#i do know that i have enough wips on my plate not even to mention school work that i’ll need to do

[sapphosclown]

holding back every urge to write a fic ab nini coming back to slc to play romeo opposite gina’s juliet and them falling in love (and realizing that’s always what it’s been)

[neverevan]

WIP Wednesday 🧇

Initially this wasn't the snippet I wanted to share today, but in honour of Buck's canon(!!) first date with Tommy, here's Buck's first official date with Jason in the jealous eddie fic. It's a bit long so the rest is under the cut. 💛

The restaurant was buzzing with life; people were chatting idly over their plates of overpriced pasta, someone was playing the piano in the far end of the room and there were long candles lit on every occupied table, painting the place into a soft golden glow. For his part, Buck was just glad he had made the reservation on time, because there was no way they would’ve been able to get a table otherwise. “Breadstick?” Jason held out one jovially after they gave their orders to the waiter, but Buck just shook his head. “No uh no- not a fan, actually.” “Who doesn’t like breadsticks?” Jason quirked his brow in what seemed like genuine confusion. “Uh pro- probably the guy who had to have an emergency tracheotomy done by a kitchen knife because of one.” Buck tried to aim for a joking tone, but as old as the memory was, it still made his throat tighten a little. “Wooah. Alright. That’s… understandable.” Jason lowered the breadstick sympathetically, before arching his eyebrows again. “A kitchen knife, really?” “Yeah… ambulance wouldn’t have gotten there fast enough.” Buck shrugged and took a sip of his water, almost like a precaution. “So, do you make a habit of dating the medical staff or…” “Uh n-no, actually… she was a 911 dispatcher.” Buck ducked his head with a sheepish smile. “What?” “Yeah, she had a surgeon talk her through it though, so it was all good.” He wasn’t sure why he was in such a rush to reassure Jason about Abby’s competency, when the fact that he was sitting here was proof enough. But as long as there were words to put one after the other, Buck didn’t really have to acknowledge the tension pulling his entire body tight and making his palms sweat. “That sounds insane.” Jason huffed with a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “It was a little insane, I guess…” There was a moment of lull in the conversation, before Buck slapped his thighs with a small sigh. “S-so… first uninterrupted date, huh?” “Hopefully.” Jason smiled at him warmly and somehow it helped to melt away some of Buck’s anxiety. “Yeah, hopefully.” He smiled back at him. “So uh t-tell me about yourself, you know, hobbies, pets, family, whatever.” “That’s pretty broad.” Jason chuckled and Buck felt his cheeks heat up immediately. Wow, he really hasn’t been on a proper date in such a long time that apparently he lost the ability to make conversation. Great.

“Sorry I—” “Relax, Buck. It’s alright.” His shoulders sagged a little at that. “I guess cycling is a hobby, right? I’m not allowed pets at my place and uh… Two sisters, parents live in Nevada.” “Uh great, that- that’s great! I have a sister too, my parents live in Pennsylvania though.” Jason assessed his face for a long moment before he leaned back in his chair with a quiet huff. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but you seem much more nervous than before. Is everything alright?” “Uh yeah— yeah, I’m fine, just…” Buck sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. “Eddie, my uh my partner at the 118, he’s been acting kinda weird about us going out. I just… I don’t know, I guess I got a little into my head about it.” A disapproving frown tugged at the patch of skin between Jason’s eyebrows for a moment, before it disappeared with a sigh. “So he’s one of those guys then.” Buck knew what he meant instantly; the type of guys who were just too macho not to feel threatened by even the mere mention of two men dating. Of course, it couldn’t have been further from the truth —  and Buck was quick to make that clear. “N-no, not at all! He’s a good guy, great actually. He’s my best friend.” Jason hummed thoughtfully but said nothing, and it gave Buck the urge to clarify further. “Maybe he’s just worried that if I start dating again, I’ll spend less time with Christopher,” he snorted jovially, “as if I could ever not have time for him.” “Who’s Christopher?” Jason asked and Buck lit up at that. That was a topic he’d have no problem talking about. “Oh, here!” He reached for his pocket instinctively, pulling his phone out and clicking into his camera roll. “He’s Eddie’s son, the kid is a little genius.” He said proudly as he flicked to a picture of Chris and Eddie in front of the fridge, helping Chris put up his certificate from the Science Fair last week. “He’s very into video games, but I-I guess that’s true about any kid his age. But he’s really smart and brave... Jesus, that kid is probably the bravest person I know and I work with a bunch of firefighters.” He mused as he swiped his finger across the pictures they took at the Zoo two weeks ago, to the ones they took at a sightseeing boat just a week before that. (Buck almost had a heart attack when Chris leaned over the railing to have a better look, circling both his arms around the kid’s torso instinctively and pulling him back to his own chest; with the kid whining all the while that he was too old for hugs now. He remembered Eddie just laughing and laughing behind them as he took the slightly blurry picture with Buck’s phone.) “Wow, you seem... involved.” Jason’s hesitant tone made the smile freeze onto Buck’s face and he quickly slipped his phone back into his pocket. “Y-yeah, we’re uh pretty close.” The conversation steered to less personal matters after that, but Buck couldn’t help the nagging feeling that he might’ve done something wrong.

✨I have been tagged by and am tagging the ever so lovely @sunshinediaz @spagheddiediaz @goforkinard @exhuastedpigeon @nmcggg @bidisasterbuckdiaz @daffi-990 @diazsdimples @honestlydarkprincess @watchyourbuck @actualalligator @bucksbignaturals @excuseme-greentea mwuahhh 💛

[squarebracket-trickster]

OC Recipe Tag

Thank you, @touloserlautrec for tagging me way back in November shhhh

In my defense, I was waiting to do this tag until I got to a particular scene in draft 3 and was forced to research medieval English/French recipes.

Rules: Share a recipe your OC would make, either one passed down to them or one they found all by themselves. Bonus if you have an actual recipe to link! Some OCs can't cook to save their lives, but let's talk about the ones who can! :D

I think I am actually going to share a passage from my WIP instead of just a recipe. I don't think just sharing a recipe alone does justice to explaining how these foods were eaten, why these particular foods on a given day, as well as Isolde's relationship with these dishes.

A few other things to note about this passage:

At the time this particular scene takes place Isolde does not know how to cook a few of these dishes but she will learn later in her life, after the events of the story end.

In this particular scene Isolde did not cook the meal. However, much earlier in the novel it is mentioned that she "is not very familiar with cooking meat" but she manages to do it anyway. We can assume from this that she can cook if she has to, albeit very poorly. She is at least familiar with how cooking works.

Isolde is a princess, raised from birth to marry a king. She will not have done a lot of cooking in her life but she will have a very good understanding of what ingredients are needed for what dish, approximately how long a dish takes to prepare, and she will be familiar with enough the materials required for some processes like marination and fermentation.

Lastly, this passage needs trimming. But that's a draft 4 problem. I should shorten some of these ingredient lists but I really don't want to ahhh

Without further ado:

It’s a fast day so our meal is light and without meat. There are few lakes as high in the hills as Aubemote and though the sea is near enough by horse it is still too far for fish. We fill up instead on rique-menger, a Diac recipe of apples and eggs parboiled in butter, and on pickles of white cabbage, parsley root, carrot, radish, turnip, pears, and currants soaked in a juice of honey, vinegar, mustard, and white wine slopped on a bread trencher. Saffron, cinnamon, ginger, black pepper, anise, fennel, white sugar, and salt garnish our foods – the lord and lady of Aubemote spare no expense on food, just as on their tapestries it seems, even on fast days. After our meal a pageboy brings a plate of breney to our table– hard, unleavened bread dipped in a fruit compote of currants, dates, and pine nuts steeped in red wine, vinegar, mace, and sandalwood. Another refills our cups with clarrey – white wine spiced with cinnamon, galingale, and white pepper. We share the brass cups, two ladies to each, though Lord Aubemote’s wife, of course, has her own. I am not sure which part of the meal takes more courage to eat. The rique-menger and pickles are new to me, as lovely as they are, and leave my tongue with a sour, homesick flavour. These are the dishes I should have to grow accustomed to should I have decided to go through with my marriage. I don’t know if I could ever get used to eating apples and eggs like this. But the breney and clarrey are foods like home, and their taste is all the more bitter for it.

I love when the people I tag @ me and/or link back to my post. I love it when you reblog my post with questions, compliments, words of encouragement, about my WIP, or even no comment at all. But please make your own post to complete this tag. Please do not turn my post into a reblog chain.

Ever so delicately tagging: @fayeiswriting, @sleepywriter00, @boundedsea, @writernopal, @scribbling-stardust, @winterandwords

[elvensorceress]

WIP Wednesday

😘💕 for my beloveds. I was tagged by @demieddie @vampirebuckleys @ajunerose

tagging @loveyourownsmiilee @eddiediazisascorpio @zainclaw @dickley-buddie @princessfbi @messyhairdiaz @eddiediass @megslovesbooks @spotsandsocks @confetti-cupcake @imsupposedtobewritting @rogerzsteven @fiona-fififi  if you want to share something and also anyone else who wants to share something 💕

here’s some Orpheus!Buck from the day they meet Charlie in Suspicion 

When Eddie finally shows up, he’s late to family dinner. He almost misses it completely. But Bobby heats a portion of the baked ziti back up and Buck toasts more cheesy garlic bread, and they sit with Eddie while he eats. 

Hen and Chim already got up for their nightly check in with their “women and children” and everyone else on shift is either finishing their chore lists or organizing a game of poker. Bobby only gets up to take a call from Michael, or maybe one of his kids. 

Then it’s just the two of them. 

Buck twirls the fork still in his hand and bounces his leg and stares at the crumpled napkin he’d used that is now waiting for him to clear his dishes, and finish cleaning the kitchen like he’d promised. “So, I, uh, I saw this article?” 

Eddie looks up at him. Like he’s interested. Like he wants to hear about the silly things Buck research spirals into online. 

So of course, Buck has to tell him everything. “There was a house in Malibu maybe a week ago where a bunch of people were having a party. And there were, I don’t know, thirty people on this balcony, right? It completely gave out and they fell fifteen feet onto jagged, rocky coastline. A ton of them were seriously hurt. So, I looked it up and maybe six people were permitted to be on a balcony like that? Although I have no idea how you can get permits to build a house and a balcony so close to the water and here where earthquakes happen every other week. You know? That sounds like a terrible idea to begin with. Even before you have a huge party with people who ignore structural capacity warnings.”

The smile that lights Eddie’s face might seriously make Buck’s heart stop. Or anyone’s. He’s gorgeous and warm and sweeter than cinnamon rolls, okay? It’s not Buck’s fault. 

“And you’ve never done anything like that?” Eddie quirks an eyebrow at him. “Partied where you weren’t supposed to? At the risk of life and limb? Because I remember a few stories about Peru and surfing on the east coast. Not to mention the 118 had this probie a few years back who I hear used to do some really unsanctioned extracurriculars in stolen firetrucks.”

Buck gives him a narrowed gaze, but he’s been so aimless and restless today, and this feels like an anchor to keep him tethered and safe so he doesn’t crash himself on the rocks. And it’s just. It’s nice. Being listened to. Having someone to talk to. Who doesn’t make him feel stupid or annoying for opening his mouth. He does that enough all on his own, thanks. “Not after being a fire marshal. I learned my lessons. It’s like when you find out what is actually in a hot dog or you watch them being made and then can’t touch one ever again.” 

Eddie laughs. “Yeah… I still like hot dogs.” 

Buck tosses his head back in an overdramatic scoff and grabs both of their empty plates. “I guess we can’t be friends anymore.” He takes the dishes to the kitchen and since Bobby already put away the small amount leftovers, he just has to finish loading the dishwasher and wipe everything down.

Eddie follows him and leans against the counter. “What are we going to be then?”

The question twists around inside him like a gameshow wheel, ticking and ticking over all the different options it might settle on. Buck rinses off their plates and doesn’t know. It wasn’t supposed to be anything but a joke. But maybe it was too real even before he said it. “I don’t know. Coworkers?” 

The smile on Eddie’s face falls harder than any faulty, misused construction. “Coworkers?”

Yep. Way too real, way too fast. “Yeah, I mean. We are coworkers,” he tries to cover. “We are at work. We work together. That’s how we met. That’s what we’re doing now. Working.”

Eddie clearly doesn’t buy it. His jaw flexes and clenches like he’s gritting his teeth. “Buck.”

He hates this. All of it. So much. He quickly grabs the last of the dishes and stuffs them into the dishwasher. Probably haphazard. Could have done it better. But he just needs to power through. That’s what you do, right?

[honeylashofficial]

Writing Patterns (Tag Game)

Rules: list the first line of your last 10 (posted) fics and see if there's a pattern!

Thanks, @cnwolf-brainrot for tagging me. :D I don't have ten individual fics posted, so I'll do the ten latest chapters I've released instead. (plus a bonus sneak peek of the latest wip 👀)

The work span of an intern at a plumbing company never managed to last nearly long enough, and that was bad news for Mumbo. (The Faults in Our Lines*)

Tango had stopped wearing his waiter name tag after realizing that no one really cared who they were being served by. (It Starts With a Smile | A Flower Ranchers Trio short story)

He had never seen the kid so scared. (No Bark, All Bite, Just Business*)

Sand was always getting into Martyn’s eyes. (Sands of Time*)

Doc didn’t do anxiety. (And the Flames Climbed Higher*)

A bellowing cry split the early morning air. (It Gets Worse the Further You Go*)

Scott dumped the pile of powdered snow onto the grass, promptly sitting down on it and sulking. (The Red Fury*)

Grian didn’t know how he had gotten here, but he was certainly here now, and there was nothing he could do about it. (From Sea to Sand and Back Again*)

A lifetime of servitude had a whole new meaning to it when you were cursed. (A Lifetime of Lies*)

A dwarves heart was only as pure as the gems they mined. (To All That Glitters, and Those Who Benefit From It*)

*A Plateful of Hermits with a Side of Whump and Angst (Whumptober / Hermittober 2023 prompts)

Bonus!! (wip) Scar was fearless, but there were three times in his life when that truth became a lie. [untitled HotGuy!Scar novel]

I definitely suffer from what I like to call, "addicted to overly dramatic opening paragraphs". I try not to do it every single time just to shake things up, but we all have our shortcomings. X) Just like CN mentioned in her own response, my goal with the first sentence, and especially the first paragraph, is to underline the theme of the overall story and capture the mood. It's about finding the very core and presenting it offhandedly to your audience so they know exactly what they're in for even if they don't know it at the time, haha! Spoken like a true angst writer.

I would like to invite @amethystfairy1 to join the game, along with anyone else who sees this post. Happy scrolling. :D

[starlit-hopes-and-dreams]

Word find tag (soon, later, wait, when, and now)

I was tagged by @thegreatobsesso. Thank you! <3

Tagging: @i-can-even-burn-salad, @winterandwords, @nanashi23 Your words: quick, thrill, threat, laugh, heal

I've been challenged to find positive quotes after my last very angsty word find. They were slightly difficult to find, but turns out I *do* have a few :D

These will be from Shattered Soul. It got a bit long (bc they're cute scenes damnit 🥺💜), so I'm slapping on a readmore.

wip intro

Soon

[Darian] He fixed up a plate and dug in; he hadn't realized how hungry he was. To his relief, Alaia began eating again as well, although she stopped sooner than he would've liked.

She gave him a strange look right as he took a large bite from a meatpie. "I'm really not a prisoner here, am I? Kiala offered me training. You're sitting here eating with me, not even asking any questions. Nobody locks the door. If I could walk more than two steps at a time, could I leave?"

The meatpie stuck in his throat at that, and he reached for some water to wash it down. "Do you want to leave?" he asked carefully.

Please, don't want to leave.

"Leave the room," she clarified, and he began to breathe again, nonchalantly taking another sip of water to cover his relief.

Later

[Alaia] She picked up the clear glass, which showcased a rainbow of colored liquid within. It smelled sweet, slightly fruity, but had the distinctive aroma of alcohol. Tentatively, she took a tiny sip, mindful of the coffee she had tried this morning. But she was relieved to find this tasted wonderful, like a medley of different fruits bursting upon her tongue. A noise of appreciation escaped as she looked at the drink with more interest.

Nuzzling her temple, Darian asked, "Better than the coffee?"

A pleasant warmth spread in her chest as she took a larger drink. "Oh yes, there's no comparison."

Darian chuckled.

Jesam pressed close to her other side, reaching over to grab some bread and cheese. Aleix teased him, jerking the basket away, and she reached out to intervene as they started fighting for it. Cambria gave her a conspiratorial grin, and they both reached for the basket, claiming the last couple pieces of bread, cramming them into their mouths as all the males complained.

A couple of drinks later, Alaia felt ready to float free from her body. Whatever this alcohol was, it wasn't human alcohol. It made her feel light and airy. But also warm and fuzzy, so maybe it was normal alcohol. She didn't know anymore, and didn't care.

Wait & When

Before he could mention adding milk or sugar, she lifted her cup and took a cautious sip. Darian winced, anticipating her reaction. Sure enough, her eyes watered as her face screwed up in disgust at the bitterness.

"Oh gods," she gasped. "You people drink this willingly? What is wrong with you?"

Darian burst out laughing, even while he mindspoke their server.

Alaia gave him a dirty look, pushing the cup away. "It's not funny—"

"I'm so sorry," Tay said, interrupting Alaia before she could give Darian the tongue-lashing he likely deserved. "Here, let me help you. Most of us prefer at least a little cream and sugar to soften the bitterness. Or I could bring you tea, if you'd rather not try again." They wrung their hands while they waited for Alaia's response.

"Oh no, it's not your fault," Alaia assured them. She shot another glare at Darian and reached for the small container of cream the server had brought. "How much should I add?

Darian was convinced there was more cream and sugar than coffee in Alaia's cup when she finished. By that time, their food had been delivered. Alaia looked at her plate of fluffy sweet bread topped with fresh fruit with something that actually resembled interest. She picked up her fork, then pointed it at Darian.

