan wasn’t here the rest of last week. If that was my boyfriend I wouldn’t be eager to leave his tender loving care.”

Gloria winked and Civilian’s neck flushed in horrified embarrassment.

“It wasn’t — um, I —“ Civilian stuttered, but Gloria didn’t really wait on a response.

“Let me tell you, that boy was worried sick about you all last week. I’m glad he took those days off, he was useless. Always looking over the dividers for you, fidgeting at the computer, making ten cups of coffee. . . .”

Boy, when Jonathan put on a show he pulled out all the stops, Civilian thought with a snort. Though Gloria was such a romantic, it didn’t take much to fool her regardless.

“Yeah, he was pretty, uh, worried back home,” Civilian said, casting desperately about for a way to end this conversation.

“Back home you say? I didn’t think you guys took that step so soon. Good for you! Go get ‘em tiger!”

Dear God in heaven. Where was Jonathan’s power when you actually needed it?

“What? No — that’s not what —“

An then — as if Jonathan could read their mind as well as their boy — Civilian’s hand lifted up on it’s own accord. They watched with morbid fascination as their body pulled out the post it note pad and a pen and started scribbling.

“How do you write so well without looking?” Gloria asked, mystified.

True panic started to set in.

“I’m so sorry, Gloria, but I have a lot of work to catch up on,” they said frantically. “If you’ll excuse me —“

Her eyes widened. “Of course, of course! Don’t let me keep you. Talk to you soon, Civilian.”

The relief at watching her leave almost made Civilian forget what Jonathan had written to them until their hand picked up the post it note pad and waved it in front of their face.

Do you like Shakespeare? Want to see a play this weekend?

Civilian squinted at the handwriting, back in control again. Jonathan had never asked Civilian to go anywhere — he told them. Before Civilian could formulate how to reply — both personally and physically — their hand scribbled out another message.

Meet me in the b.r. ?

The question mark was added a second after the fact. Civilian waited for their body to stand up and walk like a puppet, but Jonathan seemed content to let them go on their own. Curious and a little apprehensive, Civilian stood up and headed to the break-room.

Jonathan was already putting fresh grounds in the coffee filter when they entered. He smirked at them.

“Next time, should I propel Gloria away from you with a sudden bathroom emergency.”

Civilian pulled a face. “You can control people’s bowels?”

His smirk twitched in response.

“That’s highly unethical,” they muttered.

“That’s not a no.”

Civilian pursed their lips against the yes they wanted to say and Jonathan’s smirk grew into a full smile.

“So, your answer,” he said, flipping the coffee pot on and leaning against the counter.

The thought of having a choice felt so foreign. Civilian wasn’t sure what he wanted from them. “Does the answer matter?”

“Shakespeare isn’t everyone’s cup of tea,” said Jonathan. “It’s Much Ado About Nothing, by the way.”

“Do you like that play?”

He gave her a curious look. “Yes, but that’s not what I’m asking.”

Civilian bit their lip. “Are you asking?”

He looked at them, brow furrowed, for a moment before realization dawned on him.

“Yes, Civilian. I’m asking.”

“Then — then I would love to go.”

“Excellent.” That boyish grin brightened his face.

Civilian had to remind themselves, against the flutters in their chest, that his inner self was never as innocent as his outer self looked

Part 9 here

Taglist: @those-damn-snippets @heroes-villains-side-blog @anonymousewrites @follow-me-into-the-fog @sunnyside-world, @rivalriotrenegade @trappedgoose-in-a-writblr-room @midnightsillusions @villain-obsessed-word-nerd @deflated-bouncingball @pickleking8 @cesspitoflove @to-sneak-away-and-hide @im-a-wonderling @hasel-anne @ghostly-writer @moonknight-s-cumdump @valiantlytransparentwhispers @galactic-squiddo @boomimhere @organizedchaos03 @dungeon-roomba @vidiaka @powerflower119 @cbiom @meltedgallium @skevethefool

[theclairvoyage]

Centrifugation: Chapter 1

plasmadonor!Joel x f!reader

You’re the star phlebotomist at the local plasma center, and the job has been increasingly mundane as of late… until a new and handsome Texan donor comes to the center and changes that, and the rest your life.

Series Masterlist

Series warnings:

AU, M/F, Age gap (20 years)-reader’s YOB is 1995 (purely coincidental lolol), eventual SMUT, blood, needles, & plasma talk (nothing too graphic, I promise!), a bit of blasphemy, criticism of religion, mentions of death, divorce, angst, fluffity fluff fluff, alcohol consumption, violence.  Individual chapters will have specific warnings.

FYI – this work contains criticisms of religion and reader is atheist/agnostic.  Feel free to scroll if this offends you.  If you decide to read, remember that even if you are religious, this is not an attack on you, but rather ideology.  And remember the tenets of religious freedom.  Everyone has the right to believe – and NOT to believe – in the things you do.

Plasma Center UrbanDict:

Stick = venipuncture

PR = permanent rejection, aka permanent deferral

Reception = where donors have vitals taken to determine if they are suitable to donate

Donor Floor = where the magic happens, baby! Where donation occurs, aka sticks with big 17G needles

 Processing = where units of plasma are sampled and frozen

This is my first ever fic! Excited to share all of it with you. I'm new to posting this kind of stuff on Tumblr, so please forgive rookie formatting and whatnot. Hope you enjoy! As of 03/10/24, I have 6 chapters written - I'm juggling my writing with finishing my MPH degree, so my schedule might be a little spotty until mid-May.

Chapter 1

Chapter warnings: blood, needles, & plasma talk, light violence.

WC: 3.7k

Friday, October 15th | 0755

You turn into the parking lot at the plasma center, a little later than your usual 10 minutes early.  Your shift is at 8, so you don’t have much time to walk to the center, clock in, grab your coat and face shield and get to work.  Thankfully, the parking lot is just across the street.  As soon as you step out of your car, downtown Omaha greets you with the familiar scents of cigarette smoke and fall air, along with the sounds of the city buses and commuters chugging along.

It’s a nice morning.  Living in Nebraska means you get to experience the peaks and valleys of all four seasons, and during fall, this means the leaves of what few trees are in the downtown area are painted lovely hues of orange, yellow, and even red – if you’re lucky enough to find a scarlet or pin oak tree.

The plasma center parking lot is shared with employees and donors, and it’s packed this morning.  Not a great sign.  You walk up to the back employee entrance and punch in the code.  The keypad beeps and lights up green and you pull open the ages-old, heavy-as-hell door and make your way to the break room.

The donor waiting area is just outside the break room door, and you can tell by how full it is that it’s going to be a long day, confirming your earlier suspicions in the parking lot.  Somebody definitely called in, you think.  Great.  Punching in the same code as before, you enter the break room, throw your stuff in your locker, and clock in.

As soon as you’re on the Donor Floor, donned with your white lab coat, blue nitrile gloves, and face shield, one of your best phlebotomists and good friend Keri approaches, looking flustered as hell.

“Jesus, thank fuck you’re here,” she sighs, taking a deep breath and raising her eyebrows at you.  She smooths back her frizzy hair and sets down her face shield on the counter next to you.

“Are we short today, or did corporate send out some bonus texts to half of Omaha?” you say, checking the Donor Queue on the computer.  15 people waiting, average wait time of 43 minutes.  Fucking clean up time, I guess.

“Two call-outs, but they’re newbies, so it wouldn’t have mattered, really,” she says.  “Definite yes on the bonus texts.  Regulars are all pissed off because they didn’t get any.”  You roll your eyes and sigh.  To get more donors in, the company you work for has been sending bonus texts to donors that haven’t been in in a while, which really ticks off the regular, twice-a-week donors.  It’s all about meeting that liters budget.

“Where do you need me?  Breaks need to be sent?” you ask her.  You’re the lead phlebotomist, but you always check in with whoever opened before you make any decisions.  Keri nods.  “Send Blake to break, he’s got an open section now and we’ve got to get these wait times down.”  You grab your mobile phlebotomy device and head that way.

Each phlebotomist can have a maximum of 6 donors in their section.  You see Blake cleaning up the machine from his last disconnect, leaving you an empty section.  “You can head to break, I’ll take over here,” you say, helping him wipe down the now-empty donor bed.

“Thanks… really happy that you’re here.  It’s been a shit show today,” he says, walking away from the section toward the break room.  You groan and head up to the front near the waiting area, grab a chart, and start climbing the mountain.

Thursday, October 15th | 1230

The morning turned out to be an absolute disaster.  You quickly filled up your section once you sent Blake to break, apologizing to every donor you sat for the wait times.  Most were understanding.  There were a few that gave you an eye roll or a shrug.  A few left the center, not wanting to be late for work.  The fall is generally a busy time at the center, with people seeking extra money for football tailgates and games, college students needing extra money for just about everything, and parents stocking up early on holiday savings.

Thankfully, Keri, you, and the rest of the morning Donor Floor crew knocked the Queue down to 3 donors and wait times down to 10 minutes.  Once the last morning break was done, they came over and sent you to your lunch.  Delighted, you took off your sweaty coat and hung it up, washed your hands at the sink by the coat rack, and headed to the break room.

Before you’re able to punch in the door code, a deep, velvety voice stops you.

“Uh, miss?  Can you point me in the right direction?”

You turn and look in the direction of the voice and see a taller man with dark, silvery-streaked curly hair, tanned skin and pensive brown eyes staring at you.  He’s donning a red flannel that squeezes his broad shoulders and ropy arm muscles, and dark wash Levi’s that have the outline of his wallet imprinted in the front right pocket.  He’s definitely a blue-collar guy, not unlike a lot of the current donors.  Must be a new donor, you think.  Damn, he looks good.  You feel a little zap in your chest, not unlike the fingerstick donors get during screening.

“Hi!  Are you a new donor?”  You ask, turning on your customer service voice in hopes of calming your nerves.  You step back from the door and walk toward him.  He’s got a small white paper slip in hand, which tells you he needs his veins checked, so he must be new.

“Yes ma’am, need someone ‘ta look at my veins.  Been here before, but it’s been a long time,” he says, watching you approach him and giving you the once-over.  Twice-over.  Your pulse quickens.  His voice is like icing, dripping with a sweet Southern accent and mushing your insides.  You smile and take the paper from him, hoping that you aren’t blushing.

“Roll up your sleeves for me and let’s take a look,” you say, watching him roll up the sleeves of his red flannel.  He’s got thick, veiny forearms that are tanned and covered with freckles.  He wears a watch on his left wrist that you assume hasn’t been removed in years, judging by the pure white skin peeking underneath.  His hands are big and scarred.  Definitely works with his hands, you think.  He has a small, circle-shaped scar on his right arm near the venipuncture site, so he was telling the truth about donating plasma before.  You grab a tourniquet hanging on the cabinet near the chart area, wrap it on his upper arm, and feel.  His veins are huge and muscular, and you realize you didn’t need the tourniquet in the first place.  Rookie mistake.

“Guess I really don’t need this,” you say, removing the tourniquet and feeling his ropy veins with your index finger.  His skin is warm under your clammy finger.  He chuckles.  “Heard that one before,” he says.  You laugh and make eye contact with him, noticing the crinkles at the corners of his eyes and his salt and pepper beard.  His gaze is amiable and filled with something else you can’t quite pinpoint, and your stomach twists.  You look away before you can decipher it.

“I don’t think you’ll have any issues with the stick,” you say, and he laughs.  “Are you hydrated?  Had a good meal in the last hour or two?” You ask, writing your name on the vein check slip and circling “Pass.”  You see the name Joel Miller written at the top.

“Yes ma’am, I do a lot of workin’ outside and with my hands, so I know better,” he says, confirming your earlier assumption.  His voice is sending a wave of tingles from your ears to your neck, and you feel goosebumps start to erupt in their pathway.

“Good man, Joel,” you say, noticing him perk up at you saying his name, “Take this back to the front desk and we’ll get you processed as quickly as we can.”  He nods, gives you a handsome-as-fuck lopsided smile, and walks back to the front.  You head back to the break room and turn to glance at him once more to find that he's already looking at you.  Fuck, you think, looking back at the door.  Don’t need a hot donor making me feel nervous like this.  He’s older than you, but he might be the most handsome guy you’ve ever seen.  You can only imagine how homely you look, clad in your scrubs and sweaty from the morning hustle and bustle.

You see every part of humanity at your job: young and old, foreign and domestic, all races and ethnicities, handsome and near homeless.  There have been a few men that have caught your eye, and a few that you’ve met up with outside of the center, but none like this one.  As tedious and mundane as the job can be, it’s the people that make it exciting, especially attractive ones.  Well, hopefully he passes screening so I can see him on the Donor Floor, you think, contemplating what you’re going to get for lunch in the short time that you have.

Thursday, October 15th | 1430

Your break went by too fast.  You decided on some fast-food place just across the street from the center.  It’s good and cheap, but you know the greasy food is going to put you in a late-afternoon lull.  Oh well.  After you got back, the lobby was still relatively empty, so you started working on doing the monthly machine cleanings in the meantime.

The plasmapheresis machines are complicated and like everything else in the plasma center, they come with lots of rules and regulations.  You’re a seasoned pro, though, so the cleaning and documentation are a breeze.  You’re heading over to clean the last of the machines in the third row of the Donor Floor when you see a familiar, handsome head of dark salt-and-pepper curls walk behind Keri to one of the donor beds in the first row.  He smiles at you as he lies on the donor bed, and you feel your cheeks heat and curl up into a smile of their own.  Get a fucking grip.  You’re relieved that Keri is taking care of him, because you’re nervous just seeing him in your work area.  You can only imagine how shaky your hands would be with a needle if you were the one sticking him.

While cleaning the machines in the third row, you periodically look over at Joel and Keri.  Keri is great with the donors, and it’s evident when you see Joel laughing with her.  Each time you look up, he’s either already looking at you or looks up right after you do.  You try to play it off like you’re scanning over all the donors, making sure everything is going as it should, but the sweat sheen forming on your face and neck betray you.

