#listen to Dimly Lit fr

[mike-haters-dni]

The Michaeleven Playlist ♫

[seungmin4president]

Restroom

(A/n: theres a suprise at the end HEHEHE)

Warnings: implied exhibitionism, masturbating, implied group sex, language, reader is a dirty motherfucker, I think thats all?

Not proof read❗

Wc: 1,711

"Listen y/n you're just a fucking stylist okay? You only make their outfits, not their boner." You think to yourself as you watch the boys dance and sing on the dimly lit stage with your eyes filled with guilt and lust combined together, rubbing your thighs together to hopefully get rid of the pool that has formed in between them but it wouldn't work, definitely not when they're thrusting they hips up in the air and throwing their heads back.

Is that what it looks like when their fucking you? The cold air around you is starting to feel humid just by the thought of it. Part of you feels guilty for thinking about your coworkers in such a disgusting way but another part of you swears that if no one was around right now you would be touching yourself wishing it was their hands instead of your own, moaning their name as loud as you can.

 I mean, it's not like anyone can hear you over Stays screams and their loud singing.You weren't gonna do until you saw them sweating because of the dances they were doing and DAMN what wouldn't you do to lick it off of them. You couldn't just brush that off so, like any normal human being, you just went into the restroom to let go of that steam. Touching yourself in all ways that you want them to touch you, taking your hand up to your boobs to grab and squeeze one of them, grinding on your hands as you were fingering yourself, imagining how much better you could feel if it was the idols doing it. You knew their cocks would be much longer than your fingers and how much ecstasy they would give you making your eyes roll back at the thought.

Your silent moans of each of their names becoming louder while you come undone on your fingers, your hair sticking onto your forehead because of your sweat. And of course you will never admit this but a small part of you wanted at least one of them to come backstage and hear your dirty pleas and then go into the bathroom with you to give you that pleasure you wanted. No. needed so bad.

And the thing is… they did hear. All of them heard you when they came backstage to take a break and change costumes.

Well actually, Han was the one that heard it through the music that was playing outside and loud fans singing along. He was "walking" running towards the bathroom feeling like he would combust if he didn't use it right away, but when he got there he heard a sensual moan coming from a voice that he was very familiar with. Your voice. He first thought he was going crazy until he looked around without moving to only see you missing so he knows that it must be you.

Then, he heard his name spill out of your mouth so gracefully. Causing his eyes to roll back to his head as he silently groaned, palming his already hard on (he's whipped for you fr). Suddenly he didn't need to pee but he did need to be inside of you, he needed to hear you say his name while watching you crumble and fall apart on his cock.

"G-guys" Han stumbled on his own words, coming out as a mere whisper.

The members all looked at him. Giving him a look of concern before walking up to him. "What's wr-" Chan was talking before he got interrupted by a moan from the restroom but unlike Han, he instantly knew it was you. "Ah again really?" Chan sighed while putting his head in his hand. "Wait.. AGAIN? You're telling me this isn't the first time? And you KNEW ABOUT IT?" Han yelled, giving Chan a confused and shocked stare, causing Chan to cover the boy's mouth shut.

And Chan in fact did know about your dirty secret but the thing was.. you didn't know he knew and Han mentioning it made him think of when he caught you in the act. It was when they were supposed to be in the middle of performing but chan had accidentally ripped his shorts while dancing so he went backstage sweating and panting and walking through all of the staff offering him water that he definitely needed but he just needed to find you so he can go back on stage and have fun with his members and stay. But you were nowhere to be found, he couldn't find you anywhere.

He asked other staff about your whereabouts but none of them knew about your disappearance either. so, he kept looking around in hopes to be able to find you to fix his pants ASAP. But then, when he passed the restroom he heard someone say something that sounded like Felix's name from the restroom and sounded like a moan? He thought he was hearing things until he heard his name come out of a voice that he knew too well and of course it was you.

He felt his pants become tighter despite the huge hole in them. Fuck you sounded so good and it was because of him and his members. It was because of him. He needed to make you scream louder for him, he needed you to beg for him to ruin you just like how you were doing in the restroom, he knew he could do better than your fingers and reach places you wish your fingers could reach.

"Hyung, you there?" Jeongin waves his hand up and down in front of Chan's face, resulting in Chan refocusing on his surroundings and instinctively slapping his hand away "You could've just told me to move my hand." "Yeah I'm sorry let's just go before she catches us right here and thinks we're creeps." The boys then hear the water in the bathroom sink turning on signaling you've finished, making them rush to any seat near them to make it as if they weren't just about to jerk off to your moans.

As you walk out you see the boys on their phones sitting in chairs that are way too close to the restroom for your comfort but you thought since you're not getting confronted by any of them you believed that either they didn't hear you or they just walked in but of course they didn't just walk in because wouldn't they have sweat on them and be drinking water? Either way at least they didn't catch you, right?

You went to get some water to cool off from your previous activity that you just finished and to your surprise, when you got back to the front there were no chairs left but you could've sworn there was a chair between Changbin and Chan.. but it's okay, things like that happens all the time so after getting the boys all together with their outfits you just stand while watching the clock. 30 more minutes until they leave again. Great, you have to deal with the pain standing up for 30 minutes.

When the boys were sure there wasn't anyone around, Chan gave Changbin a nod of approval as Changbin turned his head around to you before speaking "Y/n aren't you gonna sit?" "Oh no I'm fine you guys just finished performing you shouldn't have to get up because of me." You shook your hand side to side in a way to say "it's no biggie" but Changbin just chuckled while shaking his head "Who said anything about me getting up?" "Well if you weren't gonna get up why'd you say th-" You got cut off by Changbin pulling you to sit on his lap.

"B-Bin what the fuck?" You tried to move yourself to get up but his arms are wrapped around your waist and pulling you back down "Just relax." Changbin then put his head in the crook of your neck to place gentle kisses receiving a little whimper out of you in return "You okay? I'll stop if you don't want me to." "N-no it's not like that but what about-" "Us?" Chan says, putting his hand on your thigh, your breath getting caught in your throat at the sudden action as your eyes wided. Is this really happening? You think to yourself.

"We heard you in the bathroom, moaning our names-" Seungmin chuckles as he gets up from his seat to walk over to where you, Changbin, and Chan were, bending down to meet your eyes as he continues "you sounded like a slut." Oh shit. They did hear. "That's right baby girl we heard you" "it really wasn't that hard to hear you as loud as you were so here's just a little tip for you-" Chan goes to your ear to whisper the rest "the next time you decide to masturbate in a room full of people be a little bit quieter, yeah?" Your mind was so wrapped on Chan's breath fanning over your ear, you didn't realize that the rest of the members had walked over to you, their stares giving you goosebumps.

"Do you really want this Y/n?" Felix asks while going down on his knees, pushing your legs apart to slot his face in between them, peppering them with kisses as Changbin and Chan kisses down your neck "Yes please I want it so bad" You look down and feel your face get hotter as you feel Changbin finally bite down on your neck leaving a mark on your skin. Then, you look up and see Hyunjin looking into your eyes before setting his lips on yours, the kiss transforming from a gentle, cute kiss to a sloppy and deep makeout session.

Your hand goes up to Hyunjin's hair to pull him closer, letting out a little moan when you feel Felix's and Minho kissing on both of your thighs "Don't worry princess there's more where that came from" Felix says as his hand dips inside your thigh to rub his hand on your clothed clit making you arch your back, whining into the kiss when Minho stopped kissing your thigh.

"Felix, what are you waiting for? Give the slut what she wants" Minho orders.

Hope you liked the cliffhanger lmao I mean its Halloween so I had to be evil y'know?💀

❗please dont copy my work❗

❗©️seungmin4president ❗

[mncxbe]

Hello! I really enjoy your posts they are really nice to read or re-read! I was wondering if you could do Fyodor headcanons (you could add chuuya dazai and more if you’d like) but fyodor x Gn!reader headcanons and how they would get ready for the holidays? Maybe make gingerbread houses or set up lights together? Feel free to ignore! :3

your ask just made me realise how close Christmas is goddamn~ I loved writing this. hope you like it anon♡♡

🎁

𝑫𝒂𝒛𝒂𝒊, 𝑭𝒚𝒐𝒅𝒐𝒓, 𝑨𝒏𝒈𝒐 𝒙 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓

𝑮𝒆𝒏𝒓𝒆: fluff♡/ silly

°☆○

𝑭𝒚𝒐𝒅𝒐𝒓

☆ I'm gonna start off my saying that Fyodor most likely isn't particularly interested in the winter holidays, but he enjoys spending time with you. as long as he sees you smile, he's happy

☆ he's a big fan of baking; gingerbread, cupcakes with white and red frosting, deer shaped cookies. he loves it. although he doesn't always get involved, he spends hours on end by your side in the kitchen

☆ as for lights I think he likes those simple golden fairy lights; the flashy ones exhaust him fr

☆ hates to admit but he lowkey enjoys christmas movies; there's something extraordinary soothing about watching those sappy, same script films. it's a break in his routine

☆ I see him playing christmas music on the cello; but don't make him listen to commercial songs on the radio, he'll throw it out of the window

☆ he tells you stories about Russian christmas traditions or any other culture really

☆ he loves cuddling up to you under fluffy blankets while you two enjoy a cup of tea

☆ he's a sucker for the scent of oranges and cinnamon, so he'll buy some scented candles and place them around the house

𝑫𝒂𝒛𝒂𝒊

★ you guys know those advent calendars with little chocolates for each day of December? yea, he has one of those

★ Dazai has never had the luxury of doing such mundane things as a kid; the Port Mafia isn't exactly a place to celebrate Christmas. so he puts a lot of effort into everything

★ loves to hang colourful lights around the house and other little ornaments (striped socks, christmas globes with that fake, glittery snow)

★ one evening he shows up with cookie shapes and asks you to make gingerbread with him

★ a marathon with Christmas movies is a must; you two sprawled on the bed with a mug of hot chocolate while the films roll in the background

★ he kisses you under the mistletoe every morning to "practice for the Christmas evening kiss"

★ he definitely wears a santa hat or reindeer horns while decorating the house. and knows "All I want for Christmas is you" by heart (it started off as a joke but he can't stop)

★ keep the mulled wine away from him

𝑨𝒏𝒈𝒐

☆ because of work he's often too busy to help you decorate the place, but his heart swells with joy when he comes home one evening and finds your shared apartment nicely adorned with lights

☆ I feel like he also prefers more dimly lit lights, or even candles

☆ does his best to find time to bake something with you. he's a big fan of Panettone and sweetbread with sugar frosting

☆ buys you early presents for sure, to compensate for his absence

☆ look me in the eye and tell me this man doesn't wear fuzzy Christmas socks

☆ loves listening to jazzy music while you two spend time together. period

☆ he may not be that involved in the decorating process, but he does spend Christmas with you and does most of the cleaning after

[alegendoftomorrow]

My Heavenly Light

Summery: Commander Wolffe has been captured by Separatists and assumes he’s been left for dead. Slowly losing his mind, his one source of comfort is the prisoner in the next cell who sings every morning. Adding a bit of light to his current darkness, and giving him something to fight for again.

Characters: Wolffe x Fem!Reader (no use of y/n)

Words: 3,359 Words

Warning: Canon typical violence, mentions of torture but no actual torture, prisoners, being held in cells.

A/N: This is my entry for the incredible secret song exchange hosted by @cloneficgiftexchange . Thank you so much for always hosting such fun events that push me to get out of my comfort zone and write again. This piece is for the awesome @221bshrlocked . I really hope you like this fun little adventure I went on. It was my first time writing for Wolffe and I hope I captured his essence for you :)

“I was looking for a breath of life…. A little touch of heavenly light.”

Your voice had started singing earlier today than usual. Wolffe opened his eyes to peer up at the same cold stone wall he’d been staring at for weeks. Or maybe just a few days, he wasn’t really sure anymore. Time seemed to move differently down here. Without any natural light he couldn’t tell how many hours or days had passed very accurately. He’d tried to count in the beginning, but it had only driven him mad.

“A heavenly choir… A little bit of light.”

He didn’t know where your voice was coming from exactly. He’d heard other prisoners screaming in agony, the sound of clankers marching in rhythmic order, or voices whispering together as their wardens passed by the cells. Otherwise, it had been silent, well except for your voice that sang every morning since Wolffe had arrived here. He’d never seen your face, didn’t even know if you had a name or why you were in here. All he knew was your song was the only thing keeping his sanity in place.

“But all the choirs in my head say… No.”

Sitting up off the thin mat laid out on the floor Wolffe pressed his aching back against the wall and rubbed at his eyes. The cybernetic one burned under his touch, but he growled away the pain and pushed himself up to standing. Walking the ten steps it took to reach the cell door, bars of durasteel pressed close enough together he couldn’t slip through them. Wrapping his scarred hands around them he pressed his forehead against the bars and closed his eyes. Listening to the sound of your voice hauntingly fill the underground prison cells. He wondered if his men were looking for him. Part of him hoped they weren’t. He hoped they had left this maker-forsaken planet as fast as they could and never looked back. Knowing them they probably hadn’t though. How many more of them had died trying to find me? How many brothers lost their lives searching for me.

He shook his head in a poor attempt to clear the thoughts away. Thinking of what he had lost, or who, wouldn’t help him get out of here. It wouldn’t bring his brothers back; it wouldn’t stop more from dying.

“But I needed one more touch…. another taste of heavenly…. heavenly….”

The voice faded out into a quiet sob and Wolffe’s head shot back up to stare out into the dimly lit hallway trying to see some other face leaning against the bars. There wasn’t one though. Just the ringing quiet and sniffling sobs.

“Don’t stop,” he said quietly. The gruffness of his voice seeming to have softened some as he nearly begged. “Please.”

The sniffling stopped for a moment as tiny footsteps echoed further own the way. “Is…is someone there?” The voice that answered him was small and a little trembly still, but it was just as sweet as when you sang.

“I’m here,” he said. Sticking his hand between the bars and waving it back and forth a little. Feeling ridicules as soon as he did it. Whoever you were you wouldn’t likely be able to see him even if you could clearly hear him. “Name’s Comm—…. Wolffe. My name’s Wolffe.”

There was some shuffling to his right and then a hand waved out from the cell three down from him. The angle and the dark made it impossible to see your face, but he could just barely make out your hand. Your fingers covered in a filthy bandage that wrapped around your palm and up to your wrist. He shuddered to think why you needed it.

“Wolffe,” you repeated. “What a handsome name.”

Wolffe felt a shiver run up his spine when you said his name. It sounded sweeter than he’d ever heard it said before, like the honey cakes his general had bought for him on one of their first assignments together. He’d never heard it said with such care. Even his brother’s often spoke it with to tease or poke at him with humor, or to agree to his orders with a soldier’s blankness they’d all learned to master. An odd mix of respect and determination with a hint of acceptance that this might be their last mission. Wolffe had used that same tone only with gruffness and a growl flashed at anyone who dared to step too close. Anger kept him alive; detachment kept him sane, there was no room for the warmth that filled the bottom of his heart when your voice echoing softly from your cell said his name again. Getting his attention as he’d drifted off.

“What?” he asked. Shaking his pounding head and forcing himself to concentrate again.

“I just asked why you were here?” the woman’s voice asked again.

“Mission went bad,” Wolffe replied. Closing his eyes against the screams of his brother’s and the taste of blood in his mouth. “We had bad intel. Led us into a trap. My men were….” He trailed off and swallowed back the tightness in his throat. Squeezing the bars until his knuckles were white and his wrists ached.

“I’m sorry,” you said again. Tears Wolffe couldn’t see likely rolling down your cheeks as you sniffled again. “About your men. They say the Maker gives and takes away with equal measure but, recently it feels like all he does is take.”

Wolffe gave a short hum of agreement. “Why are you here?”

There was silence for a long moment and Wolffe felt his gut start to twist in it. A feeling of dread making him grit his teeth and regret asking the question at all. It wasn’t his place to know. It wasn’t like he was in any position to help you; you might not even want his help anyway if you knew what he was. Clones weren’t exactly well liked by all the nat-borns.

“There was a rebellion here before the Separatist’s took over. We were defeated everyone is….” There was a pause and Wolffe hated the way he knew what waited on your next breath. “I’m the last one. They keep me here to control the masses, I guess. Parade me out like a puppet to remind everyone what happens to those who stand against them.”

Your voice was bitter but tinged with a fire he hadn’t heard from you before. He found himself leaning closer to the bars as if that might help him see you better. The angle was still too sharp and the lights too dim. All he could see was your hands. Fingers woven together as you leaned them out between the bars.

“I’m sorry,” Wolffe said grimly. Hanging his own head against the bars as his dark hair fell forward across his forehead. It had grown longer and more unruly while he’d been stuck here.

“Thank you Wolffe,” you said. “You know I’ve been stuck down here for years and not one time has anyone ever spoken to me. Let alone asked me to keep singing.”

“Yeah well…” Wolffe sputtered out for an anser. Not really sure he knew how to put what he felt into words without making himself sound soft. “I’m a soldier. I hear blaster fire, and screams, and orders shouted across fields I will never set feet in again. My brother’s voices can be the only ones I hear for days, and they sound enough like me to make me question my sanity most days. Your singing is…. It’s the only pretty sound I’ve heard in months.”

It’s my heavenly light, he thought but didn’t say. On the off chance he found a way out of here he didn’t want you to think he was some kind of sap. His brothers would never let him live it down if they found out.

His head snapped up when we heard the sound of a door being yanked open and voices rising up between the sound of clankers stepping in time. “I didn’t catch your name.”

“I don’t have a name here,” you said.

“Well I have to call you something,” Wolffe said back.

There was another pause as he watched your hands retreat from the cell door. “They gave me a number. Prisoner 3636. That’s the only name I go by now.”

