#ma'am come get these goddamn plants

[childoferebus]

I'm a simple man if someone tells me they'll be around at 2 to purchase something from me I expect to hear from them at 2

[moremaybank]

BIRTHDAY BOY — j.m

summary you wake jj up on his birthday

warnings unprotected sex, oral sex (m. & f. receiving), fingering, choking (sorta), spitting (squirt into r's mouth), cum-swallowing, creampie, breeding kink, language

author's note i got a request for a jj smut in honour of rudy's birthday so here it is 💪🏽

jj masterlist

You've always considered JJ's birthday to be a holiday. Your favourite holiday, to be exact. You believe that he deserves to have good memories of his birthday. You don't want him to be stuck with the sour recollections of his special days turned disappointing by Luke.

You're wearing a mischievous grin as you tiptoe toward the bed. Your body's clad in JJ's favourite lingerie set, the lace clinging to your soft skin and showing off your curves. You creep onto the mattress, swinging your leg over his lap so you can straddle him. You lean down, your lips brushing against his ear.

"Wake up, birthday boy," you coo as your hands glide up his bare chest.

JJ stirs, a tired groan escaping his lips as he slowly blinks his eyes open. His gaze meets yours, droopy and still sleep-ridden. His eyes trail downward, and his once drowsy expression morphs into a a lust-filled one.

"Goddamn. Look at my girl," he says, his hands grabbing a hold of your bare waist. "What's goin' on?"

"Well...since it's your birthday and all, I was thinking we could have breakfast in bed."

JJ gets the idea when you roll your hips against his, grinding on him slightly. You feel him twitch under your covered core with excitement, and you give him a smirk.

"Then get on your back so I can eat," JJ instructs. He leans up on his elbows, ready to lift you off of him, but you stop him by planting your hand on his naked chest and pushing him back down. He lets out a soft gasp as he lands back onto his pillow, and follows up by giving you a smug grin. "Bossy. I like it."

"It's your birthday, handsome." Your lips etch wet kisses down his chest and torso, and once you reach his happy trail, your tongue darts out and you trace the line up from the hem of his briefs. JJ lets out a hum, slowly getting riled up by your teasing. You peer up at him through your lashes. "You deserve to be spoiled."

You palm him over his underwear, stroking him through the fabric and feeling his already large cock grow in your hand. You know he's getting excited when he starts to gently grind against your hand, craving more friction than you're providing. Normally, you'd push his hips down, make it clear that you're in charge, but today, all you want to do is make him feel good. To treat him and let him blow off some steam.

"You do spoil me, princess."

"Shh," you hush. "Be good for me and I'll suck every last drop of cum out of you, baby."

He chuckles softly, "Yes ma'am."

You tug his briefs down enough to expose his cock, and animated hearts pop out of your eyes as you begin to drool. He's half hard, slightly standing and begging you to bring it into your mouth. You want to swallow him whole, have him bruise the back of your throat as he fucks into you because your mouth is too perfect. Too warm and wet and inviting that he has no choice but to force his cum down your throat over and over.

You shuffle upward slightly, and gather the spit in your mouth before dribbling it all over his cock. Your hand circles his length, jerking him, and your lips come into contact with his throbbing tip. You run it over the wet seam of your lips a few times, humming in content when you taste the pre-cum leaking from him.

"Don't tease, pretty girl. Need you so fucking bad," he pouts, his voice still laced with sleep. His morning voice has always sounded like sex to you, but now, with him at your mercy, his pleading causing your arousal to grow.

"Yeah? How bad, J?" You question, still stroking him as your eyes hold his captive. Your grip tightens and you start to flick your wrist as you jerk and twist him. "Tell me what you want, baby. I'll give it to you. Just wanna hear you say it."

"Open your mouth. Let me fuck that pretty throat of yours. Please."

"Well, since you asked so nicely," you beam, your voice low and sultry. You bring him back to your mouth, your tongue lapping at him as you help him bottom out. He's lodged so deep that your lips are right at his balls.

"F-Fuck, baby girl. Shit."

He bucks his hips, letting himself hit the back of your throat and watching as your eyes well with tears. His hand cradles the back of your head, keeping you in place and cutting off your air supply. He gives a few thrusts before he lets you retract. You come up slowly, hollowing your cheeks and creating a suction-like grip around him. Once you reach the tip, you slip him out with a pop.

JJ swipes a tear from your cheek. "Look so pretty when you're crying from my cock. Go ahead. Make me cum, sweetheart."

You smile with a nod, before eagerly bringing him back into your mouth. It isn't long before your head is bobbing up and down with determination, and your tongue slithers around him, dragging up and down the thick vein on the underside of his length.

"More. Gimme more," he demands breathlessly.

You do as you're told, sucking with more pressure and slurping his cock up like it’s ice cream that’s dripping down the cone. Your tongue swirls at his tip, teases his leaking slit. Your hands massage his balls and squeeze his thighs as you take him all the way.

JJ’s pleasure skyrockets, and his legs are starting to writhe around as you keep up your work on him. He keeps thrusting into your mouth, and soon enough, he ends up holding your head there while he fucks your throat just like you wished he would.

“Shit, gag for me, princess. Gonna fucking cum,” he grits out as his pleasure crests. He tips over the edge when your throat closes around him slightly, and you hum around him, sending addicting vibrations throughout his body. “Yes. Fuckfuckfuck.”

He finally releases you, and you slowly come up, careful not to waste a single drop of his cum as you withdraw from him. You swallow it all, opening your mouth wide to show him that you savoured his seed. He grins, and his hand then wraps around your throat, pulling you up for a deep kiss.

“Thank you,” he mumbles against your swollen lips. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

“You can thank me by using me any way you like, handsome,” you say, threading a hand through his hair as he starts to nip at the skin of your neck. Your eyes flutter shut and you give him more access, feeling your core throb with need every time his mouth comes into contact with your flesh. You’re sure he’s leaving his mark on you, a silent thank you for his euphoric wake-up even though he verbally expressed his gratitude to you multiple times.

“Let me eat you out,” he murmurs into your collarbone.

“J, this is supposed to be about you. For you.”

“This is for me.” He flips you onto your back and towers over you. “Now spread your legs.”

You blush, opening your legs for him. The fabric hiding you from him is so thin, so lacy that he can still see most of you. His thumb swipes over your entrance and his mouth waters at how wet you are.

“Always so soaked after sucking me off, huh?”

He nudges you, hooking his fingers into your panties and signifying you to lift your hips for him. He drags the flimsy underwear down your smooth legs, and tosses them over his shoulder. His thumbs spread you wide, letting him get a good look at your dripping core. You smell so sweet, he contemplates just ditching all of his life plans so he can eat you out for the rest of his days.

“Love this pussy,” he muses, eyes dancing as he finally lets himself have a taste. His lips adorn your pussy with kisses and small, teasing licks that drive you insane. He’s kissing it the way he kisses you, passionately and bleeding with love. It’s also dripping with excitement and eagerness, his only dream in this moment to make you cum so hard you see stars.

You prop yourself up on your elbows, letting tousle his hair away from his eyes. He’s looking up at you as he shakes his head from left to right and stimulating your clit. He halts, moving to wrap his lips around it and suck on it.

Your thighs are already squeezing his head, and your moving around so much that his hands hook around your thighs so he can hold you right against his mouth. His tongue dips down and plunged into your entrance as he now fucks you with his mouth. Your own hand finds your clit, rubbing at it in time with the thrusts of his tongue.

“J, oh my god. Fuck,” you whine. “Feels so fucking good.”

He swaps his tongue for his middle and ring fingers, letting them curl into you and prod at that special spot inside you. He seats your hand away and his mouth returns back to your clit after tonguing through your folds. You collapse onto the mattress as he overpowers you. His fingers punt into you harshly, making your legs shake.

“Right there. Don’t stop!” you call out.

JJ doesn’t let up, and your orgasm crashes into you harshly, as you shake and twitch almost violently. Your gasping for air but JJ continues to finger you through it, making you squirt over and over again as you ride it out. Then, when he removes his fingers for you, he leans up grabs you by the jaw and spits the pool of your release into your mouth. He watches as you swallow, doing what he wants and making him proud.

“You taste good, don’t you, baby?” You nod as he stuffs your mouth with his cum-soaked fingers. “This has to be my best birthday ever.”

You beam at him. “Let me ride you, J.”

He reverts to his original position against his pillows and motions you over with his index finger. “Get over here, then, pretty girl.”

You crawl up his body and plop yourself up on his lap. His hands smooth down your curves and rest on your hips as your hand circles his length once again to guide him inside you. You both let out simultaneous gasps when he slips into your slick hole, engulfing him in your heat. You sit down fully, feeling his tip nudge at your cervix once he’s all the way inside you.

"So damn tight, baby. Squeezin' me like there's no tomorrow," JJ groans. "Start bouncin' for me."