You see the light on his machine turn green, indicating he’s been stuck and is running smoothly.  You imagine what it would’ve been like to feel his veins again, feeling his warm, tan skin underneath your fingers… and underneath other things, like—

“Oh my god, that man is such a charmer… and asked about you at least three times,” Keri states, snapping you out of your horny daydream.  Your eyes widen and you turn so he can’t see your face from where he’s seated.

“Shhh!  Keep your voice down!”  You hiss, making both of you giggle.  “What was he saying?”

“Oh, nothing much, just asking what the cute girl that checked his veins was doing all the way over here,” she smirks.  “He used to donate here over 25 years ago when the center first opened up.  Can you believe he’s that old?  He does NOT look like it.”  Odd, you think.  He didn’t sound like he was from here when you spoke to him earlier.  Wait, did he say I was cute?  Blushing at his remark about your appearance, you remember the scar on his arm and think he’s probably telling the truth.  “Wow, he looks good.  How old is he?”  Keri pulls him up on her mobile phlebotomy handheld and you see he was born in 1975.  Damn.  20 years older than you.

Before you and Keri can gush further about Joel, the front door slams shut, echoing throughout the center and catching everyone off-guard.  You watch as one of the younger regular donors, Cedric, storms past Reception and the donor waiting area over to the Donor Floor front desk, near where you checked Joel’s veins earlier.  He practically spits your name, his brows pinched in a rage.

“Cedric, is everything alright?”  You ask, approaching the front desk slowly.  The once-noisy Donor Floor is quiet, save for the quiet whirring and clicking of the machines.  Donors not wearing headphones are anxiously watching the front desk.  You give Cedric the once-over and notice that his arm wrap is soaked with blood, and some of it has gotten on his white shirt and shorts and the floor around him.  First rule of donating: Never wear white to a plasma center, dude.

“Does it fucking look alright?  My arm wasn’t wrapped right and now I have blood everywhere!”  he fumes.  The entire Donor Floor is watching, including Joel and poor Blake, who must’ve disconnected Cedric.  Blake approaches tentatively, tail between his legs, but you put your hand up to him, saying I’ll take care of this.  Blake gives you a thankful nod and tiptoes back to his section.

“Cedric, I’m sorry about that.  Come over to the sink and I’ll rewrap it for you,” you say, putting a fresh pair of gloves on.  “Keri, can you clean up the blood spots with bleach, please?”  You ask.  She nods and grabs a Clorox bottle near the front desk, putting her face shield on and quickly walking around Cedric to search for the path of blood droplets.  Cedric raises his voice again.

“Not good enough.  I need that kid fired for his incompetence!” he points aggressively at Blake, flinging some blood droplets on the arm of your coat and on the front desk.

“Everybody makes mistakes, Cedric.  Blake is a great employee.  We can fix this.  Let’s get you cleaned up, and maybe we can compensate you a little extra on your next donation,” you offer.  But Cedric isn’t having it.  He rips off the arm wrap and gauze and throws them at you while screaming expletives.  The bloodied wrap nearly hits your face shield.  Oh, hell no.  He’s a long-term donor, so he’s probably clean, but it’s too close for comfort.

“Blake, call Trina and call the cops.  Get this guy out of here.  Cedric, don’t ever come back to this place,” you calmly instruct, walking backwards to find a biohazard container a safe distance from Cedric, never turning away from him.  Trina, your manager, doesn’t put up with this kind of stuff and will make sure he’s permanently deferred.

“Fuck you, bitch!”  Cedric yells, sprinting out of the center with two fingers on his free hand holding his venipuncture site, some blood dripping underneath.  Once the front door slams shut, you turn around and take off all your PPE and toss it in the biohazard container, saving your nametag and pen.  Frustrated and tired, you walk to the sink to wash your hands.  Keri and Trina approach you.

“You alright, hon?” Trina asks.  She’s a good manager, always looking out for her employees.  She used to work on the Donor Floor, so she’s no stranger to these kinds of mishaps.  Tensions can be hefty in this area – some donors are desperate for money, some fear needles more than death itself, and some are just grumps.  Phlebotomists usually get the brunt of it.

“Yeah, I’m fine, just need to cool off.  I told Blake to call the cops.”  She nods.

“Go ahead.  When the police get here, they’ll want your statement, so I’ll come find you then… I’ll put in the PR now,” she says, giving your arm a supportive squeeze before walking back toward the offices.  You give her a pained smile and look to Keri, equally concerned as Trina.  “Take your afternoon break, love.  I’ll handle everything else,” she says.  “Thanks, Ker.  I’m gonna step in the freezer to cool off and then I’ll go.”  She nods.  You head toward Processing, located at the opposite end of the center.  Processing has two giant walk-in freezers that always maintain temps of -40ºC – great for keeping fresh plasma frozen solid and an instant cool down.

You step in one of the freezers, shutting the heavy door behind you.  You walk over to the fans and stand underneath.  The sweat on your neck and back quickly freezes in its downward track, leaving behind a sting that could soon turn to frostbite.  It doesn’t take long to cool off here, and anybody staying in for longer than a minute is supposed to put on a heavy coat, gloves, and a ski mask.  It’s a popular spot for blistering summer days and after heated interactions like this.  Satisfied with the pink blooming on your fingers and the crunch of your frozen, sweaty hair, you step out of the freezer and make your way outside for your break.

Once at the picnic table at the outdoor employee break area, you do a quick scan for Cedric.  You can see the trails of blood drops leading to and from his car, and an empty space where his car must’ve been parked.  Heaving a sigh of relief, you plop down at the table and massage your temples.  Fuck… glad this day is almost over.

“Sweetheart, you alright?” A soothing, Southern voice rings in your ear and you look up, seeing Joel approach from his truck.  He says your name, surprising you.  Keri must’ve told him it while she was going through the process with him.

You take this moment to return the once-over he gave you earlier.  Twice-over.  His sleeves are still rolled up and you can see his arm wrap.  His jeans crinkle at the hip with each step, his strong, toned quads flexing as each foot contacts the pavement.  You can only imagine what he looks like from behind.  His cowboy boots are worn, the leather cracking around the toes.  He’s probably the type to wear a pair until they crumble to bits.  He walks with a quiet bravado, taking long, smooth strides until he reaches you at the table.

You’ve no doubt you look exhausted.  Though your sweat has frozen, you can feel how frizzy your hair is, especially around your face.  Your eyes sting with fatigue and the skin underneath your eyelids tug downward.  Your throat feels dry and tight, like you might cry soon.  He must notice because the look in his eyes morphs from concern to anger.

“Hi, Joel,” you state, forcing a smile.  “I’m okay.  Not my first rodeo,” you wink, giving him a sarcastic “yee-haw” motion.  He laughs, but his eyes betray him, still showing anger.

“Mind if I sit?” He motions to the spot across from you.

“No, go ahead, but the cops are on their way and who knows if Cedric will be back,” you caution him.  He waves you off.

“That fuckin’ kid don’t scare me, and I saw everythin’ anyway.  I can talk to the cops if you ain’t comfortable,” he says.  He puts his hands on the backs of yours, and you feel another zap in your chest like you did when you first saw him earlier.  You notice now that he doesn’t have a wedding ring.

“Thanks, but you don’t have to.  I’m well versed in this department,” you say, feeling the tears reaching their boiling point.  You do everything you can to keep them in, but one betrays you and falls down your cheek.  Angry that you’re crying in front of Joel, you try to move your hand out from underneath his to wipe the tear, but he beats you to it.

“It’s okay, darlin’.  You did the right thing, stickin’ up for your people,” he soothes, his thumb wiping your tear from your face.  He moves his hand to cup your jaw and swipes his thumb gently over your cheek.  His angry eyes softened back to concerned.

For what feels like an eternity, the two of you stare at each other, exchanging more communication nonverbally than words could ever.  He’s looking at each of your eyes back and forth, and you feel yourself start to get embarrassed under his hot stare.  You try to turn your head away from his gaze, but his hand stops you.  “You’re alright, darlin’, got nothin’ to be ashamed of here,” he says, reading your mind.  You bring your hand up from the table to gently grasp his arm as a sign of appreciation.  His gaze follows and he swallows loudly.

“Thank you,” you say, giving him a genuine, close-lipped smile.  His eyes move to your lips and then quickly dart back to your eyes, like you caught him doing something forbidden.  He removes his hands and stands up, walking over to your side.  He offers a hand to help you up and you accept, letting him pull you to your feet.

“Sorry your first visit back here was so crazy,” you say, and he laughs.  “Hopefully next time it’s not so… exciting.”  He moves his hand up to your shoulder and gives it a quick squeeze before dropping it.  A tingle rips up your spine.

“Oh, I’m sure it will be.”  He gives you that same look that he did earlier, the one where you couldn’t quite figure out what it meant.  This time, though, you think you know exactly what it means.  Your stomach somersaults.

“I’ll see you soon, darlin’.  Hopefully your day gets better,” he says, turning to walk toward his truck.  Once he gets to the driver’s side door, he turns to look at you again and pauses.  You stand and stare at him, wanting to say something in return, but too overwhelmed by all your emotions.  He smiles and gets in the truck, starting it and driving off while watching you with a small wave.  You smile as he leaves.

Fuck.

Next Chapter

[last-herondale]

Bewitching Hour

Bucky Barnes x FemReader

Warnings: cursing, alcohol use, mentions of blood, spicy 🌶️ topics 👀

Hurt/comfort, fluff, mentions of +18 stuff if ya know what I mean 😏

It’s weeks after your rescue mission and luckily Bucky is on the mend. Unfortunately, your actions on the field have you wrapped up in the biggest trial of your life. While the rest of the team votes on your future, you decide to hit up a bar and drink away your problems.

A/N: Someone suggested on my previous Bucky fic to write another piece on this storyline and i had some stroke of writers inspiration, which is very rare to come by nowadays 😩 So onwards with the y/n reader who has shadow powers and a super soldier for a boyfriend! 🫡

So this is part 2 of what I’m calling the Midnight Series. I will update my master list and link here.

Enjoy 🤘🏼

Clubs were not your scene. At first you tried a small run down bar you found in Hell’s Kitchen and that was packed on a Friday night with people from all walks of life. You had a few beers, but decided you needed somewhere different. Somewhere no one would notice you in a sea of people. Where you could drink your feelings away on what would probably be your last night of freedom.

You found a popular club not too far from the bar. The air was thick with the hot air emanating from the crowd as they danced to a booming beat. You sat at the far end of the bar, downing your 5th shot of vodka. The drink was horse piss compared to the stuff Stark stocked at the compound, but it would do for tonight.

“Another round miss?” The bartender asked, making her way down the bar as people clambered to get their drink. Her tank top was low cut, showing off her commodities that probably earned her extra tips on busy nights like these. “A double this time,” you respond, sliding over a few bills. The bartender didn’t bat an eye as she poured your drink and immediately moved on to the next customer.

Your hand shook a bit as you went to grab the glass. I should definitely stop. You thought. You had went out in the dance floor earlier, feeling the need to do something—anything to take your mind off your situation. Dancing had been a sort of release, letting your body move to the beat, letting yourself meld into the crowd like anyone else. Now you were flushed, sweating, and in your eyes—not drunk enough. I should stop. I will… after this…

Just as your fingertips touched the glass, a familiar gloved hand beat you to it and pulled the glass out of your reach. You looked up with blazing anger, your eyes turning dark at your thief. You had already been hit on by four guys, each one reeking of alcohol as the night progressed. You were one drunk idiot away from losing your shit. You felt a slight stream of smoke begin to encircle your closed fist until you recognized the man in front of you.

Immediately your eyes softened as they settled on Bucky’s concerned face. He still had harsh bruises scattered on his skin, most of them a pale yellow as they neared healing completely. He wore a dark baseball cap and a pair of phony glasses in order to blend in. While you were one of the few avengers that no one recognized, Bucky did not have the same luxury. The sight of him made your chest tighten. He was so beautiful it hurt to look at him sometimes, especially when he looked at you like this…

“Hey Buck,” you said softly, averting your eyes from him. You figured he would find you sooner or later. You left your phone at the compound when you left. It was a dangerous game to play, especially since you weren’t supposed to leave the compound in the first place. But you needed an escape, and telling Bucky would have complicated things. You wondered how many times he had called, wondering where you were in a panicked state.

“Hey Doll,” he replied with equal tenderness. He leaned onto the bar, fiddling with the shot glass in his hand, being careful to not spill its contents.

“You’ve been hard to find today.” The music around you boomed and his voice barely cut through the noise. You had to strain yourself to hear him, especially being inebriated, but you knew he would hear you just fine.

You shrugged. “I didn’t really feel like being around when the hammer dropped, ya know? If they decide to arrest me…” you willed yourself to look at the man you loved.

You were on the borderline of being drunk, and your vision danced a bit as you looked at him. He gave you a soft look, his eyes seemed to shimmer in the lights of the bar. “I didn’t want to make it easy for them.”

“They aren’t going to arrest you,” Bucky insisted. “Steve wouldn’t-“

“Of course he fucking would!” You yelled. Bucky did not react to your outburst, which made the anger in your core flicker even more.

“Fuck Steve! He’s the one that called this meeting in the first place. He wants to see me punished—I know he does. I mean come on Buck, I broke protocol, I defied his orders— I killed… so many people…” your memories flashed to that day.

The mission was the most important thing to you ever. You looked at Bucky again, and used one hand to remove the glasses from his face. He let you remove them and cup his cheek as you ran a gentle thumb over one of his fading bruises.

“I would do it all again. Every single fucking thing. I don’t care if they hate me for it—”

Bucky placed his hand over yours. You stood there a moment in silence as the rest of the bar roared around you. He always made it feel as if nothing in the world mattered but the two of you. As if the rest of the world sipped away into the background. You smiled at him, wondering how you could have ever been so lucky as to live a man like him. You stood from your chair, wobbling a bit as you regained your balance.