"Tell me, is there anything I need to add to this to make it not taste like burned charcoal steeped in hot water?"

He raised his eyebrows. "Are you going to stab me with that fork?"

"Only if you lie to me." She scowled, but there was a thread of amusement dancing between them, and Darian smiled.

Now

She rolled her eyes, turning to point her fork at Kiral. "Speak."

Kiral burst out laughing. "Bossy much, kaireda mia?"

"I'm not above stabbing you with this fork and making you squirm before I heal you," Alaia threatened, waving said fork around. "And what in the Mother's name did you just call me? At least your brother translates his sappy terms of endearment."

"I think you like my sappy terms of endearment, mi'alla," Darian said, squeezing her hip.

"Kaireda mia means dear sister," Kiral managed to choke out between bouts of laughter. "Now we've moved on to physical threats?"

Alaia lowered her fork, suddenly remembering the king and queen were at the table. She eyed them a little nervously, considering she'd just threatened to stab the crown prince.

Mariana caught her look, and smiled. "We don't hold titles in this room, kaireda. Besides, I'm sure Darian is thrilled to learn his mate is just as bloodthirsty as he is."

Elian chuckled. "Yes, Darian is pretty quick to draw his dagger. Kiral probably appreciates only being threatened with a fork."

"I do!" Kiral said, gasping for breath. "I appreciate it about as much as the offer to heal me after. Means I don't have to trail blood everywhere while I drag myself to the Hall of Healing."

[ripeteeth]

fragments: 07 (fitzier)

[I'm clearing out my incomplete wips and posting fragments that might stand alone as a bit of an amnesty of old projects. This is part of that series.]

Francis does not mention it. Instead, Francis is as he ever was - whiskey be damned - smiling genially at James’ tales, kicking his boots beneath the table when he meanders too long, scraping extra helpings of stews and puddings and cakes onto his plate when James isn’t looking. 

“You need your strength,” Francis says, his eyes crinkling, “and I will see to it that my men are hale and hearty, James.” He does not say I will see to it that you are hale and hearty, but James can hear it all the same; there are many insecurities in the core of James Fitzjames, but of Francis Crozier’s regard, he does not doubt. 

But there is one matter which James chews upon endlessly, and one matter which Francis never mentions. Kiss me, Hardy, James had begged, a broken body upon pale shale. The wind had shook the canvas tent, begging to come in. 

Kiss me. 

(No, Francis never does say a word.)

Once, James had imagined otherwise. Expected, even. Really, when it comes right down to it, it’s a bit absurd that Francis has said nothing. But, then again - James pauses, chewing on the inside of his lip; he pulls the silk banyan tighter about himself, frowning all the while. 

(Frowns do not become you, James, Francis would say. When has his inner monologue become Francis’ voice? When did he leave himself? He cannot hear himself inside his own head, only that beloved rough voice.)

He closes his eyes. The breeze seems colder; the curtains sound like canvas, not damask. His fingers graze his own flank, feeling for a wound that no longer exists. The gnarled scarred skin greets him like an old friend, safe and healed. Echoes of the past stitch their way into the present, and he does not know how to bend. Does anyone desire scar tissue? Does anyone desire a barely-closed wound, still pink and raw around the edges? He wants, but why would anyone want him back?

He’s a handful. A mouthful of tough, stringy meat.

Pathetic. 

In the mirror, exhaustion looks back. His dark hair lank, lines crowding around his eyes as if waiting for a sale. There’s tea and distaste on his own tongue. Look at him, thirty-six and washed up. Thirty-six and it’s too late to start again, when his own heart is so heavy and his blood sluggish. Weren’t you such a great walker once? Best walker in the service, he’d once boasted. Foolish, stupid. He is old and he has nothing to show for himself, save for a life of almost. Why would Francis want him? Open-armed Francis, who saved him from himself, ferrying him home on open seas?

No, James knows he is nothing but an anchor. Something dropped, something to moor you and keep you stuck fast, unable to be free. 

----

There is still food on his plate, no matter how he pushes it around with his fork and knife, lackluster and half-lost. 

“You’ve eaten little, James,” Francis says, gentle as a duck. 

“I ate earlier.” James doesn’t look up. In the brass candlesticks, he can watch how a melancholy smile ghosts over Francis’ mouth. They both know it’s a lie, and Francis is often good enough not to call him on it. There are limits, just as there limits to all things. James found the limits of his own life, his own prowess, and ruined himself by not knowing when to pull back. When to not push. He’ll ruin this too, finding the edge of Francis’ patience. 

“Very well,” Francis says. When the plates are cleaned, James finds himself settled with a glass of brandy and a plate of shortbread. There is little he can stomach these days. He cannot do meat, and most textures turn his stomach. Chocolate haunts him, the memory of the waxy white bricks they had been left to nibble on, between boot leather and rotten cans. But something sweet and mild as shortbread, easy to pick at, bite by bite, is acceptable. Francis has noticed, and in his quiet manner, always provides. 

“You don’t have to do this,” James says. It cracks in him. A howl. A storm in a chasm. 

Francis blinks, looking up from the fire. His eyes a pale yellow-blue, like light on the ocean’s surface. 

“I have been thinking I should find a place of my own. Rooms. I’ve leaned on your hospitality too long. You should not have to - “ Take care of me. 

Silence stretches. James fidgets. The ghost of his old self wants to laugh and make a joke of it. But that man is buried on the shale, and he does not know who it is who made it back. 

“I would like to,” Francis says slowly. “Care for you, I mean.” 

“Francis - “

“I would not obligate you to me, if you choose to leave. That is - that is not my desire.”

Perhaps it is the wine that speaks for him, when James asks. “What is your desire then?”

Red blooms across Francis’ cheeks. He toys with his tea in the old way he had once fingered a glass of whiskey, thumb dragging along the surface of the cup. What would it feel like on his own skin? 

“If you would let me, I would care for you. In every way.” 

Breath, caught. James inhales, looking not at Francis but to the fire. It’s too fraught to look across the sitting room, to see Francis in his wingback chair, the shadows making homes in his pockmarked skin. 

“Every way?” 

“Yes,” Francis says, his voice rough. “In every way, James.” 

“Francis,” James says, darkly, hesitating. But this is the edge, and he has never known how not to push. “Do not tease.” He keeps his eyes focused on the floor, shame burning high on his cheekbones. The wingback chair scrapes the floor as Francis rises, his knees cracking, the sound of porcelain as teacup meets saucer. Wide-fingered hands grip his own knees and then Francis is there, kneeling before him, between his thighs, thumbs pressing into his trousers. 

“Have I ever teased you? James, have I ever been less than forthright with you?”

His throat burns. James swallows. It’s the way Francis’ hands tremble that stops him. Something possesses him, hot and itchy, and his legs widen, knees spreading and breath catching. Francis watches him, eyes fervid as a flame, his thumbs still rubbing those steady circles into James’ inner thighs, slowly progressing upward. 

[martsonmars]

Hello my loves!

I wrote more this past week than in the previous month and a half, and it feels fucking incredible! On Friday I also beat my personal best of words in a day, which used to be around 3.5/4k and is now more than 7.5k! I'm on a roll, and I'm trying to focus on the 22k I've written in six days instead of focusing on the fact that I'm neglecting my COTTA and I haven't started prompt fest fic yet. Whatever! Can't force inspiration, and I have a plan to get back on track with my most urgent WIPs as soon as I get this one out of the way.

So, have three snippets from the mystery project I shared on Wednesday! All from Penny's POV. Total: a thousand sentences.

“What are you doing?”

I find Simon [redacted; sad].

I don’t get homesick anymore—it’s been too long, too painful—but I can still recognise that look when I see it. The soul-deep ache for a place you used to call your own but you’re not sure you’ll ever see again. (I didn’t.) Simon could leave and find his way back home anytime, but there’s too much in the tension of his shoulders, in the cloudiness of his eyes when I mention it. He’s in too deep. I guess we both are.

“Thinking,” he mumbles, and it strikes me that I already know him well enough to understand that getting an answer means he wants me here. “What if—What if I’m not enough?”

A funnier one.

Simon is looking at me as if I've just killed his mother and I'm wiping her blood off my fingers. My fingers are currently red-stained, but it has nothing to do with mothers or homicide. It's berries.

“Was it—Was it… the last pancake?”

He flops down on a stool next to mine, the slump of his shoulders showing the level of defeat one would expect at the end of a battle and not in front of an empty plate. Or at least that's what anyone would expect if they didn't know Simon.

I lick my fingers, feeling only marginally guilty about it, and then I smirk at him. “It was.”

“Why did you eat it? I trusted you.”

Bonus Gareth content and tags under the cut:

“Shut up. And leave Simon alone.”

“Simon…” He clicks his tongue. “Yeah, works well with that arse.”

“Could you please…” I wave a hand at him. I don't even want to waste words.

“Leave you alone? And miss whatever's going on with Mr I'm-Basically-Starved-But-Not-Even-Malnutrition-Can-Stop-This-Ass? I would never—” I'm spared the end of that sentence thanks to the shrill sound of his belt buckle lighting up. “Fuck.”

@wellbelesbian @urban-sith @tea-brigade @sillyunicorn @mostlymaudlin @facewithoutheart @palimpsessed @otherpeoplesheartachept-2 @you-remind-me-of-the-babe @forabeatofadrum @johnwgrey @fatalfangirl @prettylightsbigcity @whatevertheweather @jbrrring @confused-bi-queer @moodandmist @bookish-bogwitch @letraspal @dragoneggos @captain-aralias @takitalks @excalisbury @shemakesmeforget @starwarned @cutestkilla @ileadacharmedlife @gekkoinapeartree @bazzybelle @bloodiedpixie @stardustasincocaine @aroace-genderfluid-sheep @angelsfalling16 @basiltonbutliketheherb @messofthejess @ivelovedhimthroughworse @nightimedreamersworld @artsyunderstudy @foolofabookwyrm-activated @ionlydrinkhotwater @yellobb @orange-peony @ic3-que3n @whogaveyoupermission @bucketfishy @katmiscellanious @yeonjunenby @erzbethluna

[philcoulsonismyhero]

❄️ ?🌈?

❄️Share a snippet from a WIP of your choosing.

From 'Don't Carry It All, Don't Carry It All', the current main WIP, and the context is that the previous night Nightingale, who's barely been sleeping because it's only a few days until the 70th anniversary of the Battle of Ettersberg and he's struggling with nightmares, fell asleep in the car and Peter and Molly conspired to get him upstairs without waking him.

We drank our coffee and ate breakfast in tired silence, and it wasn’t until Molly appeared to take the plates away that Nightingale said anything more. He stopped Molly with her name, and then looked from one of us to the other.

“Thank you,” he said, “for last night.” He looked a little bit awkward, but managed a small smile. “And I’m sorry for putting you to the trouble.” Molly dipped a little in something that might have been a curtsy, and then shook her head as if to say it hadn’t been any trouble at all. Nightingale smiled at her again, and she picked up his plate and disappeared, forgetting to grab mine as well.

“Don’t worry about it, boss,” I said. “Molly literally did all the heavy lifting.” He nodded.

“I did wonder how I made it upstairs. That was my first theory, followed by a few slightly more outlandish ones involving you and another of your Impello experiments.” I snorted at the mental image that conjured up. “But the fact that my shoes were left by the bed freshly polished did rather suggest Molly’s involvement.”

🌈 Share something soft/fluffy from your WIP.

This is a slightly emotionally intense sort of soft but I still love it, from later in the same WIP. I'm being deliberately cryptic with Peter's plans at this point, but all will eventually be revealed.

We made it back to the Folly at a decent time that evening, and I told Nightingale the edited highlights of what Seawoll had said about taking a day off over a late dinner. He grimaced when I pointed out that Monday was the anniversary proper, and seemed a little apprehensive at the idea that I had something planned.

“Do I get to know what it is that you’ve come up with?” he asked. I took a deep breath. Moment of truth. Either it was a good idea, or a terrible one, and now was when I’d find out. So I told him.

It took me a little while to lay out my plans, and Nightingale listened to it all without interrupting, and then was silent for a long minute after I finished. His face was pale and pinched and exhausted but otherwise blankly unreadable.

“Well?” I eventually prompted, unable to take the wait any longer. “What do you think?”

“I think…” he said, but his voice caught so he started again. “I think it all sounds like a very good idea.” There was a slight wobble in his voice, and his eyes were shiny. “Thank you, Peter.” He actually reached across the table and awkwardly patted my hand.

“Don’t mention it, boss,” I said, managing a smile. There was a lump in my own throat. 

Then Nightingale pulled his hand back, cleared his throat, and swiped a hand across his eyes. I looked away, giving him a moment to compose himself, and if I’m being honest taking one myself. 

“But that’s Monday,” said Nightingale, his voice steady again, or near enough. I turned back to face him. “We still have another day’s work tomorrow, and I believe I should make some attempt to be functional for it.” He stood up, and had to steady himself for a moment using the back of his chair. “If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to retire, and see if the sleeping pills that Abdul provided have any effect.”

“Good plan,” I said. “‘Night, boss.”

“Goodnight, Peter.” He disappeared out of the room and I heard his slightly rapid footsteps across the hall and up the stairs. I stared after him, and I didn’t hear Molly come up behind me. I jumped.

“You need to stop doing that!” I said, as has become the traditional response, but she just smiled with her too many teeth. Then she bustled off with Nightingale’s plates, but not before leaving me an extra one with a slice of the really excellent chocolate cake from earlier in the week on it. I looked down at it and smiled. Coppers aren’t the only ones with a bad habit of listening at doorways, and it looked like Molly approved of my idea. 

So, even though I’d just caused my boss to leave the room so that I wouldn’t see him cry and that was causing a little bit of guilt, I ate my cake while feeling pleased with myself, and started making plans in earnest.

[sortofanobsession]

Will o’ the Wisp - Ch. 3 (Umbrella Academy WIP)

Author’s Note: Wow, this is long overdue but I finally got time to go over plot summaries, transcripts, etc. so that I wouldn't totally screw everything up hopefully. But I'm still here. Still trying, just dealing with a lot on my plate. Unbeta’d.

Please see chapter 1 for explanation of characters and character name details for Viktor. (again I am willing to take suggestions on this)

Minors DNI

So as it goes, Y/N = your name. Y/N/N = your nickname.  Reader pronouns She/Her.

Tag Requests are Open just message me.

Primary Pairing: Diego Hargreeves x Female!Reader

Series Masterlist

Chapter 2, Chapter 4

Word count: 4k+

Content Warning: Canon typical neglect, manipulation, violence, death, depression, anxiety, fear, mentions torture

Chapter 3: Bail and Boiler Rooms

The faint glowing orb hovers just beyond Diego as he approaches a crime scene. She continues to follow him until he is busted by Patch. The image of him being tazed made her laugh, or she probably laughed. The Wisp couldn't exactly make verbal noises, and her body wasn't really her main focus. It was safe at the academy. She watches Patch take his radio and fake badge. With a sigh, Y/N didn’t let the orb fade as she pulled back most of her consciousness. She kept enough of her mind there to keep to the periphery of wherever her brother was. She was vaguely aware of how he’d seem to furrow his brow and glance in the light’s direction as he was moved. But she would shift the positioning every time and refocus on what she was doing in her primary form.

She didn’t need him drawing attention to the fact she was basically sneaking around, especially once at the precinct. She was basically trespassing. But it was technically not illegal. She knew physically she wasn’t trespassing, physically her body was at the academy. No one could prove what the lights were. Not like they could catch her. The Wisp technically didn’t have a corporeal form, especially when it was just a small fraction of her powers. She makes quick work of changing out of her pajamas and grabs her coat as she slips on her shoes. She doesn’t bother sneaking out like she would have done as a child. Her father wasn’t there to scold her. She glanced at Grace up in her little alcove as she made her way to the door. Allison and Luther wouldn’t care if she left. She didn’t need to leave a note or make excuses. She knew they cared for her, in their own way, but what did it matter in the long run? She was rarely there anyway. And really, was she even really mentally there now? If Grace or Pogo had noticed, she’d have told them, but they didn’t. It was like everyone was off in their own little worlds. Ones that were almost foreign to her now. She makes her way to the police station. She ignores the staring and hushed whispers. Especially when the glow around her seems to intensify for a moment as she lets the orb that had been watching over Diego fade and her powers settle into her form. She forced a sweet smile on her face at the double-take she got as she approached the desk sergeant on duty.  

“Umm, hi, I’m here to collect my idiot brother, Diego Hargreeves. Detective Patch-”

“Is right here,” a voice calls as the detective approached. “Wasn’t aware anyone made a call to his family to collect him.”

“They didn’t,” Y/N states. “I try to keep tabs on my siblings, and I’m not normally in town, but-”

“Y/N, right?” Patch says as she gestures for Y/N to follow her. 

“Yeah,” the last of the Hargreeves nodded. 

“Not exactly the sibling I figured would be the one to bail him out,” Patch admits.

“Sometimes I surprise even myself,” Y/N mumbles. 

“I read the book, you know,” Patch tells her as they approach the hallway to the holding cells. Patch doesn’t miss the way the glow around Diego’s sister flickers, and dims momentarily, as the glowing form lets out a dry chuckle. “Then I’m not surprised you think it’s odd I’m here.”

“Maybe,” Patch nods. “But family, Hargreeves or not, are often the ones to collect their wayward siblings from lock up. From what it sounds like, you’re not unfamiliar with the process.” 

Y/N snorts a laugh again. “I’m sure some poor desk sergeant or even hospital has my number stamped on a file for Klaus.”

“Always frustrating when they won't even help themselves, let alone let you help them,” Patch says somewhat vaguely as she signs a paper and gestures to an officer towards the holding cells. She waits until the guard opens the cell and calls Diego out. The glowing Hargreeves didn’t move into the hallway, instead choosing the lean on the wall beside the entryway. She can feel the exhaustion of the day deep in her bones. The strain of keeping the Wisp contained and dimmed to limit the awkwardness to those around her wasn’t helping. She takes a few seconds to mentally prep for dealing with whatever would come out of Diego’s mouth when he finds out she was there. She silently waits while her brother and the detective have a short talk. She pushes off the wall when she hears them approach. She steps closer to the hallway as they come into view. 