His strong hold helps you follow his command, and your hands brace on the tops of his shoulders while you start to fuck him. Your nails claw at his chest, leaving jagged red lines as you let go of your restraint and take what you want from him. You're already breathless, feeling a burn in your legs as you continue to ride him. You're so wet that he slips out of you, and a whine emits from your lips at the loss of his cock. JJ helps you by slipping himself back inside, pulling you closer to your chest is flush to his greedy mouth.

"Hold on tight, baby. I can't take it easy on you," he rasps, his arms now fully wrapping around your frame. He holds you still and fucks up into you harshly as you cry out.

"Fuck me harder, J. Cum for me, give me your babies," you beg. A string of pleases fall from your lips as your hands grip onto the headboard in front of you. Your hands grow sore from how tight you're holding on, but JJ's electrifying thrusts have you struggling to feel it, or even care.

JJ moves his head to one of your tits, letting his tongue flick at your nipple before sucking on it. His teeth graze over your swollen bud, and one of your hands release the headboard to hold his head. You scratch at his scalp lightly and pull at his blonde strands as his pelvis smacks into yours. His mouth releases you, watching the pornographic view of your tits bouncing in his face for a few moments before he repeats his earlier actions to your other breast.

Your head falls back and your arms wrap around JJ's neck, calling out his name. You're nearing another high and JJ can tell by the way your walls are starting to clamp down on him as they try to milk him for all he's worth.

One of JJ's hands move to grip you by the neck. "Beg me for my cum again. Beg me to fill you up."

"Please. Cum for me, baby. Cum inside me and fill me up. Get me pregnant."

"Yeah?" He taunts, fucking into you with no remorse. "You want my fucking babies?"

"Yes! God yes!"

JJ's balls tighten and he twitches deep within you, kick-starting your own orgasm. You feel the warm goodness of his cum shooting into you, followed by the euphoria of your breath-snatching release. It hits you in strong waves, almost knocking you out with its force. His thrusts are still unrelenting, making sure he fucks his cum deep enough to breed you and grant your wish. "Take all this fucking cum, mama. All of it."

"J," you whimper at the overstimulation. He pulls you down to kiss you again, and his hips finally start to slow as he swallows your cries. He pulls away, one hand smoothing your hair from your face. Then, his thumb pushes into your mouth.

"Best fuckin' birthday ever. I'm gonna breed you all fuckin' day, princess. No way we're leaving this bed."

[hum-suffer]

I'm yours

Ishan is a hopeless romantic. In the sense that his romantic interests never let him hope.

The most recent person that he has been head over heels for is going to give a seminar in their college and he's Ishan's favourite.

Ishan is the head of the Cultural and Intellectual Committee and as such, he's in charge of almost all the extracurricular events that take place in the college. He's always had such bloody issues with 90% of the guests and speakers for being unprepared or late that these days he just assumes that the guests will be late, but hopefully not too late.

Which, brings him back to his current romantic interest— Shubhman Gill.

The man has been guest speaker in their college twice by now, third time monday, and he has never disappointed Ishan. He's always on time, he's always perfectly dressed, and he always emails Ishan his speech and let's Ishan point out details that he would humbly request to add or remove. Ishan could have kissed him for being a half decent human being the very first time he did that.

Plus, the college being the Techno faculty, the super famous technological prodigy of India coming as a guest speaker, Shubhman sometimes gets assaulted with too many questions and people and sometimes with no good interactive audience at all and yet, he smiles and talks to the teachers afterwards.

The first time Shubhman talked to him, Ishan had been putting away the gifts Shubhman received so that the man could take them on his bike without damaging the Tulsi plant.

(And that was another thing. A famous and important personality coming on his fucking bike? Ishan drooled a little bit when he heard Shubhman softly ask Ritika ma'am for a place to keep his helmet at.)

"Thank you for inviting me," Shubhman told him in a bashful way, an embarrassed blush on his cheeks.

Inexplicably, Ishan wanted to bite those cheeks. He held himself in chem and smiled back,"Thank you for coming, Mr. Gill. You've been a pleasure to work with."

"Please, it's Shubhman! And honestly, I had fun coming here as well. I hear you're the organiser of the event; it's amazingly done, I must say. Your management is impeccable."

So what if Ishan let the praise get to his head? So what if he stalked Shubhman on Instagram later? They had exchanged numbers—for future seminars, Shubhman had explained, much to Ishan's misfortune— and Ishan was entitled to be a little over his head for once!

The second time they talked, was when Ishan congratulated Shubhman on his award as the leading influencer of social media. The third time was when Shubhman wished Ishan on his birthday. The fourth was when Ishan had to invite Shubhman for ALASKA organisation's collab with their college and his presence as a guest judge.

Shubhman had sought him out again.

"I had a lot of fun," he said with that damnable smile of his,"thank you for inviting me again, Ishan."

Ishan shook his head,"Thank you for coming, man. Honestly, your way of interaction makes learning more interesting for the students. And, well, throws me some points to become the favourite teacher of the year."

Shubhman laughed, a sound that Ishan wanted to get drunk on for the rest of his goddamn life. "You have those competitions?"

Ishan looked around dramatically and leaned towards Shubhman, as of telling a secret. Shubhman, that perfect man, leaned forward as well, looking completely serious about this so called secret.

Ishan reached on his tip toes to whisper,"The students do that in their classes on Teachers' day. If they do it publically, they have to give the best teacher paper crown to teachers senior than me. So, a private award for me to take."

Somewhere in the background, something huge fell and Ishan startled badly enough to almost stumble but Shubhman caught him by the arm and grinned,"Cheers to the best teacher, then. What's the other activities you planned amazingly?"

And that's how Shubhman had ended up getting VIP passes to see the Darshan Raval concert that had been arranged.

Virat bhaiya had raised an eyebrow at Ishan showing Shubhman around the campus while they prepared for the concert lightings and all, but hadn't said anything. Ishan was so thankful.

They haven't talked in the four months after Ishan wished Shubhman a happy birthday.

____________________________________________________

So, in short, Ishan is a hopeless romantic. He turns every little gesture into a gesture of love and he has many one sided love stories that live rent free in his head.

He would have romantisized this as well, to be honest, if he wasn't confused as fuck.

He's been home for all of five minutes after a damn long day— it's exam season— and all he wants to do is flop on his bed and sleep for the next four weeks. A text pops up on his phone, from an unknown number.

'Are you tired, love? Anything I can do to help?'

Ishan frowns. None of his friends changed their numbers recently and moreover, none of them use nicknames. Can't be a student, no student of his would dare disrespect him. He may be lenient most of the time, but he's tempered enough to break their audacity on the very first lecture.

'Who is this?'

The reply came instantly. 'Your admirer? Your worshipper? Your fan?' a second passed as Ishan gawked at the message. Another message dropped. 'Whatever I am, I'm yours.'

Well, damn. Someone's smooth.

'Thank you for your kind words, but I prefer not to own people. It's illegal yk?' Ishan feels like an idiot as soon as he sends the text but he can't do anything because it's seen immediately. The person on the other side must be bloody stuck to their chat.

They send a few laughing emojis. 'I could turn the world around for you to be mine, though.'

Goddamn.

Ishan leaves the message on seen as he types the unknown number on Truecaller, but there's no registered name under the number.

He's about to leave and go freshen up when another message pops up.

'Searching for me on Truecaller will result to nothing, love.'

Ishan leaves the message on delivered as he looks around himself, his big house feeling emptier by the second. He blocks the number, somehow feeling a weird mix of anticipation and trepidation. He takes a fortifying breath and nods to himself, throwing his phone on the dinning table on his way to his bed room.

He tries to get the message out of his head as he looks for another YouTube video to see while eating his dinner.

'Do you know that blocking someone in the middle of the conversation is rude, Ishan?' the pop up message reads.

'Fuck off.'

____________________________________________________

There's a swarm of notifications going off and that's how Ishan wakes up at the ungodly hour of 2:34 am.

He blindly reaches for his phone, the brightness will kill him he's sure, but somehow manages to read the notifications with squinted eyes.

It's an annual Spotify subscription? What the fuck?

He scrambles to sit up and turns on the lamp, trying to focus more. The bloody notifications are an absolute onslaught to his ears. He even has an email announcing his annual Spotify premium account but there's no SMS of deduction from his account. What even—

Before he can start to plan a schedule to go to the bank tomorrow and also somehow plan a call to the customer service of Spotify, another message from that unknown number pops up.

'Happy belated Birthday, Ishan. Sorry I couldn't get you any actual gifts this time, I'll do better next time.'

Next bloody time?

'There won't be a bloody next time. Don't interfere in my life again. And cancel this bloody premium, i don't need it.'

And he lies.

He does need the premium for when he pulls all nighters and for when he drives to and fro to college. He needs it because he needs someone to talk and listen when he wants to be awake and podcasts are the only way that happens lately when he's off work.