“I wanna dance,” you said, taking hold of his hand, “If it’s my last night of freedom, I want to have fun.” You tried to pull him with you to the dance floor but he didn’t budge. He just looked at you with a steady look.

“Y/n, let me take you home,” Bucky said. You frowned and let go of his hand. You began to back away from him and slip further into the group of dancing people. He called out for you again, but you had already lost yourself in the sea of people.

The music seemed to fill your senses. You danced and moved your body freely, wanting nothing more than to be taken by the moment. You let your hair down, spinning and feeling free in your drunken state. You felt Bucky’s hand on your shoulder and you turned around, wrapping your arms around his neck. People danced around you as you looked into Bucky’s eyes. He still had a look of concern, but there was something else in his eyes. A spark of something deeper— something wild.

“Dance with me James,” you whisper in his ear, biting at his neck as you pull him closer. He could smell the liquor on your breath and he sighed.

“You know you want to,” you teased. You slid your hands from his neck down to his chest, feeling the fabric of his shirt as you swayed to the beat. He couldn’t help but smirk at you, moving his hands ever so slowly to your waist.

You smiled brilliantly at this, and he pulled you in closer, his fingers gripping your hips as he stayed there inches away from your face. He was teasing you with his mouth, his lips parted over so slightly in a grin. You wanted to fuck him right there on the dance floor. You inched a bit closer and could smell the hint of vodka on his breath. Your eyes lit up.

Got ‘em.

The two of you danced together, a series of movements that pushed and pulled the two of you part like magnets. Everything else blurred away, and all you felt was the freedom and love and heat from Bucky. The way he looked at you, eyes blown wide when you moved against him, how he touched you in public, gentle yet firm to keep you close to him. It made everything disappear—for a little bit.

Memories from that mission flashed in your head. Dead hydra soldiers scattering the floor. The image of them choking on your shadows—the feeling of their life leaving their bodies. You told yourself it was worth it—believed in the moment it was right—

You stopped dancing and swayed a bit, holding onto Bucky’s shoulder. He steadied you and looked you over, his chest rising and falling from the dancing.

“What’s wrong doll?” The images flashed through your mind again. Bucky, beaten near an inch of his life, his metal arm on the operation table. Your stomach lurched. Sweat beaded on your forehead and the world seemed to tilt a bit under the neon lights.

“I think I’m gonna be sick— I need to get out of here.”

He pulled you by the hand gently.

“Come on,” he said as he wrapped one hand around your waist, guiding you as you stumbled a bit, “let’s get you out of this shithole.”

“Just don’t take me back— please. I can’t—“

He shushed you gently as you made your way out of the club and into the cool night air. There was a cab outside and Bucky helped you get in the car. You didn’t hear where he told the driver to go, but he insisted he was not taking you back to the compound.

“I won’t take you back sweetheart, I promise. Just relax and please try not to vomit on my nice jacket,” He teased and wrapped his arm around you as you leaned your body into his.

The idea of vomiting up the cheap liquor made you almost dry heave once. You groaned a bit as You rested your head on his chest, nuzzling your cheek against the soft fabric of his shirt. The smell of him was enough to calm your stomach for the rest of the ride.

“I’m sorry,” you mumbled against him, “I’m a mess. I ruin everything.” Tears began to spill down your cheek and soak into the front of his shirt. Bucky ran his hand through your hair, kissing the top of your head.

“You dont ruin anything doll. You are perfect. You are wonderful. You are everything to me. I am alive because of you, you know that right? Hydra is gone because of you—“

“Because I killed them. I— I slaughtered them. I know I should feel some sort of regret for that… but when I think back to that day— when all I could think of was you—“ you shook your head against him.

“What they did to you— what they have already done to you over the years… Im sorry, Buck, but I don’t regret it. Not one bit. I would do it all again to save you. Maybe Steve is right— maybe I should be locked away for what I am—I’m no good— I’m a monster—“

“No.” Bucky said harshly, nearly growling against your ear. “Never think that. Do you hear me?”

His tone was a sharp blade in your chest. The last thing you wanted was to upset him, and yet here he was consoling you in the middle of the night—chasing after you like a damned child. You felt pathetic, but said no more. You just nodded once, wiping at your tears as he continued to stroke your hair.

Bucky also remained silent as the cab arrived at its destination. You looked out the window once the car stopped and were surprised by what you saw. You were outside of an old apartment building. You recognized it immediately as Bucky’s old hideout. Not even Steve knew about this safe house. Bucky paid the driver and helped you out of the car. He walked with you to the edge of the building, leaning up against the brick wall as he removed his hat. The night air swirled through his hair and he sighed.

“Any better?” He asked, watching you as you sat on the sidewalk, resting your back against the brick. The cool air was comforting, and the wave of nausea seemed to pass ever so slowly. You nodded and tilted your head back.

“Some hero I am, huh?” You laughed dryly. Bucky huffed out a small laugh.

“You know, I ask myself that almost every damn day.” You couldn’t help but laugh, turning to him with a sad smile.

“What a pair we make, eh?”

Bucky looked down at you, his expression thoughtful—but sad.

“Doll,” he sighed gently, lifting his head to look out into the night sky again. “I wish I could tell you—no show you— just how… important you are to me.” He struggled to find his words, but they made you freeze in place as he continued.

“I know what it’s like to do horrible things. Terrible, regrettable, and unforgiving things… To be haunted by the past—“ he looked down at this metal hand.

“To not be able to look yourself in the mirror most nights…”

He clenched his hand into a tight fist and exhaled slowly before turning to face you again. He held out his hand to you, and you didn’t hesitate to take it. He pulled you to your feet, guiding you closer until his hands were on your waist again.

“I used to believe that there was nothing I deserved more than to be punished for my sins. That I was a monster beyond saving. But then I met you, my little shadow monster. You saw in me what no one else believed existed—you saw the man, flaws and all. And you gave me something i never thought I deserved.”

His eyes glistened in the moonlight as he searched your face with the sweetest tenderness. As if he saw the world in your eyes.

“You gave me hope, y/n.”

A smile broke across your face as you cried and laughed. Bucky returned your smile and you pulled him in by his neck for a kiss. His mouth was gentle and sweet against yours. He pulled you closer, murmuring sweet nothings against your mouth as your tears fell down your face. The soft breeze tousled both your your hair, causing yours to swirl behind you like ribbons.

Bucky pulled away slightly, leaving his forehead tipped against yours.

“I love you, y/n. God, I love you so damned much.” You gave out a relieved laugh, and thumbed a stroke on the back of his neck.

“And I adore you,” you whispered. He pulled you in for a hug, wrapping his strong arms around you, kissing your cheeks until your tears disappeared on his lips.

“We are going to figure this out. Whatever comes our way. I promise.”

Your stomach tightened on the last part. You had made Bucky a similar promise. One you had failed to keep—one you were currently paying for. You thought about what kind of power this love held over you—over him. You were willing to destroy your life in order to keep Bucky safe— to prevent him from ever going back to being on the run, being hunted, being alone. As you held the weight of the world in your arms, you felt a sickening hole rip through your chest.

You knew what you had to do for Bucky—always for Bucky.

[weepingfromacedartree]

Dancing Around the Truth: Epilogue

Can't believe it's already time, but the Epilogue is ready for anyone interested!

A HUGE thank you to everyone who has been following along on this story. Hope you all enjoy the final chapter 💛💛💛

Warning: this chapter is rated E for sexual content.

Epilogue: Friday (Seven Months Later)

Plans, like they so often do, changed. While Colin and Penelope were initially willing to wait until the start of the 1816 season to make their engagement official, there were several factors (i.e. Bridgerton siblings) that made such plans rather… Untenable. 

Benedict was first. He had caught Colin sneaking back into Bridgerton House around midnight that Monday in August. His hair was mussed and his white shirt was tinged-green. Benedict did not even ask, for he already knew. 

Daphne was next to know. She figured it out approximately 10 seconds after the carriage arrived at her steps. Colin had stepped out first, followed by Penelope. He had escorted her out by hand. Daphne could tell in an instant that her brother was not simply acting well-mannered. Not with that look in his eye. Her suspicions were confirmed a few mere hours later, when she overheard the two of them flirting in one of the castle’s many libraries. 

Eloise was next. Although she already had her suspicions, Penelope told her everything on that first night at Clyvedon. Although still somewhat disbelieving that someone as intelligent as Penelope could fall in love with her idiot brother, Eloise did like the idea of them officially becoming sisters. 

Gregory was last to reveal he knew the truth (or some version of it, at least). During a brief trip to Aubrey Hall in October, Gregory had revealed to Colin what he had attempted to reveal back in August. That he knew Colin’s feelings and conduct towards Penelope were not wholly platonic. Gregory did not re-attempt to extort the $20 from his older brother, though. He feared doing so would ruin his chances of becoming a groomsman. 

Once Colin realized more than half of his siblings knew of his love for Penelope (and suspected that the rest had their own suspicions), neither one could see much point in trying to hide that fact anymore. 

On Christmas Eve 1815, Colin gathered their entire families — every Bridgerton, Featherington, Basset, Finch, and Dankworth in England — to Aubrey Hall. To officially ask for Penelope’s hand and announce their engagement. 

Portia was shocked, to say the least. 

Although they both secretly hoped otherwise, their families had agreed that their wedding should be held at the start of the next social season. So, for months, Colin and Penelope waited patiently. They sent letters back and forth. They stole kisses when they could. They announced their impending marriage at the inaugural ball. And now…

“It’s a miracle!” 

“That’s a tad bit dramatic.” 

On the fifth of April, 1816 — precisely three days before her twentieth birthday — Penelope finds herself in a very familiar position. On the outskirts of a ball. With Eloise. Snickering quietly as the room moves around them. The only difference now is that Penelope is no longer stuck to the wall behind her like a flower growing from stone. It’s her engagement ball, after all. 

“We are starting the season with a Bridgerton wedding. Mama is beside herself with joy… Which means the pressure is off me to find a marriage match.”

“How wonderful it is, for my nuptials to afford you a few additional months of freedom.” 

“It is wonderful, isn’t it?”

“Although…” Penelope draws out the word as she glances around the room. She spots Benedict dancing with Violet. Philipa caressing a hand across her swollen belly. Gregory pulling a lock of Hyacinth’s hair. She can’t spot her fiancé at present, but she knows he’s somewhere near. “There were zero Bridgerton weddings last season. Are you certain your mama will not try for two this time around to make up for it?”

“Ugh. Do not spoil my fun. I am trying to enjoy your matrimonial festivities.” 

Penelope spares another glance at the room around her. The egregiously prolonged engagement gave Portia an abundance of time to plan out every detail of these festivities. Although the ball is being hosted by Anthony and Kate at Bridgerton House, Lady Featherington was sure to leave her mark on the event. When Penelope had first walked into this ballroom, furnished with every yellow flower in England, it had felt like walking into the sun. She has the urge to shield her eyes, even now. 

“How can you enjoy the festivities? Everywhere you look, there is a reminder of your worst nightmare: marital bliss.”

Eloise cringes as she spares her own glance around the room. 

“Well, I would certainly be frightened if my worst nightmare happened to be a bouquet of yellow flowers.” Penelope cannot help but snort. “And besides, I am happy to celebrate a marriage, as long as it is not my own.” 

“Did you not leave in the middle of your own brother’s nuptials?” 

Eloise snorts, which only sends Penelope into a fit of giggles.

“Edwina left in the middle of her own nuptials! I remained for the ceremony that mattered, did I not?”

“In hindsight, I sup —”

Eloise’s face suddenly turns serious. “I love Kate and will always be glad to welcome another intelligent woman into the family. However, that is nothing compared to the joy of beholding your best friend becoming your sister.” 

A warm, fuzzy feeling rises up in Penelope’s chest. Not sure what else to do with such affection, she turns to her dearest friend and pulls her into a hug. 

It’s just a hug. Fleeting. Inconsequential. But after spending an entire year apart from one another, something as small as a hug feels like coming home. Even now. 

Eloise almost sounds teary-eyed when she continues: “Thanks to you and this whole ruse, Colin has managed to work his way up to the rank of my second favorite brother.” 

Penelope is about to remind Eloise that her engagement is not a convoluted ruse designed to officially make the two of them sisters. That she does, in fact, love Colin. But another voice speaks before she has the chance to open her mouth.

“I hope that means Benedict has recently wronged you in some uniquely devastating manner.” 

Without a moment of hesitation, Eloise grumbles into Penelope’s hair: “You and Gregory are battling it out for third.” Eloise only releases her from the embrace to stand her ground against Anthony. 

“Try not to scare the bride away before we can usher her into the family,” he continues. 

“I believe we crossed that line a long time ago.”

“I can assure you that is true.” Penelope laughs lightly, although her response was far from a joke. 

Although far from perfect, the Bridgertons are a family through and through. A family like this — one that makes her feel at home within herself — is what Penelope has longed for, deep within her heart, her entire life. The only person that she needs in this world is Colin — but the rest of the Bridgertons are a welcome addition to their forthcoming marriage. Penelope can’t imagine anything scaring her away now. 

“Let’s see if that sentiment holds true after your first pall mall tournament.” 

As the siblings launch into a debate over Anthony’s so-called pall mall expertise, Penelope spares another look around the ballroom. At Kate and Edwina, conversing closely between two massive bouquets of yellow roses. At Daphne, rocking baby Belinda beneath an archway of yellow tulips. At Lady Danbury, scowling at a particularly massive arrangement of daffodils. At her mother… holding her fiancé hostage on the dancefloor. 

“Dear God,” Penelope mumbles. Her voice is just loud enough to distract Anthony and Eloise from their heated discussion. “Please excuse me. I should go save Colin before my mama goads him into wearing a yellow suit to our wedding.” 

As Penelope approaches the middle of the room, her defiantly green skirt sways behind her with every step. When Colin catches her eye, he smiles.

“Ah, the lady of the hour,” he says, smile sustaining. 