Patch gestures to Diego and tells her, “Well, this one is your problem now.” 

“Thanks, Detective,” the female Hargreeves nods. The detective leaves the siblings for what is bound to be an awkward reunion.

“I knew it!” Diego shouted when Patch was gone. Ignoring the way her shoulders immediately stiffen as she crosses her arms over her chest. “I knew I saw that demon light of yours.”

“Rude to say to the only sibling that bothered to bail you out,” Y/N grit her teeth and shook her head at his tone. “Your welcome, by the way.” Trying to mentally remind herself what Five had said, they needed to work together. 

“I didn’t ask for you to bail me out,” Diego seethes.

“And I didn’t ask if you cared,” she glares at him. “Because wow, shocker, you don’t. But Grace does, so again, you’re welcome.” 

“They would have let me go in the morning,” Diego states.

“And…you know what, yeah, they probably would have. But I told Five I would try, and-” She stops and rubs at her temples. She missed the confused look Diego gave her before he schooled his features. He had no idea that Five had asked her to do anything outside of what he’d told all of them. Let alone anything having to do with Diego. He eyed her cautiously as she continued. “It has been a very long day, and I forgot how exhausting trying to actually care for everyone is.”

“I didn’t-”

“I know, Diego, okay?” He watched as her shoulders dropped as she spoke. She looked tired. “I get it. You don’t need help. You don’t want help, especially from me,” she said, her tone almost as blue as the Wisp’s glow.

“That’s not–” he started to argue.

“Can we just go home?” She asks before flinching at her own choice of words. The academy wasn’t home anymore. Hadn’t been for years. And why was she asking him? Why did she even want to go back? Everyone she was used to caring for was gone. The ones that used to actually want her around or seek her out weren’t there. Not even Vanya said goodbye. Five was back, but he didn’t seem to have time for her. Ben’s statue was still broken and a painful reminder that no one was going to need her during the night. And she knew her siblings still felt unnerved by the Wisp these days. Or really at who she had become. What had changed? Nothing really. 

Diego watched as her brow furrowed, and she seemed to be arguing with herself. “Hold on-” 

“You can go home,” she says as she turns on her heels, she was too tired to argue with him anymore. “I’m going to go back to the academy. Try not to get arrested again. I would like to get a few hours of sleep.” 

She manages to catch a bit of sleep, but it was far from decent. And left pretty much to herself, she sat on the bed, back to the wall, and sent out her orbs. Pulling back one by one as she figured out where her siblings were. But something at the back of her mind still pushed her. So she pulls her focus back into her own body and goes to where she knows Diego lives. She uses her Wisp as a distraction as she enters the gym and sneaks her way into the boiler room he stays in. 

She is surprised when Luther finds her first. "Huh, not the brother I expected to see here," she states. 

"You here to see if he killed dad too?" Luther asks.

“What? No.” She shakes her head. "I'm here because he’s a self-destructive idiot who is going to get himself arrested again."

"For murder?" He asks for clarification. “Wait, again?”

“Yes again. And no, for impersonating a cop. As lovely as his detective friend is, I’m not sure she’ll be as happy to see me in such a short time span, even if it is to bail his ass out and get him out of her hair.”

“You bailed him out?” Luther says, shocked. “Diego. You bailed Diego out of jail.”

“I bail out Klaus all the time,” she states.

“But you like Klaus, and this is Diego we’re talking about.”

“You wouldn’t if called upon?” She tries to make this less about her. 

“He called you to bail him out?” He asks in utter disbelief. Diego hated her almost as much as he hated him. 

“Of course not, no one called me-” She realizes her slip-up as Luther’s eyebrow raises.

“Wait, no one called you to bail him out, and you did?”

“He’s still our brother, Luther,” her voice a bit quieter than it had been when she adds, “Even if he hates me.” 

“But how did you…wait, you didn’t-” Luther starts, but she is quick to change to the topic.

"Luther, do you really think he had something to do with our father's death?"

Again Luther goes to say something about the previous topic but remembers this was why he was there in the first place."Well, someone had to have done it, and Diego hated him and keeps insisting it was just heart failure."

"Because that is what the coroner’s report said. Pogo would have talked to the coroner as well. If this is some big cover-up by Diego, do you really think he’d have that power? He didn’t even have the power to not get arrested by Patch like yesterday. And for the record, we all hated Dad for something," she states.

"That's not true," Luther says.”Are you really defending Diego right now? You?”

"Luther, you are the only one that thinks that there was any good to Reginald Hargreeves. And I cannot imagine why even you think that. Luther, he left you on the moon, alone, for how long? He put you somewhere even I couldn’t find you. And I tried. Doesn’t that upset you?” She wanted to grab him by his oversized shoulders and shake him, but that seemed ridiculous, so she continued to argue her point. “Look at what he did to us, Luther. He pushed and encouraged Allison to rely on her powers so much that she now is struggling not to use them after they cost her her marriage and custody of her kid. He was downright cruel to Klaus, locking him alone in a dark crypt filled with ghosts until he passed out. He spent so many nights in my room just to survive the nightmares and hell our father made him endure. I spent so much of my life being his personal nightlight, and I will never forget those nights. Or regret them. Same for Ben. And look at Vanya. He treated Vanya terribly like she was no one. No, that implies he saw any of us as people. We were weapons, Luther. Tools. He used us. And do you even know what he did to me? I mean I know what he did to the others because I would watch it all. Just like I did yesterday. I send tiny little pieces of me out there,” she gestures to the world outside of them. “To look after all of you. Do you want to know why? Because Reginald Hargreeves pushed me to it. Got under my skin so that if I don’t know what is going on, then I’m weak. That if you, or them, get hurt it’s my fault for ignoring my gifts. I know he was doing it to not only keep tabs on everyone, to spy. And that wasn’t even half of what he did. Sometimes he pushed just to see how many Wisps I could create, control, and put myself into, knowing full well it not only left my actual body vulnerable, risked stretching myself so thin I might forget to breathe. He knew it messed with my head, my senses. Do you know how overwhelming it is to have your senses being attacked from every direction from multiple perspectives and your mind has to somehow process it all simultaneously while still attempting to fight and protect yourself? It was like my brain was on fire. It was overwhelming, and it hurt. But he still pushed. He’d tell me to move between them faster. Focus better. Fight harder." She shook her head. "And he still expected me to be at breakfast the next morning like my mind hadn't been broken apart and forced back together. Like my senses weren't screaming, overwhelmed, and overstimulated until I thought my head or sometimes my whole body would just explode. I know you cared for him, Luther, but most of us stopped caring for the sake of our sanity. I did. I know V did. And I’m pretty sure Diego did too."

"But you didn't kill him," Luther states.

"No, I didn't,” she replies, her tone even and sure. “Do you need my alibi?"

"No," Luther says. “Even if you let your emotions get the best of you sometimes, you’d have walked away, like in the courtyard. I mean, you haven’t killed Diego yet. That’s saying something. And Diego, well, I wouldn’t put it past him.”

"I haven’t killed you either, and the two of you destroyed Ben’s statue,” she counters.

“It was an accident,” he argues, “And I didn’t want any of that to happen. I just wanted Dad to have a memorial. Someone killed him, and no one seems to care but me!”

“The worst part of all of this is I do care, Luther. I do. I keep telling myself I shouldn’t, but I do. I just don’t see it, Luther. I’m sorry, but do you think dad would really go that easy? Like, without even the slightest fight? No defensive wounds? Diego is trained, but do you really think any of us are that good? This is the man that trained us beyond the point of exhaustion. That wanted us to keep training and fighting even after Ben died.” She turns to the massive form of her brother and made sure he was listening. “Did you stop to think that Dad didn’t want anyone to have his monocle? Maybe he did something with it. That he didn’t want to give Klaus the chance to sell it or give Diego the satisfaction of breaking it? Or maybe he lost it. He was old. I don’t know, Luther. Maybe it was someone, but there has to be an explanation that isn’t Diego killing him. As much of a pain in the ass I think Diego is, I don't think he did. And even if he was going to, which again, I don't think he would, it would have been as soon as you were on the moon and no longer in his way. I don’t think he’d have had the patience to wait this long." 

“Well, I’m still going to look around,” Luther says.

“Don’t let me stop you,” she waved him off. 

They settle into awkward silence. She had just trauma-dumped their childhood like she was recapping Vanya’s book and then practically spelled out the pain she didn’t let anyone see. It was almost to much for Luther’s mind to handle. So he focused on what he was there to do in the first place. He could deal with his sister later, right? She was never one he needed to worry about. She could fight like the best of them. Gave as good as she got. Sure, he knew she took the losses of their siblings hard. That was clear from the cold blue tone of her once-warm glow. But she would always seem to rally. She kept going. That was just how she was. Most of them were. He tried to shake off any doubt he had while he looks around. Though he did glance over at her as she sits down and summons a Wisp orb. The eerie blue was like the stories Pogo had originally told. Like its namesake. Her namesake. He goes back to looking as she starts shifting it between her hands as if it was a toy, a distraction. He was genuinely glad she had been using it when a knife darted through the air toward him, and she knocks it out of the air with the orb. 

"Hey!" Luther shouts. 

"I could smell you," Diego tells Luther as he makes his way down the stairs. "And she's about as subtle as a strobe light."

“You could have killed me,” Luther says with a glare.

“If I wanted you dead,” Diego replies, “You'd be dead.”

"Lovely to see you too, brother,” she says, not even bothering to stand up. “I see you managed to stay off the police radar since I left.” “You little-” Diego spat. “You never let me finish what I was saying. And why are you still spying on me? Dad’s dead. You don’t need to fill him in on what I do anymore.” 

"Oh please," she chuckles. "As if it was just you. Klaus knows I check in on him. A lot. Luther didn’t seem to care when I told him.” Luther opened his mouth to point out he hadn’t actually said anything like that, but she kept going. “And Klaus was with you. You just happened to be doing the more stupid thing between you two." She was absolutely not going to admit she was watching out for him, more so than the others. She’d take that to her grave if she had to. 

"I'm trying to figure out what is going on in this town. It can't be a-"

"Even if it isn't what do you think you can do about it? You're not a cop, Diego. Impersonating one will not end well. I bailed you out once already.”

“I DIDN’T ASK YOU TO!” Diego actually shouts. Because she still wasn’t listening to him. It’s the same argument, just a different day. Luther actually flinched as the normally blue glow around her shifted to a heated red. Even her eyes started to change. But unlike before, or really any time he’d seen her eyes change, the Wisp was nowhere in sight. It was just her. He was starting to think when she said it made her feel like she might explode earlier, she wasn’t exaggerating. He was honestly glad her ire was at least not focused on him anymore. It was focused on Diego. He was starting to wonder how these two survived being at each other's throats all the time. Then again, Luther had also just heard her defend Diego. 

"I KNOW BECAUSE YOU HATE ME! I GET IT!" She screamed.

Diego started seeing red at that point, and it wasn’t just his sister’s heated powers. “YOU STILL AREN’T LISTENING! YOU NEVER DO! YOU-”

“Enough!” Luther says. “Whatever this is about, it can wait. Because you keep screaming at each other, one of two things is going to happen. One, people in the gym are going to notice and we all get kicked out. Or two, the Wisp is going set off the sprinklers, or melt something at least.” 

Neither Luther nor Diego missed the way the light around her nearly vanished. The rapid shift in lighting meant it took a second for their eyes to adjust. It was like someone threw a bucket of cold water on a campfire on a dark night.  

“Why are you even here?” Diego asks. “Both of you.”

“Why didn't you tell me?” Luther asks. 

“Tell you what?” Diego counters, annoyed at the vague nature of the question. 

“That you were fighting the night that Dad died,” Luther clarifies. “I checked with the guys out there.”

“Well, I shouldn't have to prove my innocence to you…” Diego states then glances at their sister. “Or anyone else in this family.”  

“Yeah,” Luther admits. “You're right. But, I just thought that…”

“Yeah. I know what you thought.”

“Do you think I would bail you out if I thought you killed Dad?” She asks once Luther is finished talking. She pulls her jacket tighter around her as the chill of such a temperature shift sets in. “Do you still have that little faith in me?” Her brothers both look at her. “Especially after Five asked me to talk to you.”

“Is that what all this is about, something Five saw?” Luther asks.

“What did Five ask you to do?” Diego asks, it's been a constant question in the back of his mind since she’d bailed him out and had mentioned him. 

“To get you to help him, to help us,” she admits.

“Is that why you’re being nice to him,” Luther gestures to Diego. “Because Five asked you to? That actually makes a lot more sense than-”

“You’re both assholes,” she tells them through clenched teeth before storming out.

“What just happened?” Diego looks at Luther. 

“Did she ever tell you that using her powers made her feel like her brain was on fire and that she might explode? Or that when she splits off into different Wisps, I guess it’s like having her brain scrambled and then trying to force it back into the shell?”

“What?” Diego just stares at him like he’d grown a second head.  

“Yeah, that was news to me too,” Luther says before going to follow her out. 

"Told you he didn't do it." Y/N says when Luther finally catches up to her. 

"So is it because of Five you’re defending him or what?"

"Yes and no. Yes, Five asked me to try and get everyone on the same page. Five thinks he might need our help. I’m not sure what for, but I guess I’m team prep. And no, because Diego might be an asshole, but he is still our brother, Luther. You’re still my brother, too."

“Do you usually use your powers to follow the others around?” Luther asks.

“Not usually, or at least for a while, I didn’t. I do it from time to time just to make sure everyone’s okay.”

“Even me?” Luther finally just asks.

“Well, I couldn’t reach the moon if that’s what you wanted to know. I mean, I’m not as powerful as the sun. Space is a bit too much for me. But before that, maybe once or twice, outside of Dad’s demands. You’re still my brother, and if I have to live with these stupid powers making me glow like a neon sign, I might as well use them to my advantage.”

“Two things. One, you said it hurts to do that, to split off and have all that stuff coming at your brain, so maybe don’t push. Phones exist, you know that, right?” Luther says. “Two, seems like an invasion of privacy.”

“Please don’t lecture me. I don’t do it much these days like that’s the first time since Vanya’s book came out I’ve followed anyone but Klaus.”

“Why Klaus?” 

“Because someone has to. He needs someone to look after him, and we all know he isn’t going to do it himself.”

“Maybe you coddle him too much.”

“You find your brother passed out in a drunk tank, or worse, unconscious on a dirty mattress in a flop house with no one around that cares, and try not to worry.”

“He’s that bad?” Luther asks.

“Yes, Luther. He can get that bad, and sometimes I don’t blame him. If I could take something, a drug, anything, that could make the Wisp vanish and not start glowing like the Vegas strip for a few hours, I would, but I can’t. If I could just leave the Wisp at home and go about my day, I would, but I can’t.”

“You tried that, didn’t you?” 

“Yeah, and the only way I can manage that distance is if I split my consciousness, and that’s more of a headache than any hangover.”

“Like your brains on fire, I got that.” Luther grumbles. “You’re not the only one that sticks out in a crowd now.” 

“I know, big guy, I know.”

“But maybe just give your brain a break. You don’t have to fry your brain because of us.”

She let out a sad laugh. “I’ll try, but being back at the academy, it’s like nothing changed. I just want to know that everyone is fine. And it's dumb because Diego is right. I started it because Dad made me. I don’t have to do this anymore. But my brain won't let it go. Like I can’t sleep.”

“Maybe we work on that,” Luther states.

“Maybe,” she sighs.

[not-krys]

WIP Wednesday: Fictober 2022 Previews

Back again for my fourth year of Fictober!

The prompts came out a little late this year, so I've decided to not use betas this year as I don't have the time to work on these and then send them off to my usual preview readers, so this year's fictober is gonna look a little rough.

Down below are previews of what I've written on at least two of my fics this year, the first being my yearly Mitsuhide fic. The second is gonna be my return to Comte angst after having a bit of burnout at the end of fictober last year.

Regular warnings apply, raw text, not edited. CW for pregnancy mentions in both sections and implied complications in Comte's section.

------

You turned further away, feeling your ears burn. Mitsuhide poked you again.

"Come now, Little Mouse, these oranges I worked so hard to pick for you will rot at this rate."

You tense, feeling the craving for the sweet tanginess of oranges come over you so suddenly. True, you had told him you liked oranges before, but the craving coming over you was intense.

"[Name]," Mitsuhide said more firmly, the sound of a round fruit rolling on a plate catching your attention.

He had his thumb placed at the top of the orange, the rind giving easily to quick, gentle pressure. He put half a piece to his mouth, bit down and the juice dribbled down his chin. You swallowed, hard.

"But… you can't taste anything-"

"It's wet," he said simply, licking his lips sensually. "Cool on the tongue. Little sticky if I had to give it one flaw."

He finished off his little piece, licking the remaining juice from his fingers, making sure to look you in the eye while doing so.

-----

"You know that I would anything for her… for them…" Comte brushed her damp bangs out of her eyes, closed in an uneasy sleep.

"Even risking turning her?" Leonardo said pointedly, glaring at his old friend.

"Blanc and Rouge aren't doing as well as we had hoped. It has to be a pureblood's essence."

"And what happens if you lose both of them? What then?"

"We have to try something, Leonardo. I can't stand to see her in pain, not for a minute longer."

Leonardo glared, staring down the other vampire, his teeth grinding together.

"Fine… but we're using a sterilized knife. No need to get your teeth involved."

Comte smiled, tired, but relieved.

"Thank you, mon ami."

"I'll go ask Sebas for a sharp one." Leonardo turned with the speed only a pureblood could manage, his coat tails trailing behind him.

Comte turned his attention back to his cherie on the bed, pale but still breathing. His kissed her fevered forehead, brushing back more of her sweat-dampened hair. His other hand trailed down her side, to her swelled abdomen covered by the thin sheet. He pressed his hand into her, feeling a tiny heart beneath his hand against what he could only assume was his child's back.