Wolffe’s heart stopped in his chest and then the warden’s ugly face appeared at his cell door with a snarl.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

It had been weeks since Wolffe had asked you to keep singing from his cell. Every day you watched the sun rise through the tiny crack in your cell wall, up high in the corner where no one else would be able to see it. It’s how you kept track of the days as you scrapped another line down your third cell wall. The other two had already been filled. Slipping the ring you used as a make shift writing tool back onto your finger, you limped to the door and cleared your throat. Singing a new song, one your mother had taught you as a little girl.

“This desert flower…. No sweet perfume ever tortured me more than this.”

Wolffe never sang along, in fact he never did anything at all that showed he was listening, but you just knew he was. Somehow you knew. The two of you had spoken a little more in the past few weeks. You’d learned he was a Commander in the clone army and that he had lost an eye to a Sith apprentice, though you only sort of understood what that meant. He’d learned you liked flowers and before the war you’d wanted to be a diplomat like your mother. You learned that you both had brothers, those that were alive and those that no longer were. You’d learned he loved his Jedi General like a father—whether he said those exact words or not was irrelevant—and he’d learned that you’d been betrayed right before your capture by someone you trusted.

“Sarad?” Wolffe asked when your song came to an end. You weren’t sure what that meant but he’d been calling you that for weeks, so you let it slide without asking. You’d also learned why he hated calling you by your number designation.

“Yes Wolffe?” you called back. Standing on your tip toes and leaning your head hard against the bars to try and see something other than his hands down the hall.

“We’re getting out of here.”

He said it so easily, so matter of factly, like there was truly no doubt in his mind that he was going to get them out of here. “Wolffe I can’t aband—”

“You’re not,” he said quickly.

They’d had this talk before. You couldn’t leave your people, anymore then Wolffe could stay here without his men. You both had a responsibility to your people, one you each could not sacrifice for whatever feelings swirled around inside you that you were far too terrified to name.

“Sarad listen to me. The Separatists are using you to keep your people oppressed, if you escape with me then I swear to you we will come back with an army and take back your home. Together. Your people need to see that you are fighting for them, that you are free. A bird locked in a cage is no good to anyone.”

You bit down on your lip hard and worried it back and forth. Staring into the darkness and willing yourself to find the answer there. Willing Wolffe’s face to appear so you could look into his eyes and hear him speak those words to you. Imagining him holding your hand when he asked you to fight with him, or him cupping your cheek when he called you that nickname, Sarad. Part of you knew these were just fantasies in your head. Things you’d made up when his handsome voice had first reached your ears. Daydreams of a man who would sweep you away fro here and help fight beside you as you liberated your people with his blaster and your rallying speeches. The pen and the blade. Here he was now offering you something though. Not a fantasy but a chance, a chance to get out of here and make a difference.

“Please,” Wolffe’s voice spoke up again. His tone softer than you’d ever heard it before. “I just need a little bit of light.”

“Okay,” you breathed out. Nervousness making your voice shake as you tried to pull yourself up taller, forcing your hands into fists outside the bars. “What do you need me to do?”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

It had all been a blur. One second Wolffe had been crouching in his cell pretending to be asleep when the wardens came by to drag him to his daily torture sessions. The next moment, he was holding a blaster and fishing the keys from the dead man’s pockets. Releasing his little songbird and only giving you the briefest once over before he was dragging you up the stairs and down the maze of hallways above them. He didn’t have time for anything more than that brief look. No matter how badly he might have wanted to look at you properly, to thank you for keeping him sane, for talking to him even if he didn’t talk back all the time, there wasn’t time for any of that.

You pointed the way forward, having been here longer. Your bandaged hand pointing left or right or straight every time they came to an intersection. Wolffe kept those they ran into from talking but he was running out of blaster bolts and chances before one of his shots triggered the alarm system.

“The door on the left and then—”

“Hey, you two, freeze,” the devoid voice of a battle droid called behind them. Wolffe spun on his heels without breaking his stride. Pulling you against his back and firing two shots that sent the droid to the ground. Evidently that was when your luck ran out.

Screaming alarms sounded and flashing red lights appeared above your heads as Wolffe cursed loudly. Grabbing your hand and tugging you towards the door you motioned too. He’d been hoping to make it out a little further before they noticed. His heart raced in his chest as sweat dripped down his neck, staining his threadbare blacks worse.

“Step back Sarad,” he said gruffly. Pushing her back a little as he kicked the door in. Shattering it off the hinges and slamming it into the floor. “Come on!”

He grabbed her hand and raced into the desert around them, just before it all exploded into heavenly light.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Your lungs burned as you barely kept up with Wolffe’s much longer strides. Your hair whipping around your shoulders and falling out of the frayed black ribbon that’s tying most of it back. A gasp leaves your chapped lips watching the way Wolffe’s muscles flex to easily dismantle the door. Even with all the torture and pain written across his bare skin, the wounds half stitched or left open completely, the blood smeared across his cheek and stained into his shirt, he looks like a soldier. Like one of the heroes your father used to read to you about. He has to say that nickname of yours three times to get you to focus again. The world having gone muffled and quiet while you stared at him.

Racing out the door the dessert air burns worse, and you cough against the oppressive heat that blinds your eyes and makes you whimper out a curse. That’s not what has you tripping over your feet and pulling Wolffe to a stop though. No, that would be because the base that had once been your home was under attack. The walls, the ships, the droids, all of it was burning.

“What is—”

“Commander!” A loud voice called as Wolffe pulled you against his solid chest, smashing your face against his racing heart so you couldn’t see who the voice belonged to. You could feel him tense as he raised his blaster and then…

“General,” Wolffe’s voice was filled with relief as his blaster dropped and he loosened his grip on you though he didn’t let you go. “What the Kriff are you doing here?”

You turned in Wolffe’s arms, your hands clawing into his blacks and trying not to hurt either one of you as you caught sight of the man he was talking to. A Jedi.

“We came back as soon as we could to rescue you,” the Jedi said. Turning his head to face you his wide balck eyes took you in and though you couldn’t see his smile through his mask, you heard it in his voice.

“I see the two of you didn’t need rescuing though. I’m Master Plo Kloon,” he said. “And who might you be?”

You started to tell him your number before you stopped and looked up at Wolffe. The commander nodded and squeezed you tight. “It’s okay,” he said.

So, you gave Master Plo your real name, the one you hadn’t spoken out loud in so many years you were sure you’d forgotten it. The jedi master nodded his head and squeezed your hand with so much care your heart actually ached. No one had touched you with so much care in a very long time not since Wolffe had grabbed you from your cell.

“General I’d like—“ Wolffe started.

“Commander I am not letting you go into battle like this. I’ve radioed Boost and Sinker to bring a transport here to take you both back to the ship and be seen the medics immediately,” Master Plo said with the gentle sternness of a father.

“That wasn’t what I was gonna say,” Wolffe shot back. “This woman saved my life; I want to ensure she has the Republic’s full protection and until then I’m telling you that she’s not leaving my side. I don’t care what the rules or regulations state. Am I clear?... Sir,” he adds almost as an afterthought

Your breath hitches at his words, feeling your heart squeeze as he holds you tighter against him. Your eyes drift up to his face and watch the way he glares defiantly. His cybernetic eye catching the light and fire until it looks like a drop of molten light. As if he were a sun god reborn in human flesh.

“Very well,” Master Plo says just as one of the smaller transport ships begins to descend behind them. Kicking up sand and dirt that Wolffe shields you from without thought. “Until she is safe enough for your standards, she is yours to protect.”

“Thank you, sir,” Wolffe replies. Pulling you along and picking you up as two grey helmeted troopers take your hands to pull you into the transport. Your stomach lurches when they take off. Wolffe barking orders at them before affectionately knocking both their helmets with his fists. He’s back to you in a second. Arms around you as he holds you close like you are something precious, or sacred. You want to ask a thousand things, you want to sing, or scream, or dance, but you do none of it in favor of trying not to throw up as you turn your face into Wolffe’s chest and start to cry.

“Thank you for saving my life,” you mumble so quiet you’re not sure he heard you.

“Thank you for breathing me back to life Sarad.”

[lambilegs]

HI FAVIE. i am also in classes and very very bored. i really don’t know what to request but I’ll eat up any fluffy lee you have :3. maybe lee taking reader out for a date? i just wanna see how you think she would do dates hehe.

lee harker x reader going out on dates <33

(POOKIE HIIIIII 💓💗🌸 and omg fr because why do some of these classes feel like an eternity ;-;

OMG. YES. DATES. okay I'm so ready for this)

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ 𓍢ִ໋🌷͙֒₊˚*ੈ🎀⸝⸝🍓⋆ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

if it were up to her, every date she'd have with you would be at a quiet, intimate place, or just somewhere cozy and fun, like her place (wink wink nudge nudge), a cafe, a bookstore, etc.

lucky for her, you're also into that, adoring any time spent talking to her and being in her presence, a sentiment which, whenever you reminder her of when she asks if her date ideas are okay, never fails to make her smile shyly

she always picks you up, of course. even if it'd be easier and faster for you to drive or commute (like, if the place is near her), she still always goes the extra mile (literally hahahah knee slap) to pick you up

no matter how long you guys have been together, it makes you so flustered when you know she's seeing you for your date for the first time. whether she heads to your door and knocks, or just waits for you in the car, those first few moments where you guys lock eyes always have you fumbling in shyness, even when you're just in sweats. there's just something about lee harker, picking you up in her car, ready to go on a date with you, that sweeps you off your feet. the fact that she's truly yours, finally, and is here to pick you up on a date? it's thrilling

when you arrive, she's always watching you intently or smiling a bit, which only makes you shyer. and she'll usually open the car door for you, an act that comes so naturally to her (as with anything that helps you). to her, it's a casual move, something her body does on instinct. to you, it's a heart-fluttering action that often makes you grin in giddiness.

on the drives, you'll listen to music and engage in calm conversation. sometimes, you guys will take turns showing each other music you've been into lately, and talk about what you like while the other person offers up their thoughts. other times, you guys will lapse into silence, your eyes scanning the whirling view out the window, while she holds your hand or strokes the back of it. other times, you'll look at her, and when she feels your gaze on her after a few minutes, she'll budge, blinking hard and licking her lips. "um... what is it?"

you'll often compliment her, or just silently shower her in some affection with tender kisses or combs through her hair. she'll usually clear her throat, eyes flicking over the road, bashful and awkward from the sudden praise.

every now and then, you guys will go out for a fancy dinner, just for the sake of doing something different and, honestly, just to have an excuse to dress up and eat good food. while she loves seeing you dressed up, and watching you in the soft golden light of a dimly lit restaurant, she isn't into the unspoken social rules surrounding it, and how stiff things feel at such a place. and if's a crowded or large place? oh yeah she's getting drained and hates the atmosphere. which is why when you guys do go on such a date, you'll always try to find somewhere chill.

you even have such fancy dinners at home, and either order or cook food (poor baby doesn't really trust her minimal cooking skills, so she'll often just buy food for you). when it's at her place, you both definitely feel the intimacy and romance of you two being all alone... in her cabin... in the woods... having a romantic date night.

whenever you come out, clad in fancy clothes she rarely ever sees you in, she freezes up, lips parting as her wide eyes rove all over you, almost as though she's worshipping you with her gaze. even though you always see her in dress clothes due to her job, you still get a warm feeling knowing that tonight, it's just for you.

(yes you guys one hundred percent fuck after dinner)

even though winter brings a lot of dreary, grey and cold days, you can't help but love spending it with lee. it's constant visits to different libraries, gentle snow falling along the windows, as you guys read childhood favourites, talking about what you liked about them as children. it always strikes you in those moments just how much you wish you had always known her, even as kids.

and it means so much to her, those days with you. truly, any date with you is a special day for her, even if it's an outing she usually wouldn't prefer. in her bedroom, there's a secret box she keeps, filled with movie tickets, train tickets, receipts, dried/pressed leaves and flowers.

building on that, she loves taking walks and hikes. judging from her home, she clearly finds a modicum of solitary peace in nature. it's a peace she loves sharing with you. you guys will go on long walks in different trails, holding hands, talking or even just falling into a silence. she could spend an eternity like that with you, hand in hand, in complete, calm, comfortable silence. she loves how she can just be quiet with you, without the social pressure of talking or choosing select expressions, tones, words, etc.

ALWAYS is trying to pay jesus. you'll literally have to physically push and shove her from the machine when out, trying desperately to get your card in. stupid fbi agent she is, she's too damn strong, usually managing to manhandle you away (which yes turns you on). all the while, cashiers and workers are watching you guys, either in silent amusement or total judgement LMAOOOO.

you guys sometimes go thrifting. she hates the stress and constant motions of shopping, so she usually just tries to slink into the background. but, you always find her, pulling her over to the slacks, buttons ups and blazers. while she constantly groans in dread and tries to persuade you to let her be, you're always able to convince her to do a little fashion show for you. while she hates the tiring repetition of undressing and changing, she can't help but feel a warm ember in her chest get heavy from the way you admire her, compliment her and keep your full attention on her. (+ also, while she's not into fashion and is moreso practical about what to choose, she's simultaneously picky about how clothes feel and look on her)

the dates always, always end in long evening cuddles, or night drives filled with lights flashing over her face and soothing contentment. sometimes, you guys still want more time together, and will drop by a cafe or fast food restaurant just to prolong it before she drops you home. other times, you just sleep at hers, since she has spare pajamas that she bought just for you (yes, they're clad in a design that lee wouldn't be caught dead in, that's purely just for you). either way, it's always time shared with you, and that's enough for her, as it is for you.

okie this is getting long so I shall end it here, but I might make a second part bc this was so fun to write :p

[bogbees]

so in grade eight, 2010, our class was told to participate in this poster contest by uh marine institute, a college for marine related jobs

the theme was ocean pollution and i did one where it was like, an hourglass falling in the ocean, with like, pollution inside replacing the sand as some like "time won't stop it" sort of thing

TOOK ME A WEEK. I USED MY MOTHER'S FANCY EXPENSIVE COLOURING LEADS THAT SHE COVETED. I NEARLY DIDN'T GIVE IT IN ON TIME BC I STAYED UP ALL NIGHT TO FINISH IT AND SLEPT IN — until noon lol. got to school for afternoon classes and thankfully, the teacher, newfie artist Riley Fitzgerald an absolute legend, was pissed but didn't send off the classes' posters till i was done

now the thing was that like, i ruined the back of this thing with black leads. idk how. but it was a fucking mess. black scratches EVERYWHERE. very noticeable. my mother was baffled as to how i had managed. i still have no idea. I'm just a messy creator ig

anyway. the MI college had this like, event, for the poster contest, with competing schools attending like a seminar and listening to guest speakers who were wildlife photographers and such. i think we had a tour of some building? anyway.

poster contest winner reveal time.

we're all sitting in an dimly lit auditorium, im in the front row bc i got separated fr my peers. the presenter tries to make a joke that's like "THE WINNER IS THIS WHITE ONE! NEAT HUH!" but! it was very clearly fucked up by black lead. like. horribly so. black scratches everywhere. not pure white. i IMMEDIATELY recognize it as mine.

"that's mine," i whisper, laughing. some random girl fr some other school i was sitting next to like. FLIPS HER HEAD and WITH WIDE CRAZY EYES at me like "YOU CAN'T POSSIBLY KNOW THAT"

then he flips the poster and yeah. that's mine. he calls my name and i get up to collect my 500 dollar prize money (which i used to buy my first art tablet)

anyway i think of that girl often. like. truly. what was going through her mind after hearing me and watching me get up to go to the stage

[whitepolaris]

The Haunted Island of St. Simons

Georgia's barrier islands are popular destination for tourists. One of the most important is St. Simons Island, settled early by the English. At one time, it supported many cotton plantations, worked by slaves.

The English built a substantial defensive position here, Fort Frederica, as protection against the Spanish, who were known to launch invasions of their neighbors from their stronghold in Florida. The fort's crumbling tabby walls, a unique combination of sand and seashells, is today a fascinating nation park. Here lingers a linguistically talented ghost-or ghosts-heard speaking in several languages: English, Spanish, German, Latin, and even Cherokee.

In 1803, a slave ship docked at St. Simons Island. Its cargo was sixty-five men, women, and children of the Igbo (often spelled Ebo) tribe from Nigeria. Ten of the men, chained together, preferred death to slavery, and they walked into the deep tidal waters of Dunbar Creek, chanting, "The sea brought me, and the sea will bring me home." All drowned, trusting in a heavenly freedom over a temporal enslavement.

The area where the ship docked and the tribesmen died is now called Ebo Landing. For decades, residents have reported hearing, late at night, the ghostly clanking of chains and the low, mournful drone of chanting voices. In fact, many locals refrain from fishing or crabbing in those waters.

Albert Fending, local resident, lawyer, and historian, says that you have to listen carefully. "It's like a low humming around at first; then it gets louder, and you can hear what sounds like metal chains grinding and clanking under the water."

One night in late 1977, Michelle Green, a journalist for the Atlanta Journal-Constitution, along with a friend, staked out Dunbar Creek, expecting to experience nothing. Suddenly, Michelle wrote, "we hear it-the undeniable and distinct sound of heavy metal chains. It is loud, and it is unlike any sound I have heard tonight." Then later: "I hear the low voices. They come from the same dimly lit spot that seems to have spawned the rude metallic noises. The song begins. I cannot distinguish the words of the low, barely discernible chant, but I know the meaning. The fear is gone. . . . I am touched by a deep sadness. I realize I abruptly that this spying act is incredibly obscene; we should not be here." The reporter and her friend ran to their car and raced off into the night.

Recently, seventy-five people from Haiti, Belize, Canada, New York, Illinois, Mississippi, and Georgia gathered for a ceremony to help the tribesmen find peace.

"They were souls forced here to die without a proper burial," said Adonijah O. Ogbonnaya, an Igbo. "It's a step toward creating rset for us and our ancestors."