Yes, he has a horrid social life— as a professor often does. All his friends are his colleagues. His family usually knows that he pulls insane hours and they only call at weekends.

'Don't reject it, pls' the message comes, as Ishan ponders his lonely life. When was the last time he enjoyed his life thoroughly? Another message pops up. 'Look, I just want to do something nice for you, okay? Leave it be, it's not your money thats costing you and I've got plenty of money to spend on my dear ones, with god's grace.'

Ishan doesn't know what to reply and he is incensed at himself for it. What the fuck? Ishan has never been greedy or wanted what he couldn't have. This random person suddenly gifts him a Spotify premium, Ishan contemplates his life and he hesitates in doing the right thing?

'Pls Ishan?'

Oh god, he can hear the puppy eyes. He turns off his internet and throws the phone on the bed. Somehow, Ishan manages to sleep.

____________________________________________________

The next morning, it's thankfully Saturday. His Saturdays go great almost always.

His hand itches to listen to his Spotify playlist he's made specifically for travel, but he doesn't want to use a stranger's gift. The stranger might know him and do it out of good of his heart or whatever, but Ishan, in all good conscience cannot use someone for their money.

As he absentmindedly drinks his evening tea, Ishan contemplates any tasks he has for the next day— grocery shopping, getting a haircut, finding a plumber to fix that minor leakage in his kitchen tap. It's gonna be a long day.

"Ishan!" He blinks up like a deer in highlights as he's startled by Rohit bhaiya. "What are you thinking?"

"Kuch nahi, bhaiya," he says and grins when Rohit bhaiya puts his hand on his shoulder. Ishan has always been a fan of skinship, and while Virat bhaiya being touchy is normal and comforting, Rohit bhaiya being touchy is rewarding and privileged. "Aap batao, how was your day?"

He groans in reply,"Puchh mat, Bhai. These B.Com students look innocent but they're so not! Apparently some kids sold around a paper of Accounts saying it's a leaked paper but it wasn't and making it clear to the students as well the board members? Hell. Why did I even accept to be the Secretary there when I'm Dean here too?"

Ishan laughs,"Because you love Virat bhaiya and lost a bet?"

"Shh, don't speak about it where students can hear you!"

Ishan laughs again. Feeling happy is a natural state of his when he's around his colleagues, they're all so good to him. It's what makes him stay in the college despite him getting offers from a lot of colleges in bigger cities. He's never gonna get the same affection anywhere else and he's ready to face some separation with his family while he works here. He's already made it clear that they're gonna come love with after his father finally retires.

"Accha, tell me what is the status of overmorrow's seminar?"

The one where his celebrity crush is going to be the main speaker?

"Spectacular. I've done everything, bas I'll get the flowers and the gift watch and everything else is set. Bhaiya bas Monday ko maachis dhundhni na pade, haa?"

It happens almost every damn time. It'd be ten minutes from arrival time of the guest and Ishan would tell some student to get the matchsticks for the auspicious diya lighting and no one would find the matchsticks. With everyone else, it's fine, but Shubhman? He's a punctual man, running around like headless chicken in front of him is not how he wants to establish himself and his students.

Rohit bhaiya nods understandingly. "Pakka. Varna ye apna hai na vo, usse lighter le ke candle light karke de Dena."

Ishan shakes his head at the confusing slang Rohit bhaiya uses. Amar, one of his students, has a smoking habit and hence carries around a lighter. The idiot always saves himself by offering his lighter at times when lighting something was necessary.

"Thik. Anyways, I'm going home, bhaiya. Anything left for me to do?"

Rohit bhaiya shakes his head with a grin and lets him go.

Its almost reflex when Ishan puts his earphones in and starts Chhaiya Chhaiya.

The bloody quality makes him blink and straighten up. And oh. Yeah, he's using premium.

Even as he feels a little guilty, his head bops to the beat as he drives back home.

____________________________________________________

When Ishan comes back home again, his garden looks different.

He's convinced that it's because he's not inspecting it properly so he crouches down and cranes his neck to look at the grass and some flower plants he has. He can't put his finger on it, but it's different.

He glances around the rest of his garden and that's when it catches his eye— the mower. And the pile of grass beside.

Someone fucking mowed his garden? And somehow, to the exact way he likes it.

And then, he hears the start of a two-wheeler, and before he's even out of the gate, the person has turned the corner and all Ishan can see is the shade of their taillight on the trees.

Ishan hightails it inside his house and checks it all over.

No lock broken, no thing stolen and no money moved. Everything is as it was when he left in the morning.

His phone pings with another message.

'Sorry to leave like that, ik it was obnoxious'

'how'd you like your garden tho? Did I do well?'

And. Ishan is a weak man, okay?

He knows this is wrong, he knows he has a stalker probably, and someone with probably deep issues, but. He bloody can't accept such big help without saying anything in gratitude, okay? He's weak.

'Its fine, tho I'd like to meet you someday' what the fuck is he saying. He wants to meet a probable sociopath?

'And thanks for the garden. You've done it perfectly and it's a great help. Thank you' there. He's been polite.

Another message comes. 'I think you'll enjoy our meeting a lot, love. And your welcome'

No other messages pop up throughout the evening.

Ishan denies to even himself that he checks his phone every five minutes for the stranger.

He's intrigued, he says to himself when he goes to sleep.

____________________________________________________

Tagging: @mayakimayahai @onthecloudseven @ek-ladki-bheegi-bhagi-si @kyayaarkiraa @fortunatelycrazyyouth @khwxbeeda @ispeakmorelanguagesthanyou @ishkrisq

[murdock-barnes]

YES, MA'AM

Sub!Bucky x Fem!Reader

Summary: Bucky came home to his girlfriend -you- from a mission. It's been hard on him. He feels the need to give up his control and completely surrender to you.

Warnings: smut, unprotected p in v, oral(female and male receiving), hand job, edging, slight degradation

Word Count: 2,5K

A/N: Sub!Bucky MY BOO🥺 One of my besties requested a Sub!Bucky fic so I hope you enjoy this J, ily❤️ I hope everyone who reads this enjoys it. Please let me know what you think😍

18+ MINORS DNI

It was a slow and quiet day for you. All your work was done, and you were just sluggishly laying on the couch reading a book. The silence was broken by Bucky who stumbled into the house. He was just coming back from a 5-day mission. He looked disheveled. His stubble, well, wasn't stubble anymore. His hair was messy as well as his clothes. However, these were not the things that concerned you, it was the wild look in his eyes. He looked calm and feral at the same time.

He was by the door taking off his combat boots. You slowly walked up to him and leaned onto the wall. "Hey, Bucky!" you said compassionately. He didn't reply but turned towards you. He gazed deeply into your eyes before basically throwing himself at you. You caught him in a tight hug and he buried his head into your neck inhaling your skin.

Sometimes, missions would be hard on him and he would be a wreck once he returned home. However, he knew he was safe here in your arms. He let himself feel everything and he liked surrendering to you. He kissed your neck and lifted his head to meet your eyes. He looked tired and troubled but there was a hint of a peaceful smile on his beautiful face. "Missed you lots, doll... I thought about you every goddamn second."

"I missed you too Bucky but now that you came back to me I'm the happiest girl on earth." You leaned in and your lips met with his. First, the kiss was slow and kind, then it became more... something hungry and needy. Bucky pushed you to the wall without breaking the kiss. When his erection brushed your stomach, he let out a pathetic whimper which made you break the kiss and examine his face. It was like there was something he was keeping from you. You took in his soft frown and darkened eyes. Suddenly, you knew what he tried to keep hidden.

"Bucky, do you want me to take care of you?" You said softly as you caressed his cheek.

He sighed giving in to your touch "Yes. I need you so bad, doll."

"Doll?" The patronizing change in your voice faltered his breaths.

"Sorry, ma'am." He muttered with a slight flush on his cheeks. You loved it when he was in charge but you also loved having the authority and seeing him all flustered like this.

"Come with me." You held his hand and led him to the bathroom. You turned the shower head on. Bucky was silently waiting. You took off his vest which probably had a billion secret knives hidden somewhere so it was heavy. You carefully put it aside. As you removed his black t-shirt, you saw two symmetrical cuts on the right side of his chest.

You sharply inhaled "Bucky, what happened?"

He saw the concerned look on your face. "It's nothing. Look, it already healed." Indeed, the cut seemed red but healed well thanks to the serum in his veins. You put your hand on his metal arm and lightly caressed it. You leaned in and planted a kiss on the wound. When you peppered kisses on the place where his shoulder meets with his metal arm, Bucky's breath came short.

You reached to his pants, calmly unbuttoning and unzipping them. You slid the pants down and Bucky stepped out of it. His hard-on was very visible through his boxers now.