"So strong." Comte said tenderly, his smile soft despite his fatigue. "The union of a human and a pureblood."

His eyes turned back to his love, his smile turning to a frown.

"I'm sorry, ma cherie." he said, sadly, "this… all of this… none of us knew that this was even possible. For purebloods and humans to be able to reproduce together… and now you're suffering because of it…"

His hand trembled in her hair.

"If I could take away your suffering, all of it… you know that I would. But it's becoming harder and harder to find viable options. I thought that the Rouge would help as it's the closest to the real thing, but even that is starting to fail."

His breath shuddered, struggling to keep his voice even as he spoke to her.

"If nothing else works… if my blood isn't enough…

[k-atsukibakugou]

𝐛𝐞𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐬 | 𝐤𝐚𝐭𝐬𝐮𝐤𝐢 𝐛𝐚𝐤𝐮𝐠𝐨𝐮

before he cheats | k.bakugou  – k-atsukibakugou

hell hath no fury like a woman scorned, and god, does it turn a man on with that fire in your eyes and bat swinging in your hand, ready to key the car of the man who wronged you.

pairing: bodyguard!katsuki bakugou x f!reader w/c: 1.8k warnings: femme reader, fantasising, implied nsfw, weapon mention (bat, knife), bakugou gets horny over crazy girls &lt;3 notes: drabble inspired by before he cheats by carrie underwood & i can’t lie this is entirely self indulgent to have one of my fav’s be attracted to an insane, c*nty little person such as myself x ik this ends strangely but idk if i wanted to turn this into a full-blown smut or not so i may write a part 2 for this! crossposted to ao3 • masterlist • wip updates & voting • kofi • askbox

18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT WITH THIS WORK

bakugou’s red eyes rolled, his heavy boot tapping impatiently on the concrete as the group in front of him fumbled in front of his intimidating presence, one of the extra’s trying to enter dropping their id twice to the cool concrete at his feet as they tried to hand it over to the burly bodyguard, their hands still still shaking when bakugou passed the plastic card back to the shorter girl, allowing her entry into the bar. the night had been mundane and uninteresting, it was only a tuesday, afterall. glowering eyes rolled, looking down at the group of men exiting the bar boisterously through the door beside him, letting it swing open then shut, muffling the music once again and leaving him to only listen to the bass vibrating the door he leaned on, snippets of songs playing way too loud for bakugou to want to deal with on his first shift of the week.

that was until he saw you, legs clad in washed out, black jeans that hugged your hips and thighs, hips swishing from side to side while you sauntered around the carpark, weaving between cars, whipping your head around in your search for something. he narrowed his vermillion eyes, watching you closely as your head snapped right, locking onto your target, it seemed; the black truck parked at the end of the parking lot, as far from the other cars as it could be and dead centre between two parking spaces, the mirror-like reflecting paint indicating the obsessive care the driver put into it. a devilish smile lit up your face.

“can i help you, sweetheart?”

the blond’s voice snapped you back into reality, the smile falling, your left arm shooting behind you to hide the solid wooden bat gripped in your hand. quickly, you recovered to smile sweetly back at him, still a couple car spaces away from him, even as he hoisted himself off the cool brick wall, his eyes trained on you, looking over you once again before settling his gaze on your sly, twinkling eyes.

“not up to anything you need to worry about, sugar, if you know what’s good for ya.”

you winked at the end, flashing a crazed smile as you turned your head to stare at the car again, your eyes flicking down to confirm the licence plate one last time before taking another step towards it. hoping the blond would leave it as that, you took a step to the side, now between the two cars closest to you, one more step closer to your sweet, sweet revenge, a clear path to the truck at the end.

bakugou took two large steps from the empty doorway, quickly closing the distance between the pair of you, easily blocking your path at the end of the cars you now stood between with his muscular form.

“i’d love to, little lady, but that car you’re eyein’ off is in my club’s lot, ‘n’ i’ll need a helluva good enough excuse to let you over there, sugar.”

he repeated the pet name back to you, his own wicked tone colouring his voice, with his own wink and a smirk down at you, at least a head taller than you even three feet away, the gleam in his eye matching yours as you stood straighter to challenge him. his blood was buzzing with excitement at your challenge, returning his smirk, the grip you had on the bat and the borderline deranged look in your eyes only fueling the thrill.

“asshat took that pretty little truck to another girlie’s house, thought i wouldn’t notice, he’s in there now with her, probably buyin’ her another drink, arms ‘round her hips playin’ pool, like he used to with me. shoulda known he was a snake.”

you huffed at the end, squeezing the wooden bat tighter in your hands behind your back, the insane glint in your eye returning as you looked past the hulking bodyguard ahead of you, to your, now, exes car ahead of you, the glare in your eyes so strong he nearly expected a bright laser to burst from your gaze to set the car ablaze. it nearly made his blood rush from his head to somewhere else.

“that good enough for you?”

slowly turning your head to stare back up at him, the same crazed glint, your blazing eyes locked with his again, a wide smile stretching across your face in anticipation of slashing at least one of the tires, maybe your name on the side of the car’s lustrous paint job. his inquisitive eyes flicked back and forth between your flaming ones, his face beginning to mirror yours with a wicked smirk of his own, wanting nothing more than to let you go ham on the proclaimed snake’s truck.

“sweetheart, i’d love to let you fuck this idiots truck up,”

the taller ash-blond paused, unable to control the growing excitement in seeing you tear into the car like a woman straight out of hell. after a few contemplative moments, he finished the sentence with a sigh; “ya know what? fuck it, don’t let the cameras see ya and don’t make too much noise.”

he winked at you, subtly nodding to the camera at the door before gesturing for you to move away from him with his hand still hidden from the camera by his body, letting his face fall to the signature scowl before turning back towards the entry of the lot as if he’d kicked you out. with a final wave of his hand, you followed his lead, furrowing your eyebrows in your faux anger before stomping away, bat in hand.

putting his hands back into his pockets, keeping the scowl locked on his lips and his blond eyebrows furrowed as he watched you sneak around from the corner of his eye. finally allowing the blood to rush from his head down, his pants growing impossibly tighter as you raised the bat over your shoulder and swung it full force into the headlight, watching it shatter, shards of the plastic falling into the ground with a puff of the dirt below.

his crimson eyes tracked the jagged plastic shell all the way down as it fell, wanting nothing more than for his feet to make the same puffs as he stalked over to you, pushing you against the same hood you beat with the bat, yanking those tight clothes off you to fuck you over the cheaters car. the tiniest part of him hoping your ex would come out in time to see you cream on his cock, to hear you wail his name when you wrapped your thighs around his hips, ankles crossed behind his back, welcoming his cum.

fuck, he needed to control his thoughts.

teeth bared in your crazed smile like a rabid animal, bakugou could hardly help the tent in his pants forming at your frenzied smashing of the car, the top of the bat making contact with the second headlight before you pulled a small knife from your pocket, carving into the side of the impossibly shiny black paint, the word cheater a stark silver against the black paint as you laughed at the look of your exes prized possession looking the worst you’d likely ever see it. laughing harder at the priceless look he’d have on his face in a few hours when he’d see your masterpiece.

picking up the bat you’d thrown to the ground, you lapped around the car to smash the back lights for good luck before dragging the bat behind you in the dirt, a trail of dust being kicked up behind you, back over to bakugou, sure to avoid the camera he pointed out to you.

“hey, pretty boy,”

you whispered from a small distance, sure to avoid the weathered lens looking down on the blond, who only hummed in response to you calling him yet another nickname, “what’s your name?”

“bakugou.”

his voice was as gruff as he looked as he replied, as deep as his red eyes had gone watching you wield the weapons easily, his eyes going a near impossible dark red as you twirled the knife between your fingers as you strode towards him.

“well, bakugou, thanks for lettin’ a lady have a little fun,”

he nearly shivered at the sound of his name falling from your lips, glad he told you only his surname, certain the sound of you saying his first would be fatal. you trailed off for a moment, nearly making the muscular man turn to see whether you were still there or not.

“you wanna get out of here an’ take care of that little problem you’ve got there, sugar? as a thanks.”

you drawled, the taller blond hearing the arrogant smirk in your voice, turning his head to see your eyes glued to his pelvis where the loose pants had grown tight.

“i finish at 12.”

he responded a little too quickly for his liking, unable to control the way you taking revenge to your ex-boyfriend drove him wild. reaching past him with your free hand, you wrapped your fingers around his wrist, tugging slightly to see the watch face reflecting up at you, 11:49. head too clouded to pull his arm back, it stayed as you left it when you let it go. confidently still, you pulled him further into the shadow concealing you, pulling his chest to yours, “i’ll see you in 10, bakugou.” purring his name again, you walked away with a further swish in your hips, knowing his scarlet eyes were trained on you stalking back the way you’d walked over to him, lifting yourself onto the hood of the decimated car as if you’d read his mind.

these last eleven minutes would drive him insane.

tearing his eyes from your frame, he glanced back down to his wrist still suspended in the air, 11:50.

“fuck this,”

pulling himself off the wall, he stalked towards you the same way you had, walking through the shadows back towards you.

“you’re insane.”

“you seem to love it, sugar.”

sparing one last glance down at his clothed hips, you pulled him in by his shoulders, you teased your lips against his, laughing wildly at his growl before your lips crashed together, the buttons bursting off his dark shirt with a solid tug to join the headlights in the dust, nearly leaving him breathless. hardly giving him a moment to recover, you pulled him back to you with your thighs at his hips, bitten, swollen lips slamming back against his, sharp nails tearing at his back while his slid your snug shirt higher on your chest, squeezing your tits in his strong hands, pulling away from your lips to bite at your neck, letting your gasp echo. vermillion eyes locked on you, your eyes slipping shut as the clink of his belt buckle echoed, the hand at your chest pushing you to lie down.

you’ll be the death of him.

© all works belong to @k-atsukibakugou, @gwen0m, and dlirious on archive of our own, do not plagiarise, translate, repost or recommend my work on other platforms or translate my works, i do not give permission for my works to be bound and sold. 18+ minors and ageless blogs do not interact.

[from-a-reckless-writer]

dove down my rabbit hole of wips and one of my wips isnt a wip anymore! so here, have some gay shit....

“Kelly wants to get married in the woods, I want to get married in Midvale. So, apparently, our wedding will just happen via Zoom. Her in the woods, me at the beach. Ain’t that just fucking grand?”

Alex comes through the door like a hurricane covered in leather. Her helmet lands on Kara’s counter loudly. Her keys haphazardly thrown somewhere in the general direction of the bowl by the door.

“Then have two weddings.”

Alex follows the voice and her eyes zero in on her sister’s best friend.

Lena is sitting on the floor of Kara’s apartment, wearing an oversized sweater. Her dark hair spilling down her shoulders softly. A hand wrapping around a wine glass, the other typing on her laptop, not even jumping in the slightest at the commotion that is Alex’s entrance.

Alex plops down on the couch sighing loudly, not even batting an eye at this utterly domestic scene that is her sister washing the dishes with Lena Luthor on the floor of her apartment.

Lena doesn’t comment at the Danvers’ Sisters antics and Alex doesn’t call them out on the ridiculousness that Lena and Kara are still keen on keeping up.

The three of them already well desensitized to one another’s preferred brand of bullshitery.

“You know, sometimes I forget you're a rich-ass bitch and then you say shit like that and suddenly, I remember,” Alex says, smoothly snatching the wine from Lena’s hand.

She finishes the entire glass in one gulp and Lena rolls her eyes. Alex had finally proposed to Kelly the other week and well, that meant this week all of them had fallen victim to the Olsen-Danvers wedding debacle. It seems today isn’t the day that that whole dilemma is going to stop.

The wedding, of course, was still a few months away, but both parties were stressing about it as if it was going to happen immediately the next day.

Kara swoops in then, mussing up Alex’s hair, earning her an annoyed Hey stop it! before putting down another wine glass and pouring for Lena. Her arms are still wet from washing the dishes.

Lena murmurs her thanks and continues what she was saying, “Well, since you’ve finally remembered that I’m a billionaire. Let me pay for two weddings.”

Alex chokes on the wine.

“What? You’re kidding me, right?”

Lena continues typing, ignoring Alex’s shock, you’d think she didn’t just offer to pay for a wedding.

“Well, I mean, I’m never gonna get married,” Lena explains, “but if you let me do this, I can brag around that I’ve paid for two weddings. Not to mention I’m gonna make two brides very, very happy.”

“Or,” Kara interjects, lowering herself on the opposite side of the couch, perfect for Lena to lean back between Kara’s legs and lay her head on the side of her thigh. “You can just wait for Kelly to get here,” Kara says, pointedly. “Talk it out like normal adults and reach a compromise.”

Kara’s hands start to snake their way from Lena’s hair to Lena’s shoulders, massaging, all too aware that Lena won’t stop whatever it is she’s working on on her laptop till everybody gets here.

Lena lets herself melt and closes her eyes, sighing as Kara’s fingers dip at the junction of her neck and shoulder with just the right amount of pressure.

“I don’t wanna get married in the woods, Kara.”

Lena opens one eye to take a peek at Alex, who looks exasperated, her eyes pleading, gulping down another glass of wine.

“Don’t tell me,” Kara replies. “Tell Kelly.”

“The bugs, Kara,” Alex moans. “Imagine the bugs, and the moss and the ughhh.”

She dramatically thumps the back of her head on the couch.

“Imagine the soil. Clumpy wet soil. Eurgh. Ew. What if I fall face first in that? What if I trip over a stupid tree root in my heels? In my wedding dress?!”

“Alex, you don’t even have a dress yet,” Kara deadpans.

“I thought you were gonna wear a suit,” Lena adds.

“You two suck.” Alex pouts.

****

The rest of their friends arrive and Kara finally succeeds in prying Lena’s work laptop away from her. Alex was already teasing the line from tipsy to drunk by the time Kelly comes through the door.

“Let’s get married in Vegas!!!!” Is how Alex decides to greet her fiance.

Kelly laughs, gives her a peck then answers, “As much as that sounds like a very convenient wedding, I don’t think Eliza would appreciate that, baby.”

Alex frowns at being rejected, sags against the couch and crosses her arms. Why does Kelly always have to be right?

“How much has she had to drink?” Kelly turns to Kara.

“Uhh ask Lena. She made her switch to whiskey.”

Lena—who Kelly thinks was way too busy nuzzling against Kara’s neck to even answer her question—mumbles something that sounds like “S’was just two glasses.”

Kelly just shakes her head, makes Alex drink a glass of water. Her ring making a clink against the glass.

“Alright, what if,” Nia sing-songs, eyes sparkling with mischief, “we just settle this whole wedding thing with Charades?”

Nia claps her hands together like some gameshow host and Kelly takes a deep breath through the nose.

She’s been to enough Game Nights to know where this is headed.

Everybody else was intoxicated enough to accept the suggestion as a grand idea, not at all even thinking that: Hey, isn’t this something we should all take seriously?? Maybe ask the brides what they want, maybe???

Kara nods enthusiastically, agreeing immediately, “Oh!! That’s a great idea! Fun and fair at the same time!”

“Olsen vs. Danvers. Brides get to pick their teams.”

Nia pulls a white board out of nowhere, uncaps a marker and writes “Team Danvers”, “Team Olsen” separated by a neat line in the middle.

“Are we really letting Nia take charge of our wedding venue?" She hears Alex whisper from where she has her tucked at the crook of her neck.

Kelly sneaks a glance at the chaos happening before their eyes; Brainy already claiming to be on Kelly’s team, J’onn shaking his head opting to be the game scorer instead and refusing to participate, somebody’s shouting about: NIA, DREAM PROJECTIONS AT CHARADES IS CHEATING!!!!

Guess this is their life now.

Kelly smirks, boops Alex on the nose and says, “Scared you’ll lose, Danvers?”

****

Alex loses by three points.

“How was I supposed to know you were gesturing 'Transformers'!?!” She barks at Kara, throwing her hands in exasperation.

“I pointed at Nia!” Kara huffs, incredulous at the fact that her sister is blaming her.

Nia lost them a point too!

“What does Nia even have to do with it???” Alex’s voice grows higher in pitch. Her brows furrow in a mix of confusion and frustration.

“Trans, Alex. Trans.”

“Oh my God,” Alex groans. “How are you this dumb?”

And that was the story of how Kelly got her dream wedding.

****

The frenzy finally dies down, some time between Nia making up another drinking game and J’onn making her sit back down. A movie that none of them were watching provides a background noise to the almost lazy atmosphere. Kelly and Alex were pressed close on the far end of the couch, enjoying the temporary quiet.

“Guess we’re getting married in the woods, huh?” Alex murmurs.

“I guess we are,” Kelly whispers back. Alex beams at her, grinning dopily at the thought of finally getting the ending they deserve. It would be the perfect day, she has no doubt about that. No matter where they are. It would be perfect because they got there together.

Alex can’t wait.

“What? Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Nothing.”

Alex continues to smile stupidly, nudges her nose to Kelly’s.

“Just— I don’t really care where we get married, I guess.”

“Oh yeah?” Kelly raises an amused brow at her.

“Mm-hm. So long as you’re the one walking down the aisle.”

Alex presses their lips together, breathes Kelly in deep and for the first time that night, she feels that the future isn’t so scary, even though there is still a very large possibility that she might trip over a tree root on her wedding day.

Somebody interrupts their kiss.

“She’s only saying that ‘cos she lost.”

“Shut up, Luthor.”

****

“Text me when you get home!”

Lena hears Kara call loudly after her sister, before closing the door. Game Night has officially ended and as usual she’s still here. She’ll always be here, she thinks for a brief moment. The thought holding more depth than it should.

Kara didn’t even question her when everybody began filing out and Lena just started picking up the discarded dirty plates and walking them to the sink. They’re well past the point of asking each other if the other would stay over.

It was already some unspoken rule.

Already well past the point of Lena wanting to ask Kara what the hell it is they’re doing.