The beautiful St. Simons Island Lighthouse is also well haunted by a long-deceased light keeper. Legend has him and his assistant arguing over chickens, the fight ending with his death in 1880. Afterward, light keepers and their families would hear his steady tread ascending and descending the stairs to tend his light, the phenomenon accompanied by the heavy smell of kerosene.

Around 1900, Carl Svendsen and his family moved in. When Mrs. Svendsen heard Carl's footsteps in the evening, she laid out supper. One day after the footsteps were heard, the door opened, but instead of Carl, Mrs. Svendsen felt a cold breeze pass her. Their dog, Jinx, woke from his sleep and growled, seemingly to watch an invisible presence cross the room. The scene was repeated many times during their twenty-eight-year residence in the lighthouse.

St. Simon's most famous ghost is Mary the Wanderer. Orphaned during her journey from Scotland, she was adopted by the Demere family and fell in love with their son Raymond. The young man, also smitten, argued with his stubborn father and set off to sail to the mainland. He disappeared in a raging storm, and Mary lit a torch and paced the dock, fruitlessly waiting return. On stormy nights, her light is frequently spotted on the beach and roads of St. Simons, still intent on welcoming her lover home.

One of the most beautiful sights in Georgia is Christ Church and its cemetery, shaded by great oaks and displaying dazzling flowers in the spring. Passersby often see a mysterious light floating across the grounds at night. There is a story of a young woman who was terrified of the dark and kept candles burning throughout the night. Tragically, she died young and was buried here. Her husband kept candles lit on her grave for the remainder of his life. He passed a century ago, but his devoted spirit still lights her eternal world.

[mingirn]

want some more

jeong yunho x reader

genre: smut

warnings: mentions of alcohol, brat taming, sort of mean yunho, stripping, spitting, spit as lube, fingering, gender neutral reader

notes: shoutout to brats fr <3

word count: 3.8k

It feels different from the very second you walk inside your apartment. The alcohol from the club is still swirling comfortingly in your belly and you feel just a little floaty, a bit fuzzy between your eyes. The time on your phone tells you it’s a lot later than you had promised to be home, and you’ve got three missed texts from Yunho.

You hadn’t meant to ignore him. It just sort of happened. If you were to check your phone it would probably show that it's been hours since you last texted him the pictures of you inside the dimly lit club bathroom, your hand holding your shirt open to reveal what was underneath it. It had been multiple pictures too, at least two of your chest and another one of your underwear, angled just right to show off the insides of your thighs where Yunho had left marks the other day.

That's why it's so strange, that it's so quiet inside the apartment and Yunho is nowhere to be found. You could check the texts he's left you to know where his mind's at, but finding him is a far easier option. Besides, you've tried your best all night to get under his skin and you're buzzing with nerves, eager to find out if you've managed to achieve what you set out to do.

The alcohol has rapidly worn off on the ride home, the haze is being replaced by the flutter of nerves as you start making your way inside your home. The only thing you can hear is the faint murmur of the TV in the background, and when you walk to the living room you find Yunho on the couch.

"Hi, baby. You're still up?" you ask him. He spares you a glance, then he looks back at the TV.

Yunho is sitting with his legs spread and his arms resting across the backrest. The way he's sitting, so casually and so detached is inviting, yet terrifying. He must have seen your texts, seeing as he'd sent some responses, why is he not scolding you for being a brat?

"Why don’t you sit down?" he asks, stern and untelling.

It’s the first thing he speaks out loud and his voice is low, still warm and rolling the way Yunhos voice always is, but residing somewhere deeper in his throat. It’s the tone he takes with you when he wants your attention, more specifically; wants you to listen. Just the sound of it sends a chill down your spine that causes your back to straighten and your shoulders to roll back, at an instant you’re affected by just the power his words have over you.

His instruction is clear, though as you step closer you find yourself second-guessing it. His tone is already telling, Yunho is going to be calling the shots and he must be unhappy, so anything you do from now on needs to be to appease him. He has an angle, you’re just unsure if he wants you to sit next to him, or sink to your knees between his legs already.

Yunho must notice your apprehension. He keeps quiet but spreads his thighs wider and his eyes flit down to his lap. It’s sign enough, you think, and you can feel nerves start to bubble as you sit yourself down on his legs.

He sighs, quietly but palpably, you can see his chest rise and fall with the breath. Everything about his demeanor is intimidating, just his breathing has your throat feeling dry, yet you feel heat start to pool in your belly in anticipation.

"Did you have fun while you were out?" he asks. It’s not what you expect for him to say, not now, not when his voice is like this and his legs are spread and he’s got you at a distance. He’s not accusing, not spiteful or angry, he’s simply speaking and looking at you - through you - and it’s making your head spin.

Usually, he would have been at your throat the minute you walked inside. He would have given you the entire list of rules you had broken, each little mistake you’d made would have been told to you while his fingers clamp over your mouth to keep you from talking back. By now, Yunho would have smacked the imprint of his hand onto your ass and sucked pretty bruises to match across your neck. But this, this is different.

His hands aren’t even on you. His arms are still on the backrest, fingers sprawled out across the cushions. He’s just waiting, eyes boring into you, still so hard to read. He’s clearly expecting something, and expecting you to play along. He’s so calm it’s almost jarring, it’s not at all the treatment you had expected when you snapped those pictures and texted him from the bathroom. It’s an entirely new side of Yunho, and though your fingers are trembling and your throat is getting drier by the second you feel yourself squeezing your thighs around his legs and wanting to comply.

"I did… It was- it was nice," you start off. This must be safe, it must be good enough. Yunhos gaze is still so devoid of intention, just dark and a little yearning, but lacking the lust or passion you’re so used to seeing.

His eyes scan over your body, across the outfit you’ve chosen to put on, probably remembering the pictures you had sent of what is underneath it. His lids narrow just a little, sharpening his eyes in a way that is so unlike the soft and sweet Yunho you’re used to. It makes you want to fold in on yourself, to hide under his watchful eyes, at the same time as you want nothing more than to feel his gaze on you. His eyes are everywhere, on every little bit of skin that peaks out, gliding across every little place that your clothing hugs and falls over.

When he looks up again, finally meeting your eyes once more it’s with a layer of wanting hiding in them.

"I’m glad you had fun," he says, and still nothing is revealed in his voice. You can’t tell if he means it or not, if he’s trying to trap you with his words. In the corner of your eye you can see his fingers drum against the cushion, tapping a little pattern into the material. Like he’s completely unbothered, as if you’re not on his lap currently, breath hitching in your throat. He hums, "Do you think I had fun tonight?"

"Yes," you bite back, and from the way Yunhos jaw twitches you can tell you’ve said the wrong thing. It’s too late to back out now though, and something about the way that his fingers have stilled and he’s watching you carefully has your stomach whirling. You continue, "I would hope so since I sent you all those pictures to have some fun with."

The words feel sour, mean almost, as they leave your mouth. That’s the fun part though, getting to talk back to Yunho in times like this, getting to anticipate the moment he abandons his composure and wraps his fingers around your arm or your throat, the way he’ll lean threateningly close and whisper a warning before he kisses the breath right out of you.

Right now, Yunho does none of that. He simply cocks his eyebrows, and the corners of his lips tug up into a smirk.

"Really?" he smiles. His hands move now, dropping from the back of the couch to rest beside your legs, still not touching you. You follow the movement of his hands with your eyes, and just the sight is enough to have you suck in a harsh breath. He waits to speak until you look back up at him, and once you do his smile is only bigger, far more teasing. "You think you were doing me a favor, hm? Because I think you were being a tease."

There’s something so tantalizing about the fact that you’ve got every bit of his attention. He could be so nonchalant, pretending to be interested in the TV playing behind you or even fake some interest in the spot on the couch his hand is resting on. But he’s not, he doesn’t let his eyes leave you for even a second. He leaves no room for error, knows every little queue your body gives him and the sadistic glint in his eyes only deepens when he catches onto the way you subconsciously press against him or the fact that you’re starting to stutter for breaths.

"That’s not true, you are being a tease," you attempt to mouth off, though it leaves your mouth in a disgruntled whine.

Something about Yunho in this light is so sharp, so threatening. Despite the roundness of his cheeks and the softness of his hair he looks sharp, just having this edge to him, forged from nothing but the attitude he’s got.

"I'm being a tease?" he asks, and oh, his voice is no longer warm. It's a challenge, you know it. He's giving you an opportunity to back down, and by the sound of his voice this dark and venomous you should know to back down.

Yet, you don't. You mumble, "Yes. You're teasing me."

He is undoubtedly, unequivocally teasing you. The tone of his voice, the fact that he's letting you straddle his lap, or his hands still not touching you - Yunho is not only teasing, this is bordering on torture. You've earned it at this point, but it's still frustrating.

"Really? And how am I teasing you?"

You roll your hips just a little, an involuntary shift because the way Yunho is speaking to you has already sent waves of arousal through your body, and his hands have moved at least a little bit closer, and you can't help but search for more.

"You-, you're not touching me," you mutter.

Yunho takes this moment to slide his hands closer to the both of you, in towards his body, and this way his thumb grazes across your leg.

"But I am touching you," He lets his thumb press closer, igniting the little part of your leg he's able to reach. It's nothing, not nearly enough, it's almost worse to have such fleeting touch when you know how good his hands usually feel on your body.

It's becoming obvious with each second that passes that Yunho is not going to let up easily, not even at all, and he's not going to ask you to make it up to him either. He's going to keep this up until you break all on your own, and you're so desperate to have him that it sounds like the better option.

"It's not enough," you whine. His lips quirk up in that smirk again, and you have to look away from his face to get rest out. "I was being a tease, I'm sorry. I just want you, Yunho."

A genuine smile takes over his face now, and his hands finally move from the couch to slide up your thighs. He digs his fingers into your hips and pulls you closer, settling your hips above his. A flash of embarrassment rushes through you when the evidence of how affected you are becomes obvious when Yunho pulls your crotch closer, and you hope he'll wait to stick his hand down your underwear and see.

"See, that wasn't so hard, was it?" Yunho coos, and from the expression he's still got on his face you can tell that he's far from done. He's still playing this little game with you, still refusing to grant you a kiss or to let your hips rut against his. He's not going to give a reward you haven't worked for.

"No, it wasn't," you swallow. He's still fucking looking, just watching, and it's working that same drunk haze back into your system. His thumbs are rubbing soothing circles into your hipbones, and you need more.

"That's my baby," he praises. "You know I'd be happy to give you what you want if you didn't fight me on it so much."

His hands hitch up higher now, trailing slowly up your hips to sneak underneath your shirt. There's nothing pressing about the way he's touching you, but he leaves sparks of electricity in his wake, and you bet this is part of it too, some way for him to work you up. His fingers feel so warm, each little inch of your body they drag over roots more and more longing inside your body, his touch alone is enough to stroke the fire slowly building.

"You're beautiful," he says when his hands reach your chest. The material of your shirt has hiked up with his hands and he's got you on display for him now, partly at least, and you can feel his eyes drag over the skin he has exposed. "Is that what you wanted me to think when you sent those pictures? Did you want me to think about how pretty you are? How you feel when I touch you?"

Yunhos thumb swipes over one of your nipples as he says it, only that, one startling touch before he flattens his hands over your chest to caress slowly. His expression doesn't budge when you squirm in his lap, nor does he react when you push your chest into his hands, he just tilts his head to let you know he's expecting an answer.

"Yes," you mumble. "Maybe more too… I wanted you to.. feel things."

"There we go," he smiles. "Tell me more, what did you want me to feel?"

His fingers are working on unbuttoning your top now, still so slow and careful, you would barely be able to feel his touch if it wasn't for the way he's got you on edge. Goosebumps erupt over your skin once he slides the shirt down your arms and lets it fall to the floor, and then his hands move over the hem of your pants. Yunho dips his fingers into the waistband, fumbling a little with the button before he pops it open, then he clears his throat to bring your attention back to his question.

"Just… wanted to make you hard, Yunho."

"Yeah?" he confirms, and when you nod mindlessly he slides his hands into the back of your pants to grab at your ass. They're so big and warm, groping harshly at your flesh to tug you closer, so he can rub your crotch against his, so you can feel how hard he's gotten. "You like knowing how hard you make me, is that it?"

His breath catches in his throat, despite the confidence he carries his breath stutters once you roll your hips over the bulge.

He speaks again, "Don't you think it's a bit unfair to make me hard while you're out?"

"Maybe," you hum. His hands are still massaging your ass, adding to the arousal rapidly building between your thighs, all you want is for him to finally fuck you like you've been wanting all night. "I'm here now though, and I want you to fuck me so bad, Yunho. I'm here, you could just-"

He interrupts you by surging in for a kiss, the first one of the night, a kiss you've waited so long and thought about all evening. He makes it worth it, the kiss is rushed and passionate and his hands wrap around the back of your neck to hold you in place while he kisses you. Between your legs you can still feel him, the way he's so fucking hard and you have no idea how long he's been like this is making your mind reel, the fact that he has staved off touching himself just so he could have you. And he still has the ability to take it further, to play this torturous game until he's satisfied, all while his cock is straining for some touch.

"Fuck," he gasps against your lips, parting for just a second to mumble more words against your lips. "How bad do you want it?"

"Please, Yunho, please- I need it."

There's nothing to do, nowhere to hide, when Yunho holds you like this. His hand holds the back of your neck in place, and the other one is pushing into your underwear to feel if you're telling him the truth. Though you think he must know already, it's enough for him to feel the way you squirm against his fingers or the fact that you're already bucking your hips against him. Yunho always knows, he sees right through you, and the smile against your mouth when he cups his hand over you is sign enough that he knew.

"Take these off," he demands, tugging at your pants.

Yunho leans back to allow you room for undressing, there's something maddening about seeing the way his hair sticks to his forehead, his flushed cheeks and bitten lips. He just sits back to watch you, wild and wired, chest heaving up and down as his eyes trail along your hands when you pull your pants off.

Yunho finally gets a look at what your clothes had hidden from him, what you had just sent him pictures of, and despite the fact that he gets to see you like this as often as he wants he still can't help the little gasp that makes its way out of his mouth once you move on to your underwear. You're so needy at this point that it'd be easy to rip everything off, to just discard all clothes and climb into Yunhos lap and pull his cock out to fuck yourself on it and finally get what you've been dreaming of all night.

But, it's hard not to be indulgent, especially now that his eyes watch you and his hands flex by his sides, yearning to feel you. It should feel a lot more embarrassing to be completely naked while Yunho sits fully dressed, but the shame that fills you quickly merges into exhilaration. It always makes you feel so small, to be bare in front of him with every proof of his impact visible on your body, while he's completely shielded.

"Come here," He pats his lap for emphasis, on the top of his thigh where the material of the sweatpants bunches up around his hard cock. He meets your hips with his hands, pulling you in place again and wrapping you up in another heady kiss that has you whining into his mouth.

It feels obscene, all of it, his hands digging bruises into your skin, the little drag he encourages your hips to make against his clothed dick, the way your nude chest is pressed up against his. And then, Yunhos tongue pressing into your mouth and replacing the taste of alcohol with the sweetness of his spit. He lolls his tongue out, pushing against your lips softly before he nudges it against your tongue too. He tastes so good, just the taste of his lips and his skin and his spit.

Quiet, muffled strings of please, please, Yunho, please, are stressed into the kiss and it's all Yunho needs in order to know what you're asking for. When he pulls away your lips part for him instinctively, mouth falling open and tongue sticking out as he pinches his fingers around your jaw and spits onto your tongue. His fingers push your jaw close too, encouraging you to swallow.

"That's my good baby," he praises you once you've swallowed. He releases the grasp he's got on your face and trails two of his fingers further, pushing into your mouth. Yunho presses down on your tongue, just a little, enough to coax some of your spit up to cover his fingers.

Your eyes hold his gaze when he pulls the fingers out of your mouth, still so composed and thoroughly untelling, Yunho just watches and the only sign that he's affected is the small breath that catches in his throat when he sets his hand between your legs and pushes a finger inside.

It's so hot at first, the stretch burns pleasantly just like every inch of your skin does, each little place where your body is making contact with him feels like it's on fire. Just this, just one of his fingers feels good already, feels incredible after you've waited to feel him for so long. When he finally starts moving, pumping in and out, fucking your own spit inside of you, you have to wrap your arms around Yunhos neck to steel yourself.

Maybe it's the alcohol making a reminder when you speak, having scorched your throat to be so raw your voice comes out broken, or maybe it's Yunhos kisses that have you so winded that your voice comes out raspy when you beg for more. He still complies though, just shushing you with another kiss before he pulls away to spit another time on his fingers and pushing two inside this time.

It's just- good, so fucking perfect when Yunho fucks his fingers inside like this, when he takes his time to stretch you out but he makes sure to curl them and press where he knows you like it. He's already picked you apart, piece for piece, with just his demeanor and now he's making you fall apart on his fingers too, and you haven't even gotten his cock yet, and he's mumbling sweet little praise into the skin of your neck.

"Is that good?" he asks, voice still deep and teasing. You can feel his breath against your throat and part of you wishes he'd just bite down, forget about stretching you and fuck you like you know he wants to. But he never does, he's going to make you hold out until the very last second. Yunho marvels, "You're not close already, are you? You've been such a tease, you better hold on until I come first, baby."

He fits a third finger inside then, slick with his spit. It's not necessarily his touch that is pushing you over the edge this fast, it's the combination of it all; the teasing, his voice, the look he had in his eyes, the fact that his cock is still hard in his pants and he pays it no attention so he can continue to whisper mean words in your ear. Yunho knows all too well how to break you, and even when he's done that he refuses to let up, just so he can have his fun. As if this, having you shake and writhe in his arms is what gets him off, when he could have you wrapped around his cock instead.