"Bucky, you need to calm down a little until I clean you up, huh?" You gently pulled down his boxers and his erection sprung free. You looked up and smirked at him. While you removed your clothes hastily, he obediently waited without moving a finger. Once you're naked, you took him to get in the shower with you. The warm water hit Bucky's skin causing an instant relief. You turned him around and reached for the shampoo bottle. After you poured some in your hand and smeared it, you started shampooing his hair. As you massaged his scalp, Bucky closed his eyes and hummed. All the chaos of his fights was left behind. He was home now. He was safe.

When you finished washing his hair, you reached for the loofah and poured some cedar shower gel on it. You started cleaning his back and shoulders, then turned him around. He looked at you with puppy eyes as you cleaned his chest. His breathing got quicker as you reached down his abs. You skipped his crotch and kneeled to properly clean his legs. You knew the thoughts this position would birth in his head so you lifted your gaze and looked up at him between your lashes. His eyes locked into yours and he exhaled harshly, also letting out a tiny whine. His now rock-hard cock was right before your face. You planted a small kiss on the tip and his whole body jerked. You laughed at his response and straightened up once you cleaned his crotch.

After you two finished showering, you dried Bucky and yourself. When you finally made it to the bedroom, Bucky thought he would die if he spent another moment without touching you. He put his hand on your waist yet you smacked it away.

"On your knees!" You commanded and he complied immediately.

"Good boy!" You came closer and grabbed his hair pushing his head to your core. "Go ahead, beg! Beg to taste me!"

"Please, ma'am. Let me taste you, I'll make you feel so good. I promise. Please... please! I need to taste you! Please, let me!"

You smiled proudly "Okay, go on then!"

He parted your folds with his tongue, then sucked on your clit. Your hips jerked to his mouth. His hands came up to grab your thighs but you pushed them away "No touching, silly boy!"

It didn't take long for him to lose himself in you. He ate you out like a man starved. He missed this; his head between your thighs and your taste on his tongue. Your whole body shook when his teeth slightly scraped your clit. His tongue slid inside you and you couldn't help but moan at the delightful pleasure. You could feel your orgasm coming closer so you pushed his head even harder to your core. His nose rubbed your clit as his tongue worked inside you. He work you up and up until you snapped and came hard on his face. You held on to his hair tight as your whole body trembled with the power of your orgasm. You pushed his head away and he looked at you with pure lust and need in his eyes.

"On the bed. Now!" you raised your voice and in a second he was laying on his back on the bed. You crawled on top of him and held his wrists. "Keep them there, or else I won't let you cum." you said as you pushed his arms above his head.

"Yes," he breathed out.

You grabbed his jaw firmly "Yes, what?"

Obedience and submission radiated from his eyes. "Yes, ma'am!"

"Mhm, good!" You muttered as you leaned in and kissed his lips, then released his jaw. You planted kisses from Bucky's neck to his chest. When you bit and sucked on his nipple, he grunted and bucked his hips towards you. You chuckled as you made your way down on his abs and licked them. Bucky's breaths were short and fast.

You positioned yourself in between his legs and reached to his cock; red, pulsing, and in need of your help. You saw the visible vein underside and licked it all the way. He released a loud moan lifting his hips. You reached and grabbed his dick. You slowly stroked it and smeared the precum with your thumb.

Your body leaned forward and you pushed your fingers into his mouth. Bucky sucked on your fingers as you kept stroking him lazily with your other hand.

"Such a pretty boy. Such a good boy. So good for me!"

Bucky hummed around your fingers. You pulled them away and rubbed his sensitive tip with the help of his saliva. He was writhing under your touch. You kept stroking and squeezing his cock. He bucked up his hips releasing the most delicious and pathetic moans. You moved your head down and took his length in your mouth. Just the tip though. Your hands kept their movement of stroking. He was a mess under you. He was lost in the feeling of your warm and soft tongue. When you sucked suddenly, his hand flew to your hair grabbing it. You swiftly pulled your head away.

"I said 'no touching', didn't I? Are you too dumb to understand?" You yelled furiously. His eyes were glassy and filled with guilt. "Stupid boy can't even fulfill the simplest command. What are you even good for, huh?"

Bucky whimpered "I'm sorry... So sorry ma'am. Please forgive me, please!"

Your mean laugh reached his ears "I think I won't be so harsh on you tonight. I'm feeling generous."

He looked at you with compassion "Thank you, ma'am! Thank you... I'm sorry!"

You smiled and took his length in your hands again, stroking ferociously. His whole body was reacting to you but he kept his hands up his head this time. As you kept jerking him off, you saw his body get tense. His eyes were shut closed, his breaths quicker.

"Buck! Eyes on me!" You commanded and his eyes met yours in a second.

"I'm gonna... cum! Ma'am, please!" He whined helplessly. You only stroked him faster. He made that specific grunt you knew he makes when he's about to cum, and you pulled your hands away. His hips jerked up, searching for your touch. He whined loudly at the loss of contact. He looked at you, out of breath and with a sad frown.

"Aww, it's so cute that you really thought I'd let you cum!" When he released a frustrated whine, you laughed in response. "That's what you get for being a greedy bitch... Bad, bad boy!"

You reached and scraped his chest down with your nails. He hissed at the contact.

"Please, I'm sorry! I need this. I need you, ma'am. Please forgive me!"

You smiled and reached for his cock. Even the smallest touch sent shock waves through Bucky's body, he was so sensitive. You brushed his red, swollen tip as you stroked, he cried out vulgarly. There were tears in his eyes. You knew he was close and you loved toying with him like this. A smile crept up to your lips, right as he was about to come. Yet again, you pulled your hands away. Bucky howled loudly and the tears were streaming down his cheeks now.

He kept whimpering and chanting weakly "Please. Please... Please!"

"Mhm... My poor baby... so desperate to cum." You leaned and kissed his tears away.

"Will you be good, Bucky?"

"Yeah. Yes, ma'am." His voice cracked at the end. You left your spot between his parted legs and crawled onto him aligning your pussy with his cock. You guided him to your drenched heat and slid inside. His eyes rolled back in his head, too lost in pleasure. You sank down, taking him in all the way. The delicious stretch made you release a moan.

"Wait... wait please!" Bucky blurted out breathily. The feeling of your walls wrapping him tightly was almost too much.

"What happened baby?" You asked worriedly.

"Just give me a second... I'm trying not to cum." You laughed but a part of you wanted to be mean and clench your pussy. However, you thought he suffered enough. You waited patiently and without moving.

"Okay, I'm good." He said and you started moving your hips. First, you rocked front and back to give him more time to relax. It made you feel so good, his thick length filling you exquisitely.

You lifted your hips almost all the way, then sank back down. His grunts mixed with yours. You rode him in the perfect rhythm. He lifted his hips to meet with you and said "Can I touch you, ma'am? Please!"

You nodded and then, his hands were grabbing your hips. You shivered with the contact of his cold metal hand. His grip was tight and pulled your hips down harder while he met them with his hips. Your moans filled the whole room while he rutted in you and you rode him.

He sat straight up and took one of your nipples into his mouth. You pushed your chest out with a cry. You held onto his shoulders as you two kept fucking. The bed was squeaking under you and you were sure that you woke all the neighbors up. You didn't give a fuck at all. You just threw your head back and kept riding his cock.

"I'm gonna... come. Please!" He murmured to your chest as he continued kissing and nibbling.

"No! Hold it!" You said and he released a guttural, almost pained whine. You were getting closer with each thrust. He was trying so hard not to cum that his whole body was strained. He was biting your nipples now. You couldn't handle it anymore.

"Cum with me, Bucky! Go ahead, fill me up, baby!" You said and your words finished him. He howled as he spilled into you and at that moment you came around his cock. You hugged him tight as your body shook endlessly. You could feel his warm cum leaking out of you. He was breathing hard and whining under you. He held your body strongly in his arms.

You lifted your head and grabbed his face with both hands. You kissed his forehead, his nose, his cheeks, his jaw, and his lips. "You did so well. I'm so proud of you, my perfect boy!"

He looked up at you and smiled sheepishly. A small thank you left his lips, his cheeks flushed red.

You pushed him down to lay and got up with a grunt. He watched you with bliss in his features. You went to the bathroom, cleaned yourself, and peed. After you're done, you dampened a washcloth. You went back to the bedroom and Bucky was still laying on his back, and his hands were behind his head displaying all of his glorious body. He smiled at you as you cleaned him. You, then, threw the cloth aside and climbed onto the bed, taking him in your arms. When you're comfortably cuddled, Bucky said "Thank you, doll. I really needed that!"

You kissed his temple gently. He continued to speak "Honestly, I don't know what I would do without you. You're the best thing that has ever happened to me." He toyed with your fingers. " You're my everything. I love you so much! Thank you for taking care of me like this." His genuine words made your heart swell.

"You don't need to thank me, baby. I'd do anything for you. I'd give you anything you want, Bucky. Anything you need. I love you to the moon and back."

You peppered kisses on his cheek. Here in your arms, he was at peace. He belonged to someone, to you. He was free of the pain that is his past. Finally, he was truly happy. He snuggled in your arms and closed his eyes slowly drifting into a peaceful sleep.