“Oh — Penelope! I was just telling Colin about the hassle I’ve been handed at the florist. You would not believe —” 

“Judging from the surplus of floral arrangements in this ballroom, I have no doubt that you will get everything straightened out for the ceremony, mama.” 

“Yes. It is my cross to bear, but I’m sure I will manage.” She tsks. “You would think with a wedding of this size and important, that florist would be —”

When the orchestra suddenly transitions into a new beat, Penelope takes it as a sign to keep pushing. If she does not, she’s sure Portia would gladly talk her soon-to-be son-in-law’s ear off until the sun rises Saturday morning.

“I’m terribly sorry mama, but may I steal away my fiancé away for a moment? The night is almost over and we’ve hardly shared a word.”

A look of annoyance briefly flashes on Portia’s face, but it’s replaced by a tight smile. It somehow appears both genuine and forced. 

“Of course, dear.” She nods to both Penelope and Colin before stepping away. 

After Colin takes her hand in his, he leans in close. Their noses nearly touch when he says: “Thank you.” 

“Whatever for?” she whispers teasingly. Then, she takes her first step to the beat of the music. 

Briefly, Penelope asks herself why they are speaking to each other so quietly. But she answers her own question in an instant, before she even has the chance to tear her eyes away from Colin’s. Not only are they standing in a very crowded room, but they are also at the very heart of it. Every other pair of eyes are focused on them. 

After getting over an initial wave of shock, Penelope tells herself that it makes sense. Of course they are the center of attention — it is their engagement ball after all. But after shock, comes a sting. 

As hard as she tries not to, Penelope wonders if every ball she and Colin attend together will draw a similar sort of attention from the Ton. If observers will ever see the two of them dancing together and not question how a Featherington managed to catch a Bridgerton.

“Can you offer any tips on surviving a conversation with your mother?” Colin asks into her ear. The question thankfully brings her out of her thoughts. 

“The first step is understanding that some ‘conversations’ only allow one person to speak.”

“And the next step?”

“Wait patiently as your soul slips away from your body with every word thrown at you.” 

Colin laughs lightly. “And the next?”

“Find a distraction. Something to allow you to exit said ‘conversation.’ Then repeat steps one through three. Forever.” 

“I appreciate your candor.” 

“You deserve to know what type of family you’re marrying into.” 

Colin quirks an eyebrow. “Trying to scare me off, Penelope?” 

Penelope, in turn, blushes. “That was not my intention. Why? Are you not feeling up to the task of becoming Portia Featherington’s son-in-law?”

“You wound me. After this year-long engagement, I —”

“It has not been a year, Colin.”

“A lifetime has passed since that night in August, Pen. I am a patient man, but even I have my limits. Regardless, I assure you, my love for you surpasses any trials that may result from enduring your mama’s ceaseless prattles. To go without you would be too tortuous."

Penelope did not think it possible a moment ago, but her blush grows even deeper. She has to remind herself that there are many eyes on them at present, or else she would inevitably give in to the temptation to pull him into a kiss.

Their bodies move away from each other for just a second, each dutifully, regretfully following the motions of the couples around them. After Colin spins Penelope around, her body is back against his. 

Trying to distract herself of the feel of him, Penelope recalls a different conversation from just a few minutes earlier. 

“Colin,” she whispers. There’s a smile on her face but a hint of concern in her voice. “Were you speaking truthfully, the first night you proposed?” 

His right eyebrow quirks ever so slightly. “Which part, exactly?” 

“That you would never force me to do anything in our marriage?” 

“Of course.” 

“Even pall mall?” 

“Everyone loves pall mall,” Colin says rather confidently. The tortured look on his fiancée’s face says otherwise. 

When Penelope does not immediately expand on her point, both of his eyebrows raise.

“Everyone loves pall mall,” he insists. 

Suppressing a laugh, Penelope shrugs her shoulders innocently. “I find it rather boring under normal circumstances. When the Bridgertons are involved… Perhaps too dramatic.” 

Colin’s look of shock swiftly turns into a smile. His soon-to-be wife is too cute to stay cross with for long. 

“I would never dream of forcing you to do anything you do not desire. Even joyous activities such as pall mall.” Penelope’s eyes flick over to Anthony at the word “joyous.” He’s currently escorting his own wife to the dance floor.   

Noting Penelope’s line of sight, Colin continues: “I cannot promise that Anthony will not try and persuade you. But I will defend you, nonetheless.”

“Defend me?” she asks, a bit incredulously. Her previous statement was not wrong; pall mall always brings out the dramatics in the Bridgerton family. 

“Yes. If anyone, even my beloved brother, attempts to force my wife into doing anything she does not wish to do herself, I shall challenge them to a duel.” 

Penelope blushes at his use of the word “wife.” It had been over six months since he had proposed to her in private — since he had given her a promise of a lifetime together. And yet, Penelope is still not used to the idea of being anyone’s wife, let alone Colin Bridgerton’s. 

“I believe a duel would be a bit of an overreaction in that particular case.” 

“Well, I would not fight him with a gun or a sword. Just a mallet.” 

“I see. I suppose that would be appropriate.”

“It would still be to the death, of course.”

“Colin!” she exclaims, elevating her voice above a whisper for the first time since they began dancing. She defies the pre-ordained motions to withdraw her hand from his and lightly knock him across the gut. “Do not joke about such things!” 

“Apologies, wife,” he says softly. He lowers his head to plant a kiss on her cheek. 

Automatically, Penelope’s eyes turn to the room around them. To see if anyone else caught the minor indiscretion between the betrothed pair. But to her surprise, no one is watching them. At some point between the start of the dance and now, something else had caught the crowd’s attention. 

“I am not your wife. Yet,” she reminds him. Her voice is back to a whisper. Between the rampant orchestra and rowdy guests, Penelope wonders if he can even hear her words. 

He can. 

“We have already made our promises to one another. We are as good as married, in my mind.” His words are even softer than hers. They cause her heart to soar. 

She is about to say something, but before she can muster up something half as romantic, he seizes her hand and pulls her in even closer. 

“Isn’t it ridiculous? It is our engagement ball, and no one is even looking at us.” 

His words prompt Penelope to further investigate what exactly turned the room’s attention away from them. That’s when she spots them. 

On the other side of the dance floor, Prudence and Harry appear to be dancing to an entirely different song than the rest of the couples. While the orchestra plays a waltz, the Dankworths appear to be dancing an Irish jig. All eyes in the room are on them. Except for Colin’s.

The orchestra plays on. The other couples awkwardly dance around Prudence and Harry. Colin pulls Penelope towards the nearest exit. No one notices them slip into the shadows. 

⚘  ⚘  ⚘

Through her many years of friendship with Eloise, Penelope has become quite familiar with the private chambers of Bridgerton House. She has never technically crossed through the door that Colin leads her to now, but she can certainly guess who it once belonged to. 

The room is pitch-black. Colin does not immediately move to light a candle — his hands are too preoccupied to reach for a matchstick now. Like they always do on the rare occasions that the two find themselves alone together, his hands find her jaw. He holds firm as he lowers his lips to hers. 

She breathes his name into his mouth between kisses.

“Colin.” 

“Hmm?” he mumbles against her skin. 

“Could you… Light… A candle?” Between her labored breaths, Penelope wonders if she will ever get used to the feel of Colin’s lips against hers. If, when they are married and free to kiss as much as they desire, this tingling will eve. 

She hopes it does not. 

“Scared of the dark?” Although she cannot see his face, she can hear the smirk on his lips. She can practically feel it.

“No, I… I want to see you.” 

Colin pecks a kiss against her cheek, before withdrawing his body from hers. 

“A sentiment we share.” He turns to locate a matchstick. 

Penelope stands with her back still stuck against the door. Even though he moves across the room, she can still feel Colin’s weight against her. Like his touch haunts her body. Her breaths start to slow as she watches him light candle after candle. After candle. After candle.

“Colin.” Her voice is a squeak. “I believe that is more than enough.” 

“Patience, Penelope,” he drawls, firing another fucking wick. “I want to see you. All of you.” 

Penelope shutters. There’s something coming over her — hot within her, cool against her exposed skin. It’s not a sensation she can name at the moment. But it sure as hell isn’t patience. 

After sufficiently brightening the room, Colin walks back over to the spot where he left Penelope. Slowly. Standing inches in front of her, he asks: “Is that to your liking?” 

Penelope feels too overwhelmed by that sensation swelling within her to even roll her eyes at the frivolous question. She can barely nod. 

“And…” Colin leans in closer, his lips grazing hers again. He puts one hand to her waist. “Is this to your liking?” 

Suddenly feeling very annoyed, on top of everything else she’s currently feeling, Penelope lets out a huff of air.

“I like you very much, if that’s what you’re asking.” 

“You ‘like’ me? Is that all?” He moves in even closer, but somehow their lips still do not connect. 

“Well, usually, but —” Penelope, head somewhat cloudy, didn’t even know where she was going with that quip. Thankfully, Colin disposes of the need for her to fill the air between them. 

The first kiss is soft. Sweet. Light against her lips. It leaves her wanting more. 

The next kiss is deeper. Hungry. Searching. Penelope pulls him in closer. She tugs at his bottom lip as his hand grips her waist. 

The last kiss is desperate. As if it is the end of something. Even though, in actuality, it is only the beginning. 

“I want you,” she tells him, words barely escaping her mouth against his. 

“You have me.” 

“I want more.” She uses what’s left of her willpower to extricate her lips from his. An even more difficult task than she originally predicted, given that her entire body is still pinned against his door. “I wish to make love to you.” 

Colin waits a moment to respond. To Penelope, it feels like a lifetime. She keeps time to the sound of her heartbeat, ringing in her ears like a drum. 

“Are you certain?” he asks her. 

She nods. 

“Say it,” he whispers, looking down at her. “I want to hear you say it.” 

“Yes. I’m certain. I want it all.” 

With that, Colin’s hands drop from her waist to her bottom. He hoists her legs to his hips. Then, finally, Penelope’s back leaves its spot against the door. 

Before Colin can even travel the short distance to the intended destination, Penelope feels her legs tighten around his waist. There’s a throbbing in her — a yearning to pull him in. She curses her skirt, her stockings, her shifts — every inch of cloth separating her body from his. She kicks off her slippers just as Colin reaches the bed. 

When he lays her down on its covers, Penelope’s legs do not disconnect. She pulls him down with her. His body covers hers — except for his legs, dangling awkwardly off the side. He’s hot against her neck and arms, warm against the parts of her still covered by that ungodly fabric. His weight is intoxicating, and so new. 

In the months between their initial engagement and now, Penelope and Colin had taken several liberties that are traditionally reserved for married couples. But not this. 

Not in someone’s bed chambers. Not on a bed. Not horizontal. 

When they were standing, Penelope could control her urges. Now…

Her hips buck beneath him. Her hands clench at his side. Her mouth, still fixed on his, parts and releases a deafening, maddening moan. 

Taking the hint, Colin discards of the fabric still clinging to her body. He undoes the buttons of her dress, one by one. He pulls down her tights. Unlaces her corset. It isn’t until she’s nearly bare beneath him that she follows his lead and tugs at his cravat. Pulls off his jacket. Unbuttons his shirt. The hem of his trousers. 

Before Colin leans down to kiss her once more, Penelope looks up into his eyes. Not for the first time, she feels a tide pulling her in. 

“My God, you’re so beautiful,” he tells her between kisses. She’s not sure if it’s the tone of his voice or the loyalty he has proven himself to possess, but Penelope believes him. In the moment, she feels beautiful. More than she ever has before. 

Although their kissing remains constant, Colin’s hands can’t stay on one spot of her skin for too long. His fingers brush her hips. Tangle in her hair. Skim along the sensitive sides of her breasts. When his thumb grazes her nipple, another moan escapes her lips. This time, even louder than before. 

When Colin’s lips leave hers and trail down her neck, Penelope feels the sudden need to speak. To put her lips to use, no matter how futile her words may be. 

“I never dreamed I would have you like this. For so long, I couldn’t imagine this to be real.” 

For the first time in what feels like ages, Colin’s movements still. He looks up at her. 

“You’re all I dream about. But this is real. I promise.” 

“I know,” she says. And her words are true. 

Colin sits up, just enough to properly straddle Penelope’s waist. The only barrier between them is his pants — unbuttoned, but still riding on his hips. 

She waits for him to move again. To kiss her. To touch her. To finally rid his body of those goddamn pants. But he doesn’t. He just keeps gazing down at her, a smile stuck on his lips. 

“What do you dream of?” she asks. A brazen attempt to fill the air between them. And to gain some footing in this absolute unknown. 

The latter goal is not achieved. 

“I dream of being inside you,” he whispers. “I dream of seeing every side of you — exploring every inch of you. Of your lovely form and perfect breasts. Of your hot breath and that squeak that escapes your lips when all air abandons your body.” That squeak escapes her mouth now in an unavoidable, wholly desirable gasp.

“But none of those dreams compare to the woman in front of me now.”

When she’s certain that his sweet words have ceased, Penelope positions herself on her elbows and leans in to kiss him again. She wraps one hand around his neck, and the other to pull at the trousers still stuck on his hips. She makes little leeway with the fabric, so Colin grants her a mercy and pulls them off himself.

Before he touches her again, he says: “Tell me if I do anything that you don’t like. If I hurt you in any way” His voice shakes lightly as he delivers the soft demands.

“You couldn’t,” she says gently. She dares to steal another touch, placing a hand against his cheek. 

“Penelope,” he whispers. He places his hand over her own, stopping her movement. “Even if you trust me — even if my intentions are pure and the thought of hurting you kills me… I still could.” 

“Have you done this before?” She’s not exactly sure what prompts her to ask this question. Colin does not have a reputation for being a rake, but…

“No. I haven’t.” 

“Then we’ll both be careful,” she tells him. 

“Still, Pen…” He reaches for her hand. He squeezes it twice. “I know that the first time can be uncomfortable. For you more than me.”