"Yunho, please, fuck me."

"Don't be greedy," he spits. "You'll take what I give you."

[apocalypticgargoyle]

Gene... My baby mama... I need... More alt!dream... Whatever you got fr. I just need more I'm.. I love him (probs not as much as you) but I love him

You're in luck bc I'm running on rip fuel for him. [ALSO I WROTE THIS BEFORE EVERYONE DID THE TECHWEAR STUFF FOR HIM I'M SORRY. I'LL GET IT IN NEXT TIME. I PINKY SWEAR.]

����𝐍𝐊𝐄𝐃. ♘ 𝐚𝐥𝐭!𝐃𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦 (𝟏𝟖+)

pairing: alt!Dreamwastaken x fm!reader

warnings: smut (18+), language, semi-public sex, light mentions of needles, domination

previous part ♘ fanart that i can't stop crying over

recommended listening: Hi Frequency by Vague002

The bus swayed slightly, your grip on the cool bar tightening to keep you from knocking into Clay as it turned. The dark city outside the windows bustled with sparkling lights, catching your eye every few seconds. As more people filed into the cramped space, Clay grabbed your hand, looping your arms around his waist and smugly grinning as you fought not to blush. He brushed a strand of hair behind your ear. “Will this be your first time in a parlor?” He asked, voice low and raspy as he whispered to you, not wanting to disturb the other members of society who just wanted to get home after a long day of work.

You nodded your head, making him chuckle. You knew it would be a different experience, mainly because it was taking place during the tattoo shops “after hours,” which Clay had only briefly explained the benefits of attending. “What are you getting done again?” You asked, moving so your hands were holding onto his arm instead, fingers brushing against the exposed skin peeking from beneath the cut-up shirt under his dark jacket.

He shrugged. “I couldn’t decide. Why don’t you pick?” He joshed, smirking at the way your eyebrows raised.

“I don’t want to be responsible for a mark on you,” you murmured, making him snort.

He hooked his fingers into the neckline of his shirt, stretching it down enough to reveal the litter of hickeys peppering his skin that you had left the night before. Your eyes widened as you swatted away his hand, looking around carefully in hopes that no one had seen them. He looped an arm around your shoulders, loving the fact that you were so worried about the crowd when all he wanted to do was fluster you.

He pressed his lips to your cheek, the warmth of his body encompassing you. “I love it when you get all blushy,” he teased. “Seriously though, you should pick. I won’t look at it if I don’t like it,” he snarked.

You groaned lightly. “Clay, come on.” He brushed his lips against yours.

“I trust you, sweetheart,” he cooed almost mockingly, his nose moving to press into your hair.

You chewed on the inside of your cheek, trying your best to remember what was already on his body. You thought about the impending reality that whenever he saw the new tattoo, his mind would linger on you, and for some reason, heat traveled to your ears at that thought. “Um… what about a bird?” You asked, voice uneasy as if on eggshells.

His face twisted into a pleased smile. “A bird?” He repeated. You shrugged beneath his arm, making him chuckle. “I like that. George likes doing bird tattoos too, so you might just make his night,” he added, his praise and approval making your stomach fill with confidence. He pulled you closer, his lips brushing against your shoulder. Your mind began to forget what the two of you probably looked like to the other people as his scent invaded your senses. “Will you hold my hand while I’m in the chair?” He joked.

You scoffed. “Are you gonna cry?” You teased, making him chuckle.

“No, I’m just clingy,” he answered without skipping a beat. Your grin was hidden in the soft corduroy of his jacket.

The tattoo parlor was nothing like you had expected. The door was locked behind you after a bouncer let the two of you in, the man leading you two up a staircase and into a dimly lit room. The sound of heavy metal music and the buzz of tattoo guns swirled together, echoing off the dark brick walls. You slipped your hand into Clay’s as he talked to the receptionist, your eyes attempting to focus on one detail instead of letting the atmosphere overwhelm you.

The thick layer of smoke above your heads made you scoff, realizing it was coming from the opposite corner of the shop, a hookah lamp sitting on a coffee table like an outstretched octopus. The people around it seemed to be discussing something rather intense, their haircuts sharp and defining almost as if they stepped out of some kind of alternative fashion magazine. There were three tattoo artists, each with a white lamp focusing on their work as they carried on to the beat of the music.

Clay’s description of the place flashed into your mind, making you realize just how off the cards the parlor actually was. Clay took a toothpick from the receptionist’s desk, taking it between his white teeth before being waved down by a shorter man with dark hair across the floor. You followed closely behind him as Clay greeted the man; you quickly realizing that this was the famous George.

As Clay shrugged out of his jacket, George pulled out a binder, standing beside you as he flipped to a page with scattered drawings of different flight poses of birds. Your eyes drifted away from the page as Clay’s arms came into view. His old t-shirt with the sleeves ripped off was doing wonders for his biceps. Before you knew it, the two of you agreed on a mix of a few designs resembling a crow and Clay was laying on his back with his hand tucked behind his head. The spot he was filling was in the dead center of the flesh of his upper arm; a spot that George had grumbled about being awkward to reach, especially on someone as large as Clay.

You watched closely with curious eyes as George began to tattoo the design on Clay’s arm. Clay’s other hand was wrapped around the back of your elbow as you leaned on the chair at Clay’s side. His finger pads drew circles into your skin as you asked George about how he got into tattooing, making small talk here and there.

You liked George, mainly because he was quiet until he conjured up some kind of relentless backhanded comment. His tattoos revolved around a giant tree stretching from his back and down his arms. You wondered how long he had to sit for it and what the healing process was like. As he worked, his teeth played at his snake bite piercings, his dark eyes focused intently on the work in front of him.

Clay switched his toothpick to the other side of his mouth, his hand tightening around your arm with a small groan as George reached a sensitive spot. “Don’t be such a pussy,” he grumbled, continuing his work. He stopped, cleaning off some of the sprayed ink and filling a new cap with grey. “You have any work, pretty girl?” He asked you, voice low and charming.

You shook your head, earning a small tsk from him. “This is the closest she’s been to a tattoo gun,” Clay prided, making George sarcastically raise his eyes.

“A total virgin, huh?” He joked, winking at you. “Dream’s not corrupting you, is he?”

You chewed the inside of your cheek trying not to blush. “I’m trying,” Clay leered, smirking at you with his smug ego hinting at his lips.

George bit back a laugh. “Don’t get horny in my chair,” he muttered, eyes trained on the lines he was scaring into Clay. “Speaking of, I heard you got busted up by Punz, and by the looks of it… seems right,” he commented, gesturing to Clay’s eye that seemed to have started fading finally.

Clay let out a dry laugh. “His ribs are still healing,” you added, making George smirk with a shake of his head.

“You know what all that’s about right?” George asked you, taking his foot off the pedal to grab more paper towels from his desk. You looked up at Clay whose jaw tense as he chewed on the toothpick. After you shook your head, George continued. “Punz’s sister is stupidly in love with Dream,” he plopped back in his seat, swiveling his chair, and drawing a hand through his locks, revealing the bleached undersection. You had the fleeting mental image of him tying his hair back to reveal it.

He pulled on a new glove. “Madly in love, huh?” You pried, twisting your chair closer to Clay’s shoulder. Clay rolled his eyes at the fact as if he had been bugged about it for years. “You didn’t tell me you had a girlfriend, Clay,” you teased, and he looked up at you with a tired expression, making you bite back a giggle.

After George finished, you followed Clay through the door, breathing in the fresh air; or as fresh as it could be in the midst of the city’s industrial square. Clay’s fingers knitted together with yours as he led you down an alleyway, flicking aside the toothpick. You chewed on your lip in anticipation before he pinned you against one of the walls. His devious grin sent shivers down your spine as you looked up at him.

You swallowed. “Shouldn’t you take it easy? Let your arm heal a bit?” You asked, voice coming out in a soft whisper as his lips pressed against your neck. “Won’t it hurt a bit with your ribs, too?” Your heart hammered in your chest at the fact that someone could turn the corner and catch the two of you.

He chuckled against your skin, slipping his hands beneath your skirt to grip your ass. “I like the pain,” he mused, tongue grazing against your skin as he pulled your hips against his. He kissed you hungrily as if not being able to press his body against yours for that hour was too much for him. His hand dropped to wrap around the back of your knee, moving his own leg to prop your thigh up against his hip as your hands dug into his hair.

The friction from his jeans made you moan into his mouth as his hand moved beneath your shirt, fingers fitting beneath your bra to palm your breast. He mumbled praises against your lips at how good you made him feel and how beautiful you were.

He turned you, your hands planting against the coarse brick as he ground his hips against you. You bit your lip, trying not to be loud enough to draw attention to the two of you, which seemed to be the last thing on Clay’s mind as you heard him unbuckle his belt behind you. You could practically picture his cocky grin, controlling eyes set as his hand gripped onto your hips, shoving your underwear to the side. “You were so much fun to show off tonight,” he chided darkly, lips brushing against your shoulder. “Such a good girl.”

As he pushed into you, one of his hands moved to knot into your hair. He moaned at the feeling of you clenching around him, tugging on your hair as he pulled your hips back against his. A low grunt tumbled from his lips as he set his rhythm, basking in the fact that you were secretly ready for him to ruin you as soon as you stepped into the parlor.

His fingers moved to wrap around your neck, the thought of his tattooed hand tightening around your pristine skin sent shivers through your body and heat flushing your cheeks, the tension in your body tightening. As he pressed you closer against the wall, you thought about the power he had over you; his height and build would make it easy for him to break you if he wanted, yet even as he pounded into you like he wanted you to forget your own name, the restraint he showed was enough to send you over the edge if you let yourself divulge in the thought.

Clay pulled out of you, only to turn you, your shoulders hitting the wall again with a soft thump as he hoisted you up ever so slightly, thrusting up into you as his hand dig into your thigh, the other resting against the brick beside your head. Your arms looped beneath his jacket, raking down his skin as you held onto him.

He groaned as your thighs tightened around him, making his hips stutter as if he were trying not to let himself finish too early. He dug is face into the crook of your neck, burying his teeth in your neck to stifle his grunts of your name. Your head tilted back against the brick, hand moving to tighten around the wrist that was beside your head for some kind of anchor.

His hand wrapped around your waist, driving himself deeper into you, brushing the part of you that needed him the most. You moaned, carding your fingers into his hair as he pressed his lips to yours roughly, wanting to taste your pleasure as it washed over you from his movements.

You tugged on his hair, making his cock throb inside of you, him finishing inside you with a low groan, his hips snapping against yours to stimulate a reaction from you. The feeling of his sloppy pleasure as his movements lost their rhythm sent your hips grinding against his, his teeth marking your shoulders as a reminder of his work on you.

Your toes curled, finally reaching your orgasm as he murmured dirty expressions of him ruining your pretty clothes against the wall. As he pulled out of you, your knees felt weak, threatening to buckle beneath you. You tried not to give off how much he had trashed you, but the warmth snaking down your thighs and your bliss-ridden mind proved otherwise.

Long story short, the bus ride home was rather interesting.

Dream Taglist: (follow this link to be added :))

@karlkitten @pluto-dizzz @more-like-reyna @honk-izzie-was-taken @marrymetheonott @froggyy06 @ghoulandghost @savingpluto @marshmallow-babe @drunkpumpkincake @unstableye @tinyegg @behzzyboo @darphobic @twist3dtinkerbell @sparkletash @lindsayhunz @shroomieissmall @mintmochiii @clubfairy @aroyaldarknessblr @camerondiaz48104 @madsbbg @victory-is-here @rat-poisin

[blackstaff-blast]

greeting you back, fellow shibusawaposter. orchid, papyrus, and nutmeg :)

I am ✨extremely sorry✨ about the time it took me to answer, life simply kidnapped me and forced me to participate

Orchid - what's a song you consider to be perfect?

That's a tough one considering I change focus on the daily 🤡 but I think Can You Feel My Heart by Bring Me The Horizon has the biggest potential to still make me shut up and listen intently (possibly scream) in years (as it has done to date).

On a completely different note, 0 by LMYK (Vanitas No Carte outro) is simply aethereal. I don't listen to it often, but it makes me think of my favorite person.

Papyrus - put your go-to playlist on shuffle

I have so many playlists it's not even funny 💀 I like making character-inspired ones, so I put on the one called Hashida Violet, yes I kin a Blue Period character and what about it-

Royal & The Serpent - Salvador Dali

If you like Salvador Dali

Burnt toast and coffee

Slow jammy R&B

I might be spinning your wheels

But damn you'll be feeling me

You'll see

Yeah I think it's pretty self-explanatory ahah; the vibe is right, too. I love painting or just existing to this playlist fr

Nutmeg - how's your home decorated?

Ok so I have a normal description and a weeb one, the weeb one is Xiao main lair and the normal one is I decided teal is the only color ever but emerald green can stay, too. Teal, green, black & gold accents. You enter a dimly lit room with a huge ass studio lamp, plants, books, my drawing board & other very unsubtle art things. I won't assign myself a specific aesthetic, but the vibe is, as I've recently described it, an ancient chinese god's domain. Smells like a water lily pond, too.

Except for the room in my parents' place, which is entirely Kuroshitsuji and monochromatic ehe

Thank you for asking and I hope you're well <3

[kippykasey]

Snowdrop Chpt 4

Paring: Bucky x Reader

Word Count: 4115

Series Summary: Bringing Zemo in to help fight against the rise of the new group of super soldiers brings in a new, yet familiar face into the mix.

Chapter Summary: The team found the refugee camp and now look for information on Donya Madani.

Chapter Warnings: Episode level violence.

A/N: If you missed it there is now a drabble that talks a bit more about how Reader got the nickname 'Amazing Grace'. Also send me feedback! I would love to hear your thoughts about the story so far.

Disclaimer: All languages that are not English were provided by Google translator with the translations following in bolden italics. Gifs used were found under the gif tab provided by tumblr.

Catch up on Snowdrop here: (1) (2) (3)

Sam was on the phone with a member of the air force to get information on Donya Madani, the refugee that is the next lead. Bucky was lounging on a sofa-like bench intently trying to clean his metal hand. With a slight nudge to the man’s leg on the seat he pulled it in, not looking up at the woman who lowered herself into the seat across from him, one leg tucked underneath herself. She held her hand out wiggling her fingers next to where his eyes were trained on his own hands. The blue eyes raised up off his hands to look into her waiting eyes. His eyes rolled as he silently placed the cloth into her hand, extending his arm so his hand was in her reach. She silently began to clean, his hand making sure to get into every nook and cranny that she could.

Sam’s call with Torres ended and he sat down letting out a deep sigh. Bucky turned his head, pulling his eyes away from the smaller hands working to clean his prosthetic. “You okay?” the man across the aisle from him turned his head to look at him before looking back up at the dimly lit ceiling of the plane. “Yeah. Just thinking about all the shit Sharon had to go through. And Nagel referring to the American test subject like Isaiah wasn’t even a real person. How many people have to get steamrolled to make way for this hunk of metal.”

Bucky’s attention turned back down to the palm of his hand that was now in the process of being cleaned. “Well it depends on who you ask. That hunk of metal saved a lot of lives.” (Y/n) never looked up from her task as she listened. Barnes turned back to Sam making sure he understood that he was fully listening. “Yeah, I get that all right. Maybe I made a mistake.” There was a slight nod from Bucky as he verbally agreed, “You did.” There was a slight pressure in his hand as it was squeezed by the woman as a sign of her disapproval.

“Maybe I shouldn’t have put it in a museum. I should have destroyed it.” Sam’s admission made her raise her head and look over at him, her hand stopping from cleaning. “That shield may cause a lot of fuss but it also means alot to some people. It’s the person behind the shield that brings a problem.” The woman spoke up for the first time. Bucky say up pulling his hand out of her grasp while doing so, “Like me, that shield means something to me. So before you destroy it, I’ll take it from Walker myself.” Conversation paused and like she always did a comforting hand rubbed small circles in the ex Winter Soldier’s back. The anger slowly left his face in the blank stare he mastered, but there was a softness in his eyes.

Zemo carried over some food as Sam answered his ringing phone. He passed one of the plates over to the two ex HYDRA soldiers and set the other down for Sam. Sam spoke on the phone, most likely to Torres, while he watched the two across from him effortlessly pick at the plate they were sharing. “They found Madani...dead. She died in Riga, a city near the Baltic Sea.” Sam informed everyone. Zemo holds a finger up and nods, “I have a place we can go.” The baron sits back in his seat, “I for one am looking forward to coming face to face with Karli.”

With the new heading set and food eaten everyone was settling for the remainder of the flight, and most likely to sleep. Bucky was still on the sofa, one leg out on the bench the other hanging off the edge. The nurse was tucked up in his arms, her head resting against his chest. Bucky’s eyes were already closed as he started to drift to sleep. However the woman he held onto was still awake looking across the aisle and out the window of the plane. Her view was blocked by Sam as he came back from the restroom. He turned to face them and their eyes met for a moment before he glanced over at Zemo who had a sleep mask over his eyes. “So what’s the story between you two? Were you two ever like a thing?” Sam’s voice was soft not to disturb those already asleep, especially Bucky.

“No. When we first met I was engaged. Not saying HYDRA didn’t want us to be.” She answered looking slightly up at the sleeping man holding her so casually. “What do you mean?” The woman’s eyebrows furrowed and she just slightly nuzzled into the warm chest below her, the owner’s arms flexing around her waist. “They wanted us to reproduce and create genetic super soldiers. Never got that far.” Sam watched how peaceful the two looked laying together on the small sofa bench, comfortable even. “You went back for him and you were engaged.” Sam pointed out to her. “He saved me. That day Steve broke him out of isolation in that camp. He came for me. Since then I swore myself I would keep those two idiots safe. I think my engagement unofficially ended the day I refused to get on that plane to the US and instead became the nurse for the Commandos.” A ghost of a smile appeared on the woman’s face as she went on. “He ended up having a son, who turned out just like his dad. Even had a granddaughter too. I got the chance to meet them, kind of. Maybe once this is all over I’ll get the family I wanted.” Her voice slowly began to soften into a slur as she began to fall asleep.