[imeternallylove]

Satisfied - Jason Kolchek

Jason Kolchek x Reader

genre: both angst, and fluff (you know me well) imply of lemon!

warning: cursing word

words: 1.1k

prompts: x

61. Shut up. Kiss me now.

76. So, you jealous?

(gif belongs to me)

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You awoke to the sound of someone shifting alongside you and the lack of body heat. You grumbled in frustration and stretched out for the missing individual, only to snag a limb that easily drew away from you.

"I need to train," Jason mumbled. "Shut up, beb. This is our Sunday!" You confronted him with a dramatic complaint. You cherished his natural features as he just woke up, but no matter what time of day it was since this man was always handsome.

Jason Kolchek, who is about to turn 36, is making you passionate and irritated at the same time. You even liked how his blasted dimple was visible when he was staring intently at your disheveled hair and frowning face.

Yes, exactly! Your whole naked body. As well.

Jason is still getting dressed. “And?” You reached out and grabbed his arm, dragging him with your arm power alone. It didn't even bring him any closer to you, but it also didn't bring him any further away, so you kept chatting to him. "You are the most hopeless romantic I. Have. Ever. Dated! I want you to stay here with me! Cuddle me and we can have breakfast together! Whatever, I mean we could kiss all day and-” Your Marine cut you off with a kiss. You took advantage of this quick opportunity to draw him closer, but he was so strong. He stroked your cheek with his palm and smiled, a foolish tiny smile. "Later, sweetheart."

As your boyfriend went away, you groaned. He left you alone to eat breakfast and cuddle a stupid pillow, and absolutely not kiss anyone. This wasn't how Sunday mornings were meant to be; You and Jason should be laying or tangled together. He was busy being the new shape as a Marine coach at the boot camp five years ago, following the Iraq war. He told you again and over that he would stay in on Sundays, but something always came up, something you despised.

While the door closes, you grunt as you rush out of bed. He had left you and your house, again. As you wrapped the towel over your nude body, you imitated in his thickie-southern tone in the mirror, "I need to train." You sulked and patted your firm ass; pointing at it. "Train my ass."

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On this ridiculous morning, you pondered earnestly whether Jason was cheating on you. It was a last resort, though, because he always left you alone on purported leisurely Sundays. You didn't want to ask him because if he was, he wouldn't say anything, and if he wasn't, he'd say exactly the same Goddamn thing. Plus, you couldn't take your mind off the other women he knew. You walked to the shower, talking to yourself about an unspoken love story between him and his previous coworker, his first love. It's Betty.

You begin your dull day without Jason with your first iPhone and YouTube. You had started crying and had ended up on the shower floor with water streaming down your back as a result of your efforts.

His change causes you entirely troubled. This only triggered a new wave of tears in your body. There was also the actual worry. You didn't ask since you were also terrified. Any good girlfriend would put her faith in her man. You wished for it, nevertheless. You were eager to find out.

You spent the day in the bedroom, which was unusual given the variety of activities available in the new home both of you had purchased. All you wanted to do was wait for him. You simply desired for Jason to come back here and hold you.

Jason just plant his little kiss on your fore and then went directly to the shower when he returned. You were still awake, almost midnight, burying your sorrows in food and television. He strolled past you in the bedroom when he came out, but it didn't stop him from conversing with you. "Miss you, ma'am." He added. "I missed you all this fucking day."

You let out a sigh and wiped a tear from your face. “Oh?” You sobbed, hoping he wouldn't notice, but yet hoping he would so you wouldn't have to bring it up on your own. "Yes, Betny called to check how you were!" He was getting ready in the next room. Hearing Betty's name with his lips; slammed through your fragile heart like a bulky hammer.

"I'm alright," you claimed, tears streaming down your cheeks. "Everything is fine." You cleaned them up when he came in.

"How are you, princess? Hey, did you get hurt?" You scoffed, oblivious to the fact that you were raising your voice at him. “Nope. What happened to 'Betny'? Did she make your bedside brunch with a coupling today?"

Jason was startled by that. "Y/N. What were you sayin?"

"I mean, if you were truly training, you would be back ages ago, and I don't know - I just… You! Jason, I know don't love me anymore," you admitted and pushed your hurtful remarks upon Jason, and you could tell it had an impact on him.

"What the hell is going on? From where is this coming?" He asked, his gaze locking fixed on you. You didn't want him to believe you didn't trust him, but you could never be certain. "I love you Y/N. More than anything in this world."

You only gave Jason a blank and cold expression as you watched him try to tell you with tears streaming down your cheeks. He looked at you, distressed. "Honey, I'll take tomorrow off, and we'll stay in bed together, or eat breakfast in bed, or whatever! Whatever you want, love. All I want is for you to be happy." The declaration of love caught you off guard. Is he yet remembering everything you told him this morning?

You let out a sigh. That sweet lie took away all the pains in your skull. "No needed to do that." However, your Marine quickly shook his head. He might be speaking the truth. He most definitely was. It was self-evident. "So you don't love Betty?" You asked calmly. He laughed softly as he tightened his grip on you, spreading his delicate peck of kisses all over your flushed face.

“No. Only one strong-willed lady has my attention." Jason leans in for a brush on your lips, drawing you out and forcing you to stare into his honest eyes, cupping your cheeks. "You're the one."

You sighed once more, still buried in his warm embrace, and before you knew it, you were both laughing maniacally.

“So, you jealous?” While your fingers played with his hair, Jason teased with his chin resting on your shoulder.

“Shut up. Kiss me now.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

You were simply satisfied with his reaction.

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[sunflowerryvol6]

Sweet Summer

No warnings, just pure fluff.

WC: 3.6k

Long time no see! I hope you like this! I'll try and link the songs on this page, but no promises. Leave any suggestions for stories you'd like to see! Also, do comment, and tell me what you like about these two! As always, feedback is always welcome.

Check out my masterlist

You could listen to the songs here. I listened to this while writing this.

'I know how the summer goes' softly played in the background; she was sticky with sweat. She was sprawled on the floor of their bedroom. He sat on the bed above her. She was working on an essay on summer love for her column, the deadline was fast approaching. She looked to her left, and their room overlooked the ocean. The window opened to the bedroom patio, where they would often sit and work during the summer. Today he was oiling her hair while she worked hard on her piece. He'd just wrapped up, so he offered to help ease out some stress. She laid her head on the side on his knee and looked out to the sun shining down on the beach.

Ellie could almost touch the memory of when she first realised she was in love with Harry.

4 years earlier...

They'd been dating for a few weeks now. Harry planned the first date, so she arranged the second one. She'd quickly realised that Harry loved his walks. Working as a software developer left him with little to no time to move around. So he takes any opportunity to exercise or move his body. Ellie was a freelance journalist who's spent the better part of the last two years working from home. The idea of walking around or being on her feet was too taxing because of her chronic pain. But she liked harry, didn't she. So that's what she kept telling herself. When her hips hurt a little too much, or when she pulled her back from walking around too long. It'd all be worth it in the end. It had to be.

On this particular evening, they'd decided to meet up for a gig. Harry had found this artist that was playing in a bar downtown, so they'd meet there. She walked up to him and kissed him on the lips. "Hello to you too" He smiled.

"Hey, I'm sorry, I just missed you." She smiled wide. "I missed you too." He linked their arms and walked into the bar. He asked her to go ahead, and he'd join her with drinks. She walked on and waited for the band to start playing. He found his way back to her soon enough, with their favourite beverages.

Once the gig was over, they walked out of the bar and discussed where they should go to get dinner. "So, there's this brilliant taco place just down the road. We can walk there. What'd you say?" He smiled at her.

"Oh sure, let's." Ellie knew this wasn't the best decision. She'd be in a whole lot of pain by the end of the evening. She had work tomorrow, a deadline she couldn't miss. But It had to be worth it, right?

"What'd do you want to listen to today?" She suggested. She dug into her bag to find the earphone connector and offered it to him. They'd do this a lot, listen to music together, a new genre every date, sometimes their favourite albums. The last time they were listening to Harry's 70's indie playlist. You can tell a lot about a person by the music they heard. This was quite the ice breaker during their first few dates, so they decided to make it a thing. Now they would sometimes pick certain words or phrases and listen to what came up.

"Guilty pleasures?" He asked. "I can tell you, but I'm afraid it won't make for a great romantic walk down a dark road" She smiled. "I can take it." He laughed.

So she did. They blasted an old rock playlist, with mostly Cream. "You really love Cream, huh?" He said after a bit. "More than Neutral Milk Hotel," She told straightfaced. He blinked at her for a sec and burst out laughing. "That was a terrible one. Worse than my puns, God!" He laughed.

"These tacos better be mind fucking blowing, Styles," She says. Her hips were starting to ache a little. "Yes, Ma'am. I wouldn't dare disappoint you." He smiled. Their conversation went on about things here and there. Soon they reached the taco truck, right by the side of the road. The place was packed with people. Patrons had resorted to sitting on the pavement because of the wait.