“I know…” She squeezes his hand back. “But I — I also know that you would do anything to protect me. That you would not delight in my suffering for even a second. More importantly…” She uses her free hand to brush her thumb against his cheek. “I also know that sometimes you must endure a bit of pain in order to experience true joy.”

Colin places a chaste kiss on her cheek. “Still, if you cannot bear it, be honest with me and I will stop. If you don’t like it, we will stop.” 

Of all things she could do in response to his words, Colin does not expect Penelope to laugh. And yet, she does. 

“I promise,” she vows, once her breath has fully returned to her. “I will like it all.” 

“I love you,” is all he can manage to say in response to that. Penelope responds with another kiss to his lips. 

Their kisses carry on, growing deeper every second. Tangled up in each other’s limbs, Penelope feels Colin’s heart beat faster against her chest. She feels him grow harder against her thigh. 

“Tell me what to do,” she orders him. Her voice is hoarse as she speaks against his neck.

“Touch me,” is all he says. 

“Where?”

“Anywhere you want.”

Penelope does not find his instructions particularly helpful, so she relies on her instincts. Given the increasing roughness against her thigh, her hands travel downwards. Before she can even make contact, Colin lets out a guttural moan. Into her hair, he utters: “No. Too soon.” 

His hands grasp hers and position them closer to his chest. 

While Colin keeps one hand on her breast and the other on her bottom, Penelope keeps both hands north of his pectorals. The longer time goes on, the harder it is for her to ignore the hard feeling against her thigh. This endeavor proves even more challenging by the pulsing sensation growing from deep within that spot between her legs. 

“Please,” she begs in a hushed tone. Her hands start moving down, but don’t travel past his belly while she waits in his silence. 

“Are you ready?” he finally asks. 

“With everything in me.” 

Without another word, Colin’s hands fall to her knees. He spreads her legs father apart. Despite Penelope’s willingness to follow his lead, her legs involuntarily push against his hands. That ache down her middle borders on unbearable the father he spreads her open.

“Tell me if you want to stop,” he reminds her. 

“Don’t you dare.” 

Colin’s fingers trail from her knees all the way down to the center of her thighs. When they dance dangerously close to her sensitive flesh, her back arches in a quick, sudden movement. When his index finger finally reaches that spot that yearns for his touch, Penelope tucks her head into the crook of his neck. She drowns a moan against his skin. 

“Does that feel good?” The question is delivered with a tone that suggests he already knows her answer. 

“Like heaven.” The words are nearly imperceptible, buried in his neck. 

She can hardly take it when another finger brushes into her, stroking slowly. Very slowly. 

It’s euphoric. It threatens to undo her. But just when Penelope feels that knot begin to break, a tiny voice in the back of her mind bleeds through. It reminds her that this is not the main event. 

“I’m ready,” she tells him, barely able to summon the strength to get those two words out.

Sparing one hand to cup her face again, Colin reminds her: “This may hurt.”

“I’m ready,” she repeats once more. “I want you.”

This time, Colin uses more than just his hands to force her legs farther apart. He moves his torso down so his hips are in line with hers. While one of his hand continues stroking circles against her core, she feels something else at her entrance. 

Something hard and hot. Something demanding. The stretch of her skin feels wicked, but Penelope likes it. 

She likes it all. 

In the moonlight, Colin looks like he is about to request her permission once more. But then Penelope says, “Please,” and he’s done for. 

Colin pushes forward. It’s barely an inch, but the sensation is so distinct — so foreign — that it feels as though it’s enveloping her entire body. 

“Does it hurt?” He sounds just as out of breath as she feels. 

It’s a difficult question to answer honestly. It hurts. It aches. It’s all-encompassing. It’s scary. It’s wonderful.

“Keep going,” is all she says. And he does, thrusting an inch further. Then another inch. Then Penelope can feel his hips start to move of their own volition. His control seems to slip away the closer they get to one another. Her legs wrap around him. An encouragement. 

Penelope’s breaths seem to have a mind of their own as well. When he first started pressing into her, her moans were more reminiscent of pain than desire, still getting used to the feel of him inside of her. But as time goes on, pain makes way for pleasure. Now she moans Colin’s name into his shoulder as his hips pick up speed. 

Then, they slow. 

Suddenly, Penelope feels a new, unmistakable sensation inside her. Wet. Warm. Full.

Somewhere in the back of her mind, she knows this means something. This sensation has a name. A purpose. But Penelope cannot recall anything in particular. Words seem completely illusive as she releases an indiscernible noise against his neck. 

The movement between them picks up speed again. Not just Colin, but Penelope too. With her arms wrapped around his shoulders, she feels her control slip away and desire overcome. 

She pushes into him. Pulls him in closer. Tightens around him. 

She feels that knot inside of her break apart. 

With one more thrust of Colin’s hips, Penelope feels it. A sudden wave of pleasure flowing within her. It stems from her core. It fizzles out to her fingers and makes her toes curl. It crawls up her neck and tingles her lips as she lets out a final, hitched breath. 

Colin finally stills. His body slumps against Penelope’s. 

For a moment, they just hold each other. Tightly. Their breaths are inconsistent and heavy at first, but eventually find their rhythm. 

Eventually, its quiet. So quiet that one could forget that there’s an entire world outside that room. 

“I love you,” Colin says. He turns Penelope and himself to the side, so her body rests beside his instead of underneath. He places a single kiss upon her lips. 

“I love you, always.” 

Penelope would love nothing more than to remain in Colin’s arms forever. To be well and truly alone together. But as hard as she tries to keep the world outside away from them, Penelope cannot stop herself from imagining the scene they left behind before committing this heavenly sin. 

Did someone see them slip away together? How long did it take for someone to realize they were gone? It was their engagement ball — their absence surely must have been noted. 

What would people say? Penelope knows better than anyone that people talk. That narratives form before a scandal can fully play out. That there are consequences to actions such as these — no matter how delightful they felt in the moment. 

Would Eloise make a snide remark at her dress fitting in the morning? Would Anthony say something to Colin? God, what would her mother say about their mysterious disappearance? 

In a quick motion, Penelope removes her head from the crook of Colin’s neck.

“We should go. People will be wondering where we are.” 

Penelope starts to pull away from him, to reach for the nearest garment of her clothing — a stocking that landed haphazardly on the wood frame of the bed. But Colin’s hand lightly wraps around hers, stilling her motion. 

“Who cares about other people? You are the only person in this world whose opinion is of any importance to me.” 

“Colin —”

“Please, Pen. Don’t you wish to savor this moment?”

Of course. Her heart aches to be with him always. Especially now, but…

“I… We should go.” 

Slowly, Colin sits up to match Penelope’s position. He kisses her cheek, sweetly. “Stay,” he whispers.

“Stay,” he says again. He takes her hand and interlocks their fingers. 

When she does not protest — when she does not say anything at all — he says its a third time.

“Stay.” He squeezes her hand. Once. Twice. Three times.  

And she stays. Forevermore. 

[darsynia]

Day Eight (part I)

(MCU; Stephen Strange/OC, 'mistrust' to lovers)

Summary: Amista Cairn is a pragmatic, hard worker whose job in emergency management has maybe dragged her a little too far from appreciating the fanciful things in life. Thanks to a well-earned promotion, she has enough time on her hands to walk the city during lunch, and that's how she runs into (literally) a tall, handsome man wearing a cape. Despite herself, she's intrigued.

Length: 3,111

Main Masterlist | Animate Objects | Next Chapter

This is a gift for @sobeautifullyobsessed, I hope you like it! This part will be I think two chapters, but I feel like it may take a few oneshots to do the whole arc, WHOOPS. I love it so far, though.

I am quite new and don't really have a taglist, but as requested, here is your tag, @starryeyes2000 💚

Day Eight, Part I

As one of the hundreds of workers who had moved to New York following the alien attack on the city, Amy Cairn had seen more than one absurd thing during those six months of clean-up. Enormous alien carapaces with oddly-glowing, indestructible armor plating? Sure. Literal Star-Wars-style pods that arced through the air until their connection to the mothership was severed? Okay. By the time the team she’d been hired to do logistics for brought those things in, they were in a more mundane setting, but she’d watched the videos, seen the pictures. Disaster relief was a niche business, and hurricane aftermaths had a similar amount of building destruction and body recovery hazards, but this? This was way beyond that. Enough for her to switch professions. The nightmares were hard enough, she didn’t need to see crazy things in her day-to-day.

Amy still loved her job at the Shore Up nonprofit three years later; she’d been able to parlay her hurricane/emergency management skills to help them after Hurricane Sandy. While the company’s original mission was to support hurricane victims with equity to move out of high-risk areas, they’d expanded their reach in NYC to offer donation support after the storm hit in 2012. After seeing how much good it did, she and the others who had helped launch the donation centers had agreed to stay on and help the general population of the city. 

Her promotion to a supervisory position in the central office of Shore Up had been a surprise, but a welcome one. It meant she had more time for lunch-- which brought Amy full circle back to her ‘weird sights’ musings. She’d spent the past week settling in at the home office, which meant a week of getting to enjoy her now hour-long, non-working lunch.

It had also been a week of genuinely strange stuff going on on the streets of New York City. It was still technically spring, but she wouldn’t have known it had she gone by the skimpy outfits worn by attendees at the convention across from the café she’d gone to on her first day at Main. As well-constructed as some of the costumes were, the people wearing them were often chatty, so Amy had chosen to walk in a different direction on day two.

Days two and three were… cute, but also distracting. Her chosen coffee shop seemed to welcome a whole class of eleven preschoolers every day at lunch. The kids were polite and lined up as they were told, but they were loud. One of them was dressed like Elmo both days. On day four, Amy brought her lunch and just took a walk with her sandwich. Costumes were cute… in moderation.

She felt guilty for being a secret spoilsport, but lunch was her brain break, and spending time and energy being distracted was not something she’d planned for.

As it turned out, she enjoyed the freedom of walking during her lunch hour. Bleecker Street had been promising the past Friday (aka. Day Five), so Amy headed that way again. There was rain on the forecast for late afternoon, but she’d foregone her raincoat for the walk, which had felt risky when she left, but the clouds had mostly cleared up. Besides, her waterproof black knee-high boots would protect her. She felt cute in them, too, which was a plus, especially since rain clouds featured prominently in the weather app for the next few days.

Amy was finishing up her sandwich when the same man she’d seen the previous Friday hurried past her. She knew it was him because he was wearing the same voluminous red cape as before. It wasn’t unusual to see oddly-dressed people in the city; there were movies being filmed, conventions being hosted, and sometimes people just felt like it, but a rich red cape? That was memorable.

She was closer to him than she’d been before, and Amy noted that the rest of his clothing was as unique and unusual as the crimson cape. As his hands swung along with his long strides, she saw that he had fabric strips swathed around his forearms. The man looked right and left before starting across at the crosswalk signal, and she admired his goatee and strong profile. A little thrill went through her as she wondered if perhaps he was an actor she was unfamiliar with. He was certainly handsome enough to be.

She hurried to catch the light, having held back so Mr. Possible Actor didn’t catch onto her stares. Amy swore under her breath when she saw the pedestrian count-down at such a low number, and sure enough, once halfway across she heard an angry horn. Certain she’d waited too long, she sped up with her head down so she wouldn’t trip, only to run headlong into something soft that stopped her short. Seconds later, her hair was blown into her face as a box truck sailed through the intersection, inches away.

“Are you all right? Miss?”

Amy swept her hair out of the way and saw that Handsome Cape-man was frowning down at her. He had to have been the one that stopped her from stepping out in front of the truck, but one look at him told her that ‘soft’ wasn’t the right descriptor at all. For all that he was dressed in a costume (which was incredibly high quality, to the point where she was grateful he hadn’t been struck just for the loss of craftsmanship), he looked fit and serious and half-deadly, like he’d walked right out of a fantasy novel.

“We need to get out of the street,” he said impatiently. Behind her, Amy felt a nudge, but before she could turn around to see what the source was, her rescuer slung an arm around her waist, and stalked them across the rest of the street.

There wasn’t another word for it.

When they reached the other side, he pulled free and then held both hands a few inches on either side of her upper arms, like he was afraid she would topple over. She was more bemused than frightened, but the two sentiments fought for her attention just enough to keep her mute.

“Are you dazed?”

Amy looked up at him. The noon light seemed to highlight the crystal blue of his eyes, and the effect of his good looks, unusual outfit, and actual life-rescuing left her desperately searching for something to say. The longer it took, the more embarrassed and defensive she got.

“You’re dazed,” he declared, sighing as he dropped his arms.

“You’re wearing a cape and you saved me from certain death! I just need a minute,” Amy managed. Outrage had jumpstarted her back into coherence. “I’m telling you right now, mister: if this is a set up for some kind of hidden camera show, I will punch you in your pretty face.”

He raised a single eyebrow, and Amy retroactively heard what she’d just said.

“The point stands,” she said, lifting her chin.

“It doesn’t stand in the ‘proof you’re not dazed’ column,” he said drily. “Tip your head up?”

Amy almost stepped back from him in surprise, but remembered at the last minute that she was standing right on the curb. “Why? You have some snake oil to sell me?” she challenged, as off-balance as she’d ever felt around another person.

Her rescuer scoffed. “Despite any conclusions you want to draw about my attire, you ought to know that phrase is a distortion of the truth unless you’re the kind of person who thinks all snakes are exactly the same. Now, if you don’t mind?” He stepped beside her and leaned over to look clinically into her eyes, moving his hand to block the sun for a few seconds, and nodding in satisfaction. “Instinctual fear response has now faded. You should be fine now.”

“I--” she started, but he’d started to turn away in the direction they were already walking. “Thank you?”

Caped ‘Charming’ made a lurching sort of turn that was seemingly led by his cape, and inclined his head, frowning, before he spun back around.

A quick glance at her watch had Amy rushing (carefully) back to work, with no time to process any of what had happened.

That night she googled two things.