Sam sat there for a moment. He never thought Bucky Barnes could ever look so peaceful but he did. Normally even napping the man was stiff as a board but this was completely different. Here he was asleep, head lulled to the side resting against the back of the sofa, a woman in his arms, and not a scowl or anything visible on his face. It's interesting how much you can learn from someone just from watching them sleep, as weird as that may be. Sam smiled at the two before turning his head and letting himself fall asleep.

【☆】★【☆】★【☆】★【☆】★【☆】

Riga, Latvia was the new location the group found themselves in. The group walked in a ‘T’ shape, Zemo leading with the other three following, (Y/n) in the middle. As Zemo led the way he mentioned Sokovia and how it was taken over by the neighbors before the land could even be cleaned up. Now it doesn’t even exist. As they turned the corner to one of Zemo’s many residences Bucky began to fall back from the group.

“James?” The soft voice of the nurse called to him. The man’s head turned to her and smiled softly. “I’m just going to go on a walk.” His statement drew the other two men’s attention as they stopped walking to turn towards the taller man. “You good?” Sam asked. “Yeah,” Bucky started to walk backwards. “I’ll see you guys in a bit.” The nurse turned to follow out of habit but Sam wrapped his arm around her. “He’ll be okay.” He told her even as her eyes still trailed Bucky as he left for his walk.

With the three of them now inside the apartment sized space (Y/n) ran her fingers through her hair hissing slightly at the knots and tangles in it. “You really care for him don’t you?” Sam asked her softly, making the woman glance at him with large doe eyes playing innocent. “I don’t know what you’re talking about Wilson.” She tapped against the bar top that she leaned against and looked at Sam. “I am curious though, Bucky’s new arm, where is it from?” Sam crossed his arms looking at the woman who wouldn’t meet his eye, “Wakanda. He spent some time there.” She nods and smiles at the realization that the metal his arm was made out of. “I visited Wakanda once. Back in, well I guess it was 1940 maybe even 1939 I can’t remember exactly. It’s where I was proposed to. It’s probably much different now than it was then. Maybe in the future I can see it again.” Sam watched the far off look clouding over her eyes. The conversation died after that, neither pushing farther.

Zemo had taken a bath before Bucky had returned, the closing of the doors announcing his arrival. “Well, the Wakandans are here. They want Zemo. Bought us some more time.” Bucky spoke as he walked towards the bar where everyone was centered around. “Ouch Sam.” The nurse hissed as the comb Sam had been pulling through her hair got caught. Bucky raised an eyebrow at the sight before him. “Were you followed?” Sam asked, ignoring the woman as he put down the comb. “No.” Although amused by Sam combing someone’s hair, his voice didn’t reveal anything. “How can you be so sure?” Zemo asked, peeking through the stained glass window. The nurse’s head whipped around as she stared at the back of the baron’s head like he was crazy. “‘Cause I know when I’m being followed.”

Zemo turned from the window to look at Bucky, “It was sweet of you to defend me at least.” Sam merely turned his head over his shoulder to speak to the German. “Hey, you shut it. No one’s defending you. You killed Nagel.” The woman in the room rolled her eyes as she hopped off the bar stool she was perched on to walk behind the bar. Her hand just barely brushed Bucky’s back, unseen by anyone else in the room, as she passed to grab a glass and pour herself a drink as she listened to the men. “Do we really have to litigate what may or may not have happened?” Sam’s eyebrows furrowed as his eyes moved left and right, “There’s nothing to litigate. You straight shot the man.” Zemo raised a hand to point at the only woman in the room, “She wanted to.”

“Sam,” Bucky called, drawing an end to their little argument. Sam turned his attention to Barnes who was standing on the opposite side of the bar from him. “What?” Bucky glanced up from his phone for a moment before informing him, “Karli bombed a GRC supply depot.” “What? What’s the damage?” The slight influx in Sam’s voice showed slight surprise and interest. “Eleven injured, three dead.” The nurse next to Bucky looked over his shoulder. “Where is it close enough to help?” She asked, trying to see a location. “Sugar, you are more help with us,” Bucky told her before continuing to inform Sam, “They have a list of demands and are promising more attacks if those demands aren’t met.” Sam let out a deep sigh, one that could visibly be seen pulling the man’s shoulders down. “She’s getting worse.” Helmut pointed out the obvious. He stood at the end of the bar between both Sam and Bucky. “We,” He began before the nurse shook her head and pointed at him. “Nuh-uh. Do not wrap me in with you. I’m done. I am here to help because of the serum. As soon as this is all over I am going with Sam or Bucky.”

“Fine. I have the will to complete this mission. Do the three of you?” The Baron tried again this time changing his phrasing. “She’s just a kid.” Sam reminded him. Zemo turned to him and shook his head. “You’re seeing something in her that isn’t there.” Sam sat back as he listened, eyebrows furrowed. “You’re clouded by it. She’s a supremacist.” Bucky’s head tilted and his eyes glanced over at the woman slightly behind him who was looking down at the floor with her arms crossed. “The very concept of a Super Soldier will always trouble people. It’s that warped aspiration that led to Nazis, to Ultron, to the Avengers.” Bucky walked around to the opposite side of the bar from Zemo and leaned against it. “Hey, those are our friends you’re talking about,” Sam warned. “The Avengers, not the Nazis.” Bucky quickly added which made the ex World War II nurse smile and nod her head.

“So, Karli is radicalized, but there has to be a peaceful way to stop her.” Sam turned so he was talking to everyone even if his eyes were primarily on Zemo. The nurse opened her mouth but Zemo began to talk, cutting off what she had to say, “The desire to become a superhuman cannot be separated from the supremacist ideals. Anyone with that serum is inherently on that path. She will not stop. She will escalate until you kill her.” There was a pregnant pause before he adds an afterthought, “Or she kills you.”

Bucky stands up straight as he looks at the man who just spoke, “Maybe you’re wrong Zemo. The serum never corrupted Steve or (Y/n).” The German raised a finger and his eyebrows. “Touche. Yet the former Amazing Grace did turn her back on everything to come after you and helped you within her own free will. She’s probably more guilty than you are. So there really has never been another Steve Rogers, has there?” The woman’s eyes never left the floor as she quickly shuffled her way out from behind the bar to try and get away from the conversation. Yet she was stopped by Bucky who gave her a concerned look. She shook her head and moved farther away.

Her mind involuntarily flashing through ever murder she was assigned to help the Winter Soldier with. She lowered herself onto the couch and held her head trying to will the memories to go away. She could feel the intense concerned look on her back from Bucky as he spoke. “Well, maybe we should give him to the Wakandans right now.” His voice got closer as he neared the woman currently lost in the dark corners of her mind. “And you’ll give up your tour guide?” Zemo asked while opening cabinets. “Yes.” Bucky’s answer was as firm as the warm hand that fell onto the woman’s shoulder.

“From my understanding, Donya is like a pillar of the community, right? So when I was a kid my TT passed away.” Sam spoke as Bucky’s hand rubbed gentle circles around the woman’s back as he sat next to her, the way he remembers her comforting him years before. His hand hesitates just as much as his voice as he asks, “Your TT?” Sam turns to him and nods, “Yeah my TT.” Bucky’s face scrunched up in confusion as he slowly started to rub her back again, “Who is your TT?” Sam rolled his eyes and holds his arms up, “Fine. When I was a kid, my aunt passed away and the entire neighborhood got together for a ceremony. It was like a week long. Maybe they’re doing the same thing for Donya.”

(Y/n) slowly raised her head as she focused on what Sam said instead of the nightmares in her memories. “It’s worth a shot.” Bucky comments looking back at the woman next to him. She looked into his eyes and he gave her a silent nod of understanding. She leaned her head against his shoulder for a moment and took a deep breath. Then under her breath she whispered to him, “Do you think Sam was a dorky looking kid?” She felt his shoulder shake in a small silent laugh. “Definitely.” The two laughed silently as Zemo made a comment about how Sam’s TT would be proud of him. The woman stood up and ruffled the dark hair of the man next to her, earning her one of his signature stares. “I’m going to wash up a bit then we can head into town and look for more leads.” She told them men before leaving to the bathroom.

【☆】★【☆】★【☆】★【☆】★【☆】

With their trusty ‘tour guide’, as he so graciously called himself, the group headed out to gather information. Zemo talked about the location they were at with fond memories from his childhood where the place they stood once was home to grand parties. Standing at the entrance the group divided into two. Zemo and Bucky stayed on the ground lever and courtyard while Sam and (Y/n) went to see what was upstairs.

(Y/n) stayed at Sam’s side but followed his lead as she looked around the building. Spotting a kid Sam followed him, calling out to him once, as they entered what looked to be a workplace for seamstress’. “Excuse me, have you heard of Donya Madani?” Sam spoke gently but the women quickly got up and left. Sam looked over his shoulder at the woman scanning the room behind him, then adjusted the case in front of him to show her the red handprint symbol of the flag smashers. They continued to walk through the upstairs rooms, each time they came across someone to ask about Donya they would quickly leave the room. Each room having at least one item with the flag smasher’s insignia on it. (Y/n)’s brow had furrowed by the second room. She glanced out the window, down at the courtyard where she could see Bucky and Zemo.

Finally they moved onto probably the final room, a small smile falling onto the woman’s face as she saw the children’s crafts in the makeshift classroom. “Excuse me.” Sam called out to the sole teacher in the room, who was kneeling down next to one of the desk’s helping a child. The man turned his head towards them and Sam continued to ask him, “Do you know a woman by the name of Donya Madani? She was a refugee here.” The man stood and turned towards Sam. “We’re not refugees, for we have nothing to seek refuge from. We’re internationally-displaced persons, for what it's worth, and we don’t trust outsiders.” The man pat the student he was helping on the back as if giving him permission to leave since the kid stood and exited the room.

“No, I understand, “ Sam spoke and there was a certain calmness to his voice, something soothing about it. “I’m not from here, but I have a pretty good track record of helping out.” The man in front of her looked as non threatening as he could make himself so she tried to relax and do the same but her eyes kept scanning the room as she listened. “I know what happens when people say they’re going to help. Nothing. The Global Repatriation Council promised to send more teachers, supplies. That was six months ago.” The woman’s head snapped around at the news. How could things have gotten so bad? She frowned as she looked over to the two smaller children in the room. “What’s your name? Maybe I can make a call?” The man shook his head. “I know who you are. But I can’t trust you. I’m sorry. “ He turned to the two children, picking one up as the other went to leave the room. Sam watched them leave and the woman behind him ran her hand over one of the desks. “Sam,” She whispered out the raw emotion for how much she wanted to help these people clear in her voice. “I know.” His voice, while more stable, held the same sadness in it. “Let’s head back down.”

Sam and (Y/n) came to stand on either side of Bucky who was watching Zemo interact with some local kids. “It’s starting to feel like a dead end.” Sam mentions as he too watched Zemo. “The hell is he doing?” Bucky said the same question they were all asking themselves. “Being smart. We won’t get anything out of the adults, they don’t trust us. Kids however, they don’t know any better yet. Is that...turkish delight?” Her head tilted to the side as she watched. Zemo stood and handed a handful of the candy to the children. The baron then turned to walk over and join the waiting trio. “Cute kids.” He comments, walking by the three of them. “He’s up to something and I don’t like it.” (Y/n) muttered putting her hands into the back pockets of her pants.

Without much information to go on they returned back to the apartment. “I got nothin’.” Bucky sighed, “No one’s talkin’ about Donya.” Zemo made a straight line to pour himself a drink while Bucky went to sit on the couch along with Sam and (Y/n). “No surprise there.” She comments before Sam explains,” Karli is the only one fighting for them. They have no need to cross her. And she’s not wrong.” Bucky sighs, turning his head towards them. “What do you mean?” Sam slaps his knees and holds his head back for a moment. “For five years people have been welcomed into countries that have kept them out using barbed wire. There were houses and jobs. Folks were happy to have people around to help them rebuild. It wasn’t just one community coming together, it was the entire world coming together. And then, boom.” Sam snapped to make emphasis on the event that brought everyone back. “Just like that, it goes right back to the way it used to be. To them at least Karli’s doin’ somethin’.”

“You really think her ends justify her means? Then she’s no different than him or anybody else we’ve fought.” Bucky replied, gesturing to Zemo who was pouring himself tea. “She’s different from them. She’s not motivated by the same things.” Zemo carried in the tray that held all of the fixings for the tea he had just prepared. Bucky turned to him, “That little girl. What’d she tell you?” Zemo looked at each of them before answering as he set the tray onto the table. “The funeral is this afternoon.”

The information peeked everyone’s attention. Out of the corner of her eye (Y/n) watched as Bucky’s jaw muscle flexed, a sign that he was annoyed or getting upset. “You know the Dora’s coming for you any minute. In fact, they’re probably lurking outside right now. Keep talking.” However the threat didn’t scare Zemo into telling him any more. “Leaving you to turn on me once we get to Karli. Hmm, I prefer to keep my leverage.” The woman in the room rubbed her temple as she mentally thought about how this may turn out. Bucky standing up from his seat and rounding the coffee table to stand in front of the man he helped escape prison, yeah that definitely wasn’t a positive one.

The low clink of the glove-covered vibranium hand against the cup Zemo was holding only took seconds to become a shattering splash of the cup hitting the pillar behind Zemo’s head. Bucky’s jaw was set as his hard gaze locked onto the shorter man in front of him. “You wanna see what someone can do with leverage?” The low rumble threat that came from Bucky made the woman slide to the edge of the couch and prepare herself to jump in to stop him. “James.” She said at the same time Sam stood and said. “Take it easy. Don’t engage him.” Sam held his hand out right above Bucky’s chest. “He’s just going to extort you and do that stupid head tilt thing.”

(Y/n) stood from the couch and moved to Bucky’s side. Sam glanced at her and she gave a nod. “Let me make a call.” Sam told them as her hand gently grabbed onto Bucky’s elbow, the man’s attention still locked onto the baron. Sam walked away, patting Barnes’ on the shoulder as he did. With Sam gone, Helmut spoke again. “You want some cherry blossom tea?” Bucky finally broke his eye contact to look down at the tea. “No, you go ahead.” Bucky turned in the direction that Sam walked and gently patted the small hand on his elbow before walking off.

“Keeping information from them won’t keep you from being taken back into custody Zemo. Not to mention playing with him needs to stop. Or maybe next time I’ll be the one you need to handle. Do you understand?” The voice she spoke in was calm even as Zemo let out the breath he was holding. “You feel like that with him staring you down, try not upsetting us both.” She gave a friendly smile as her hand reached up to gently pat the side of his face.

[songfell-ut]

Chapter 8, sponsored by ADHD

Not being flippant, I absolutely have ADHD and can’t take any medications without getting heart palpitations. Hyperfocus, whoo!

Yeah, I enjoyed writing this one way too much. Chapter is here. I remain extremely grateful to @lostmypotatoes for not only the concept, but letting me jerk the characters around on her behalf. Enjoy!

The streetlights were starting to flicker on as the sun drifted below the horizon. Despite the chill wind, the crowds were shoulder-to-shoulder at the booths lining the street, and the glow from open doors illuminated a continuous flow of people moving in and out of shops and taverns.

One of the busiest establishments was a large inn not far from the castle. Standing patiently outside it was a lone, black-haired young woman; several passers-by waiting to join the line paused for a second look at her. She was dressed simply enough in a dark gown and white shawl, but her skin shone pale and flawless in the streetlamp, eyes lined in black and lips a dark crimson—very striking, even among the other women and a few young men wearing high-contrast makeup for the holiday. She'd done her best to achieve that effect, and found she rather enjoyed the attention; it was a relief that no one had—

"Heyyy, young lady," slurred a voice in her ear. "You lost?"

—hit on her yet. Frisk sighed and shifted her weight away from the beery stranger. "My husband will be out in a moment, thank you. Goodbye."

The man scoffed and leaned in closer, trapping her against the people standing in line. "Aw, darlin', don't try to pull that on me. Where's your weddin' ring?"

Frisk blinked. She hadn't accounted for anyone being drunk and observant. "Really, sir, I'm asking you nicely. Go away, or my husband will probably break your arm."

"Pffft! Right, right." The man made a grab at her shoulder. "C'mon, let's—"

Something large, swift, and angry loomed behind him. The bones of the stranger's hand went grch as a bigger hand grabbed it. Before the man could react, a glass mug smashed into the back of his head, bouncing him off the brick wall and sending him sprawling. "'Scuse you, asswipe," the newcomer said conversationally.

"Sa—honey," Frisk reproved him, accepting a mug. "You promised not to make a mess."

"'m not makin' a mess, kitten. I'm cleanin' it up." Even in his disguise, Sans towered over most of the people in the street, especially the one moaning on the cobblestones. The human-shaped boss monster draped a long arm around Frisk's shoulders, glaring down. "Ya wanna fill me in on yer conversation, pal? Sounded pretty interestin'."

The man scrambled to his feet and hobbled off into the crowd. Sans watched him go, as if debating whether to follow, then checked the people around them. No one seemed fazed; the few paying attention were pleased to see justice served, and at least one man indicated Frisk and made congratulatory gestures at him.

Sans was more than content to stay like that, but Frisk elbowed his side, wiggling her shoulder. "Sorry," he muttered, removing his arm. "Just tryin' ta stay in character."

"It's fine. You were just pulling on me a little." The High Priestess discreetly adjusted her long black wig, one of many from her predecessor's collection. She took a sip of spiced cider, impressed that he hadn't spilled any. "This is fantastic! Thank you for standing in line. This isn't too much for you, is it?" She gestured at the crowds. "Do you want to go somewhere quiet for a bit?"