"Okay, their birria tacos are the best, but we can get something else if you'd like?" Harry asked her. "Oh, that actually sounds absolutely perfect. Do you mind if I go get us a spot while you go get the food?" Ellie asked. "Sure, you do that." He said and leaned to kiss her cheek and made his way to the truck.

Ellie walked towards the pavement and slowly sat down. The moment her bum hit the pavement softly, she knew she was in a world of pain. Only more was waiting for her the longer this night went. She quickly dug into her purse to get out her cigarettes and lit one. It set in some ease, but it wasn't enough. She needed to get home, but what'd she tell Harry? Her experience telling people about her chronic pain has always ended up in them pitying her or not entirely believing her. Now, don't be fooled. She's in pain, but she didn't want no one's pity. She just wanted someone to recognise the pain and help her find a goddamn solution to it. In contemplating her exit strategy, she didn't realise she started tearing up. She quickly stubbed her cigarette and switched on some music to distract her. She waited patiently till Harry arrived with the food.

Harry walked over to Ellie with their food in his hand. Only to find her doubled over with her head on her knees. He rushed to her, placed their food on the pavement, and nudged her shoulder. "Ellie, are you okay?" He asked her gently. Ellie looked up, and she looked like she was in a lot of pain. "Hey! What's wrong? Why are you crying?" He seemed very concerned now. "I'm in a lot of pain right now, and it flares up when I'm on my feet for too long. I'd been out all day before we met, and I wasn't expecting us to walk around so much." She all but cried. "Oh, you poor thing. I'll call a cab right now, and I'll take you home, okay?" Harry said, his hand gently rubbed her arm. She sniffled in response.

The cab arrived soon enough. Harry helped her into the car and got in after her. "Would you like to try and sleep till we get there? I can keep an eye on the map." He offered. "Thank you." She said before leaning her head against the window and closed her eyes.

"Ellie, darling. We're here." His voice broke her out of the soft slumber she'd fallen into. She opened her eyes and looked out, and sure enough, they were outside her apartment building. She got out of the cab and started walking towards her door, expecting him to follow her. Still, she turns around to check, and he's about to call out to her. "Are you not going to come upstairs?" She questioned. "I need to make one more stop. I'll be up in 10." He shrugged. "Okay, don't be too long." She says and continues walking.

Harry takes the cab to the nearest store and buys a pack of Epsom salt. His sister would always soak her feet in Epsom salt and hot water after ballet lessons. So he knew this would bring Ellie some relief.

Whenever they'd had a sleepover, they always end up at Harry's place, so he'd never really been here to her home. Her door was a dark pink, kind of Fuschia. He turned the knob, and it was open, so he walked in. The place was filled with little trinkets and plants and other knick-knacks all over the place. The centre of attention had to be her bright yellow couch. All her furniture was pointed at this showcase filled with other ceramic figurines. It was very colourful. If you look at Ellie, you wouldn't expect her to live here. Her style is muted and minimalistic, apart from her hair. That was always a bright colour. This time it was bright pink, very close to the colour of her door. He wondered if she changed the colour of her door as often as she changed her hair. But otherwise, she wore blacks mainly with an occasional cream and some other muted colours. So why the eccentricity in her décor, he wondered. He didn't ask her, though.

"So I think a hot bath would really help you, I got some Epsom salt, and you know, we could try it?" He asked her hesitantly. "A long bath can help ease your pain," he said. "Yeah, I'd like that," she said. "You wait here; I'll set it up." He ventured into her flat. She took off her jacket, walked into her kitchen and took out a joint. Holding the joint in between her fingers, she looked for the lighter and slowly lit it. Walked back to the couch, took off her pants and sweater she was wearing and laid back on the sofa and took a long drag. She knew now she could relax, and the pain would slowly ease up.

Meanwhile, in her bathroom, Harry was running a bath for her. He sat on the edge of the tub with his hand underwater to check the water temperature. Once it was hot enough, Harry walked back to the living room. He walked in on her, smoking the joint, for the first time that evening, he saw her so relaxed and quiet. He didn't want to disturb her. But she opened her eyes, "Hey you" she smiled. He reached for her. "The bath is ready. Come on," He said. She took his hand and got up. She stood on her tippy toes and kissed him, and he kissed her back, slowly supporting his palm on her lower back. He deepened the kiss, she put her arms around his neck. He smiled into the kiss and pulled away.

"I really like you, you know?" He held her in place with his arm around him and looked at her. His gaze bore into her. "I'm here for you, so you have to tell me how I can help you," He said. That's when Ellie looked away. She started walking towards the bathroom and looked over her shoulder. "Come sit with me?" She asked. "Of course." He said. "Can you bring me the ice pack from the freezer, please?" She called out. He turned around and walked into the kitchen and opened the fridge to get the ice pack. He checked the time on his phone and walked back into her bathroom.

Ellie was already in the bathtub, and there was music playing softly while she smoked. He sat on the toilet and passed her the ice pack. "Here you go," He said. In return, she handed him the joint. He gave her a small smile and took it from her. He took a long drag and leaned back on the seat to stretch his legs a bit. She had these tiny pots of creepers wound up on different pipes all over her bathroom. She held the icepack to her face and felt so much relief.

"Elle, are you feeling any better?" He asked her. She nodded. Did the day go just like you wanted? played softly as she hummed along to it. "I know you want me to tell you what's going on, but I'm afraid you'll think I'm crazy," She said, not looking at him. "Darling, try me. I'm here to listen," He offered. He was still nursing the joint, looking like some kind of greek god. Just casually sitting on her toilet and observing her so carefully, she felt safe. Ellie's pain had calmed down a bit. The hot bath was helping quite a bit.

"Okay, so here goes, I took a fall about three years ago, and it kind of fucked my knee up. So I couldn't exercise much, and I wasn't moving around much. After a few months, I tried to do a simple workout, just to get back into the routine, but I was in an excruciating amount of pain." She looked up at him and saw that he'd moved to sit on the floor closer to her. When she looked up, he reached for her hand with a smile and held it. His rings felt cold on her hands as he slowly pressed the points on her fingers. It felt perfect. So she focused on that and continued. "After that, I went to a doctor to figure why it happened, but they couldn't understand because there weren't markers on the tests they did. Over the years, I went to all kinds of practitioners to help me find a solution to this pain, if not an answer to what it is. But they just kept saying it's in my head and not really give me an answer. I went to a psychiatrist, and they tried medication for depression. It only made me very drowsy and inefficient at work. But other than that, I don't really know what it is. I'm just hurting all the time." She sighed.

"Ellie, that is not okay. You shouldn't be in this amount of pain. I'm so glad you told me about it." He said. Harry reached for a stray strand on her face and pushed it back, and ran his thumb along her cheek. "Over time, I have stopped talking to people about this, 'cause it's not going change anything, and they just end up pitying me. So I did the next best thing, I bought this flat and made my home chronic pain friendly. I work from home, so I don't exert myself and have done that for over 2 years now. It's awfully lonely, though."

"I can't imagine how that must feel. For the record, I don't pity you. I just wish you'd told me before, then I wouldn't make our dates so hard on you. But wait. Did I cause you a lot of pain when we had sex?" He worried his lip and looked at her. "Oh no! You didn't at all. I just didn't want you to think I'm somehow weak and can't take care of myself. Today was a lot, and I'd been out for a couple of meetings for some upcoming projects, and it just all ended up weighing me down." She was tearing up now. "Darling, please don't cry. I don't think you can't take care of yourself. I think it was incredibly responsible of you to tell me when you reached your limit. I'm happy to accommodate whatever you need." He said to her. She could tell he was earnest. "Thank you, Harry. It feels good to be able to tell someone and have them believe me." She said to him.

They had been listening to Sea Change by Beck while they smoked together. He sat on the floor of her bathroom, with his legs stretched out and his hand in the water, holding one of her ankles. Just as a reassurance that he wasn't leaving. They talked mindlessly. He asked her about her ceramic figurines, and she told him that her grandma used to collect them, then her mom, and now she does. She brought them with her when she moved to this city. Her favourite one was the teal coloured soapstone hippo. She used to have heart-shaped soapstone, but she gave it to an ex who threw it away after they broke up. Just like that, he told her about the first time he fell in love. How he likes to keep in touch with his exes because they all ended mutually and were lovely people. She told him about her first break-up. They exchanged sibling horror stories. He told her about his niece Willow, whom he lovingly calls Willy. She hadn't realised until then, as they listened to the saddest break-up albums of all time, that Harry was in it for the long haul. "Think you're ready to move to the bed?" He asked as he rubbed his eyes. She slowly got up, and he stood up to help her out of the bath. Pulled up a towel for her and handed it to her. She walked over to her drawer and pulled out a pair of pyjamas for herself. He undressed into his boxers and placed his clothes on the wing chair next to her windowsill. She got into bed and opened the covers up for him. Her room was decorated the same, but fewer breakable items were in there. She had a few pictures of her family upon her wall, and a dog that he assumed was her childhood pet. He climbed in. "Small spoon?" He asked her; she answered by wrapping his around her and laid her head on his chest. He slowly ran his fingers through her hair, and she sighed in contentment. "You know, when I first realised that they weren't gonna be able to find what's wrong with me, I'd listen to 'If you're feeling sinister a lot. It was kind of a constant at the time." she said.