There were no film crews scheduled anywhere near Bleecker Street.

Her second search showed that the origin of the term ‘snake oil’ was indeed distorted. For centuries, substances loosely described as ‘snake oils’ had been used successfully for many ailments, but that was thanks to the specific biology of the Chinese water snake. Subsequent charlatans had boiled any old snake and sold elixirs big on promises and short on results, fueling the phrase. Amy didn’t know why her use of it had bothered the man so much. She couldn’t help but wonder if he would have smiled at her if she’d said something different. 

If she was honest with herself, she wanted a do-over. She’d met someone handsome and enigmatic, and the best she could do was force him to save her from certain vehicular death? Amy wanted a second chance just for the principle of the thing. 

Out of necessity, she put it out of her mind and got to work calling donors, well into the night.

At lunch on Day Seven, Amy had every intention of walking in a completely different direction from Bleecker Street. It was too far away, she had already established that distractions were bad during lunch, and she’d called the man who’d arguably saved her life pretty. She had no business going over there.

She had been very clear with herself.

What wasn’t perfectly clear was her sense of direction. Either that or her subconscious was being sneaky, because at forty minutes since she left the office, Amy turned the corner on Sullivan next to a truly fine building to find herself on Bleecker again. Just then, a bald man wearing a long purple tunic jogged down the front stairs of the building and walked off in the opposite direction. He wasn’t wearing a cape, but the folds and gathers of his tunic and trousers were definitely not typical Greenwich Village wear.

Amy hadn’t expected the outfits to be a thing. Now she was invested. The problem was, she was twenty minutes from work, with twenty minutes left of her break.

“Day Eight, you’re on deck,” she said to herself as she turned around. Distractions aside, every (interesting) human was curious, weren’t they? This was about eliminating a mystery so she could focus on her work duties. It wasn’t about the way she couldn’t stop thinking about the caped man’s gorgeous eyes, the intensity of his gaze, or her need to know what he looked like smiling.

Not at all.

Day Eight threatened rain, but Amy was undaunted. She had her raincoat, her (far too expensive, except for every time she looked in the mirror and loved how they looked) sexy high boots, and today she was even wearing a knee-length skirt with hundreds of gathers. Confidence walked with her today, she decided-- but just in case, she brought along a $5 flimsy collapsible umbrella. 

The drizzle was just enough to make her scarf her sandwich to avoid wet bread syndrome, but it also sped her steps enough that Amy got to the stately building on Bleecker faster than she’d anticipated. 

Amy Cairn was not the ‘loiter around buildings’ type, but she’d seen others do it in the past, and the rain was picking up. Surely she could rest awhile near the building, tip her head up to the rain, and wait for her mysterious caped crossing guard to reappear. She’d just gathered up enough courage to spin her skirt out into the rain to see the patterns the drops would make on the fabric when the door opened and her knight in red brocade walked out to glare down at her.

“What is it that you want?” he asked, his eyes narrowed. He was wearing an over-large pendant that hung from his neck like a centerpiece, and she couldn’t help but notice that he was holding his hands like he’d have to grab for a weapon at any moment. The jittery way they shook made her wonder if he was part of a high-end drug den with bizarrely inventive organizers.

“I can’t stand here for a minute and enjoy the weather?” Just then, the rain intensified, thudding down on her upturned face with distinct disapproval. “You don’t want to get your fancy outfit all wet, do you?” Just talking was getting rain in her mouth, and yet there he stood, handsomely disapproving-- and, was the rain even soaking into his clothes? There weren’t any darker wet spots appearing on him anywhere.

“No.”

Something about him made her equally determined to make him smile and make him frown. He had a very expressive face, and he was wasting it.

“Sorry, which question of mine was that in answer to?” she asked, insolently cocking her head as she spoke. The effect was slightly marred by the way a wet piece of hair glopped over onto her cheek.

“Both. Neither. What--” As though answering him, the rain doubled again.

Amy fumbled into her small bag for her pathetic umbrella. It was probably her last chance of making her medieval adonis smile at her. She caught him altering his stance to a casual lean in the doorway as he watched her fight with the glue-like velcro and finally hit the button to deploy.

The umbrella lunged forward, finally unleashed. The metal and cloth contraption proved too strong for its flimsy plastic housing, which snapped.

Worse, Tall, Caped, and Handsome’s expression changed not a whit.

“Go on, gloat,” she muttered.

“I’d argue I don’t have time for this, but with Wong visiting for a few days, I suppose I do,” he said, perhaps to himself, adding in a louder voice, “You may come inside, but only until this passes.”

“Oh, I wasn’t trying to--”

“Perform your pretense at protest indoors, you’re wet enough already!” he groused, stepping further into the downpour to gesture at the door.

Befuddled, Amy did as she was told and walked up the stairs and into a dim, intimidating entryway. The door thundered closed behind her. Already a patter-pat of droplets flowed off of her raincoat and ruined umbrella, so she did the best thing she could think of, and set the latter in the metal framework umbrella stand nearby. It already had an archaic-looking black parasol in it, and Amy watched in dismay as the mess of plastic, metal, and soaked fabric slid wetly along its side.

“Here.” A black towel thrust into her line of sight. When she saw the hand clutching it, she initially thought he was sporting some kind of savage henna art. Amy reached out instinctively, only realizing as he abruptly dropped the towel that what she was seeing were scars, instead.

“Why am I not surprised it's black?” she blurted. The movement of her head caused a stream of rainwater to course down from her hair. "Shit, sorry," she said. The floor immediately around her was scattered with variously sized puddles.

“I don’t have time for this.” He was standing behind her, and Amy only caught a glimpse of the flash of light that traveled over and surrounded her from her toes on up in golden light. A second later, she was entirely dry. “Tell me what you’re doing hanging around the sanctum.”

“Hold on,” Amy said, patting at her hair, her chest, and her legs. Confused, she raised one tentative hand back up to her hair, in a physical sort of double take. It felt soft, and when she ran her fingers through it, she recognized the wavy bounciness she’d sported before showering in the hard New York water for three years running. “How in the--”

“Oh, spare me. This is getting tiresome,” the man said. He circled around to stand directly in front of her, his cape furled dramatically around him. “You tell whoever keeps hiring lost-looking spies to come down and face me themselves! Just because they picked someone young and attractive this time doesn’t mean I’m any more inclined to tell you anything!”

In the moody lighting he was even more handsome than before, if slightly menacing. Amy’s throat closed up at the idea that someone who could somehow dry her off with sleight of hand or stolen Chitauri magic would think she was in any way a threat. She was going to need to deflect, to give up on her quest for his smiles and get out of there.

A crazy thought came to her, and Amy decided it just might work.

“Well!” she said, channeling her inner offended store patron. “I did not come here to be complimented by the likes of you!” She reached into the umbrella stand and grabbed a twisted, wet handle, pressed it to her chest, and started for the door.

When she got there, the doorknob was completely missing.

“That was masterful, I must say,” her Caped Captor said in a silky voice. “Bring it back, please.”

“Bring what back?” she asked, wheeling around and gasping. The deeply confusing man she’d allowed to persuade her into his bizarre parlor full of tricks was now floating only a few feet away from her.

“The Babylonian relic you just tried to steal.”

Now Amy was well and truly freaked out. “I refuse to sign an NDA,” she said, closing her eyes tight. “Let me out and I won’t tell anyone you’re trying to frighten ordinary citizens for whatever viral campaign this is!”

“Well, you’re dedicated to the lie, at least,” the man said. His voice was closer now, and she opened her eyes to be ready for his next illusion. “Hand it over.”

His cloak seemed to be reaching for her. There wasn’t anywhere else to go, so in desperation, she thrust out her hand, the one that was holding her broken, soggy umbrella. In front of her eyes, the flimsy thing seemed to change, turning black instead of the navy blue which almost matched her caped captor’s clothing.

“How are you doing this?” she whispered.

His voice was equally quiet. “I’m not.”

She shook her head, genuinely frightened, and opened her hand to drop the umbrella. As it fell, the dark wood handle that she’d been clutching elongated and curved in just the right way to land on her wrist, instead of dropping to the floor.

Amy looked at the magician whose lair she’d been lured into, and said, “I’d like to faint dead away, please.”

Next chapter, Stephen is charmed and suspicious, as the ancient umbrella relic he's been wrestling with for weeks decides to imprint on Amy.

[passiveagressiveukulele]

A suitcase once packed is never really unpacked

A day after we wrapped I went home to Croatia to renew my passport. On this 10 day mini holiday I got to reflect on the work I’ve done this semester and how I wish to move forward.

Going into film school I was pretty set on becoming a director. What I didn’t realise is that I wanted to direct a specific kind of films - the kind that don’t usually involve actors or many of the other crew members. A 10 ten experimental film course I did the summer before the first year of uni re-routed my cinematic aspirations. Irrevocably.

During that course I started turning my attention more towards camera and editing- I always shot and edited my films not because I had a dying need to be in control of these departments but because I never found a collaborator I could rely on to take over these departments. But then it hit me - I actually really enjoy being in control of these departments! To hell with it - I am rebranding halfway through film school - I shall pursue cinematography and editing!

But having done a few shoots in the camera department now I’m not so sure I enjoy image making for fiction. I thrive in uncertain and unpredictable environments. I use the camera to notice and to note down. I’m never more alert and more creative then when I look through the viewfinder. It hits me again - documentary is the name of the game.

And I'm not even talking about the kind of pure documentary that gets made over the course of 10 years. Having worked on a BTS TEDx Documentary I realised I enjoy even the more commercial, TV reportage kind of docs. And the experience I gained from this particular event is realising that being a documentary cinematographer entails a completely different skillset. It requires patience to let the action unfold and keep rolling until something usable happens. At the same time, it requires speed because things will only ever happen once and to capture it you need to turnover quickly, even if it's out of focus for the moment. Discretion is needed, but so is persistance if you want to follow your story through.

I think I work best in an unpredictable environment and I believe that comes from using the camera as a form of socialisation, or maybe better anti-socialisation. The viewfinder is my way of peering into the world, but also keep at a safe distance from it.

The wonderful thing about documentary is that it offers so much freedom in the edit. Rhythm comes from surprising places. More technical mistakes are tolerated, but so are more bold, experimental choices.

Don't get me wrong - I think that learning as many different skillsets as possible will make you that much more competent in any given situation (and also that much more employable), but I do believe that certain areas of film (and thank god that there are so many to choose from) work better for certain personality types. I think I discovered what mine is.

Having nearly finished the TEDx task and starting on a new promo doc on Agitate gallery this Friday I think I can slowly start thinking ahead about the next 'pure documentary' thing I will embark on. And this one is building on my questions about cultural identity once more but this time it's reframing them in relation to the Scottish landscape and my grandpa.

So here are a few things that have been inspiring me this past semester in pursuing this idea and not letting it drown in the pile of stress I've been experiencing lately.

1. Untold Tales by Rajko Grlic

My mum discovered this Croatian director and went down the fangirl rabbit hole. She bought his new book as soon as it went on presale. When I went home she gave me no choice but to read it. Grlic graduated film directing in Prague and started making feature films in the last few years of existing socialist regime and when Yugoslavia fell apart he was deemed a traitor and Serb lover - he was given no choice but to flee his country. He built a stable career for himself abroad but Croatia kept calling back. He still makes films in his homeland and about his homeland, and just how absurd and sad the whole situation is. I found the book very emotional and had to stop halfway through when he asked the question: "I don't know if my homeland is in my suitcase or if my homeland is where my suitcase is."

2. ZagrebDox

Another one I owe to my mum is getting us tickets for the short programme of ZagrebDox film festival. I am usually never around for this festival, but this year I got lucky. We saw three short films, very different in subject matter and style, but the one that stuck out to us the most was Scenes with my father by Biserka Suran, a part Croatian and part Dutch filmmaker who was evacuated to the Netherlands when the war broke out. Her father never spoke to her or her sisters about this and the lack of communication around the subject imposed generational trauma on the girls. In this film she tries to make sense of the situation the best she can and find an answer to the same question Grlic has: where is my homeland and what can I call my homeland?

3. Mila Turajdilic talks

The Scottish Documentary Institute and the French Institute hosted two events in the last week which both featured this prominent Serbian director, first as a moderator and then as a guest speaker. Over the past decade she has been dealing with Yugoslavian archive and I was interested in hearing about her approach as I have been raiding my own family's archive from back when they were communist. Her presentation was unlike anything I've ever seen before - it was performance art. The whole time she had her back turned and we could observe her face on the big screen while she was silmoutaneously showing us her findings. For the first time in my life I saw the images of my parents' and grandparents' past. For the first time I heard what comrade Tito actually sounded like. She gave me access to a part of history that has been institutionally hidden from me whilst also giving me tools on how to proceed with my own archive and consider my position, my story, when faced with it.

4. Cloud photography

Remember that time I was fangirling about photography and how it's been a revelation for me this semester... Well for my copyright class I decided to write about it, the complex issue of whether or not photos should be copyrightable - don't get me started otherwise I will really go off on a tangent. Anywho, one of the articles blew my mind - I know right, who thought that academia could be kind of...fun? So the article was basically tracing the work of Alfred Stieglitz in relation to Walter Benjamin and his aura and essentially suggested that clouds are a type of aura hanging above photographs. The last sentence is totally unnecessary for my practice, I'm just proving to myself I can summarise the reading. In fact what was really fascinating about that reading is that in 18th century cameras couldn't expose for landscape and skyscape at the same time. The two fields had to be taken as separate images and stitched together after they had been developed. Meaning... the horizon line disappeared. Since my whole project is about my relationship to the landscape it gave me some real funky ideas on how I can stitch the landscapes of the two countries together. Theory doth inform art practice indeed.

5. Unbalanced aspect ratio

I first saw this technique in the Todd Haynes documentary about the Velvet Underground, but then saw a similar concept when I was in the Fruitmarket gallery. I really liked things being off centre and perhaps paired with an additional negative space - be it a photograph or just a colourful block. I already started to implement this into my other project I have been working on (the film letters I send to my film pen pal each month) and it's really nice seeing how subtracting from the frame can be just as impactful as instilling another frame into a frame (which is the technique I have always favoured).