She’s bent over the sink, scrubbing—Kara doesn’t own a dishwasher for the sole reason that she finds doing the dishes therapeutic—when Lena takes a glance over her shoulder.

Kara is sitting on a high stool near the counter, casually flicking through her phone. It was Lena’s turn to do the dishes tonight. Once upon a time her doing the dishes would have resulted in a fight. “I can superspeed the dishes. Why would you even want to do them?” A statement that would be met with an eye roll.

Kara has learned not to fight her on it again, after around the 7th time that Lena had stubbornly insisted and Supergirl got doused with dishwashing liquid.

And now, it’s become some sort of routine, Kara does the dishes after lunch and Lena does the dishes after dinner. Oh, how the paparazzi would kill for this—Lena Luthor Knows What A Sponge Is?

“Is it true when you told Alex you’re never going to get married?”

Kara decides to break their quiet.

“Yeah, pretty certain about that one, why?” Lena turns around, cocks a curious brow. If she’s being honest she’s beyond certain that she’s not going to get married. She always jokes about how she’s married to L-Corp but it isn’t till now that she realizes how true that is, and...how lonely.

“I don’t know,” Kara murmurs, not meeting Lena’s eyes. “I just like the idea of you getting married, I guess.”

“What?” Lena chuckles at that; genuinely confused but still curious.

“Well, I mean—” Kara wobbles through her words.

“I guess, I just— I like the idea of you walking down the aisle...in a white dress,” Kara muses.

Then, “Or a suit!!” she quickly amends. “If you wanna wear a suit, that is. That can totally be arranged, you know?” Kara waves her hand around and it’s like now that she’s started, she can’t stop.

And Lena’s just standing there, water still dripping from her elbow, unsure of how to feel about Kara imagining her getting married. Quite an incredulous scene isn’t it? Her getting married? What a crazy thing to say, an even crazier scenario to imagine!

She snaps out of it, realizing Kara’s still rambling.

“I have no objections whatsoever with that, if you wanna wear a suit. And yeah, you know? I just— I like that idea. I like the idea of you dancing to your wedding song. The idea of you exchanging your vows, the idea of you-”

“Kara,” Lena decides to put a stop to it, since it’s clearly evident Kara won’t be stopping any time soon. And Lena's feeling way too many things that she doesn’t want to feel at the moment. She’s sure that she’s going to feel more, if she doesn’t put a stop to it herself.

“I’m well aware that it’s the best friend’s job to help with the bride’s wedding,” She says, “but, darling don’t you think you’re putting just a bit too much effort into this? Certainly seems like you’ve thought about it a lot.”

At that, Kara’s cheeks turn a light pink, squirming sheepishly under Lena’s questioning gaze.

Shouldn’t Kara be thinking about her own wedding? How beautiful she would look walking down the aisle. How her blonde hair would look so nicely with her dress. How happy she would finally be after finding someone she could share her life with. Not that Lena's been thinking about those kinds of things. No, of course not. That’d be hypocritical of her at this point. Why would she even— Why were they even talking about this again???

Lena tries to rein in it, tries to focus on Kara again; hands finally finding a dry towel, hesitantly walking into Kara’s space to hear the blonde more clearly.

“Well, I mean- Like I said, I do really like the idea of you getting married,” Kara repeats herself slowly.

And before Lena can come any closer, “Like the idea of you getting married…to me. More specifically,” Kara adds more quietly.

“What?”

Lena stands frozen.

“I’m sorry, I don’t think I heard y- Kara, did you just?”

Lena’s heart is pounding away in her chest. Did she hear her right? Did Kara really just—

Lena’s a step away from her and Kara uses this to her advantage. She pulls Lena closer, tugging at her wrist, the towel dropping from Lena’s hands. Kara summons enough willpower to stare into Lena’s eyes.

“I like the idea of you getting married to me, Lena Luthor.”

“Kara, I’m sorry- What?” Lena jerks away from her, the words finally landing.

“Is that a no?”

Kara lets her go. She can’t focus on Lena’s heartbeat to assess the situation more. Kara’s own heart is betraying her, drumming so loudly in her ears.

“Uh- no, that's definitely not a no?” says Lena hesitantly, eyes wide, breathing nervously. She turns away from Kara for a minute to take a breath, hands fidgeting about.

She whirls around again to face, mutters, “You do realize marriages are for people who are—”

She pauses.

How do you exactly phrase that wedding proposals are for people who are actually in some kind of romantic relationship? And not for people who casually stay over every goddamn Thursday without fail?And okay, maybe sometimes, in a much different reality, would willingly commit fratricide to save the other? And in an also much different reality, willingly expose a secret identity to save the other?

Lena can’t find the right words.

“Oh, I don’t know, Kara,” Lena scoffs, shaking her head disbelievingly. “Marriage is for people who are actually dating each other.”

Kara takes her sarcasm as a good sign and pulls her in again.

“Well,” Kara begins. She can hear Lena’s heart thumping erratically, now that Kara’s gotten her bearings.

“We can always have our first date after the wedding, right?”

Aren’t they well past the point of dating anyway?

She’s got Lena standing between her legs now, her hands wrapping around her waist.

“First date and honeymoon all in one. That sounds great, doesn’t it? I can fly you wherever you want, Paris, Maldives, hell I even have a Fortress in the Arctic, if you’re into that.”

Lena stares at her, blinks once, twice; shakes her head and lets out a noise between a laugh and a scoff.

“Kara Zor-El, you are one ridiculous woman,” She breathes, putting a hand on Kara’s cheek. Because what else is there to say? This whole conversation really is ridiculous. But at the same time Lena feels like she’s floating? Like this may be the best moment of her life, and of course, it’s going to be ridiculous. This is Kara she’s dealing with, after all.

She doesn’t know what she’s going to do if Kara reveals this to be just some sort of joke.

But the way her blue eyes are piercing through Lena’s, so earnest and so warm, argues otherwise.

“So, what do you say? Wanna get married?”

“Are you serious right now?” Lena asks, still unbelieving. This is beyond crazy. They’ve fought aliens and monsters and traveled through time but this? This is just beyond crazy.

“Lena, do I look like I’m joking? And besides, you’d already offered to pay for two weddings, why not pay for our two weddings, instead?”

She shakes her head again, let’s herself fall closer to Kara, lets out a laugh against her neck.

“Mm. You want a Kryptonian ceremony too?”

“Yeah.” Kara’s voice turns shy. “If that’s alright by you.”

“Of course, that’s alright by me. I’d be honored.”

Her heart feels more than full at the thought of Kara wanting to share that part of her with Lena. She’s always had some doubts whenever the topic of Kara’s Kryptonian heritage arises, always half-afraid she’s overstepped on something that isn’t hers.

But looks like there was nothing to fear all along.

“So, we’re getting married, huh?” Kara wiggles her brows, her face breaking into a wide grin.

“Yes. Mm-hm,” Lena hums against her. “I do. I’d marry you. Let’s get married.”

“Seal it with a kiss?"

****

“Hi.”

Lena blearily opens her eyes, follows the soft voice, her bare back being caressed by the sun filtering through Kara’s curtains.

“Hi,” She whispers back. All this feels much too like a fever dream. She’s half-tempted to pinch herself just to check. She’s woken up beside Kara a million times before but she’ll never get used to the sight of soft golden hair and sleepy blue eyes.

Kara gives her a soft peck and the feel of her lips sends Lena reeling.

The previous night was a whirlwind in her mind’s eye. The moment Lena murmured her 'Yes, please.', Kara kissed her passionately. Once they broke away, Kara had zipped around the apartment, Lena too dazed to even ask what it was Kara was looking for.

She watched as Kara tore off a keychain from one of her bags, curled the keyring to fit Lena’s finger and whispered, “This’ll do. For now.”

Kara had kissed her knuckles reverently, her lips making Lena’s blood sing in her veins. The feel of mangled metal fitted just for her left hand is an imprint on her soul. A promise of more to come.

They didn’t make it out of the kitchen the first time. Kara had lifted her by the waist and set her down on the kitchen counter. Which was a good thing, because Lena couldn’t feel her legs after.

They didn’t make it to the bedroom the second time either. She had tackled Kara onto the couch, pinning her wrists together, licking at the shell of Kara’s ear. “My turn now,” Lena had whispered. The way Kara shivered underneath her was enough of a reward. How long had they been waiting for this?

Flashes of last night had her hips bucking slightly unto Kara’s leg sandwiched between her own, but before it could escalate further...

“I have exciting news to share,” Kara tells her.

“Really?”

“Mm-hmm,” Kara hums, now nosing at Lena’s hair.

“What is it?” Lena asks.

“I’m getting married.”

“Oh you are?” Lena plays along.

“Yes. I’m getting married to my best friend,” whispers Kara, almost conspiratorially. “How cool is that?”

Kara looks giddy with excitement and Lena knows she’s mirroring that exact same expression right now.

“Mm. Very cool, darling.”

Kara giggles and they trade more lazy kisses before Lena breaks away to breathe.

“Quite a coincidence though,” Lena husks out against Kara’s lips.

“Oh really? Why?” Kara asks, tries to keep a serious neutral face despite her nose scrunching up in that cute smile that Lena can’t resist

“I’m also getting married,” Lena confides, “To my best friend," she adds, eyes flashing. "Isn’t that great?”

“Very great.” Kara nods slowly, blonde hair falling into her face, a hand running through dark tresses.

“I love you,” Lena whispers, her lips brushing Kara’s softly.

“I love you, too.” Kara kisses her harder then, her hands lazily wandering along Lena’s skin.

They lie there quietly for a few moments, basking in the morning glow and then, “Alex will kill us.”

Lena snorts, twists in the sheets and says, “I think your sister is too busy planning her wedding to even think about plotting our murder.”

read follow-up here.

[spaceorphan18]

Head Over Feet (1/14)

After Kurt and Blaine broke up the second time, they went their separate ways, living their separate lives in New York City. Fifteen years later, a retirement party brings them back together into each other's orbit, with surprising, for both of them, consequences. Are they able to fit each other into their already complicated and messy lives? And are these newfound feelings real? Or just echoes of a past relationship?

Canon Divergent after Season 5.

Ao3 Link

A/N: Yes, I know I have a bunch of other WIPs - and I am still working on all of them! But I’ve been so excited about this one, I just want to get it out there... 

Thanks to @snarkyhag for the beta. :) 

***

Chapter 1: Loser Like Me (Part One) 

Fall 2028

Blaine is dreaming.  It’s all fuzzy, but there are hands… familiar hands that are on him clasping his own, cupping his face, trailing down, down, down to where it feels good.  He begins to feel the warmth spread throughout his body.  He feels good, so good… Lips are against his, rough and hungry, he is enveloped in want, in need… He lets out a groan, letting the pleasure overtake him.  He reaches out, desperate for more, but as he does so, that good feeling starts to float away.  He makes a grasp for it, but it’s no longer there, and he is left cold and wanting more.  

And then his alarm goes off.  

Blaine wakes up hard as a rock.  He can’t remember the last time he had a dream about sex.  Maybe when he had been a teenager? Or possibly college?  But he doesn’t remember any of those dreams ending him with his dick actually aching to fuck something.  

He stares at the ceiling for a good long moment, thinking the urgency will eventually wear off.  He turns his head, slightly, to see the outline of his husband on the other side of the bed.  He doesn’t bother to wake Sean -- not that morning sex had ever been a part of their marriage.  They’re on opposite schedules; the show Sean is doing the costumes for is in the middle of its workshop, and if it gets picked up by a good producer, it could mean big things.  And Sean is cranky in the morning, anyway.  

Blaine can just as easily take care of himself.

He gets up, slowly.  The erection still hasn’t died down, and Blaine begins to wonder if this is even normal for someone his age.  Maybe he should call a doctor.  He laughs to himself.  Or maybe he should jack off and not worry about it.  

He moves off the bed, having to go around it to get to the bathroom.  In the process, he has to step over a huge pile of Sean’s clothes.  Blaine takes a moment to pick them up, and throw them into the laundry basket.  Two seconds, it takes.  Is that really so hard?  

The clothes also smell like booze and cigarettes, which means Sean has been staying out late with the company again.  It’s fine, they used to both go all the time to the afterparties and the clubs, but some time after Blaine hit thirty, he didn’t find them as enticing any more.  Something about feeling almost twice as old as everyone around him killed the spirit.

Blaine gets into the bathroom, turning on the light, and easily stripping out of the boxers that he wears to bed.  His dick is still throbbing to be touched, so he gives himself a few hardy strokes before turning on the water for a shower.  It’s weird, he thinks, as he gets in.  Sex used to be the a staple of his marriage but, as the years passed, he and Sean manage once a week if they’re lucky.  He hasn’t really missed it, or maybe he hasn’t noticed he missed it.  Because getting off with just his hand doesn’t normally feel so good.  

He indulges a little, thinking about that dream, and those hands on him.  Letting someone else take over, take control, take him apart.  He thinks, at first, of Sean, pulling from the catalogue of their sex life.  Sean being the one to hold him, and stroke him, and suck him down.  But as much as he tries to concentrate on his husband, the scene keeps pulling away, and there’s someone else there -- a faceless man with deft hands who knows exactly how Blaine likes to be touched.  

He speeds up his hand, and yet somehow it doesn’t feel like enough.  He braces himself against the tile of the bathroom wall, fucking furiously into his hand until his hips take on a life of their own.   Eventually he comes, jolting hard into his hand.  The orgasm tears through him, and he lets out a near scream that he hopes doesn’t wake Sean.  

It takes a moment to come down, and he leans against the tiles, enjoying the blissed out feeling as the hot water sprays over him.  He’s not sure what had brought all that on but he does feel more relaxed.  He’s been too pent up lately.  Maybe he does need to start seeing his therapist again…

***

On Wednesdays, Blaine only teaches one class and he is back home by noon in time, usually, to make himself lunch before heading out to do afternoon errands (or stay in and grade papers).  Before the workshop started, he and Sean would usually make Wednesday nights their together time.  But those have faded away over the past year or so.  Blaine has gotten used to spending the evenings alone, to the point that when Blaine arrives back at the apartment that afternoon, he’s startled to see Sean there making himself a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.  

Sean stands against the counter, chewing the sandwich slowly as he watches Blaine put his bag and coat on one of the kitchen table chairs.   “You okay?” Sean asks, taking another bite.  A bit of crust lands in his red beard, and he brushes it off and onto the floor.  Blaine shakes his head, now he understands why the floor is always so filthy.  “You’re looking at me as if I’m a stranger in the house.”

“No, it’s fine,” Blaine says.  Maybe it’s not.  It feels, weirdly, like an intrusion on his private time, but the thought is laughable.  His husband is home -- he should be happy.  Blaine begins to rifle through the fridge, pulling out a container of tuna fish to have for lunch.  They could eat together, at the table, like civilized people.  “What happened with the workshop?”

“Remember me telling you about Ashleigh and Karyn and their obsessive ambition to be the first to win a Tony? Or whatever the fuck they’re actually looking for.”

“Yes.” No? Maybe? He can’t keep all of the cast members of Sean’s show straight.  But Blaine doesn’t really feel like listening to a who’s who tangent.  He finishes making the sandwich as Sean explains further.  

“Well, I don’t know how it started, but I know how it ended -- with the both of them in the hospital,” Sean says.  “So with both the lead and the understudy out, the workshop is on hold for a little while.”

“Wait, who was the lead again?” Blaine asks.  Sandwich made, he grabs some chips from the pantry and a bottle of water and heads to the kitchen table.  Sean follows him, leaving his now empty plate on the counter, before taking his usual seat across from Blaine.  

“Karyn,” Sean says, stealing some chips from Blaine’s bag.  “The blonde.”

“Right.”

“So, I guess you have me home for a while.”

Blaine plasters an immediate smile to his face.  He’s not entirely sure how to feel, though.  “Are you still getting paid?”

“Yeah,” Sean grabs more chips.  “Marv’s gotta girl lined up in case it takes longer.  Shouldn’t be more than a week.”  

“Ah.”  

Sean taps his fingers on the table.  Blaine sips from his water bottle.  There’s a siren outside somewhere, and the upstairs neighbor’s dog sprints back and forth, causing the ceiling to creek.  

“I paid the water bill,” Sean says after a long moment.  

“Great,” Blaine says.  “I still say we should get reimbursed for the neighbors tapping into our pipes.”  

“I’ll talk to Greg about it.”

“Great.”

Blaine eats his sandwich in a strange sort of silence as Sean watches him.  He feels like they should talk about something.  What do they usually talk about these days? Work? The apartment? The new musical mini-series Netflix put out?  Sean doesn’t ask how Blaine’s class went.  Blaine doesn’t offer to talk about it.  Nothing really feels like a good conversation.  

Which is why Blaine decides to mention it… “So, I had the weirdest dream last night.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, it was some kind of sex dream,” Blaine says, licking the tuna from his fingers.  “I woke up hard as fuck.”

Sean gives a smirk.  “I can’t tell if this is your way of telling me you want to fool around tonight, or if you’re concerned and want to see a doctor.”  

Blaine laughs into his water.  “I decided I’m too young still to have dick problems, and jacked off in the shower.”  

Sean’s eyes go wide with amusement.  “Shame I missed that show.  If you’re still feeling it, we can mess around after lunch if you want.”

Blaine gives an unenthused shrug.  “I’ve got some errands to run.  Then I’m having dinner with Santana tonight, but if you want to catch the late show, it can be arranged.”  

“We’ll see,” Sean says.  “I told some of the guys I’d meet them out for drinks tonight.  There’s a new bar opening over in SoHo.”

A flash of irritation runs through Blaine.  It’s not the turning down of sex that bothers him.  He really doesn’t want to spend his evening at a bar in SoHo.  He really doesn’t want to spend the evening with Sean’s questionable friends ‘Way-Too-Flirty’ Don and ‘Drinks-Too-Much’ Steve.  He doesn’t even really want to go out, especially when he has to teach an early morning class.  But he’s not there to tell Sean what to do.  

He finishes off the sandwich without a word.  It’s not like Sean feels differently about Santana.  