"When Stuart Murdoch wrote the album, he was diagnosed with chronic fatigue syndrome, so he was on bed rest for a long time. He used to look out of his window and see all these people living their lives, and he'd feel so left out? So he poured all that yearning into it. One of the songs even has an overlay of children playing in the background. That album got me through some dark times." Harry was running a finger along her arm, raising goosebumps on her warm skin. Harry places a kiss on her hair, "You know when, Willow, was a little girl. I'd play this game with her during bedtime. It would really tire her out and change her mind from being upset for having to go to bed. Do you want to try it?" He says. "Sure, why not?" She smiles and places a kiss on his tattooed chest.

"Close your eyes. No peeking, okay?" He looks over to check a pokes a finger in her side to make sure, and she bursts out in giggles. "Okay! I promise." She laughs out. He holds her closer and takes a deep breath, her hair smells of berries and residual smoke, and he decides then that's his favourite smell. "We're on a hill. It's cold out. Both of us huddled under a blanket, looking at the sky. It's just us there, so it's very quiet. You can hear the birds around and the slight wind. When it touches you, you dig yourself closer to me, and I hold you a little tighter, just like I am right now." She listens carefully, picturing precisely what it would look like. She wonders if they have any pets with them, "Can we have a dog?" She asks, "Of course, whatever you'd like, pet." He says. "Okay, so we have a dog, a dalmatian puppy. What do you think her name should be?" She asks him. "You want a girl, huh?" He smirked at her. "Uh yeah, they're best, of course." She said as a matter of factly. "Um, what do you think of birdie?" "I love it." she smiles. "Birdie is running circles around our blanket. She's completely enchanted by butterflies and jumping up and down to get to them. She smells like lavender shampoo and puppy smell. She has a small spot on her nose that's shaped like a heart. That's what made you pick her at the pound. She's wearing a baby pink collar with a gold medallion which has her name engraved on it. She just saw us watching her, so now rushing to cuddle. She comes running to us and lands herself right in between, and we take her inside the blanket and settle in for a good ol' nap." Listening to him describe in such detail a life that he envisions for the two of them makes her feel so full of love.

"I feel so full and happy. A little hazy with that feeling, so much so that I can't remember what I was upset about." She smiles into his chest. "I told you, it'll help. It's tried and tested, ma'am." He says, ruffling her hair a bit. "Thank you so much, Harry. Thank you for staying and taking care of me and making sure I was okay. Thank you for listening to me and not judging me and just being here." She tears up a little.

"Hey, no tears." He says, wiping a stray tear that escaped. "And, you don't have to thank me at all. I just want you to be honest with me, so I can be there for you. You don't need to carry this all on your own. If you allow me, I'd like to ease the burden a little bit." He says as he runs his thumb along her cheek.

Now...

The loud barking from the other room jolts her out of her daydream. She looks up to see the reason behind the sound. Birdie comes running towards their bed with her toy, all prepared to jump up, but Harry stops her. "Birdie, no! Don't jump on Mummy!" "It's okay, Harry." Ellie reaches for Birdie. "You spoil her so much, she'd never going to learn." "Oh come on, sweets, it's our vacation. You have to let her get away with some things."

He sits up, and Birdie immediately places herself on his lap and whines for him to scratch her. He happily obliges. "Now, my darling wife, come here and give me a kiss before I take our baby out for a wee." You smile and lean up for a kiss. He kisses your nose once before getting out of bed and walking over to wear a pair of shorts. He turns around to Ellie, and says "Are you feeling up to a picnic?"

She smiles and hits save on the document she was typing. "Yes, I'll get the snacks ready. Give me five minutes." She places the laptop on the bed and walks over to him. She reaches on her tippy toes and grabs him by the neck, and gives him one big kiss.

[ssa-sugar-tits]

queen of hearts // chapter four

summary: y/n y/l/n was crushed when she found out about maeve donovan. heartbroken, she left her entire life behind. what happens when she becomes the most prolific serial killer the bau has ever seen?

prologue + series masterlist & taglist

content warnings: swearing, angst, implied/mentioned sex, restraints, blood, head injury, kidnap/hostage, alcohol, gunshot, murder

a/n: reader is a psychotic murderer. this is purely a work of fiction and if you or someone you know are experiencing homicidal urges, seek professional help immediately.

-

The room was filled with tension and an overwhelming sense of despair but no one said a word. No more hellish arguing, no irritatingly random facts, not even discussion to solve the case. Everyone worked on their angle of the case and despite the fact that no one would dare admit it, they all somewhat hoped that Y/N wouldn't be caught. Some hoped more than others but deep down they all felt a twinge of it. JJ walked into the room and spoke, startling the team and ripping them away from their thoughts and guilt.

"I've given a picture of her to the media, it's being circulated."

It pained her-- almost physically-- to have to hand over a picture of someone who'd been like family for so many goddamn years. She felt that she was betraying Y/N and that made her feel indescribably horrible.

"Now what? We just wait?" Morgan seemed to be the only one that really did want to stop her. Maybe he was angry that he hadn't seen the signs. Maybe he was angry that his best friend had just... left. Maybe he was angry that she lost herself so much. Maybe he blamed himself.

"What else is there to do Derek? Call me bad at my job- Hell, call all of us bad at our jobs but we can't profile her. Admit it, we're all biased. Too biased to think straight but there's no way we can give this case to another unit." Emily had always been so close to Y/N and was able to open up to her. Something she couldn't bring herself to do with most people. But you weren't most people, were you? Even with what Y/N could be doing, Emily doesn't have it in her to hate her. The sadness she was feeling must have shown because JJ squeezed Emily's hand and gave her a weak smile. And for the millionth fucking time, everyone stayed silent. Not even Spencer was saying anything and he is not the type to stay quiet this long. Believe it or not, that was actually one of the things Y/N had loved about him. Everyone rolled their eyes or cut him off but she loved to listen to him ramble. To everyone's surprise, she was always genuinely interested in what he had to say and that was one of the first things that made him fall in love with her. She never invalidated him or called him strange. Sometimes when she had a nightmare or experienced anxiety she'd even ask him talk to her about a random topic so she could focus on his voice until she calmed down. 

"Your voice is like... honey. In my ears." Spencer wanted to scream with emotional torture building up as he remembered how she'd laughed when she said that and how he'd had smiled at her with nothing but adoration and love.

"That seems unsanitary Y/N."

"You're such a smartass."

"Am I?"

"Definitely. But it's ok. I love that about you. I love you."

"I love you too."

She'd planted a sweet kiss on his lips before laying her head on his lap and listening to the rest of his topic rant. Still basking in the memory of Y/N, a sharp pain entered his hand and he realized he'd dug his crescent nails into the palm of his hand. And in that moment, he couldn't help but think about how much he'd love to be holding her hand right now.

"Guys!"

They all turned to Garcia, the source of the exclaim, who was walking in with Hotch.

"A bartender downtown says he just saw a woman matching Y/N's description leave with another man."

"She's chosen another victim? Here?" Rossi asked with confusion written on his face. "Up until now she's only killed 2 people per state and knowing the BAU has been called in, why is she staying here?"

JJ stepped in,

"This place is special to her, she has history here. Y/N must have an endgame but what is it?"

"The profile says she'll take as many people as she can with her. Probably suicide by cop."

Derek had accepted the situation. So why did that hurt to say?

"Rossi will go to the bar and talk to witnesses. Reid and Prentiss, stay here with Garcia. JJ and Morgan, PD is surveilling the radius around the bar and setting up roadblocks, come with me to help them."

"There's no way I'm staying here." Spencer objected.

Stay here and do nothing? Like hell.

"Neither am I, what the hell Hotch?"

"Reid, Prentiss that's an order. You're not going."

They both started to argue again but Hotch had already left. JJ and Derek followed and Rossi stood up with to leave for the bar. Apologetic looks were shot at Spencer and Emily because they all know why they have to stay behind. They're the two closest to her, the two that wouldn't be able to keep their emotions from affecting them on the field. And with that, off they all went.

-

Y/N's POV

-

The second you get to his hotel room, your lips crash against the handsome stranger. Your next victim. He pushes you against the wall and you moan loudly. His hands roam your body and you pull back.

"Hey... Go lie on the bed and wait for me."

Panting and staring at you with lust, he complies. Of course he does.

For God's sake. This man doesn't even know your name.