"'m doin' okay," he said, but he hadn't figured out how to lie yet with a human face: he kept twitching and wrinkling his nose at strange smells or touches, and every time he scratched his neck or ear, he visibly startled himself. "'s not like I couldn' feel anythin' at all before. This is just...more." The wind picked up, and his eye twitched again.

It would have been funny if she hadn't felt so guilty. "Here." Frisk took his free hand to guide him toward a side street, marveling at how different a human hand felt than a ten-foot skeleton's—smaller, of course, but rougher, and somehow a little colder. She felt his fingers tighten and just as quickly relax, trying not to squash her. She squeezed back, and had another pang of guilt as he twitched yet again. The poor thing must have felt so overwhelmed!

The alley was cold and dimly lit, but almost silent. She released him and wrapped both hands around her mug, examining the little spices floating in the amber liquid. "Have you ever tried cider before?" she asked over the rim of the glass.

"Nope." Sans took too deep a sniff and recoiled, then brought it up more cautiously. "I had some dried apple slices once, but nothin' like this." He took the tiniest sip, smacking his lips the way she'd specifically told him not to. "Huh. Not bad." Another, bigger sip. "This's pretty good. Ya sure I can't try one of the drink-drinks they had?"

"No alcohol, Sans. We don't need you getting drunk and taking us the wrong place by accident at the end of the night."

He made an eloquently disgruntled sound, and gulped down more cider.

Frisk leaned against the wall, shivering in the breeze. Sans moved to block the wind for her, and she murmured thanks as he hunched his shoulders. The collar of his overcoat was trimmed with white fur, his shirt a bright red; his borrowed face wasn't handsome, Frisk thought, but the rough features, light hair, and blue-gray eyes made an intense and interesting picture. She liked it.

"Man, that's good stuff," the boss monster remarked, tipping the last few drops out of the mug. He glanced at hers, still half full. "Ya gonna finish that? I don't wanna wait in line again."

This was a far cry from when he'd complained about her germs on that stupid fork, but he was being good – better than good – so Frisk handed him her mug, taking his empty one to the receptacle standing on the nearest street corner for that very purpose.

As she deposited the glass, a sound at the other end of the alley brought her up short. "What's up?" Sans asked at her shoulder.

"Uh..." Frisk listened, and felt her cheeks grow hot. "We should go. We should go back right now." She pointed to the brightly lit street behind them.

Sans wasn't paying attention. "What're they doin'?" To her mortification, he downed the rest of the cider, handed the glass to her, and started ambling toward the source of the noise.

"Sans!" The priestess grabbed his arm. "I said—"

They both froze as a small, motion-activated floodlight clicked on and fully answered his question. "Huh," he said distantly.

"Sorry!" Frisk half shouted at the couple, who...why were they still going?! She dropped the mug and yanked back to the street, wondering how anyone could be that drunk already!

When she risked a glance at Sans, he looked thoughtful. "So...what was that? How were they not freezin' their butts off? You'd think they'd at least find someplace they could sit down and keep their clo—"

"Yes, you'd think!" For the first time, she wished the wind was colder on her face. The priestess stepped over to the first booth she saw. "Excuse me, ma'am. Where is the ferryman?" she asked hurriedly.

"The ferryman?" The woman behind the counter looked up and frowned in thought. "I don't know that he's here yet, dear. If he is, you'll find him near the old well on the far side of the square."

"Thank you very much." Frisk retrieved a two-dinar piece from the pockets of the dress she'd been sure to wear because it had pockets, and set it on the counter. "This way, S—honey."

"The hell are you guys talkin' about?" Sans asked as they waded back into the street, Frisk hanging on to his arm and ducking against him as crowd physics required.

"Remember, I wanted my fortune told? On All Souls Night, you're supposed to bob for apples and use the peels to tell the future, so actual fortune-tellers like to set up here. For years, I've been hearing about a man who uses some sort of card deck and is never, ever wrong. He always shows up near the river, so everyone calls him the ferryman. The problem is that he's never here at consistent times. He also charges anywhere from two hundred to a few thousand per fortune."

Sans was gaining sufficient knowledge of human society to say, "Holy shit, that's a lot. Are ya seriously gonna waste that much cash on some random guy playin' with picture cards?"

"No, I've spent all my money," Frisk said loudly, glancing around in case someone was listening, and he got the hint. The festival was fairly safe, but anything could happen in a large crowd; she was more glad than ever to have Sans with her.

They battled their way forward, the boss monster going first to carve out a path and the priestess steering him with a hand on his arm or back. "Let's stop for a minute," she said, on tiptoe, as they paused to let someone to cross the street the wrong way. "See over there?" Down a nearby side street was an avenue full of tables set with white cloths, portraits, and tiny candles. "Those are all the altars for departed rulers and other public figures. Can we take a look?"

Sans waded them across and, when they were clear of the worst foot traffic, said to her, "Never seen one before. When we have a funeral, yer loved ones spread yer dust on somethin' that meant a lot t'you, 'n that's it. They don't need ta be reminded what ya looked like every single year after that."

Frisk shrugged as they turned a corner. "There's nothing wrong with rememberi—"

The words died as they faced the other side of the street. "Oh, damn," Sans said, surprised. "Look who it is, Fr—honeypie."

The priestess numbly followed him to join several other people around a large, opulent table, boasting golden candles, a lacy cloth, fresh flowers, and a huge portrait in a gilt frame. It showed a lovely woman standing on what looked like an opera stage and waving to the audience. Her white gown almost glowed in the stagelights, as did her crown of golden flowers; more flowers lay at her feet, as if thrown by the audience, matching the bouquet cradled in her arm. She was looking up, probably smiling at someone in the balcony.

A cold hand seemed to have closed around Frisk's throat. Why hadn't she realized this would be here? "Yes?" she croaked.

"Dunno if you heard about her when you were a kid, but her name's gotta be in yer history books." Sans was tapping on the brass plate under the portrait. "I'll be damned. They actually spelled it right." He traced the engraved letters by candlelight: CHARA DREEMURR. "You know the story?" Frisk shook her head blindly. "Seriously? Welp, she fell into the Underground as a kid, and the royals adopted her. She was basically our princess till she grew up an' went back t'the humans...I wanna say it was a little over twenty years ago. Then she came back with that last delegation as a goodwill ambassador, just in time ta get blown up. Poor Tori didn't stop cryin' fer weeks."

Frisk made a politely sympathetic noise and turned away. Sans leaned in to squint at the picture, poking the canvas the way people were not supposed to. "That's messed up. Ya know what this is? This's the way her last performance shoulda ended. That's the stage they set up for her, and that's what she was wearin' that day. It was right in the middle of her last song when the thing that was supposed t'do the lights expl—"

"Are you all right, miss?" someone asked nearby. To his horror, when Sans turned around, Frisk was sitting on the curb with her head between her knees. An older man and his wife were standing over her; the woman looked up as Sans zipped over. "Is she with you?" the latter inquired.

"Yeah. Hey, sweetheart. What's wrong? Ya feelin' sick?" Sans crouched to look into her face, but she didn't move.

The older woman clucked at him like a misbehaving horse. "Look at her shaking! Get her inside and warmed up, young man!"

"Okay, okay." At a loss, Sans stood up, and crouched again. "C'mon, hon, let's go. D'you need a piggyback ride?"

Frisk was quiet, but after a moment, he received a faint nod. The boss monster turned and knelt, and the older couple helped settle Frisk on his back. "Thanks," he said as they moved away, and set off in the direction they'd been heading before their detour. At least there were some nice humans, he mused. It was a better thought than wondering what was wrong with Frisk, or how weirdly easy it was to pet-name her.

He held on tight, but not too tight, as he rejoined the crowd. Frisk was too short to hold onto his neck without throttling him, so they'd tucked her arms under his for warmth and security. She was shivering, and he could feel her heart thundering like she'd just run a mile. Everything about her was as impossibly soft as he remembered from...was it really just this morning that she'd hugged him? It felt like a year ago.

Someone jostled them, pushing her leg into him. Sans instinctively turned and snarled, "Watch where yer goin'!"

The erstwhile skeleton hadn't meant to raise his voice so much, but he didn't regret it: the crowd hastily gave way as he stomped towards the nearest building. He'd kept such a tight rein on himself since they left the castle that as long as she was acting as though this was all normal, he found that he could, too; it was actually kind of fun. But now he found himself glaring around them, almost hoping someone else would bother her. He didn't know whether it was a normal body-guarding mindset or if he'd simply gone too long without killing something.

They entered a candy shop with displays of sugar skulls, candied apples, and bottled cider. Sans found a chair against the wall and set her down, making sure she could sit up. "Heya. You okay?" he asked as she raised her head.

"I'm...I'm fine." It was as lying a lie as he'd ever heard, but Frisk did look better. She rubbed her arms and glanced around. "I'm sorry about that. ...Can I please have a caramel apple?"

Sans would have given her the entire display case – the entire store – if she wanted. He still had some "allowance," as he called the portion of his salary she'd given him before they left, and procured two apples and a bottle of cheap cider for them. She tried a sip of the latter, didn't quite make a face, and tore a huge bite out of her apple instead. "Better?" he asked.

Frisk nodded blissfully. "I didn't think I was that hungry," she said around her mouthful. "We should get a turkey leg on our way through the square."

He had no objection to that, especially when he tried a nibble of caramel apple and got his teeth stuck. Frisk held in her laughter fairly well, and nobly volunteered to eat the rest for him.

She did seem better, so he allowed her to walk, ignoring the little whine in his SOUL that wanted her closer. The festival was in even fuller swing now, but he plowed his way through to a turkey leg stand and got one for them to pass back and forth as they walked. It tasted as good as it smelled, which was amazing.

Sans was on the verge of stopping to ask if she knew where they were going when she tugged at his sleeve. "There's the old well. See the river? Let's start there."

As it happened, they didn't need to start there. No sooner had they looked at the wharf than a streetlight switched on to reveal a heap of black robes smack in the middle of the street, seated behind an oddly carved table. Both the robes and the table turned in their direction as Frisk jumped and Sans held out a protective arm. "Tra la la," said the robes.

People behind them had noticed and were starting to surge forward, fumbling in their pockets. "The lady first," the fortune-teller ordered, stopping them in their tracks.

Feeling unusually self-conscious, Frisk stepped around Sans and stood in front of the table. She had a feeling that she didn't want to look too hard under that hood; its whole figure was disquieting. "I have two questions," she said. A glance behind them confirmed a growing, impatient press of people standing a few feet away, kept at bay by Sans' glare. "Er...can I ask you privately?"

"You can't." The otherworldly voice was very matter-of-fact. "More detail, more money." There was an impressive pause. "Tra la la," it added helpfully.

"I...see." Frisk dug into her pocket and flipped the lining inside out. "I saved all year for this," she said, in case someone saw that she had placed a thousand-dinar piece on a shadowed part of the table.

"Tra la no, you didn't. Ask."

The priestess cleared her throat. Fortune-telling was all in the phrasing, so she had to be very careful. "Why did the thing from my nightmares want me to hurt him?"

A tiny flash of blue under the hood. She expected to see cards or some other divination tool, but it merely said, "He does not belong here. The child has unfinished business with him, and you are its strongest connection." The figure seemed to look at the coin for a moment. "If you want to know more, don't ask me. Beware the man who speaks in hands—he won't charge you. Tra la la."

The people waiting behind them were unimpressed, and Frisk was lost, but Sans made an incoherent sound. She looked at him, but no explanation was forthcoming, just a strange expression.

Well, if there was a chance Sans could tell her something, she wasn't going to try to get more on that subject out of the strange fortune-teller. "Second question," she said, trying not to let her voice wobble. This was the big one, so she fished another coin out and slid it next to the first.

The robed head tilted, probably because she'd just put down another five thousand. "Ask."

She swallowed. "What will be the principal differences in my life should I choose to open it, versus leaving it alone?"

There was a hissing sound, as if the figure was breathing out, or in. "An excellent question, Your Eminence." Frisk winced as the crowd whispered among itself, but the voice from under the robes went on, "You're very lucky. Most changes in life result from a thousand tiny decisions snowballing into major events, and there is no telling which of them nudged you in what direction. But you, my lady, are at a crossroads. You have two distinct futures, depending on a single choice."

The people behind them were quiet now, listening in keen interest. Frisk was half-consciously holding her breath.

"If you throw the box away, your life will be much as you expect. You will have a kind, wealthy husband who will take an interest in your happiness and be a loving father to your four children." Frisk's eyes widened, but she didn't dare interrupt him. "Your current efforts will not bear fruit, but they will be baby steps towards your mutual goal, to be possibly realized by your descendants. Your life will be like that of many others, full of little triumphs and large regrets. You will have much, and you will die of old age, surrounded by caring in-laws and adoring grandchildren, able to look back on a life that was...adequate."

"Holy fuck," Sans muttered, and Frisk felt light-headed.

"Should you open the box..." The robes were silent for a long moment. "Tra la la."

Frisk could have killed him, or her, or it. But then:

"Should you open the box, my lady, your worst fears will be confirmed. You will regain more than you ever suspected you've lost. The pain of that sorrow and regret will be unbearable for a time, and they will not be yours alone. But...neither will the joy, or the love, or the power."

Another pause. Was that it?

"Tra la la. You will lose and gain one father, discard and gain one mother, and be richer for it. Your family will be innumerable, though you will bear only one child...who you will attempt to bring to see me at this very festival next year. I will not be here, and you will in fact never see me again, but your child's father will be unable to stop you from coming to check."

Frisk's mouth fell open as the crowd tittered behind them. "Next—"

"You will change the entire world, largely for the better, though you will have to work tirelessly to achieve your goal and maintain peace. You will not die an old woman, but you will have lived five times as much. Your triumphs will be great and your regrets...manageable." The figure sat back. "You may choose only one future. To attempt otherwise will grant you neither."

There was a deeply impressed silence. The crowd would probably have applauded if Sans hadn't slammed his hands on the table and demanded, "Who's the father gonna be?"

More silence. Then the crowd started snickering, then laughing, and then nearly rolling on the ground after the look Frisk gave him. It took Sans a moment to remember that they were posing as a couple, and that casting doubt on her potentially-soon-to-be child's parentage might not reflect well on either of them, and his expression made the people laugh even harder.

The robed figure didn't move, except to look at the coins sitting on the table, then at him. Sans had just enough presence of mind to fumble in his overcoat and randomly toss out two hundred. "There! Also, what happened to Kris? How's my brother doing? Was that lord guy telling the truth?!"

The robes rose and fell in a great sigh. "Don't kill anyone."

They waited, breathless. Sans gestured impatiently. "Yeah? And?"

"And..." The fortune-teller turned to the crowd. "Next, please."

[wesleyhill]

Behold Your God

A homily on Isaiah 40:1-11, preached at Trinity Cathedral, Pittsburgh, on the second Sunday of Advent

It’s been a long time since any of us have been to a theater to watch a performance of a play, but our Old Testament lesson this morning at least gives us the script for one. As I preach this morning, I’d like you to imagine a stage here with a troupe of actors to perform this script. And as you file into your seats to watch the production, I’ll start by handing you the program notes: I’m going to tell you which characters will appear on stage today. In the first place, we have a booming voice coming from off stage, behind the curtain. This is the God of Israel, the Lord who made promises to Abraham and rescued His people from their slavery in Egypt. Then we have a group of prophets, with one of them singled out as being in the wilderness. Next we have the city of Zion, the holy site of Jerusalem, who is portrayed here as a character, as an actor in the story. And then we have the surrounding cities of the kingdom of Judah in the southern part of modern Israel, each of them played by one actor. So our stage is a bit crowded here, but you’ll be able to follow the action once the characters start talking.

I’m going to read the script for this play again this morning in the King James Version, because its poetry here is just magnificent and also because it keeps the second-person plural personal pronoun, which we’ve lost in English today (though we do still have it in Pittsburgh — “yinz”). Also, I’m guessing that if any of you know this portion of the Bible, you know it in the King James Version through Handel’s Messiah, which majestically set it to music.

Listen again to how our lesson begins. And picture the stage very dimly lit.

Comfort ye, comfort ye my people, saith your God. Speak ye comfortably to Jerusalem, and cry unto her, that her warfare is accomplished, that her iniquity is pardoned: for she hath received of the Lord’s hand double for all her sins.

This play begins with the voice of God booming from off stage. God speaks here not just to one person but to the multiple prophets, God’s messengers, who are all milling around on stage. In the background, you can see the wreckage of war. Smoke is wafting upwards from what look to be the smoldering remains of the temple in Jerusalem. When they hear God’s voice, you can see the faces of the prophets slowly looking less despairing, less humiliated. The word they hear from offstage — the word they are given to speak to the city of Zion — is a word of comfort. The war is over. The judgment has passed. And God is now announcing the forgiveness of His people’s sins. The prophets begin to sing in unison.

Then suddenly, from stage right, which is set up to look like the Judean desert, one of the prophets cries out:

Prepare ye the way of the Lord, make straight in the desert a highway for our God. Every valley shall be exalted, and every mountain and hill shall be made low: and the crooked shall be made straight, and the rough places plain: and the glory of the Lord shall be revealed, and all flesh shall see it together: for the mouth of the Lord hath spoken it.

The rest of the prophets on stage left suddenly burst into motion. They begin moving various props hurriedly. The big hills in the background begin to flatten themselves. The rocks that are strewn all around the stage are cleared away. The deep hole in the stage is filled in, and the actors are able to walk across it. And at the end of all this frenzied motion, a brilliant light, orange like fire, appears, bathing the stage with a bright warm glow.

Then God’s voice again booms from all around: Cry.