“You know, speaking of Santana, that reminds me,” Sean says, getting up from his seat.  He goes over to the counter and brings back a red envelope.  “This came for you today -- from McKinley High.”  

Blaine takes it with interest.  He gets mailers from Dalton Academy all the time -- even if he didn’t graduate from there, he had still technically been an alumni.  But something from McKinley?  That just seems weird.  It isn’t the right time for there to be a reunion.  He has no idea what it could possibly be.  

He opens it up to find a black and gold invitation. “Oh,” he says a little fondly as he reads it.  “My old glee club teacher is retiring.  He’s inviting everyone back for homecoming weekend to celebrate.  Cute.”  

Sean grabs at the paper after Blaine lets it drop back to the table.  “Do you want me to come with you?” he offers quietly.  

“Would you want to go?” It’s not often that Sean comes with him on the rare occasions he heads back to Ohio.  

Sean hesitates before he speaks, and snacks on another couple of chips before replying.  “I probably should stay to make sure Marv has a handle on this whole Ashleigh-Karyn thing.  That is, unless you’d like me to go.”  

Blaine stares hard at the paper.  It’s not like he couldn’t go.  He doesn’t have to teach on Fridays, and the school is having a holiday weekend that same weekend.  In theory, he could and it wouldn’t be a problem.  “I don’t even know if I should.”

“Maybe go to see your parents, Blaine,” Sean says.  “It’s got to be at least a few years since you’ve seen them.”

“I saw them last year at…” Blaine considers.  Has time really flown by so quickly? “Huh, I guess it has been at least two since that Christmas we spent in Ohio.” He sits back in his chair to think about it.  

“Hey, Blaine…” There’s suddenly a heaviness in the air.  There’s something behind Sean’s eyes that hadn’t been there earlier.  Something that Blaine catches glimpses of every once in a while.  Something that they’ve been avoiding and, for a moment, Blaine fears that Sean is actually going to bring it up.  The room gets darker, just a cloud passing by the sun, but everything is still -- too still, and Blaine’s heart begins to race.  The moment passes, though, and whatever Sean had been about to say changes.  “I guess talk to Santana about it, and see what she says.”

Blaine stares down at the paper again.  Suddenly, a weekend away from the apartment, away from the city, away from Sean doesn’t seem like such a bad idea.  “Yeah, I’ll do that.”  

***

The fall wind is sharp in its crispness, but it’s still a nice enough evening to go for a run in Central Park.  Three days a week, he and Santana Lopez go out for a jog then grab dinner at a nearby taco truck so they can sit and gossip.  Santana, who’s office isn’t far from where they meet, is already waiting for Blaine when he arrives.  She is stretching her legs, bent over in a V, wearing her usual black spandex pants with a bright, blue bomber jacket that billows slightly.  Her designer sunglasses rest on the top of her head.

Because he has been thinking about high school all day, he can’t help but think that she hasn’t changed much.  Her face has hardened a little with age, but Blaine knows her beauty care routine is much more extensive than his, and he knows how much she spends on wigs and dye jobs.  Today, though, her long, black hair is pulled back tightly in a high pony, amusingly reminiscent of how she wore it in high school.  

“Okay, so I have some hot goss for you today,” she says, immediately after they exchange pleasantries.  She waits for him to do his own stretching, but continues to launch into her news.  “So, you remember how I’ve been endlessly talking about the cute redhead on the floor below?”

“The one who works as a secretary for the greasy lawyer?” Blaine pulls his leg back.  The stretching feels nice, he is glad he is able to get out of the stuffy apartment in some capacity tonight, even if he can tell Santana is a bit more ramped up than usual.  

Santana nods.  “So for weeks now, it’s been flirty glances, and unbuttoning buttons to show off some pretty pricey brassieres, but you know, nothing direct.  Well, today she comes up to my floor, claiming the bathroom is not working in their offices -- and I checked, she was totally lying -- and she’s wearing this tight, and I mean tight, nearly see-through button-down.  With no bra.  She had on no bra.  I could see her fucking nipples, Blaine.”

“The nerve,” Blaine teases.  They begin to walk down their usual path.  They have a good quarter of a mile before they usually start jogging, though they might go the first half of their two miles at a walking pace just so Santana could release her pent up energy verbally.  

“Who doesn’t wear a bra in a professional setting?” Santana continues.  Blaine arches an eyebrow at her.  “Okay, so I have totally done it, but I promise you it was warranted.  Anyway, I think she’s trying to kill me.  I took all of my restraint not to pull her directly into the janitor’s closet and make out with her.  And play with her tits.  I can’t unsee her fucking hot tits, Blaine.” Santana grumbles, putting a fist to her head, as if it’ll magically erase the image.

“You know, you could ask for her number,” Blaine suggests, for maybe the third time since Santana has started talking about the woman.  “Or, you know, find out her name.”  

Santana looks at him sharply.  He knows, she just wants a minute to bitch and revel in her janitor closet fantasies, but it’s not in him not to offer suggestions.  “Her name is Liz.  I at least found that out today.”

“Well, that’s a start,” Blaine offers.  

“Alright, what’s up with you?” she asks abruptly.  “Usually, you’re talking my head off about school, and I’m always having to catch up to you.  You’re trailing me by nearly a foot.  Something’s going on.”

Santana’s senses are rarely off, he shouldn’t be as surprised as he is by it.  He tries to quicken his pace but she is right, he is been in his head all day.  “I’m thinking of going back to therapy.”  He says it simply, laying it out as if it’s another fact, and not something that’s been weighing on his mind.  

She gives him a concerned look.  “Is this a ‘just you’ thing? Or a ‘you and Sean’ thing?”

“A ‘just me’ thing,” he admits.  They are nearly at the lamp post where they usually start to jog, but he’s not feeling as up to it as he had been when he arrived at the park.  “Sean’s staying home for a few days, and I’ve been restless lately…” he doesn’t quite say the things he’s thinking.  “And, I don’t know, I had a weird sex dream this morning.  I’ve been off all day.”

“Well, what does Sean think?”

“He offered to fuck, but I told him I had it taken care of.”

“What, no, not about the sex dream,” Santana stops in her tracks.  They have to wait a moment for an older woman walking a doberman to pass in-between them.  “What does your husband think about you going to therapy?”

“It didn’t come up.”  

“God, Blaine,” Santana says, exasperated.  “Well, if you really would rather spend your evening with me than reconnecting with your husband who is, as you well know, built like a fucking viking, then maybe therapy is what you need.”

It’s more complicated than that.  She knows some of it, but maybe not all of it, and it’s more than Blaine would really like to get into on their fairly public walk through Central Park.  But Santana has also grown to be one of his closest friends and, if nothing else, he can confide in her.  

“I’m going to set up an appointment,” he tries to play it off as just another thing.  She knows better, and gives him one of her infamous staredowns.  “And if it’s something I think I need to continue to do, I’ll keep you informed,” he tries to assure her.  

“You better, Anderson.” Her voice is sharp.  “I may have a cold, dead heart, but I want you to be happy.  And you know I’m always going to be blatantly honest with you, so I say this with all the love I can muster, but I don’t think you are.”  

“I know, I know…” He’s not not happy.  He loves his job.  He loves his little apartment.  He loves being in one of the greatest cities in all of the world.  He and Sean are…  “So, hey, did you get your invitation to Mr. Schue’s retirement party?”  He begins to walk again.  He knows he’s avoiding the conversation, so does Santana.  But she rolls with it.  

“He’s retiring?  Dear god, he’s barely over fifty.”

Blaine lets out a little laugh.  “Well, that’s what the invitation said.”  

“And, fuck, no, I haven’t gotten one,” Santana says.  “Though, it’s been a couple weeks since I’ve checked the mail.  Who sends invitations through the mail these days?  Just start a text chain like a normal person.”

“Would you go?” He asks.  He’s been back and forth on the idea all day.  Does he really want or need to see anyone from high school again?  Possibly?  Would it be nice to get away for a weekend? Most definitely.  Can he really afford to skip town for a little while? That is the big unanswered question.  

Santana bites her lip, thinking it over.  “I mean it really depends on who else got these magical invitations.  Oh, god, will Rachel Berry be there? Please tell me Rachel Berry will be there.  Because I have got to see how little Miss TV-Princess does in a place that does not revolve around her ego.”

Blaine has never had the issues with Rachel that Santana had, but he does remember college.  He does remember Funny Girl.  “Sorry, Santana, I don’t actually have an answer for you on that one.”

Santana throws her hands in the air.  “You keep in touch with everyone, right?  Well, isn’t she part of everyone?”

“I think she’s become a little out of my status level,” Blaine replies, with a smirk.  “Besides, I don’t keep in touch with everyone .”  Truth be told, Santana might be the only person he talks to from high school.  At least on a regular basis.  For all the promises made during the time of staying BFFs forever, real life managed to get in the way of the magical thinking.  

“Alright, let’s work it out, right now, cause this will be the determining factor,” she says.  She pulls at a leaf from one of the trees above her, causing the branch to bounce.  It nearly whacks him in the head, which causes her to giggle a little and shake her head.  “Let’s see… Rachel Berry, possibly.  Said ego might drive her back to the place where it all began.”  

“Sam Evans will probably be there,” Blaine says.  “He does still live in the area.” He and Sam don’t have a lot of contact, but occasionally they’ll do a long distance Fantasy Football thing or chat about a new video game they both own.  He hopes Sam will go - he could use more of that laid back charm in his life.  

“Artie clearly won’t be,” Santana continues.  “I know, because I’m the one who put him on the European press tour for his new film.”

“I doubt Tina will be there either,” Blaine adds.  “She just had her third baby, and she and Ron probably don’t want to make the trip from Boston to Lima with three young children.”  

He thinks of Tina’s Instagram, the only way he really communicates with her, and the constant updates for her hectic life.  She’s happy and looking good, and way too busy to drop everything and run back to Ohio.  Blaine makes a note to give her a call at some point to congratulate her formally on the new baby, even if he had already left a cute note on the Instagram pictures.  

Santana is too caught up in her thought process to say more about Tina.  “Finn won’t be there for obvious reasons.  What the fuck happened to Puck? I doubt he has an address to even send anything to.  Quinn’s too prideful to drag her divorced ass out of Connecticut.  You know she’s already taken a new lover ?  She’s in her mid-thirties, and still hitting up the sugardaddies.  I mean, have some goddamn respect for yourself.”

“Well, Mike’s in Chicago,” Blaine offers.  Mike had been part of the Chicago Ballet for a long time, and had since become a dance instructor.  Blaine had been at Mike’s wedding to his wife, Marie, a couple of years ago, and he’s another one whom Blaine wouldn’t mind seeing again.  Maybe he, Mike, and Sam could have a nice guys’ night out that weekend.  He’ll have to get in touch.

Santana nods.  They walk by a woman sitting on a bench with two screaming children.  Blaine feels bad for the woman, but he and Santana share a look -- both of them glad that they don’t have to deal with that kind of hot mess at home.  

“Then there’s Mercedes,” Santana says, looking up and out into the world.  “Goddess among women.  We do not have the privilege to be in her presence.”  Santana laughs at her own comments.  “Seriously, though, I love my girl, but I don’t judge her for continuing to live her best life.”

“What about Brittany?” Blaine asks, tentatively.  He has no idea if this is a sore subject for her or not because he doesn’t think Santana has brought her up once over the course of their friendship.  

Santana becomes stoney-faced, as if not to give herself too much away.  “No,” she says simply.  “Brittany’s living in some commune in LA where she does Fondue for Two and runs a cat babysitting service.”  

“That’s a thing?”

“In LA it is.”  A fond smile climbs on her lips.  “In any case, as much as I am always up for seeing my girl again, I highly doubt she’ll be back.  I mean, we were still hooking up for a while the few times I made it out to LA, but recently she’s found someone a little more… permanent.  And before you go on pitying me, let me assure you, I am more than fine.”  She’s quiet for a moment as she reflects.  For a person who is almost always open about her thoughts, she’s decidedly reclusive when it comes to matters of her heart.  Blaine knows better than to try to pry it out of her. “Anyway, if we’re going to be upfront about exes, I believe there’s only one person left, if we’re not counting random chicks with mafia dads or weird Irish exchange students.  And I’m sure we both know that there’s no way in hell Lady Hummel is coming back to Lima, Ohio.”

“Oh!” Blaine says, as if it’s a complete revelation.  Kurt hadn’t even entered his mind, and it is surreal to think that his brain didn’t go there first.  

“Oh, please, don’t tell me you actually forgot about Lady Hummel and his heartbreaking ways,” Santana scoffs.  “Pretty sure years of therapy couldn’t undo all the trauma that did.”

She isn’t wrong, and she would know, because she helped pick him up a year after everything had happened.  But that’s the funny thing -- it’s not that he doesn’t remember Kurt.  (God, he remembers all of Kurt.)  He doesn’t remember the person he used to be when he had been with Kurt.  There had been a time when he would have shifted the Sun and the Moon and the entire Earth for Kurt Hummel.  A time when his heart had pointed in only one direction.  And a time so dark that when Kurt had ended it, Blaine didn’t know how he would ever move on.  

And yet he did.  

The person he had been is now such a faded memory he can barely remember what those feelings were like.  Kurt Hummel is just another name from his past, a person who, yes, helped shape him into the person he is now.  But long gone are the emotions once attached to that name.  Funny how things can change.  Someone could mean so much to you at one point in time, and yet after time…

“I didn’t forget about Kurt, clearly,” Blaine says. He grabs her arm, and loops his own through it.  The jog isn’t happening today, and he’s fine with that.  Some days, it’s best just to have the company rather than the exercise.  “I just think you’re right, unless Burt is dying or something.  But doubtful that he’ll return for a silly retirement party.”

“You almost sound disappointed.”

Blaine shrugs, and gives a smile.  He doesn’t know how he feels about whether or not Kurt will be there.  He hasn’t thought about him so long.  But he does know that after all this talk of the past, maybe he is ready to go back and see if anyone else is feeling the same way.  “I think we should do it.  Go back.  I mean, why not?”

Santana shakes her head.  “Oh, this whole idea sounds like the worst, but if there’s a chance I get to make-out with Quinn Fabray again, then I’m in.”

For the first time in a while, Blaine feels a little lighter on his feet.

***

Not a few weeks later, Blaine is on a plane back to Ohio.  

He and Sean talked it over and, while Sean had been technically free to go, they agreed that maybe it would be better if Blaine went himself; the unspoken dialogue being that space isn’t the worst thing they could give each other.  Blaine had not been able to help but be fidgety with his wedding ring during the flight but, intent on giving himself a weekend off from real life, he drowned himself in his favorite podcasts, and had tried not to think about his life in New York.  

The party is on a Saturday afternoon, but he’s there on Friday so to spend time with his mom.  They end up having a nice lunch together, and she takes him shopping.  She’s as feisty as ever, somehow managing to remind Blaine of Santana, and he wonders if she’s always been like that or if that’s a new trait of being in your sixties.  They end up FaceTiming with Cooper and the kids, and Blaine indulges his little nieces by singing them Disney Princess songs.  The whole day weirdly feels like the family they usually are only around Christmas time, but he’s in good enough spirits that he doesn’t question it.  

Later that night, his dad comes home, and they have pizza before his parents go off for one of their social benefit parties they often frequent, reminding Blaine of the old days when his parents were never home on a Friday night.  He doesn’t mind so much because McKinley’s Homecoming Football game is that night.  

His original plan had been to meet up with Sam since Santana’s plane isn’t coming in until tomorrow.  But Sam declined, stating that Mercedes Jones is coming late that night and she needs a ride from the airport.  Sam didn’t ask Blaine to come with him.  Blaine calls up Mike, who is happy to hear from him, and says that he will be at the party but is only going to make the trip to Lima once on Saturday.  He doesn’t bother trying to get a hold of anyone else, and ends up going to the game alone.  

Coming back to McKinley feels like going back in time, and yet the kids running around make him feel entirely too old to be there.  He half expects Sue Sylvester to pop out and start yelling at the cheerleaders, or Mr. Figgins to make some sort of half-time speech, but the world of McKinley has moved on, even if the campus has remained remarkably the same.  The game is fun, but kind of boring, and he’s not surprised when the team loses by seventeen points.  Still, seeing the array of alumni all cheering around him, he feels a strange sort of connection to the place in a way that he really didn’t when he actually went to the school.  It’s a bit surreal.  

Afterwards, not ready to go home to an empty house, he drives around for a bit, until by chance, he drives by Scandals, Lima’s decrepit excuse for a gay bar.  Feeling somewhat amused, a little nostalgic, and a lot in need of a drink, he decides to grab a beer for old times’ sake.  He decides, on a whim, to put his wedding ring in his pocket.  He’s not actually planning anything, but it’s also not like Sean wears his anymore, anyway.  

Scandals is even more in a sad state of affairs then he remembers, even if ‘Funk-It-Up-Friday’ is trying to give the place some of that Mid-Western Charm.  He orders a bottled beer, and sips as he thinks fondly about the time he watched Dave Karofsky try to line dance.  God, that had been so long ago…

“I’m guessing this place rarely sees a man as gorgeous as you.  Mind if I buy you a drink?”

It takes a moment for Blaine to realize the pick-up line is directed at him, but he does instantly recognize the voice.  Much to his shock, when he turns around, he’s face to face with a much older, and yet still dazzlingly magnificent, Kurt Hummel.

[feral-dumbass]

F*ck Me

James “Bucky” Barnes/ Female Reader

Summary: Bucky loses a bet and has to wear a maid dress. Neither of you expected you to be so into Bucky wearing it.