So yeah... this is the kind of stuff that keeps me from imploding and reminds me why I can't live without this medium.

More on inspo after the biggest and most important weekend of the year. And no, I'm not talking about Coachella. I'm referring to the only experimental film festival in the country - Alchemy Film Festival!!!

[notanislander]

I've followed you for a while; I enjoy your content and by all accounts you seem like good, decent person. If anything in my message made it seems otherwise, I offer my apologies.

I also apologize it it seems I was placing "undoing a choice" solely on women. I'm not. It takes two to tango. Both are responsible for creating life. Men should be equally responsible for caring for the child, including all medical pre-natal medical expenses.

But as often happens, once the child is conceived, men are unilaterally cut out of the discussion where there's a disagreement. She wants to keep the baby, he doesn't? He wants to keep the baby, she doesn't? Who wins? Mom.

You're also right that women are raped and some seek abortions. I have some personal experience with just that. A chat for another day, perhaps. But, even the pro-abortion Guttmacher Institute, born out of Planned Parenthood, says that fewer than 1% of abortions are a result of rape. The reason used least among all reasons for an abortion.

Google "Reasons U.S. Women Have Abortions: Quantitative and Qualitative Perspectives." Guttmacher Institute if you, or anyone else, want to read the numbers.

I don't think we're ignoring maternal mortality, exactly. Remember, the federal government has a limited role. It was designed to defend life and liberty and really not much else. The founding generation came here to escape a heavy handed government that insisted on being involved in and in control of every aspect of King George's subject's lives. Again, thus the intentional focus on liberty, freedom and personal responsibility on these shores.

We could get very deep in the subject of problems in this old world that need addressing. Maternal mortality, for example. Hunger, health care, etc. The problem with getting a government to fix these issues, that wasn't designed for that role, is in order to effect that change they have to assume the role of parent, or supporter if you will, to people who should be supporting themselves. It also requires conscripting other people, and their money, because Uncle Sam doesn't have any of his own. The harsh, blunt answer? If you can't afford a child, including pre-natal care, and all the unending expenses that come for the next (at a bare minimum) 18/22 years, then it's up to the individual to not do the one thing that creates life until they are ready.

As for guns and "common sense" gun laws? We fight them because we don't agree on what constitutes common sense. The "common sense" bipartisan gun law Congress just passed wouldn't have stopped the Uvalde shooting or the Sandy Hook shooting or the Columbine shooting. It also wouldn't stop any of the criminals from getting guns and using them to commit crimes - because criminals don't obey the law. Laws like the one struck down in NY make it harder for regular law abiding citizens to defend themselves. Why don't gun owners just comply with "common sense" gun laws just to see if they'll work? Because liberty, once lost, is never regained. Because government is a horrible steward and an evil meant to be restrained to the maximum extent.

I hope you'll forgive me for leaving this on anon. I appreciate your thoughts and the reasoned discussion but we both know not everyone is so reasoned and I don't feel like dealing with a rash of hysterical hate.

Sorry for the delay in answering. Friday nights are not the same once you hit a certain age, and sleep has become my go-to party, lol!

So, where to begin, where to begin. There is a lot to unpack here.

In my last answer I said pretty much every argument against gun laws can also be used for pro-choice. And you have said it pretty clearly here. Government is a "horrible steward and an evil meant to be restrained to the maximum extent" (your words). So, then, how is it OK for the government to come between a woman and her doctor? And the difference between my opinion about gun safety and your opinion about abortions is- I don't think we should take all guns away. You think we should ban all abortions. And, if you don't, many of the states who are now making it illegal are-even in the case of a woman's life, rape, or incest. And, not only do I not think all guns should be banned, I don't believe all bullets should be banned. But those passing laws right now believe birth control should be!

No abortion laws are going to make abortion go away- they are just going to make them less and less safe, so more and more women and children will suffer. If we want to talk statistics and facts, when abortion is legal, birth control is readily available, and sex education is taught, abortions go down. Before yesterday, abortion rates had continued to decline from the 80s and 90s. But much of this, and much of the excuses like, "just use birth control!" are predicated on birth control being readily available. And, as we have seen with current states rulings against abortion- they are also against birth control. And Justice Thomas said, out loud, that those laws "were in error" too. So, any state that is banning contraception, under this SCOTUS will be given the full rights to do so. Is that rational, in your opinion? If you believe so, we have absolutely no common ground.

Women are being set back 50 years. If this was truly about being pro-life, I will say it again- there would be talk of ending maternal and infant mortality rates, extended family leave, prenatal and postnatal care, on and on. All of those are not only extremely fixable, but also doable. But we aren't. Because "big government bad!" (although I would counter, Universal Health Care isn't the government in charge, it's ensuring that all people have access to health care. That no one should have to choose between eating and going to the doctor. I have been poor in America with underfunded health insurance, I have had to make those choices for myself and my family. I am speaking out of my own personal experience. THANK GOD! For Planned Parenthood and their women's health care and contraception. I thank God every day for them. No, I did not have an abortion, but without them I would not have been able to afford Pap smears, contraception, the whole gamut of women's health and reproductive care).

In Texas, the punishment for seeking an abortion is harsher than the punishment for rape. How is that OK? This is about treating women as if they are nothing but chattel to be used and disposed of. I know that sounds over the top, but it all boils down to that, for me. If a man has sex with 100 women in a year, he can create 100 babies. If a woman has sex with 100 men in a year, she can only have one baby. And, yet, it's the woman who bears he brunt of responsibility in the majority of cases.

People can talk about how we will "honor" women, but the truth of the matter is, without reproductive rights, there go our chances for better promotions in the work place, there go our chances for a better life. If an abused woman is to get out of a horrible situation, how can she if she has 5 babies? If she isn't allowed birth control, she is nothing but a vessel. She has no agency over her life. I treasure my three children. They are the best parts of my life. But I thank God I was able to access birth control, because 3 babies under 5 was a lot! And putting 3 young adults through college was A LOT!

Then, there is also the unspoken after-effect of unwanted children- child abuse, childhood trauma, neglect. The social service systems our severely under funded and have some real harsh problems. As a teacher, I see these things on a daily basis.

And, you must realize that this ruling goes way beyond abortion rights. You must realize that this is also about contraception, gay rights, interracial rights, even education rights. This is about everything that was passed in the last 75 years or more. That part has been said out loud, too. So, if we don't stand up for this right being taken away, we will see even more rights gone. I am going to assume (and, yes I know what happens when we assume) that you are a straight, white, male. So maybe those things don't bother you because they, 'Don't impact you'. But, sooner or later, something will. And there will be no one left to defend your rights.

I am sure I have only scratched the surface here. I know I could say more, and say it more eloquently with time. But I will end it here, because it's very long, and I miss the pretty pictures I usually post. If you want to continue this discussion, as I have said before, message me privately. I promise to not judge you, or anything like that. I like measured discussions with people who respect others' opinions. I understand your desire for anonymity, that's what makes the private messaging feature of Tumblr nice- only you and I can see that discussion. Or, you could message me here under your Tumblr name and I could answer privately. But I think it's time to dust my feet and move on from this post. So I will close with this:

I am pro-life, that is why I am pro-choice.

Thank you.

[moneyallthetime]