Then the prophet in the wilderness on stage right speaks up, even as he covers his face in his hands, as if he is in deep sorrow:

What shall I cry? All flesh is grass, and all the goodliness thereof is as the flower of the field: the grass withereth, the flower fadeth: because the spirit of the Lord bloweth upon it: surely the people is grass.

The prophet falls to his knees. He is bowed low with the weight of his mortality, his awareness of how feeble and futile and fleeting all human speech is. What good could he possibly do by preaching, in the face of the tragedy of Jerusalem’s sacking?

And then comes the answer:

The grass withereth, the flower fadeth: but the word of our God shall stand for ever.

The prophet places his hand over his mouth and bows his head in humility.

And now comes the climax of the drama. All the prophets make a circle around the character of the city of Zion. They cry out in unison:

O Zion, that bringest good tidings, get thee up into the high mountain; O Jerusalem, that bringest good tidings, lift up thy voice with strength; lift it up, be not afraid…

As they shout these instructions, the actor who plays the city of Zion begins to scale a mountain at the back of the stage. When she reaches the top, she looks out over the entire stage, where the actors representing the cities of Judah surrounding Jerusalem appear exhausted and wounded. Their costumes are ragged and smeared with ashes. Their faces are streaked with tears. They have clearly just returned from a long journey, only to find their land in ruins. But as they look up to the mountain where the city of Zion is standing, she raises her voice and shouts with joy:

Behold your God! Behold, the Lord God will come with strong hand, and his arm shall rule for him: behold, his reward is with him, and his work before him. He shall feed his flock like a shepherd: he shall gather the lambs with his arm, and carry them in his bosom, and shall gently lead those that are with young.

At this, all the cities of Judah and all the prophets raise their hands in triumph and shout hallelujah!

And the curtain descends.

What has happened in this drama? I have often taught the script of this play to my students at the seminary where I teach as though it is a drama about Israel’s exiles returning from Babylon. The imagery of the drama is the same imagery that we find in the book of Exodus, in the much earlier story when God leads His people out of Egypt, through the waters of the Red Sea, so I too quickly assumed that God’s people or the prophets were at the center of this drama.

But listen again to what the city of Zion cries out in the play’s final scene: Behold your God! It is God, not His people, who in this drama strides across the desert. If God’s people of old walked toward Mt. Sinai to meet Him in the wilderness on the other side of the Red Sea, here in this drama God walks toward us, to find us where we are, to pardon and heal and embrace us. Here is how one of the drama’s most astute reviewers says it: “The news that Jerusalem is to take to the cities of Judah is not ‘Behold the returning exiles,’ but ‘Behold your God!’… The miraculous road in the wilderness for which mountains are leveled and valleys filled up is before all else ‘a highway for our God.’… What all [flesh] sees is ‘the glory of the Lord’” (James D. Smart, History and Theology in Second Isaiah, p. 46).

This drama is about what happens when people face up to the true reality of human misery and sin and hostility and mortality — and still find hope. Not in themselves, not in their words or movements or fortunes, but in their God, the Lord who rules and comforts and shepherds and carries us when we cannot comfort ourselves.

And this, friends, is why we read this script during Advent, when we are waiting for God to appear again. A few moments ago, Fr. Aidan prayed, “Merciful God, who sent thy messengers the prophets to preach repentance and prepare the way for our salvation: Give us grace to heed their warnings and forsake our sins, that we may greet with joy the coming of Jesus Christ our Redeemer.” We, like the actors in this drama we’ve just heard, are being called today to lift our eyes from the rubble of our lives that we’re standing in and to hear again the word that came to Israel’s prophets. That Word is Jesus Christ our Lord who comes to us again today — and who will come again — with mercy and with hope.

Behold your God!

Amen.

[damn-daemon]

Prologue for The Pity of War

I’m not sure when I’ll write more, but the prologue was really calling to me, so I’ve decided to post it on here and get a reaction from everyone. This story is something I’ll probably write a few chapters of before I do anything with it. 

The prologue takes place during WWI. I don’t claim to know everything about it, but I certainly try. 

Above all, I am not concerned with Poetry. My subject is War, and the pity of War. The Poetry is in the pity. -Wilfred Owen

 Prologue

They called him ‘the blue-eyed soldier.’ Said that he came into the field hospital thick with filth and grim like all the others. It made the hue of his eyes stand out, as bright as the sky and haunting. His uniform was tattered, the leather of his boots rotting, and there were no distinguishing marks on him, the insignia having peeled from his jacket and the orderlies having yet to collect his name.

But the eyes, they told her. You’ll know him by the eyes. 

Ruth Coleman had listened to their gossip and shook her head quietly. She hadn’t approved of their whispered judgements, but far bet it from her to stop them. They all had their ways of getting by, and little acts reminiscent of their old lives were what kept their grip of reality from slipping away. She liked to draw, when she could. A sketch of a flower or a drying sheet caught on the breeze.

But never their faces.

It would not have been hard to do so, those faces so clearly engraved upon her memory that in her mind’s eye, she could touch them and know how coarse the skin was beneath her fingers. But one day, Ruth thought, those faces might finally fade, and to commit them to paper was just another way to draw out the agony.

She’d been sketching a bird she spied earlier in the evening, her efforts dimly lit by a lantern close to empty. It had been strange, seeing the little creature. Aside from the war horses and the rats that plagued the cooks, Ruth had seen no sign of other animals. They were the intelligent ones, fleeing the war while man charged ever onward. But a flash of yellow had caught her eye, and there it was, perched on a rotting fence post. It called out once before taking to wing, in search of kinder surroundings, but that moment had resonated within her; it reminded Ruth of things she did not think of anymore, of before and the life she dared not dream to have again.

There was only the present in war, the ever plodding, colorless present.

A flash of light had caught her attention, or so her mind believed. The officers insisted they could not see the illumination rounds from where they were stationed, but Ruth had become well acquainted with lies. Lies to keep the peace, lies to ease the pain, lies to assuage the fear of a young woman so far from home. Perhaps one day, she would appreciate those little lies, but for the time being, they made her feel like a child again, unable to control her emotions, so the truth was kept from her, dictated by those who knew better.

Whatever the light had been, the front or her imagination, it led Ruth to a small figure walking toward her.

Her name was Mary. She was slight of frame, with gold locks the soldiers loved. How they begged her to remove that head scarf. One offered five quid to touch just one of her curls.

“Bed three is expected,” she said quietly. “I’d have stayed to do it myself but…”

Ruth shut her journal. “It’s alright, Mary. Go get some sleep. I’ll see you at dawn.”

He had been from Cardiff, the boy who passed, no older than eighteen. She’d known many boys who had lied about their age, as young as fifteen. They fought and died the same as the rest, although sometimes she wondered if they weren’t a touch braver than the others. They knew so little about the world, about themselves, and yet they were a world away from home, bleeding out on fields that they might have never seen had there been no war.

The orderlies did not take the dead at night, for fear of disturbing the wounded and what little sleep they received, but Ruth would not leave him in such a state. It was her job, and her honor.

She closed his distant, dark eyes and saw to it that his clothes and bandages were not caught on anything. Quietly, Ruth covered his body with a thick, green blanket, from head to toe, and placed his boots on his legs. She’d taken one of his tags, and saw to it that his personal effects – of which there were not many, a letter, a picture, a broken watch – were placed in a small basket that would remain in her possession until the morning. Desperate soldiers tended to steal whatever they could, but none should have need for a small photograph of a young woman with dark hair and bright eyes.

Ruth crossed herself and said a small prayer. She’d stopped believing that God listened ages ago, but felt compelled to act nonetheless.

It was as she finished, that she heard the sound: the quiet whimpers of a man trapped in his dreams.

Sometimes, that was all it was. The man would fidget, his breathing would even out, and there wouldn’t be another peep from him until the sun broke over the horizon. But other times, they were not so lucky. They would thrash about and call out, screaming as if they were at war right then and there. It would wake the others, sometimes triggering their own dangerous episodes. Men had been hurt this way; men had died this way.

When the first thrash came, Ruth dropped the basket and fell to her knees before the man’s bed. She threw her arms upon him, hoping to keep him as still as possible, as she began to speak into his ear.

“You’re not in the trenches,” she spoke quickly, her arms struggling to keep his down. Most of the men were stronger than her, doubly so when they believed their lives in danger. “Listen to my voice. You’re safe. You’re safe here.”

He threw her off then, hard and violently. Unable to catch herself in time, Ruth felt her forehead slam onto the frame of the next bed over. Her eyes felt crossed, and the world spun briefly.

As she sat there on the ground, momentarily stunned, Ruth noticed the bed creak.

The soldier occupying the bed she’d hit had stood up, and was using his body weight and free arm – the left having been tightly wrapped in a sling – to hold the frantic man down. She heard his deep voice saying something, calm and authoritative, but it seemed to have no effect.

Shaking her head, Ruth returned to action, grabbing both sides of the poor man’s face as her elbows held down his shoulders. Her new assistant was practically straddling the bed, holding the soldier’s legs down with his own as his right arm struggled with the two their patient possessed.

“Listen to me. Listen to me,” Ruth spoke, her voice as sweet as she could make it be. “Everything is fine. You’re alright, soldier. Look at me. Look at me.”

“His name is Danny,” the man behind her said.

“Look at me, Danny,” Ruth continued, caressing the poor man’s face. His skin was so thick with sweat, and hot to the touch. “Danny, listen to me and open your eyes.”

He did so then, wide, frightened pupils staring up at her like she wasn’t there. But she could see them slowly coming back into focus, awareness pulling at the edge of his mind. He was out of danger. Now it was time to bring him home.

“There you are,” she said softly, running her hand over him again. “Everything is fine now, Danny, alright? Everything is fine.”

His breathing slowed, eyes looking about the tent, reacquainting himself with his surroundings. Then they focused back on her.

“Oh God, did I do that to you?”

It was only then that Ruth felt the warmth alongside her eye, the pulsing just above her brow. She doubted the cut was large, but the head always bled the most and longest. There was no doubt in her mind that it looked worse than it was.

“Don’t worry about that, Danny,” she said, attempting a smile. “I’m a nurse. I can handle it, I promise. You just get some rest.”

She stood then, pulling her head scarf from her dark curls.

“You’ll be alright now, Danny,” she heard the other soldier say.

“Thanks, Tommy.”

Ruth watched the other man stand as she bunched up her scarf and raised it to her head.

“Allow me,” he said, hand outreached. She could make out the blisters on his palm. “I’m no doctor, ma’am, but I can see that wound better than you.”

She acquiesced, handing the bunched cloth over rather than make another scene. They had undoubtedly woken up a few of the other soldiers, but they were very good at pretending they weren’t listening.

As the man pressed the cloth against her brow, Ruth got a good look at him. His face was thin with high cheekbones, his hair shaved at the sides like many soldiers hoping to prevent lice, and his eyes…

They were right. She did know ‘the blue-eyed soldier’ by them.

Her hand reached up, grabbing the cloth from him and placing pressure of her own. “You should go back to sleep, soldier. You just got in today, from what I’ve heard.”

He nodded slowly, settling back onto his bed.

“I want to thank you, ma’am,” he said, looking up at her. Most soldiers tended to look away when they spoke, perhaps at their hands or something else just to the left or right of her, but this man looked directly at her, with no hesitation or sign of moving away. “He’s a friend from back home.”

“I should be the one thanking you,” she admitted, never a fan of praise herself. “You’re a good friend to him.”

Now he did look away, to Danny, who had already fallen asleep again.

“I don’t know about that.”

“What’s your name, soldier?” she asked, hoping to avoid him slipping into melancholy as most soldiers were prone to do.

“Sergeant Thomas Shelby, Small Heath Rifles, ma’am.”

“Well, Sergeant Shelby, I’d offer to shake your hand, but my right one is occupied, as is your left one. I’m afraid it would make for an awkward affair.”

He nodded. “So it would, ma’am.”

The rest of the night was blessedly quiet, allowing Ruth to see to the wound she had received. In the morning, the orderlies took away the boy from Cardiff and replaced him with another wounded soldier from some other town nowhere near where they were. She watched the affair quietly, as did Thomas Shelby and his blue eyes.

Before she turned in, Ruth returned to his bedside and held out her right hand.

“I believe I owe you this, Sergeant Shelby.”

There was a ghost of a smile on his face when his hand took hers, his grip strong, callouses like sandpaper against her skin.

That was the first of seven days Ruth Coleman knew Thomas Shelby during the Battle of the Somme.

Seven days was all it took for neither to ever forget about the other.

[captnbarnesrogers]

The 5 Times Harry Styles Was Just Harry

Pairing/Characters: Harry Styles x Reader Warnings: Swearing, angsty-ish, oral sex (FR) Summary: In short, Harry is sweet, friendly, protective, attentive, and loving. Word Count: 4.3k+ A/N: Hope y’all like this!  

Harry Styles likes to consider himself a simple man. Excluding the fact that he’s an internationally known superstar. But he doesn’t really like to take to that label. It shouldn’t be mistaken that he doesn’t love his job because he does. He loves to perfom. There’s nothing more exhilarating to him than to be up on stage, singing his songs and his songs being sung to him right back. He’s grateful. But he is, nevertheless to himself, just Harry. Human.

He walks in the streets of New York City, the cold wind of fall sneaking its way through his jacket, the barely-there-heat of the sunlight striking through his sunglasses. He stops by a nice cafe, almost dimly lit as it always was, and enters it. He stops just in front of the cooler, looking at the options of croissants, muffins, cookies and such. He settles on a blueberry muffin and a latte. He waits in line behind a girl who seems to be scattering her things atop of the counter.

“Sorry, I just- Give me a sec.” He can tell she feels bad although the line behind her wasn’t at all long, it was just him. She sighs and looks down, placing her hand on her forehead, “I think I might’ve left my wallet at home. I’m sorry.” He takes a step in front of her and hands the cash to the cashier. She looks up at the man who’d just paid for her coffee, giving him a stare which could only mean ‘thank you’. He nods as she puts her things back into her bag; a few receipts, a little black book, some pens and her phone.

“Hi Harry.” Cassidy the cashier greets, “Just the usual?”

“Yeah, thanks, mind addin’ a blueberry muffin with tha’?”

“Not at all.” She replies with a smile. The girl, who Harry’s paid a coffee for, waits for him to grab his order. She’s hesitent. Just for a moment though. As he walks out, she chases after him.

“Harry?” The wind blows against her face, making her hair fly just across it. Harry turns around to be met by your soft features.

“Yeah?”

“I just wanted to thank you,” you gestured to your take-away cup, “life savior, you are.”

“S'all good…” Waiting for you to answer with your name.

“Y/N, my name’s Y/N.” You lend out your hand for him to shake, in which he does, “How can I pay you back?” He pauses for a moment and smiles.

“Jus’ don’ forget yeh wallet next time, though, I won’ hold it against yeh if yeh do, I won’ complain.” You giggled and nodded as he walked away.

Harry is sweet.

As soon as you stepped out of your bedroom door, a doe-eyed, Alexis (your college roommate) standing just outside, a smile widely plastered across her almost perfectly tanned face, you knew she needed something. You stared at her questioningly and walked straight past her but as you expected, she followed you like a lost puppy.

“What is it Alexis?” You asked, pouring some over-boiled coffee into an over-used mug.

“So, um one of the frat houses are hosting a party-” When the words left her lips, you laughed.

“What’s new?”

“Well I actually got invited this time.” You raised an eyebrow, asking who had invited her, “Foster Harding…”

“The star quarterback? What is this? A chick flick?” You laughed, sipping at your hot beverage.

“Y/NNNNNN, pleaseeeeee! It’s one party!” Alexis grabbed your arm and shook it. You sighed and walked away.

“I can’t, I have to study for the in-class case study, Lex.”

“C’mon, Y/N, there’s booze, food, boys… and BOOZE.” She hugged you and squeezed you tight, “Pleaseeee, pretty please?” You sighed once more and smiled at her.

“Fine, we need to be back before twelve, okay?” She squealed and jumped around.

“Yes! Okay! You got it!”

By nine o’clock, you were both ready to go. You chose to wear some jeans and an off-shoulder top with some chucks while your roommate decided on a dress and some heels which you knew she would regret later on that night. The frat house, which you both agreed to travel by foot on, was not even ten minutes away, seven minutes if you walked at the slowest pace. The fresh breeze felt so calming against your skin which was only to be ruined by the humid air inside the frat house. Heat and sweat surrounded you both with a touch of extremely loud music. Alexis dragged you through the crowd by hand and led you at the couches by the stairs. Two men stood up when they saw you both emerge from the crowd. One man, with almost angelic features, familiar to you already. He held his hand out for you to shake, the music in the background becoming slow and quieter.

“Y/N, this is Foster and Harry, Harry and Foster, this is Y/N.” You shook both of their hands and smiled at them.

“We actually kno’ each other.” Harry interjects. Alexis’ eyes widen and looks at you.

“Really now?” You nod your head.

“Hi Harry.” You hadn’t noticed before but he had yet to let go of your hand. You pull away softly and smiled at him. He gestured you sit down next to him.

“Well, Foster and I are gonna get some drinks, you guys want some?” Harry lifts his red cup and you shake your head.

“So, how are you?” You ask, making conversation with the curly headed man before you. He nods and smiles, taking a sip from his red cup.

“A’ve been alrigh’, tourin’ an’ stuff is busy, but I finally get a break from it all and get t’visit some mates.”

“That’s good.”

“Wha’ ‘bout you? Been bringin’ yeh wallet around I see.” He points at your purse, dangling from your wrist. You giggle.

“Yep, lesson definitely learned.”

“Do yeh go here?” He once again takes a sip.

“Colombia?” He nods, “Yes, I do.”

“Wha’s it like?”

“It’s good, just normal college stress but other than that, I’m doing pretty well.” From then on, you both couldn’t stop talking but from what you could hear, you were the only one who was talking, and he was listening.