Includes: Bucky in a maid costume, Knife kink, ripping of clothes, Bondage, unprotected sex, brief mention of Bucky being turned on by glasses, Beefy!Bucky, use of vibrator (sharing of it too), manhandling, overstimulation (Possible dub-con because of it), dirty talk, unprotected sex, size kink, choking (with the metal arm)

Words: 4,103 

A/N: Happy New Year! I finally actually finished a WIP. Bucky does wear a maid dress, so if you know me in real life, no you don’t. I just wrote a crack fic. Didn’t I? Title Credit to Vernon Jane. Tagging my friends @babybluestan​ @gagmebucky​ @heresyoursnackdumbass​

Masterlist

It started off with a bet. Who could beat Thor at armwrestling? Cocky egos and bored minds don’t mix well. Quill and Steve both lost. Most men that weren’t gifted with super strength didn’t need that question answered. Bucky decided to join in on the camaraderie. Besides, if Steve lectures Bucky team bonding one more time, he’s gonna lose it. 

Everything was fine until Tony couldn’t stop talking. Out on a personal vendetta ever since you and Bucky took Stark’s Audi out for joyride and put the most miniscule dent on the hood, Tony suggested more than money. If Bucky lost, he’d have to follow Thor around in a maid’s costume at the next compound party with the team and vice versa. Thor and Bucky were already sitting across from each other at the table when Tony announced it. It was too late to back out now. With Clint cheering on the statement and Steve starting to mother hen, Bucky said fuck it. Thor even let him use his bionic fucking metal arm. How bad could it be? 

Bucky was wrong. Bucky was so very wrong. Never make a bet about strength with a God. The gears and plates of his arm buzzed from the tension underneath the sound of the men choosing their sides and cheering them on. Even though Bucky put up a good fight, he lost and probably needs to kiss Tony’s ass to make sure the processors are still functioning. Thor has a good grip.

The package arrived at your doorstep Thursday, just in time for the party on Friday. You were the one to place it on the kitchen table. You were sympathetic to Bucky’s predicament after a good laugh. The offending package sat there for the next twenty-four hours, Bucky avoiding it like the plague. It’s not that Bucky hates it per say, it’s just a clothing item for fuck’s sake. He just hates the fact he’ll never hear the end of it.

 He expresses the same fact exactly to you as he tears open the package in the bathroom. He tries on the maid dress while you wait patiently for him on the bed. Bucky manages to zip himself and stare at himself in the mirror. Bucky sighs at the sight. For a genius, Stark is really bad at guessing sizes. Bucky is practically busting at the seams. “Damnit.”

“Aww. C’mon out, Bucky. I’m sure it’s not-” You try to assuage Bucky as your eyes never leave the latest gossip magazine of the Avengers. At the sound of the bathroom door creaking open, you look up. Momentarily stunned, you forget your words. Magazine long forgotten. “Oh- oh my god.” 

“I know. This feels indecent.” Bucky crosses his arms underneath his chest and your mouth waters.

“No, Bucky, not in that way.” You didn’t expect Bucky to look this good in frilly black and white. The bands of the poofy sleeves strain against his bulging biceps. The bust also straining against his pecs. The dress is so short the bottom of Bucky’s black boxers peak out. Not to mention, Bucky has his emotional support knife strapped to his thigh. You wish you could be surprised you’d fuck him like this, but then again, he is Bucky Barnes. “It’s not that bad.” You slur your words a bit, still focused on the band stressed around Bucky’s biceps. You lick your lips and suck the bottom one in between your teeth.

“Wait, is this actually working for you?” Bucky ducks down so you’re forced to look him in the eyes. No point in beating around the bush. Act coy and you might never get to see him like this again. 

“Would you judge me if I said yes?”

“A little bit. Yeah.” You shrug. It’s not like the nerd hasn’t asked you to wear glasses while you give him head. Different strokes for different folks. 

“Would you wear it in bed?”

Bucky lets out a surprised laugh and shakes his head. “Keep looking at me like you wanna eat me alive and I’ll wear anything for you.” He strides over to you, pulls your hair so you look up at him, and kisses you with blazing passion. This is fine. You’re more than happy to give Bucky a few minutes of happiness before he spends the whole night brooding. Bucky barely separates from you. “We can skip the party and I’ll wear it in bed for you right now?” His lips brush against yours as you stare at him with heavy lidded eyes. 

“Stark will probably conduct a man hunt and it’s probably best no one see what I have in store for you.” 

“Please, do share your plans.”

“I was thinking we could bring out the nylon ropes. I tie you to the headboard and have my way with you.” Even with his hair half up in bun, pieces of his hair fell out. You tuck a brown piece of his hair behind his ear as he swallows thickly and groans.

“Are you sure we have to go?” You nod as a grin slowly spreads across your face. “Give me ten minutes before we go to my personal hell.” Bucky walks back into the bathroom, trying to fix the growing bulge in his boxers. 

~

The party is going surprisingly well, Bucky being less broody than usual. Turns out when you’re girlfriend promises to ride you into the mattress, your mood lightens. Bucky’s smirk has been laced with secrecy all night. It probably doesn’t help that you haven’t been able to keep your eyes off him, flashing him fuck me eyes everytime he caught you. By the fifth time Bucky caught your eye, Tony had enough. 

“Oh my god, you guys look like your two seconds away from fucking eachother in front of us.” Tony complains. 

Bucky shrugs in all his maid dress glory. “I wouldn’t mind.” Bucky looks to you for confirmation. 

“Uh, hey, no. This isn’t fun anymore. It’s getting weird. You lost your party privilege. Leave before I order both of you a psych eval on Monday.” Tony pretends like Pepper hasn’t told you things three margaritas in. Fine, he can act all pure and mighty all he wants. You’re forced with the knowledge Tony is a good submissive for Pepper. 

“Thank God.” Bucky is ushering you to the elevators before you can say something witty back to Stark. Once in the elevator, Bucky incessantly presses the door closing button.

“Pressing the button ten times doesn’t make the elevator work faster.” The elevator hates you and starts closing as you speak. 

“You were saying?” Bucky backs you up against the elevator and ducks down to kiss you which eventually turns into making out. He lifts you up by the back of your thighs as he deepens the kiss. He moves his kisses down to your neck, sucking hickeys into your skin in between kisses. Pressed in between the wall and Bucky, you’re forced to feel all of him, rutting his quickly hardening bulge into you. You’re like 99% sure Bucky is ready to fuck you in the elevator. Security cameras be damned. It wouldn’t be the wildest place you had sex and you’re about ready to help drop your pants until you remember your plans. You rake your hands through his hair, grab a nice hindfull, and pull, taking his lips off your skin. 

“Bucky.” You whine with a pout of your lips. His eyes track the movement of your spit-shined lips, too entranced to look you in the eyes just yet. “You agreed to let me tie you up and I’m holding you to it.” The elevator dings with the arrival of your floor. 

Bucky smashes his lips against yours for a quick kiss. After he separates, he rolls his eyes and shakes his head. “I spoil you.” It’s his only response before he’s carrying you to the bedroom. 

Managing to make-out with you and kick the bedroom door open, Bucky sits down on the edge of the bed. Your legs are forced to spread wider to accommodate his thick thighs, the knife strapped to him digging into your inner own. 

“You’re wearing too much clothes.” Bucky tugs on your shirt.

“Maybe you should help me with that.” Before you can finish your sentence, Bucky is pulling your shirt up. You finish pulling it over your head, flinging it onto the bedroom floor, as Bucky works on unfastening your jeans. Bucky pauses his task at the sight of bare skin. He groans deep within his chest. So maybe you wore Bucky’s favorite lingerie set, navy blue and semi opaque. You’re even wearing slutty panties to match. You were hoping to get railed tonight even before the maid dress was introduced into your life. 

“Jesus Christ, you’re gorgeous.” His hands travel to your breasts kneading them through the flimsy material. Goosebumps break out underneath Bucky’s calloused touch. His stubble scratches as he kisses the swell of each breast before gently dragging his hands back down to your pants. You duck down to kiss him as he snakes his hand into the back of your pants, squeezing handfuls of ass. “Well, are you ready to be in charge, baby?”

“Please.” You push Bucky on his back and hop off his lap. You slide a chest out from underneath the bed and get out a couple objects of interest including the nylon rope. Bucky moves to the center of the bed as you take off your pants. You crawl onto the bed and Bucky. He meets you halfway for a kiss, his hand on the back of your head. 

“Did ya wear all this just to torment me? Knowing I won’t be able to touch you is driving me crazy.” 

“I will admit I didn’t wear this with bondage in mind. You ripping my underwear off with your teeth is more of what I was thinking, but I’m flexible.”

Bucky’s chest rumbled. “I’m aware.” With darkening eyes, Bucky lets you maneuver his arms up to the bedpost and tie him to it. Of course, it helps he has a perfect view of your cleavage dangling just a few inches from his face.  Once you’re done tying him up, you kiss his cheek. 

“Remember your colors, baby boy?” You ask him in between kisses on his neck, nipping at the skin. It’s a  line Bucky has used on you so many times and now it’s your turn to use. His adam’s apple bobs as he swallows.

“Yeah.”

“What’s your color? These too tight?” You tug on the binds wrapped around. 

“So fucking green. They’re not too tight. Although, I’d be a lot better if you were on my cock right now.” You suck a hickey into his neck. 

“It’s cute you think you’re still calling the shots.” You grind down onto him, your eyes fluttering at the feel of the sweet friction, but Bucky doesn’t need to know that. You blow on the hickey and Bucky shudders underneath you. You sit up to admire your handiwork. His eyes are lust-filled. A hint of a rosy flush decorates his cheeks and chest. Bucky’s arms flex at your incessant grinding. 

“Please, wanna be in you.” He ruts his hips up, adding more friction. You bump into the handle of his knife, reminding you it’s there. You reach behind you and unsheathe the knife. Bucky’s knife glints as you take note of it.

“Tell me, Bucky. Are you invested in your outfit?” 

“Oh my god, please. Destroy it.” He stares up at you with such awestruck devotion. You lift up the skirt and cut through the torso of the dress. Bucky lets out an whorish moan even for him. His chest and abs out on open display and your mouth waters. As much as you loved seeing Bucky in the maid dress, this is fun too. You slowly drag the tip of the knife gently down his abdomen, muscles flexing under the cool touch of metal.The sounds of a rip makes you pause. You check and sure enough Bucky’s bulging metal bicep has ripped through the band of the dress. 

“Holy shit, I love you.” You smash your lips onto his for a messy kiss. Bucky is more than eager to slip his tongue into your mouth. You pull away when you need to breath and work on Bucky’s sleeve. The previous rip already making the cheap material easy to shred. You make the rip reach the slice you made and use the knife for the other sleeve. You put it back in it’s sheathe. Bucky maneuvers to the best of his ability so you can pull the maid dress out from underneath him. You pull his boxers down. His red and leaking cock hit his stomach. You grab the vibrator off the edge of the bed and turn it on it’s lowest setting. You drag the vibrator up and down the underside of his cock. He shouts out, muscles tensing at the stimulation. Just as quickly as you were touching him, you’ve stopped. You move the vibrator off him as you grin, bringing the vibrator to your clit through your slutty panties. You lose yourself in the vibrations before Bucky speaks out gruffly.

“Watch it, sweetheart. Whatever you do to me, I can do to you.” Your response is to turn up the setting on the vibrator and moan out. “Oh, c’mon, don’t you want my dick?” He rocks his hips up. “You can act like a tease all you want, but we both know you love leaking with my cum. You just love being filled to the brim as I fuck you through both of our orgasms.” You whimper out his name. “Yeah, honey, you were made to take this cock. Do such good job of it too. C’mon, please. Jus’ wanna feel you cum around me. That stupid piece of plastic can’t make you cum as hard as I can.” You thought you were slut for Bucky Barnes and that was before you heard his gravely begging underneath you. A whole new wave of want rushes through your veins and your shutting off the vibrator. Your hand pumps his dick a few times, leaking so much you don’t even need lube to touch him. 

“Fuck!” Bucky repeatedly chants as you finally grab the base of him and slide him into your entrance, panties pushed to the side. Bucky is gargantuan. He always is at the first slide. Your walls need a few seconds to accommodate him. During the time, Bucky’s muscles tense as he pants. He can’t do anything, but feel you. No outlet for the pent up energy he’s been harboring. He is literally so pretty, you can feel a heartbeat in your lower muscles. You grind on his dick, testing your limits. He groans. “Baby, I’m gonna you to-.” Bucky’s encouragement is cut off with a deep groan as you lift yourself off Bucky’s cock, tip just outside your entrance, and falling back on it. Bucky can’t stop his curses and groans as you do it again and again, eventually setting a nice pace for yourself. You ride Bucky’s dick in earnest. Closer than you realized with the previous vibrator and his dirty talk, you move in a way that feels good for you. Bucky’s pleasure an afterthought. With a hand pressed against his pectoral, you rock against him. You close your eyes and bite your lip, bringing your other hand to rub your clit.

“Oh my god, are you gonna cum already? How’s my cock feel, sweetheart? Such a cockslut, you’re already close. Look at me.” Bucky rocks his hips up as you drop down, causing you to gasp out his name. “Look. At. Me.” You open your eyes to glare down at him. You hands slides up to wrap around his thick neck. You can feel his racing pulse underneath your fingertips. 

“I swear if you ruin this for me, I’ll-” 

“You’ll what? What will you do?” Bucky waits for a response. You can’t, too tongue tied as your peak gets closer and closer. “That’s what I thought. Now be a good cockslut and cum on my cock.” You double down on your efforts until you’re cumming. Pleasure rolls up your spine. You’re movement falters as you get lost in your orgasm. Before you know it, you’re on your back, you’re supposed tied up boyfriend on top of you.  Bucky picks up your slack, fucking you at a brutal pace through your orgasm. 

“Wait, Bucky. How?” You brain tries to catch up as he gathers your wrists in his metal hand and pins them to the bed above your head. 

“You need to get better at tying, baby. Didn’t even have to break the restraints. They fell apart halfway through.” 

“Fuck.” The word you use is long and drawn out, arching your hips to meet Bucky’s thrusts. Having a supersoldier underneath you to use at your indiscretion was fun, but there truly is something about letting Bucky take the reins, rippling muscles of caged energy pressed against you. Bucky’s thrusts slow as his free hand searches for something on the bed. With a victorious grin, Bucky is turning on the vibrator at a higher setting than you previously had it. He slides it between your bodies to rest on your clit. The flimsy lace of your stretched out panties does nothing to barricade the pleasure. 

“You’ll cum for me, again. Right?” You curse his name, trying to buck away from the vibrator. The vibrations are too much for your sensitive clit. Bucky is persistent, keeping the vibrator pressed against your clit.

“Fuck, Bucky. Please. Please. Please.” It’s your turn to repeat words, not exactly sure what your begging for. You just know the pleasure is almost too much. With the combination of Bucky’s girthy cock and the vibrator, it’s not long before you’re coming. Your muscles shake as your orgasm hits you. You moan until your voice runs hoarse. He keeps the vibrator on your clit until your orgasm is done. 

“Love it when you cum. Wish I could be in this pussy all day.” Bucky lets go of your wrist and cups your cheek tenderly. He ducks down for a filthy kiss, tongue included. Your muscles feel weighted, but you manage to match Bucky’s enthusiasm in his kiss. Before you can register it, your brain a little fuzzy from the two orgasms, you’re facing the sheets on your stomach. His cocks slips out during the commotion. Bucky lifts your upper half to lean against him so you’re on your knees, using his own knees to spread them. You head rolls down. 

You share the same qualities as a rag doll right now, joints weak and ears still ringing from your orgasm. Not that it’s stopping Bucky. Facing down, you get to witness Bucky’s angry, leaking, and glistening with your cum erection extending practically past your belly button as he ruts against your sex. Electric shocks are sent to your nervous system everytime Bucky manages to make contact with your clit. Your only thought is you want him to destroy you with his dick as he wraps his metal arm around your neck, head now resting against his clavicle. 

“Remember your colors, baby girl? What’s your color?” Bucky’s voice is in a low, hushed tone. His lips brushing against your ear as he speaks. You eyes flutter shut, hands moving to hold on to his forearm wrapped around your neck. 

“Green.” Even with your hazy mind and heavy tongue, you manage to answer Bucky. He presses a quick, stubbly kiss to your temple before turning his attention to your underwear. 

“These are unnecessary.” He grabs ahold the triangle of lacey material of your underwear and pulls. It doesn’t take much of Bucky’s strength for the strings of your underwear to snap. He throws the offending clothing over his shoulder. He flips his bowie knife out of the sheath strapped to his thigh. Bucky fucked the knife out of your memory. Goosebumps erupt onto your skin as he gently traces the knife’s tip up your stomach to slip underneath the band of your bra. “I’ll buy you a new set.” He says before slicing through the band of your bra with a flick of his wrist.  You gasp out and Bucky slices through the straps too. He flips his knife into the sheath and throws your bra away from you.

“Want your cock, Bucky. Please.”

“How could I say no to such pretty begging? I can’t let the cockslut be hungry for too long, now. Can I?” You can feel Bucky reaching his hand down over your abdomen and then the next thing you know, you’re being filled to the brim with cock. Okay, fuck what you said about the first slide. You’re pretty sure you could cum again at this slide. With your fucked out brain, there is so much of Bucky. Bucky sliding his cock in slow sure doesn’t help either. Bucky groans right next to your ear. It’s almost a sensory overload. You haven’t even registered you’re moaning yourself. Bucky finally- finally bottoms out, giving you time to catch your shuddering breath. “You still with me?” 

You manage to rasp out an affirmative. 

“Good girl.” And then Bucky is pulling out and thrusting in. You manage to get out a curse at the friction before Bucky truly starts to thrust into you. His pace picks up quickly. His powerful thighs slam into your slick ones as he rumbles deep within his chest. You can feel it throughout your whole torso. “Addicted to this pussy. Love how you feel around me.” Bucky moves his right hand to rub your abused clit. You grab ahold of his wrist. Bucky’s too stong to move his hand off your clit. You’re forced to feel the all the pleasure he gives you. 