How To Supplement A Retirement Income

Hello, my loves! Trecia here, bringing you all the tea on how to supplement your retirement income. Today we're talking about building a game plan for financial freedom in your golden years. So grab a cup of your favorite brew and let's dive right in!Retirement is often viewed as a time to kick back, relax, and reap the rewards of years of hard work. But let's be real, honey - the cost of living isn't taking a break just because you are. Understanding how to supplement your retirement income can mean the difference between struggling and sashaying through your sunset years.Exploring Part-Time Employment Opportunities Tailored for RetireesFirst things first, consider part-time employment. Now, don't roll your eyes at me, darlings! I'm not talking about hustling like you're still in your 30s. Think fun and fulfilling roles that bring in some extra coins. Tutoring, substitute teaching, or freelance editing can be great options. You've got a lifetime of wisdom to share, why not get paid for it?Understanding the Current Financial Landscape for RetireesNow, my darlings, the landscape of retirement has changed more dramatically than a reality TV show plotline. Kiplinger's tells us that the retirement trends today are shaping the retirement realities of tomorrow. The traditional three pillars of retirement income - employer pensions, personal savings, and social security - are undergoing a transformation.Employer-provided pensions have become as elusive as a good man on a Friday night4. And Social Security income? Honey, it's carrying more weight than ever before. But with more than half of retirees living on less than 50% of their pre-retirement income, according to a survey by Goldman Sachs, it's like trying to enjoy champagne on a beer budget.And let's not forget about the rising number of baby boomers who have no retirement savings at all. The Hill reports that this figure has jumped from 30 percent to 37 percent. Talk about a wake-up call, right?But, my loves, the future isn't all doom and gloom. T. Rowe Price suggests three themes shaping the U.S. Retirement Landscape: retirement income, personalization, and diversification. So, while the landscape is changing, there's still plenty of opportunities to navigate these changes and secure your financial future.So, tell me, how are you preparing for this new retirement reality? What steps are you taking to navigate this financial landscape? Share your thoughts in the comments below!Leveraging Skills and Experience into Consulting or FreelancingFirst off, know your worth. You've been in the game for years, honey, and that's worth its weight in gold. Don't undersell yourself just because you're new to the freelancing world. Sites like Glassdoor can give you an idea of what freelancers in your field are charging.Next, polish that LinkedIn profile until it shines brighter than a diamond. This is where potential clients will get their first impression of you, so make it count. Highlight your achievements, skills, and experience in a way that's easy to understand.Now, let's talk networking. Forbes suggests joining industry-specific groups on LinkedIn and attending virtual events to connect with potential clients. Remember, your next gig could come from the most unexpected places.And don't forget about marketing yourself. Create a website, start a blog, or even launch a podcast. Show off your expertise and let potential clients see what you bring to the table. Websites like WordPress or Wix can help you create a professional-looking site in no time.Finally, consider signing up with freelancing platforms like Upwork or Fiverr. These sites can help you find clients and manage your projects all in one place.Remember, my loves, the transition to consulting or freelancing may not be easy, but it can be incredibly rewarding. You have the skills and experience - now it's time to put them to work for you.So tell me, are you considering taking the leap into freelancing or consulting? How are you leveraging your skills and experience? Share your thoughts in the comments below!Investing Wisely: Low-Risk Options for a Steady Income StreamFirst off, let's talk about high-yield savings accounts. These are like your regular savings account but with one major difference - they offer higher interest rates. This means your money works harder for you. Plus, they're insured by the FDIC, so your investment is safe.Next up, we have money market funds. These are mutual funds that invest in short-term, high-quality investments issued by U.S. corporations, and federal, state, and local governments. They are a safe bet when it comes to low-risk investments.Another great option is short-term certificates of deposit (CDs). These offer a fixed interest rate and are also insured by the FDIC. The catch? You have to agree not to access your funds for a set period of time. But if you can hold off, CDs can be a great way to earn some extra income.Bonds, specifically U.S. Treasury bills, notes, and bonds, are another low-risk investment option. They provide regular interest payments and return the face value of the bond at maturity.Dividend stocks, utility stocks, and preferred stocks can provide a steady income stream while also offering the potential for capital appreciation. They can be a great addition to any retirement portfolio.Fixed annuities are insurance contracts that pay a guaranteed income for a specified period or for life, making them a popular choice for retirees. However, they can be complex and may have high fees, so be sure to do your research.Lastly, don't overlook the potential of real estate crowdfunding and direct investment in rental properties. These can provide a steady income stream and the potential for property appreciation.Remember, my loves, investing involves risks, including the possible loss of principal, and it's important to consider your risk tolerance and investment objectives before diving in. Always consult with a financial advisor to make sure you're making the best choices for your situation.So tell me, are you considering any of these low-risk investment options? Do you have other strategies for creating a steady income stream? Share your thoughts in the comments below!Turning Hobbies and Passions into Profitable VenturesFirst off, identify what you love to do. Whether it's painting, baking, gardening, or writing, there's potential to monetize almost any hobby. Remember, passion is infectious; when you love what you do, others will be drawn to it too.Next, do your market research. Is there a demand for your product or service? Who are your competitors? What can you offer that's unique? Sites like Google Trends can help you understand what people are searching for online.Once you've got your idea, it's time to create a business plan. This should outline your goals, target audience, pricing strategy, and marketing plan. The U.S. Small Business Administration has great resources to help with this.Now, let's talk about branding. A strong brand can set you apart from the competition. Think about your logo, color scheme, and overall aesthetic. Your brand should reflect your personality and appeal to your target audience.When you're ready to launch, consider starting small. You might open an Etsy shop, sell at local farmers markets, or offer your services to friends and family. As you grow, you can consider creating a website or expanding to other platforms.Social media is also a powerful tool for promoting your business. Platforms like Instagram, Pinterest, and Facebook are great for showcasing your products or services and connecting with potential customers. Don't forget about the power of hashtags to reach a wider audience.Finally, remember to keep track of your finances. Tools like QuickBooks or Mint can help you manage your income, expenses, and taxes.Remember, my loves, turning a hobby into a business can take time and effort, but the rewards can be well worth it. You're doing what you love and making money at the same time – what could be better?So tell me, are you considering turning your hobby into a business? What steps are you taking to make it happen? Share your thoughts in the comments below!The Role of Social Security and Pensions in Supplementing IncomeSocial Security is a federal program that provides benefits to retired workers, disabled individuals, and their survivors. Your benefits are based on your lifetime earnings. It's designed to replace approximately 40% of an average wage earner's income after retiring. However, the amount you receive can vary depending on when you choose to start receiving benefits.Pensions, on the other hand, are employer-sponsored retirement plans. If you're lucky enough to have one, your employer contributes money to the plan on your behalf. Upon retirement, you receive regular payments from this fund. The amount you receive typically depends on your salary, years of service, and the specific terms of your pension plan.Both Social Security and pensions play a crucial role in supplementing retirement income. They can provide a steady cash flow and help cover basic living expenses. However, they're typically not enough to maintain your pre-retirement lifestyle.This is where personal savings, investments, and other income sources come into play. Consider things like IRAs, 401(k)s, annuities, and even part-time work or a small business. These can supplement your Social Security and pension income, helping you live comfortably and enjoy your retirement years.Remember, my loves, planning for retirement is a long-term game. The sooner you start, the better off you'll be. Consult with a financial planner to ensure you're making the most of your income sources and setting yourself up for a secure future.So tell me, are you considering how Social Security and pensions will factor into your retirement plans? What other income sources are you exploring? Share your thoughts in the comments below!Navigating the Gig Economy: Flexible Work Options for SeniorsThe gig economy is a booming market that provides opportunities for workers to take on short-term contracts or freelance work instead of, or in addition to, traditional full-time jobs. And for seniors, it's an especially attractive option.One of the biggest draws of the gig economy for seniors is flexibility. You can take on as much or as little work as you desire, allowing you to balance work and leisure time. Whether you're looking for a side hustle to supplement your income or a part-time job that allows you to stay active and engaged, the gig economy has you covered.Moreover, the gig economy often provides the chance to work remotely. This location independence can be particularly appealing to seniors who want to travel or who prefer not to commute.But the benefits don't stop there. Many seniors find that gig work offers a sense of purpose and social engagement. Whether you're sharing your expertise as a consultant or connecting with people as a driver for a rideshare service, gig work can provide meaningful interactions and the chance to make a difference.Despite these benefits, it's also important to consider the potential challenges. Gig work often doesn't provide the same stability and benefits as traditional employment. It's crucial to have a plan for things like retirement savings and health insurance.Also, navigating the gig economy may require learning new skills, such as digital literacy. There are resources available to help seniors gain these skills and succeed in the gig economy.Remember, my loves, the gig economy is just one avenue for work in retirement. It's essential to consider your lifestyle, financial needs, and personal preferences when exploring this option.So tell me, are you considering joining the gig economy? What kind of gig work appeals to you? Share your thoughts in the comments below!Real Estate: Downsizing, Renting, and REITs Investment PotentialDownsizing is a popular option for many seniors. It involves moving to a smaller home, often after children have moved out or in preparation for retirement. The benefits can be significant: reduced costs, less maintenance, and potentially a simpler lifestyle.However, downsizing isn't right for everyone. It's important to consider factors like location, accessibility, and emotional attachment to your current home. If you decide to downsize, planning ahead and organizing your belongings can make the transition smoother.Renting is another option that can offer flexibility and financial benefits. For seniors, renting can eliminate the stress of home maintenance and provide more freedom to travel. Moreover, it can free up cash tied up in home equity. However, it's essential to consider factors like rent stability, the terms of your lease, and how well the rental property suits your needs.REITs are a type of investment that owns, operates, or finances income-generating real estate. They offer a way for individual investors to earn a share of the income produced through commercial real estate ownership - without actually having to go out and buy commercial real estate.Investing in REITs can provide a steady stream of income through dividends, as well as potential appreciation in the value of the shares. They can be a great addition to a diversified investment portfolio. However, as with any investment, there are risks involved, including market volatility and interest rate sensitivity.Remember, my loves, making real estate decisions can be complex and should reflect your personal circumstances and goals. It's always wise to consult with a financial advisor or real estate professional to help guide your decisions.So tell me, are you considering downsizing, renting, or investing in REITs? What factors are influencing your decision? Share your thoughts in the comments below!Maximizing Savings Through Budgeting and Expense ManagementBudgeting is the cornerstone of any successful financial plan. It involves tracking your income and expenses to understand where your money is going and identify areas where you can save. Start by listing all your sources of income and all your expenses. Then, categorize your expenses into 'needs' (like housing and groceries) and 'wants' (like dining out and entertainment).Seeing everything laid out can help you spot trends and identify areas where you can cut back. Remember, even small changes can add up over time!Expense management goes hand-in-hand with budgeting. This involves being mindful of your spending habits and making intentional decisions about where to allocate your resourcesAutomate Savings: Set up automatic transfers to your savings account each month. This ensures that saving is a priority, not an afterthought2.So tell me, my loves, how are you managing your budget and expenses? Do you have any tips to share? Let me know in the comments below!Staying Financially Secure: Avoiding Scams Targeting RetireesScammers often target seniors because of their perceived vulnerability and the likelihood that they have a nest egg. These scams can take various forms, but some of the most common ones are government impersonation scams, robocall scams, and sweepstakes scams.Government Impersonation Scams: In these scams, fraudsters pretend to be government officials to trick you into providing personal information or money. They might claim that you owe a debt that must be paid immediately or face severe consequences like arrest or termination of benefits.Robocall Scams: These scams involve automated phone calls that offer free prizes, low-cost vitamins, and health care products, or inexpensive vacations. If you receive such a call, hang up immediately. Remember, if it sounds too good to be true, it probably is7.Sweepstakes Scams: In these scams, fraudsters tell you that you've won a lottery or sweepstakes and need to pay a fee to collect your prize. Legitimate sweepstakes will never ask you to pay a fee to collect your winnings.To protect yourself, always be skeptical of unsolicited contacts and too-good-to-be-true offers. Never give out personal information like your Social Security number or bank account details over the phone unless you initiated the contact and are sure of who you're dealing with. And remember, it's okay to say no and hang up.If you believe you've been targeted by a scam, report it to your local law enforcement agency and your state's Attorney General's office.Remember, my loves, staying informed and vigilant is your best defense against these scams.So tell me, have you or someone you know been targeted by such scams? How did you handle it? Share your experiences and tips in the comments below!So if you really want to dive in and make some real money with your passion then you might want to consider my #1 recommendation Wealthy AffiliateWealthy Affiliate is a platform that offers training and tools for affiliate marketing. Now you might be wondering, why should a senior consider joining Wealthy Affiliate? Let's dive in.Flexibility: As a senior, one of the most significant advantages of affiliate marketing through Wealthy Affiliate is the flexibility it offers. You can work at your own pace, whenever and wherever you want. This can fit comfortably into your daily routine without disrupting other activities.Community Support: Wealthy Affiliate boasts a supportive community and caring founders. The platform provides interactive support and a lively forum where you can share ideas and learn from others' experiences.Comprehensive Training: Wealthy Affiliate offers comprehensive training materials. Regardless of your tech-savviness, their training programs guide you through the basics and beyond. You gain hands-on experience and learn to apply theory practically.Affordability: Affiliate marketing is a fairly straightforward online business model that doesn't require much money to get started. This makes it accessible for seniors looking to earn some extra income without significant upfront investment.However, like any platform, Wealthy Affiliate has its drawbacks. Some critiques point to the sales pitch used to sign up members. Therefore, it's essential to do your research and understand what you're getting into before making a commitment.Remember, my loves, exploring new opportunities is a great way to stay engaged and financially active during retirement. But always make sure any venture aligns with your interests, skills, and financial goals.So tell me, have you considered joining Wealthy Affiliate or a similar program? Share your thoughts in the comments below! Cut Unnecessary Subscriptions: Review your monthly subscriptions and cancel any that you no longer use or need. Shop Smarter: Use coupons, shop sales, and consider buying items used instead of new to save money. Reduce Energy Costs: Unplug electronics when they're not in use, use energy-efficient appliances, and consider switching to a cheaper energy provider if possible. Reduce Energy Costs: Unplug electronics when they're not in use, use energy-efficient appliances, and consider switching to a cheaper energy provider if possible . Shop Smarter: Use coupons, shop sales, and consider buying items used instead of new to save money. Reduce Energy Costs: Unplug electronics when they're not in use, use energy-efficient appliances, and consider switching to a cheaper energy provider if possible. Read the full article

[gerardwayissexah]

First Draft Friday! 🎉🥂

So, I missed the boat on WIP Wednesday, as I have for the last several weeks. Work and NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month) have kept me decently busy, so I haven't thought of sharing new excerpts until now.

Here's a selection from a one-shot featuring my branch Hyuga OC, Risa. If you've read "Bird in a Gilded Cage," this is a prequel of sorts. However, you don't need knowledge of that fic to understand what's happening here. Unlike Neji, Risa's loyal to the Hyuga clan despite her simmering dissatisfaction with the life that's been forced upon her. In this fic, Risa watches Neji compete in the chunin exam finals and she has...thoughts - about family, loyalty and the price of freedom.

Enjoy! :)

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As the contestants lined up in the sand, she picked out Neji Hyuga’s cream colored jacket and black shorts from among the figures assembled. He was all sharp lines and hardened muscle, and he seemed to grow more agitated as the minutes ticked past. Naruto Uzumaki – his opponent in the first round – was late. Watching the teenage genin pacing in the sand, they appeared no larger than insects in Risa’s eyes. She observed the red haired sand genin’s menacing pout, the Nara boy’s apathetic slouch and the way Neji shifted his weight from sandal to sandal.

His posture told her that he’d hold nothing back against the Uzumaki once – if – he arrived, going even harder against him to punish him for his tardiness. And if the Uzumaki failed to appear, Neji would redouble his forces against whoever competed against him next. A stray breeze swept sidelong across the upper stands, stirring the stale July air and rustling Risa’s bangs. Without a conscious thought, she brought a palm to her forehead and smoothed her hair out.

When the wind hit Hirono’s hair, she allowed it to sweep her bangs into a disheveled mess before she combed her hair back over her white forehead. A lifetime of hiding the seal beneath her bangs had made Risa adept at countering even the smallest breeze. Ko laughed and teased her for being so particular about her hair, and Risa answered that she worked too hard to keep it straight and clean.

“You really should wear your headband in its proper place,” Hirono suggested with a single arched brow.

Hirono Hyuga’s white eyes narrowed in her direction, and a spike of fear drove into Risa’s heart for half a second. She wouldn’t, Risa reminded herself. Not over something so petty. Not when nobody in the sea of faces was any the wiser. For main clan Hyuga other than the clan head, the caged bird seal was for imminent danger to life or body. Hirono was self-aware enough to know her place even as she implicitly suggested that Risa needed to remember hers.

“I think it looks good the way you have it, Risa.”

Ko’s tactful defense lightened Risa’s spirits for a moment. She shifted along the hardback seats so that her outer thigh touched his. A silent thank you, because thanking him audibly would antagonize Hirono.

Risa dipped her head to where she wore her headband slung around her neck, the same place where Hirono wore hers. As newly minted genin, both girls had agreed that wearing their headbands on their foreheads was far too restrictive and uncomfortable. They’d made a point of matching one another, as friends were wont to do. Risa wanted to say this is its proper place, but hummed instead. The Hyuga clan’s secret had held for four generations since the hidden leaf’s founding. A misplaced headband and an errant wind wouldn’t prove the clan’s downfall, Risa remarked to herself. Irritation grating on her, Risa’s eyes drifted from Hirono to Neji, who wore his headband in its proper place.

Some of the genin lined up on the sand now began to openly question the proctors, demanding an end to the delay that now dragged past 30 minutes. The arena’s high walls amplified their voices, giving them a tinny quality. For his part, the Nara boy appeared relieved that his obligation to compete was further postponed.

Neji Hyuga shared her seal and her eyes, she knew, but they had almost nothing else in common. Neji was a ball of explosives and shrapnel that threatened to blow at any minute. Risa’s anger bubbled through occasionally, then dissipated like an afternoon storm. The clan was her life, and she could conceive of no other existence – however much she sometimes disliked being a Hyuga jounin of the hidden leaf.

[dailydiarynquotes]

Day 4

Friday, August 4, 2023

The day started well. We became very close, it became intimate.

However, I couldn't think of anything else during that time. I've been trying to cover my mind to enjoy it because every time could be the last. Nevertheless, for a brief moment I felt hope again, which I had been missing for the past few weeks.

Everything was nice until the moment we sat next to each other and I asked her who she was sending tiktoks with. A guy we've already argued about because something happened between him and her and I didn't like the contact. I spoke to her about it and then the situation escalated completely.

The trigger? She downplayed it by saying we were just "bros". So you sleep with your bros? Why are you asking me to "stay loyal" for the last few days and weeks while you're enjoying all the freedom? Why is she telling me she's changing everything so she doesn't have to lose me like this and then say something like that? Of course she hold it against me that it was my decision, but forget or ignore the fact that I told her I always have hope and I'm only with her because I can't quite let go.

Let go of the hope that we could still exist somewhere. How could I think otherwise if you tell me every day you already do it.

After a few flying objects and lots of tears, we started an honest in-depth conversation.

She searched my entire phone and couldn't find anything and after a long hesitation I told you that I've written 4-5 messages with a person I've been texting with for a while once.

I was so honest because she promised she would delete him from snapchat. It was clear that she didn't do that. It was clear that my hesitation was again to blame. The difference is I keep my word. I let go of anything that could harm us but she?

So, here we are again. I give everything and she does nothing. I delete and block all people from my life and she? I'm just sick and very tired of it. Why do I keep doing this to myself? Is this a form of manipulation and am I falling for it? Why can't I get away? Otherwise I always had the strength to cut everyone off. Maybe I should socialize more/ hang out with friends... but I just want to be with her..

It was getting late and I grabbed the boxing gloves to lighten the mood a bit. At first we boxed each other, but that made me realize she needed it more than I did. I tried to provoke her with puns so that she let her emotions out. That's exactly what she did. She was much more relaxed and approachable afterwards.

Before we slept we only ate and played a phone game.

What is she doing to me? Why do I care so less about myself? Why does she say she loves me but doesn't change anything? She'd rather risk losing me than change anything. Can that still be love? Am i the only one who loves?

You said you would kill for me but I didn't realize that you take me as the victim.