“Okay, I feel like I’ve been conned.” He looks at you with concern in his eyes, “You’ve been listening to me all night and I’ve just been running my mouth, I mean, I don’t even know the first thing about you except that your name is Harry.”

“Wha’ d’yeh wan’ t’kno’? M’an open book.”

“Well, who are you? Other than that guy from One Direction that everyone pawns over.” He laughs, his eyes slightly squinting.

“Everyone pawns ov’a me?” You nod, hand over your mouth to cover a laugh, “Well, i’s a hard question, innit?” He starts to gaze over the now almost empty fraternity lounge. He looks back at you and smiles softly, “I like everythin’ t’be simple, I like coffee in th’mornin’s, m’favourite colours are blue an orange… When m’not workin’ m’prob’ly talkin’ t’Gemma, m’sister, or m’mum.”

“You are a very simple man, Harry Styles.”

“Thanks, I try t’be.” You looked down at your phone, 3:22 AM.

“Shit!” You stood up and looked around for a sign of Alexis who, right now, was nowhere to be seen.

“Wha’s wrong, love?”

“Time slipped away, I don’t know, it went so fast, I have a case study this morning.” You unlocked your phone and began ringing Alexis who failed to answer your call three times, “Alexis is supposed to be coming home with me.”

“She’s prob’ly with Foster.” He gently put his hand on your shoulder to calm you down from your frantic movements, “I could walk yeh home? Could always jus’ find m’way back, yeh live on campus, yea?” You nodded, “C’mon then.” He took you by the hand and let you outside where the air you were met with was cooler than the hours before. You both start walking and Harry notices your hand, rubbing your arms to warm yourself up, “Cold?”

“Just a bit breezy.” You chuckle. He takes off his plain black jacket and covers your shoulders with it, “Oh, thank you.”

“S’not a problem.”

“How long have you known Foster?” You turn to him.

“No’ too long, couple’f years, met him through a friend, he’s a cool kid.” You nodded, “Wha’ ‘bout Alexis? How long’ve yeh known her?”

“We met each other at orientation day and then we were put in the same dorm room, been best friends ever since.” There was a comfortable silence when you walked up the steps of your dorm, “Well, this is me.”

“This is you.” He chuckles, almost nervously if you observed it right.

“Thank you for walking me home.”

“I’s’all good, I really liked talkin’ with yeh, talkin’ so much tha’ yeh forgot wha’ time it was.” You giggled.

“I should go inside.” He gestured to the door.

“Go for it.” You waved him goodbye and began to trek up the stairs to your room. You went to go scratch your shoulder, only to realise that Harry’s jacket was still slung over you. You gasped and began running back down, meeting Harry going down your doorsteps.

“Harry!” You called out, making him turn around.

“Yeah?” You took off his jacket, handing it to him.

“Your jacket.” He looked down at it and smiled.

“Keep it, give it back when I see yeh again.”

“What makes you think that we’ll see each other again?”

“Nothin’, jus’ hopin’ you’ll forget yeh wallet when yeh come by the café tomorrow.” You laughed.

“Okay, ‘til we see again?” He nods and smiles before walking away.

Harry is friendly.

After your final exam, relaxation washes over you. Of course, Alexis suggests that you, Foster, some of Foster’s friends and herself should go out and get drunk to celebrate. An offer you could not refuse after the stressful years’ worth of work and never-ending panic attacks.

You all start the night off at a party in one of the frat houses, aiming to get a little buzzed. When the buzz started, you all left to visit a nearby bar, the aim, by now, to get absolutely plastered. Dimmed lights provided by two lamps behind the bar and fairy lights scattered fashionably against the walls and windows, decorated the almost too-crowded bar. You followed Foster, who was holding Alexis’ hand, towards a table in the corner. You felt a hand graze your backside, making you shift around to be met by Chase and Leo, two of Foster’s friends. They were both seeming to be chatting to each other, so you disregard the feeling bubbling inside you. A loud cheer disrupted your thoughts and as Foster shifted to the side, you were met by Harry’s eyes. The buzzed feeling throughout your body left so suddenly when he smiled at you. Your thoughts were once again disrupted when Chase slipped his hand around your waist, making you flinch and almost lunge forward. You nervously chuckled and pulled away from him to hug Harry.

“Hi!” Almost to cheerfully, you slapped yourself mentally.

“Yeh look good, love.” He comments on your skirt, turtleneck and chucks.

“Thank you.” Chase and Leo suddenly and forcefully move past you to introduce themselves to Harry who gives you a warm smile and them a restless but friendly greeting face. Foster, Chase, and Leo move over to the bar to grab everyone some drinks whilst Alexis goes to the toilet. You sit down and face Harry who couldn’t keep his eyes off of you. He notices your nervous jitters.

“Yeh okay, Y/N? Everythin’ alrigh’?” You nod, “Sure?” You nod again. Chase is the first one back out of the three of them. He places a drink right in front of you and his arm slings across your shoulder. Harry looks at the guy next to you, almost staring him down if you will. He felt uneasy around this guy, he couldn’t imagine how you would’ve felt with his arm around you. Chase pushes the drink towards you which was unusually bubbly.

“Actually, Chase, I’m taking a break for now, I’m feeling a bit sick, thanks though.” You push the drink away from you.

“C’mon, Y/N, don’t be such a party pooper.”

“I’m not,” you take his thumb between your forefinger and thumb and unsling it from your shoulders, “I just don’t want that drink and I can buy drinks for myself.”

“Whatever.” He says, taking a sip of his beer. You smile at Harry who was intently staring at Chase. You tap him with your foot, making him acknowledge your sweet smile. You stand up and walk to the bar. As you wait to be served, Chase appears right beside you, “I just bought you a drink, why don’t you drink that?”

“Not really a fan of vodka sodas.”

“Tell me what you want, I’ll get it for you, just go sit back down.” His smile was sluggish, a sign that he was beginning to be intoxicated. You shook your head.

“I’ll just get my own drink, it’s fine.”

“Why are you being like this, Y/N?” He slams his drink down on the bar top.

“Like what?”

“Rude.” You scoff.

“I’m not being rude, Chase, I just don’t want a fucking vodka soda!” Suddenly his hand was around your waist. He pulls you over to him. His breath smelling like beer and straight whiskey, “Chase, let go of me, you’re drunk.”

“You look so pretty, baby, you’ve been giving me the eyes all night.” Your palms meet his chest trying to push him away, “Come home with me, Y/N, I’ll show you a good time.” He leans forward, his lips puckered, and suddenly he was pushed away from you.

“She said let go, mate.” You hide behind Harry. His eyes were furious when the light at the bar shone on them. You held onto his arm.

“Harry.” You warn softly. You notice the drink Chase had offered you moments ago in his hand, untouched.

“I’d move away if I were you, man, this doesn’t involve you.”

“It does now tha’ you’ve tried t’kiss, m’friend when she clearly doesn’t wan’ anythin’ t’do with yeh.” Chase rolls his eyes and shoves Harry, “Yeh fuckin’ drunk, I suggest yeh go home.”

“Chase, go home.” You say firmly.

“Whatever, you’re a 2 outta 10 prude anyway, Y/N, you’d only be good for a pity fuck.” You feel Harry tense against you which made you squeeze his arm, gesturing that it was okay. Chase leaves, struggling to walk and as soon as he was out of the bar. You let out a big and much-needed breath. Harry turns around and caresses your cheek.

“Are yeh okay, Y/N?” You nod. He calls over a bartender who takes the drink away, “I knew somethin’ was wrong, m’sorry I didn’t tell him t’fuck off earlier.”

“You’re not obliged to.”

“But I wan’ t’.” He engulfs you in a hug, “It’d hurt me if somethin’ happened to yeh, lovey.”

“You’re too sweet, Harry.”

“Nah, I just like yeh an’ I care ‘bout yeh a bunch.” He kisses the top of your head. You pull away and look up at him with a smile.

“You like me?” He rubs the back of his neck and chuckles nervously, “I like you too, Harry.” He leans into you.

“Yeh okay with this?” You nod. He steals a kiss from your lips and smiles into you.

“God, that was good.” You say as you pull away before capturing his lips on yours once again.

“If anyone tries t’do tha’ t’yeh again, I’ll rip em t’shreds.”

“Go for it, tiger.” You laugh, pulling him in for another kiss.

Harry is protective.

It’d been a year after Harry asked you to be his girlfriend when you finally moved in with him. He was so happy when you said yes. You still remember the smile on his face and the way he lifted you up and kissed you all over. It really is true what they say, you don’t know a person until you live with them and up until you moved in with Harry, you thought you knew everything about him. But when you finally got to sleep in the same bed every night he was home, you discovered more things than you bargained for, though you were never regretful of it.

The door opened and your boyfriend, a man who was a sight for sore eyes, walked in and engulfed you into a hug, kissing your temple.

“Wow, you’re feeling extra loving today.” You giggle, placing a kiss on his cheek.

“Wha’? I can’t give m’girl a bit o’ lovin’?” You offered him a cookie which you had made that morning. He opened his mouth and you placed a cookie in between his lips for him to bite. He grabs the cookie as he bites it and compliments your baking, “So, when we first properly met-”

“At Foster’s party?” He hummed in response.

“Well, I ‘ave a surprise for yeh.” From the inside of black trench coat, he produced a brown paper bag. It was all too familiar to you. It had a chirpy bee on the front, waving ‘hello’.

“No way.” You grabbed the paper bag that was dangling in front of you and laughed in surprise when you opened the stapled bag. You pulled out the black and yellow tights and laughed, covering your mouth.

“I remembered yeh talkin’ ‘bout these tights tha’ night so I went on a hunt.” You jumped him and he wrapped his arms around you.

“This is amazing, thank you, Harry.” You pulled away from him, eyes flickering from his eyes to his lips. He caught on so quickly to your innocent little stare and smirked. He captured your lips between his and lifted you up onto the counter. He couldn’t care less about the fact that you squirmed when he touched underneath your thighs, complaining that they were “too big” or you were “too heavy”. He didn’t care. He loved every single inch of you. You felt his breath against your neck, making you laugh due to a ticklish spot, “Harry!” You laughed.

“Am absolutely not sorry.” He smiles against you.

“I know.” He licks a stripe up your neck, making you roll your eyes back. You feel him suck your skin, “Babe, I need to not turn up to my internship like I’ve been attacked by an octopus.”

“Fine, I’ll leave it in places they can’t see.” He trails kisses down your chest, your hands bunched up in his hair as you tremble in his hands. His hands were warm, his mouth pulling away from you as he lifts up your top, throwing it on the floor and going back to his assault down your shivering body. Your legs wrapped around his waist when you leaned back onto the counter, his lips still going down. You panted heavily when he rested his lips just above your pelvic bone. He looked up at you and smiled devilishly before licking his lips and pulling down your pyjama shorts. You inhaled sharply when he kissed your hooded nub before sucking at it. He lays his tongue flat and quickly licks up over and over again. You pulled his hair and cried out when his tongue delved into you, “Harry!” He rubbed your clit with his thumb as he flicked his tongue inside of you, “Oh god, oh fuck, oh fucking- OH MY FUCKING GOD, Har, Har, Har, I’m gonna cum!” His fingers dug into your quivering thighs, you gripped his hair tightly and cried out when you released all over his tongue. You panted and chanted out his name, his hand gripping your breast.

“Yeh so fuckin’ beautiful, pet.” You sat back up and kissed him passionately. He pulls away and whispers an ‘I love you’ against your lips. He bends down and grabs your top, passing it to you which made you look at him quizzingly.

“Don’t you want to?...”

“I ‘ave t’make a very important phone call but best yeh believe if yeh not on the bed an’ ready by the time I get back, tha’ arse will be red raw.” You kissed him once more before he steps out onto the balcony.

Harry is attentive.

Harry couldn’t have forgotten. You’d both been planning it for weeks while you were both in bed, whilst one was yelling out ideas from the shower. Today, there was not one phone call, one tweet, or one text. You couldn’t help but be a little upset. Harry couldn’t have forgotten your birthday. After all, he kept telling you it was the most important event of the year for him, “more important than Christmas an’ New Year’s combined”.

Harry dropped his bag by the door when he came in and sighed. You weren’t in sight and he just wanted to cuddle you. He called out your name but no response. He walked through the lounge room and through the kitchen but no sign of you. He stepped into your shared bedroom and saw you lying down scrolling through your phone. He slipped under the covers with you and wrapped his arms around you but you didn’t acknowledge his existence at all.

“Tried callin’ yeh when I came in, yeh di’n’t answer?” He points out, kissing your shoulder.

“Didn’t hear you.”

“Oh.” Cold. You were so cold towards him, “Tha’s alrigh’”. You kept scrolling through your Instagram, refusing to receive his small and soft touches, “Wha’dya wan f’dinner?”

“You pick.” He pulled away from your warm body and sat up. Confusion flushed upon his face. Had you had a bad day? Had he done something wrong? He did let you know he’d be out early to head to the studio. He couldn’t figure out why you were being so cold towards him. Next thing he knew, you’d thrown the covers off of your body and left the bedroom. He followed you into the kitchen almost instantly and he stood by the arch facing the sink and bit the inside of his lip. You filled the kettle with water and set it down to boil. You began to make your coffee, pulling out the coffee granules, sugar, and milk, only to be gently shoved over by your boyfriend.

“I’ll do tha’” He suggests. You shake your head and grab the mug, mixing everything together. He was so confused. He couldn’t handle it, “Did I do summat? Why yeh so angry at me?”

“I don’t know, Har, did you?”

“M’not a fuckin’ mind reader, lovey.” You sighed and poured the boiling water into the mug. You wanted to cry. He had completely forgotten.

“So much for the most important event of the year, huh?” You retorted, walking away back to the bedroom. He stood there in confusion. His thoughts interrupted by the alarm on his phone probably reminding him to call work or something. As he goes to turn off the alarm, his eyes widen, and he smacks himself.

Be home early to make Y/N’s Birthday Dinner – Don’t forget the Ben & Jerry’s Phish Food!

“Fuck!” He stood in the middle of the kitchen with a realisation; not only did he forget the Phish Food, but he had completely forgotten your birthday.

When you heard the door close, you let out a sob. This was your first major fight, the one that made you cry. You’d had smaller and pettier fights before, but nothing to the point where you had tears in your eyes. You get that he’s been busy and you’re usually super understanding, but you felt unimportant. You had no right, you felt, but you knew he’d think otherwise. Before you knew it, you had slipped into a short nap, tears still flowing out of your eyes.

You were woken up by kisses being pressed on your cheek. He tried to kiss away the marks of streaming tears from your eyes, but you couldn’t help but turn away. He hugged you tightly with the covers in the way.

“M’so sorry, lovey, m’baby love, m’so so sorry.” He whispers between chaste kisses against your neck, “I di’n’t mean t’forget, I promise.” You laid still on your side. There was a large space where you faced, and he used that opportunity to slide into that space and look at you face-to-face. He felt like a failure when he saw the streaks of tears again, “Talk t’me, lovey, please.”

“It’s fine, Haz, I get it, you’re busy, I’m so-”

“Don’t say it, I’m sorry, I forgot, I was payin’ more attention to m’job than m’girl.” He kissed you, smiling softly when you finally kissed him back, “I love yeh, baby love.” He pulled the cover off of your body after he stood up and carried you bridal style to the dining room. Your eyes widened and your covered your mouth as you laughed in surprise. You look up at him and he meets your adoring stare, “S’the least I can do.” He kissed into your hair.

“Thank you.” You whispered as he set you down on the dining chair where you were faced with a candlelit dinner. He walked over to the freezer and pulled out a tub of ice cream, “Phish Food!” You squealed, clapping your hands like a happy child.

“Yeh favourite.” He sat down across from you and looked at you longingly before telling you what was on the menu for tonight, “Carbonara and your favourite cake which we can eat with the ice cream later.”

For the rest of the evening, Harry was nothing short of his charming self. Stolen kisses here and there, soft touches against your thigh.

“I love yeh more than I could eva show, Y/N.” He leaned over and kissed you softly, “But I hope, m’more than enough.”

Harry is loving.

MASTERLIST

PERMANENT TAGLIST:

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[modounbubble]

tagged by @mrslittletall

Rules: bold the statements that apply to you, italicize your aspirations, then tag nine people

Gotta do this before I forget.

AIR

I have small hands (I have the tiniest hand you’d ever seen fr) • I love the night sky • I watch small animals and birds when I see them pass by • I drink herbal tea • I wake to see dawn • The smell of dust is comforting • I’m valued for being wise • I prefer books to music • I meditate • I find joy in learning new truths about the world around me

FIRE

I don’t have straight hair • I like to wear ripped jeans • I play an organized sport • I love dogs • I am not afraid of adventure • I love to talk to strangers • I always try new foods • I enjoy road trips • Summer is my favorite season • My music is always playing

WATER

I wear bracelets on my wrists • I love the bustle of the city • I have more than one set of piercings • I read poetry • I love the sound of a thunderstorm • I want to travel the world • I sleep past midday most days • I love dimly lit diners and fluorescent signs • I re-watch kids’ shows for nostalgia • I see emotions in colors not words

EARTH

I wear glasses or contacts • I enjoy doing the laundry • I am a vegetarian or vegan • I have an excellent sense of time • My humor is very cheerful • I am a valued advisor to my friends • I believe in true love • I love the chill of mountain air • I’m always listening to music • I’m highly trusted by the people in my life

WEATHER

I go without makeup in my daily life • I make my own artwork  • I keep on track of my tasks and time • I always know true north • I see beauty in everything • I can always smell flowers • I smile at everyone I pass by • I always fear history repeating itself • I have recovered from a mental disorder • I can love unconditionally

tag: @heliicon @carthus-flame-arc @tokkil @battleteacake

do as you wish.