“Aww, c’mon. You can cum for me one more time.” Bucky tucks his nose behind your ear and kisses underneath it. He changes the angle of his rubs and your thighs start to shake. “There you go, sweetheart. Just one more.” Bucky’s metal bicep bulges making it a little harder to breathe as he thrusts faster. The two previous orgasms make you sensitive.  In just a few meager minutes, you can feel the rise of your orgasm. This orgasm hits you harder than the previous two. The pleasure takes you over in waves. Your thighs shake as Bucky fucks you through it. He moans louder than you sounding like he enjoys you’re orgasm almost as much as you. He finally notices your fingers digging into his skin and stops rubbing your clit. 

“God, baby. I’m so close. Gonna let me use you?” 

You nodd. 

“Say it.”

“Use me. Wanna feel you cum in me.” You rasp out with an even heavier mind. Bucky lets out a whorish moan as his thrusts get even more energetic. It shouldn’t be possible, but then you wouldn’t be dating a super soldier. Within just a few more thrusts, you can feel Bucky flood your insides. He groans as he slows down to prolong his orgasm. Bucky was hot before, but he’s even hotter as he coming. The only thing you dislike about this position is not being able to see Bucky’s abs contract as he cums. You can still feel his abs jump against you lower back. Bucky’s thrusts eventually die down until he’s just bottomed out in you. He takes a minute to catch his breath before he uncurls his arm off your throat, keeping his right hand on your hip to steady you.

“How are you feeling?” He asks as he gently slips out and sets you on the bed. 

“Tired.” 

“I know and you can rest in a bit, but we gotta get cleaned up first.” You groan at that. “C’mon, baby. I’ll grab the washcloth.” The smile in Bucky’s voice is prominent as he gets out of bed. You can hear him rummaging around in the attached bathroom as you rest your eyes. You fall asleep before Bucky can bring out the warm wet washcloth. He still wipes you down while you’re half asleep before joining you back in bed.

Bucky will be there in the morning to massage out your sore muscles because Bucky is a good boyfriend. And if you happen to order the same maids dress the next day only to leave it in the exact same spot the previous package was in, Bucky doesn’t bring it up. He just adds it to the back of his closet when you’re not looking.

[hookedonapirate]

A Date for the Holidays (and everyday too would be nice)

Summary: Tired of the constant backlash from her family about being single, Emma finds herself striking an arrangement with a roguishly handsome stranger at the mall the day after Christmas. Now she won't have to be alone for the holidays. Emma and Killian agree to be each other's dates, no strings attached, no commitment, no pressure. Just two friends getting together to appease her annoying family and get his brother off his back. It's the perfect setup really...until sticking to the holidays isn't enough. What happens when they both want more?

A/N: So I watched the Holidate the other night and couldn't stop thinking about how much fun it would be to turn this into a CS fic. So here we are. This probably won't be too long, I'll be getting back to my wips soon, just needed a break, but probably 4 or 5 chapters or so. Hope you enjoy! Thank you to the ladies on Discord for your encouragement and enabling ;-)

Thank you to the lovely @veryverynotgood for beta reading and at the last second! You rock!

Catch up: Ch 1 // Ch 2 // Ch 3 // Ch 4 // Ch 5 // Ch 6 // Ch 7 // Ch 8 // Ch 9 // Ch 10 // Ch 11

Chapter 1

The Arrangement

Emma hates Christmas.

Actually, she hates all holidays, but she especially hates Christmas.

No, hate is too kind a word. She detests Christmas.

She detests the expectations that always accompany this stupid sham of a holiday. Having to dress up, because if she wears jeans and a t-shirt, her mother greets her at the door with, “This is what you wear to Christmas dinner? Don’t you even own a dress?” instead of asking how she’s doing. Having to plaster on a fake smile, even though she’s completely miserable and dying inside, otherwise her father will ask her, “Why the long face, princess?” Not to mention the entire ridiculous gift giving-process—racking her brain for months, trying to figure out what to get everyone, waiting until the last minute and having to fight the crowds of other last-minute shoppers and standing in ridiculously long lines to buy gifts no one ever appreciates, anyway.

Oh, and her very favorite thing about Christmas—receiving backlash for being single, because apparently, it’s a crime these days.

“Why didn’t you call Walsh?” Emma’s cousin, Anna, asked, to which her husband, Kristoff, added, “He seems like a nice guy.” Maybe, but only if you’re a customer at Wizard of Oak.

“It’s been six months since that jerk cheated on you; you gotta get out there,” said Elsa, who lost her husband three years ago and hasn't been on a single date since then. But she has two kids, so she's off the hook.

And her own brother, Leo, teased her— “You know it’s a holiday when my sister shows up alone”—right before he proposed to his girlfriend of five months. Their parents are so unbelievably proud.

Which is just fucking perfect because now Emma's the only person in her family who either isn’t married or doesn’t have kids.

Even her Aunt Rubes didn’t show up at Christmas alone; she brought home the mall Santa.

“You’d be surprised by the quality of men you can meet at the mall,” Aunt Ruby said with a Cheshire cat grin.

Emma cocked her head and pursed her lips as she watched Ruby’s date fill his plate to the brim like he hadn’t eaten in days. But judging by the size of his gut, he clearly had. “I don’t think I would be, actually.”

Aunt Ruby rolled her eyes. “Relax, it’s not like I’m going to marry him. He’s just my holidate,” she said casually, taking a sip of her wine as though she didn’t just say the most ridiculous thing ever.

Emma raised her brows. “Holidate?”

“You know? A date solely for the holidays. No commitment, no expectations. And no more spending another holiday alone.”

“Huh.” Emma nursed her hot cocoa with cinnamon and whipped cream, mulling over her aunt’s tactics. She didn’t think it was a bad idea, actually...if you wanted to bring a strange man home to eat all your food and be around the little ones.

Aunt Ruby turned her head to look at Emma and smirked, her eyes lighting up with an idea. “Want me to see if he has a friend?”

Emma cringed. “Thanks, but I’ll pass.”

And it turns out, being thirty doesn’t help much either.

In fact, now everyone has it in their heads she’s letting herself go. Okay, so she likes to binge on chocolate and junk food, but she’s always had a high metabolism and her job as a bail-bonds woman keeps her in shape. But apparently, her mother thinks being thirty means everything Emma eats will go to her hips, because why else would the woman buy her pajama pants twice as big as last year’s?

So now Emma’s at the mall the day after Christmas to return clothes that could fit a freaking whale, not looking forward to waiting in a long line of people trying to return their unwanted gifts, or fighting with the manager about getting a refund instead of an exchange since she doesn’t have a receipt or the tags.

Damn.

Emma can already see the line at JC Penny as she rises on her tiptoes and clutches the PJs to her chest, trying to see over the throng of people.

She huffs and makes her way over to the customer service line, not even caring if she bumps into anyone; she just wants to get this over with so she can go back to her comfortable, messy apartment, change into pajama pants that won’t fall from her waist, sip on hot cocoa and snack on all the candy and treats she pocketed from her parents’ house at Christmas.

“Son of a bitch!” The word tumbles from her mouth when someone not only crashes right into her but also spills their green juice all over her blouse.

“Bloody hell, love. I’m so sorry.”

The deep, velvety accent probably would’ve made her melt and set her skin ablaze if the beverage wasn’t so fucking cold.

And if that’s not bad enough, when she lifts her pajama pants to assess the damage, there’s juice all over the clothes she was supposed to return.

“You’ve got to be kidding me!” When she lowers the clothes in her arms, her head snaps up and her angry eyes connect with the most ridiculously gorgeous blues she’s ever seen in her entire life, and some of the anger sizzling in her blood magically disappears and morphs into pure shock, her mouth falling open as the obscenities disappear from her lips.

Holy. Fuck.

Dark, artfully mussed hair, scruff on his chin and cheeks, chiseled jaw.

And his eyes. Those eyes seem to be tracing every inch of her, and her skin heats under his gaze.

And is he really checking out her boobs?

Seriously?

He’s handsome, though; she’ll give him that. No, handsome doesn’t adequately describe him.

Gorgeous.

Beautiful.

Greek god.

Nope, she definitely isn’t attracted to him.

Absolutely not.

“Crap, how am I going to return these now?” she asks, irritation lacing her words as she holds up the ugly flannel pajama pants.

An amused smile flirts with his lips, his eyes full of mirth—the same eyes that are still awkwardly staring at her chest, blush coloring his cheeks.

Like, what the fuck?

He looks up, his eyes searching around as he throws the empty cup into the nearest trash. He places his hands on her arms, making her breath hitch as he lifts her arms, pressing them against her chest.

“I think you have bigger problems to worry about than returning your pajamas.” He places his hand on her back, once again making her breath catch as he urges her forward.

“What are you doing?”

“It’s called trust, love. Try it.”

She sighs and moves in the direction he’s taking her toward. “But I don’t even know you.”

“I don't know you either. And yet I’m trying to help you out. But you’re more than welcome to walk around the mall like that.”

“Like what?” Her brows are furrowed in confusion as she peers down at herself. Her eyes blow wide and her cheeks flame when she realizes she’s wearing a white t-shirt with no bra and her nipples are poking out underneath the layer of green. “Oh my God.”

When they reach the restrooms, he pulls off his black leather jacket and plaid overshirt, offering the shirt to her. “Here, take this.”

She eagerly accepts it, and the man takes her pajama pants, holding them while Emma enters the ladies’ room. When she looks in the mirror, her jaw drops to the floor. She looks like Shrek with tits. She dashes into a stall, peels off her green shirt and cleans up before pulling on the plaid and buttoning up over her bare breasts. She tosses the green shirt into the trash and exits the bathroom, her eyes shooting daggers at him. “What the hell? Why can’t you watch where you’re going?” she asks, taking her pants back and walking away from him.

He follows behind her and falls into step beside her. “I said I was sorry, love. But you ran right into me before I could move out of the way.” He chuckles. “You were pretty determined to get to that return line.”

“Yeah, well, you should move quicker next time.”

He nods. “You’re right. Next time I see a beautiful woman marching toward her destination with fire and determination in her eyes, I’ll roll out the red carpet.” He mocks her with a bow, flourishing his hands. “All hail the Queen.”

“You’re funny,” she says sarcastically. “But that will not fix my pants or pay for the shirt I just threw in the trash.”

He reaches into his back pocket and pulls out his wallet. “How much were they? I’ll pay for them.”

“I’m not taking your money. I’m not that desperate for cash.”

“Says the woman returning her Christmas gifts.”

She scowls at him. “How do you know I got them for Christmas?”

“It’s either that or you stole them from a lumberjack.”

She snort-laughs. “Well, thanks for having faith that I wouldn’t stoop that low.”

“You’re welcome, love. So, if I can’t pay for the clothes I ruined, then how can I make it up to you?”

She looks around, her eyes lighting up when she spots the pretzel stand, “You can buy me a pretzel.”

He chuckles, obviously amused all she wants is a soft pretzel. But it doesn’t take much to make her happy.

They get in line, and he orders her a pretzel, not even getting one for himself.

“Are you sure you don’t want a bite?” she offers once they leave the pretzel stand.

He raises a hand in refusal and shakes his head as he tucks his wallet inside his back pocket. “Nah, I don’t eat that rubbish. Do you know what that stuff does to your body?”

“Uh, yeeeeaaaah.” She pops a small bite of the soft cinnamon-coated goodness into her mouth as they walk around the mall. “It fills me with warm, delicious happiness like Christmas used to...before I grew up. Ironically enough, I still sit at the kids' table.”

He arches his brow at her. “How come?”

“So I don’t have to constantly be ridiculed for being single while trying to stuff my face with turkey.”

“That bad, huh?”

“Oh, it gets worse. Let’s see, my brother, who’s ten years younger than me, proposed to his girlfriend, so now I’m literally the only one in my family who is either single or doesn’t have children. Even my aunt, who is a self-described man-eater, had a date for Christmas. In fact, I caught her getting her cookie licked by the mall Santa.”

He clears his throat like he’s trying to clear the image she implanted in his head. “That’s a festive visual.”

Her face twists as she takes another bite of her pretzel. “Seared into my brain like a bad tattoo.”

“You think your Christmas was bad. Try wearing an ugly Christmas sweater while selling bait and lure to men on Christmas who have nothing better to do than go ice fishing and tell a complete stranger their entire life story and the best way to clean fish guts off a boat.”

“That doesn’t sound half bad, actually. If I worked on Christmas, I wouldn’t have to be reminded of how single I am, and every single person in my family wouldn't be trying to set me up with someone.”

“I’d rather spend Christmas with family and sit by the fireplace watching Christmas movies.”

Emma looks at him curiously. “How come you don’t then?”

“Because I don’t have much family to spend the holidays with. Just my brother. Our parents died when we were young.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.” Guilt washes over her as she realizes she’s been complaining about her family and how lonely she feels when his only family is his brother.

“Thanks, love. I just wish I had an excuse to not have to work on the holidays.”

“Why do you need an excuse?”

“Because my brother’s the owner, and he runs a tight ship. He says if I don’t have any plans, I have to work.”

“Your brother sounds like a pain in the ass,” she groans, tearing off a piece of her pretzel.

“You have no idea.”

“So why don’t you just make something up then?”

He shrugs. “And do what? Sit at the bar and drink my sorrows away?”

“You could find a date,” Emma suggests, as though it’s an obvious solution. But she knows more than anyone, finding someone who’s not a complete tool like her ex is not as easy as it sounds. But maybe that’s just her experience. This guy looks like he probably has hundreds of women lined up at his door. Not all of them may be gems, but his odds are most likely better than hers.

“With whom? I don’t have a girlfriend, love,” he says, looking over at her bashfully, the tips of his ears red as he scratches behind one of them.

She swats his shoulder. “Oh, come on. A good-looking guy like you can’t get a date?” She regrets her words as soon as she says them, knowing he might let them go to his head. But who’s she kidding? He definitely knows how good he looks—the guy has to have a mirror.

The cocky smirk he flashes her as he jabs a finger at his chest tells her he definitely knows. “I am devilishly handsome. But I don’t want to find a girlfriend solely for the purpose of not having to work on the holidays.”

“You could get a holidate.” The words spill out of her mouth before she even realizes what she’s saying. But she recalls her aunt in a similar situation—not wanting to have a boyfriend just so she won’t have to be single for the holidays.

“A holidate?”

“Yeah, like a date for the holidays. No pressure...no expectations. Just two people having an enjoyable time and drunk-mocking strangers at parties.”

His eyes light up and he points at her. “I do like drunk-mocking strangers at parties. But who would I get to be my holidate?”

Emma shrugs a little and throws her pretzel wrapper into the nearest trash. “What about me?” She can’t believe she’s offering, but it’s actually the perfect solution to both their problems.

He turns around to face her, arching a brow. “Really? You’d be my holidate?”

“Why not? I mean, think about it. You’ll get to go out and have fun instead of being miserable at work, and I won’t have to walk into a room and be showered in a sea of pity and sad glances. I mean, why does everyone have to be so suspicious about a happy, single woman?!”

“Because you’re not happy.”

“Um, yes I am.” She plasters on a smile and points at the corner of her lips. “See? Happy.”

“No, you’re not.”

She narrows her eyes at him, crossing her arms. “And how would you know?”

“Because you’re an open book, love.”

She rolls her eyes.

“Human beings aren’t meant to be alone on the holidays. They need warmth and companionship and someone to drunk-mock strangers at parties.”

She laughs and nods in agreement. He does have a good point. And she has to admit, she’d love to have a New Year kiss, just not one with any strings attached. She’d like to kiss someone at New Year and then go home alone and not have to worry about what will happen next or if he’ll cheat on her three months down the road. “Look, my parents got me tickets to the Skyfall party on New Year’s Eve and if I don’t find a date, my mother is going to find one for me.”

“Really?” He cocks a brow at her, his eyes shining with intrigue. “That’s such a fun party. And it’d be nice to go and have a few drinks, relax and not have to worry about my date going batshit crazy if I don’t drop a knee at midnight.”

“Exactly. We could just have fun and not have to worry about all the relationship stuff.”

“That’s good because I’m not looking for a relationship.”

Disappointment bubbles up inside her, but she pushes it away. Even if she wanted or needed a relationship, she wouldn’t go for a guy like him. He’s too damn handsome to not be a heartbreaker. “Neither am I,” she states matter-of-factly, never taking her eyes off his.

“Well, then it’s perfect. You’ve got yourself a date,” he says with a grin and extends his hand. “I’m Killian, by the way.”

She smiles a little and slips her palm in his. But instead of shaking it, he brings the back of her hand to his lips and drops a kiss there. Her damn breath hitches again when she feels how warm his lips are and how tingly and inflamed her skin is from his touch. “Emma,” she forces out breathily as she tries not to picture other things he could do with those lips. And she is not envisioning him licking her cookie.

Nope, definitely not.

“Pleasure to meet you, Emma.” He releases her hand, leaving her immediately missing his warmth as he pulls out his wallet and slips out a card, handing it to her. “Here’s my info, love.”

Emma’s eyes narrow when she sees where he works. “Hooked Bait & Tackle.” She looks up at him. “Sounds fishy,” she quips. “What’s your real job?”

He chuckles. “Text me and we’ll finalize the details.”

She flicks the card against her palm. “See you on New Year’s Eve, Captain Hook.”

He winks. “See you then, love.”

As soon as Emma turns around and walks away, her cheeks heat and she peers down, suddenly remembering she’s wearing his shirt. She spins around and calls after him as he walks away.

“Wait, your shirt!” Which is dumb because it’s not like she has anything to change into.

He turns around and grins. “You can give it back on New Year’s Eve!”

“Okay!”

They wave at each other before Emma turns around, pausing as she passes a store with a mannequin in a sexy black dress. She bites her bottom lip, realizing she has nothing to wear to this party.

She enters the store and tries it on, skeptical of how she’ll look in it. It’s usually hard for her to find dresses that actually look good on her, but when she tries on the gorgeous black number, she loves the sweetheart neckline and how good it makes her cleavage look. Her ass doesn’t look too bad in the dress, either. She wonders what Killian’s reaction will be when he sees her in it, wonders if it will make those gorgeous blue eyes pop out of his skull. She smirks into the mirror as she turns to her side, placing her hand on her hip.

“Sexy black dress it is.”