To be fair, Spence didn't even know Maeve's last name. And he still chose her.

You walk over to the eager man on the bed. Your hot breath on his neck, you lean close and whisper to him.

"We're going to do things my way."

He moans and you fight the urge to roll your eyes at him in disgust.

"Yes ma'am."

Taking out a rope, you tie him up and you know he thinks you're just a kinky slut. That's what they all see, isnt it? Suddenly something roars inside of you. Forgetting your usual routine, you pick up the lamp on the bedside table and smash it against him. Crimson stains the bed and you drop it, shocked by yourself. Yes, you've done worse. But it isn't the act that's sending regret and nausea through your body, it's that you're devolving. You're losing control.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Starting to panic, you take the unconscious man and check for a pulse. He's still alive.

Giving him a shower (much to your disdain) and change of clothes, you put his arm over your shoulder and walk out of the room giggling as you pass one of the housekeepers.

"Baby, you're such a lightweight! Let's get you out of here."

The housekeeper barely gives you a second glace but when she enters the room of the man you've taken, she starts to scream and you know you're running out of time.

Run. Drag him. Just hurry the hell up.

Finally at his car, you take him to the small studio you own downtown. No one can find you here. It's been yours for nearly a decade and you aren't stupid enough to have told anyone about it or put it under your name. Granted, you'd never thought you'd have to use it to hide out from the feds, it's still useful. After taking a look at the brightly colored wall in your basement, you feel a sense of sudden pain race through your veins. You used to be normal. You used to have a life.

-

The man is chained up, gagged, and bleeding but you can't even remember doing anything to him. What you need is numbness. They thought the other bodies were bad? Wait til they fucking see what you do with him. Pain shoots through your skull again and you wince and fall to the ground.

"Fuck. I- I need a drink." you stammer to no one in particular but yourself.

A wig and sunglasses make you look different enough from the woman being circulated to take the bus to a nearby gas station. Walking down the liquor aisle of the store, you hum a song to yourself and let the AC blow on your skin. Vision blurred, you bite your lip and taste the unmistakable strong metallic taste of your own blood. Still humming that fucking song. The song you'd danced to with Spencer in your living room before you'd made love for the first time.

"You cannot be serious!"

"Y/N! I can't dance."

"Oh come on. How bad can you be?  Seriously, the songs going to end and it'll be too late."

"Yes, that's what I'm hoping for."

"Psh. Don't tell me Doctor Reid is scared to sway around a little."

"Shut up."

"Make me." you laughed.

With one playful look, you dared him to shut you up in the most passionate, sensual way he could. But instead he put his warm hands on your hips and swayed to the song. You melted into his touch and your breaths synced as you laid your head on his chest. His heart beat was steady and calming. One hand reached for yours and intertwined before twirling you and pulling you back in to dance. He'd held you until it was over and brought your chin up to his face. The kiss was so intense, so loving. He tilted his head and pulled you tighter to get as close as he could to you. His tongue met yours and your mouths bathed in each other's taste. Running a hand through your hair, you'd started to unbutton his shirt. He'd been taken aback at first but then picked you up and placed you in the bedroom ever so softly. Placing gentle kisses all over each other's bodies and undressing for the other, you made raw, breathtaking love for the first of many times.

"Hey lady! Get out of the way!"

"W-What?..." You tremble and realize you're crying on the floor of the aisle.

"I said get out of the damn way, some of us got places to be."

The man is clearly batshit drunk. Probably here to buy his next fix. Shaking and letting yourself actually feel your emotions, you stand and use the wall to balance yourself.  The man that yelled at you curses to himself as his phone rings and he picks it up.

"Hell do you want? Thought you were still mad about Andrea."

Andrea? Mad about Andrea. Another cheater. Another liar. Right? It has to be.

Before you can process what you're doing-- how irrational it is-- the gunshot rings through the store and everyone turns to see the man before you on the ground, screaming and spitting blood. A mix of a laugh and a sob escapes you and you scream.

"Everyone on the fucking ground! If I see any cellphones, I'll shoot you just like this dickhead. Got it?"

Frightened people drop to the ground and you start to yell, incoherent bullshit again. You smash the freezer glass behind you and open an expensive bottle of bourbon.

You practically whimper having to take deep gasps in between words, but in a somehow still confident, fearless tone.

"Now let's have some fucking fun."

-

But what you didn't know was that the cashier in the front had sent a text 5 minutes earlier.

Call 911! The girl from the news, the Queen of Hearts. She's in the store.

What you didn't know was that the woman that recieved the text had called immediately.

911, what's your emergency?

What you didn't know was that the BAU was on their way.

-

[artificialqueens]

A Series Of Mutual Feelings, 1/3 (Scarjah) - Pazinae

chapter 1: i hate u (and the feelings mutual)

Chapter Summary: Ra'jah is determined to have a fresh start and be a better person, now enrolled as a first year fashion school student- but Scarlet has a way of always making her newfound plans falter. With a rocky high school history, the (not so) fortuitous pair endure some mutual hatred

A/N: enemies 2 luvers scarjah everyone xoxo meant to be a oneshot, but got a little carried away n my doc for this is currently 19 pages long ahaha so to be more palatable it will be a 4 chapter story (its says 3, but you'll see). this one is mainly the intro for the story to understand where they're at emotionally in the present, and is mostly ra'jah centric on her growth + kylie friendship fluff bc theyre the cutest, and a bit of scarlet pov. feedback super super welcome, enjoy !!! 

***

Scarlet strode down the hall with a sway in her hips, her heels clacking on the laminate floor. What kind of tacky ass bitch wears heels to school anyways? Ra'jah scoffed internally, watched the girl saunter like she's on a tightrope, each tantalizing step brought her foot exactly in front of the other. Her body fell into a rhythm, stomping the fucking campus like a lion stalking the jungle for the sheer fun of watching it’s prey scamper. Scarlet's bouncing skirt, her signature grin and luscious ginger curls sprouting out her scalp made her gag. And not in the stunning way. Just as quickly as she came she was gone, and, to be fair, she was just another girl sandwiched in the masses just getting to where she’s going. But she could pluck that arrogant little redhead bitch out of any crowd. Not a conscious choice of course, hell, being reminded of her sheer presence causes a battle of trying not to roll her eyes behind her skull. She can't help that she sees her. Not when Scarlet's lips are painted the same shade of bold crimson as the tight, sleeveless top she's wearing, like a fresh drop of blood in a sea of grey clad bodies swimming around in their hoodies.

This isn't high school anymore Ra'jah. A repetitive reminder that needs to be said evermore until it's understood at her core. Because It's different now, she knows that- it has to be. No fucking way are her dreams going to get caught up in everything again, they're too big to be put at stake. She can't live just to be like that again, and this time she's too grown to waste her time on useless people. High school was a bubble, a 4 year trance that she's left and is more than ready to forget about. 

"Hey, Ra'jah!" That southern, velvety voice could only belong to one stunning woman. She turned around to spot her speed walking to catch up. 

"Aye! Kylie!" Ra'jah stopped and gave a little wave as Kylie approached, her highlight shining even in the shitty indoor light. The two moved over to the side of the hall, and leaned against the wall. "If it isn't Miss Kylie Sonique Love," With such a pleasing name, Ra'jah doesn't think she will, or, really can ever get tired of saying the other girl's name. "What's up?"

"Nothin', just tired as fuck," It's kinda cute, the way her accent gets stronger when she's grumpy. "I'mma pass out at some point, I did not get enough sleep." Even as a grumble her voice is so soft and angelic, Ra'jah could probably fall asleep to the blonde reading true crime murder stories. 

"Goddamn, it sure as hell doesn't show!" Which is true, Kylie was as effervescent as always, any visible messy hair from under her beanie looked intentional. Even in her oversized t-shirt and shorts, there was an undeniable, captivating charm about her that made it impossible for her to look bad "You look gorgeous girl" 

"Awh, thanks honey," She smiles a soft, hazy smile. "You don't look too bad yourself." She hums, eyeing her up with a grin. Before she could even argue a response, the country girl quickly perks up and slaps her hand on Ra'jah's shoulder in excitement. "Oh also! I want your opinion- I'm thinking about dying my hair pink." She can see the visible sparkle in the pair of eyes looking at hers. "Thoughts?" She asks, voice becoming giddy "Oooh bitch! You better, that'd be so fierce!" The (mostly) purple haired girl exclaimed, delight evident in her voice "For real, you'd look so good. And you know, ba-BY" she claps her hands together just for added emphasis, "I support ALL the impulsive hair decisions".

"Yess, obviously I want input only from bad bitches with the best hair"

"I told you I did these myself right?" she asked, running her shoulder length hair through her twirling fingers. "I've been really into doing hair recently"

"Wait, really? It looks so pretty, the fade to purple is so good"

"What'd you mean 'wait really' hoe, what you implying 'bout my hair skills?" 

"Just that a talented woman like you should share your expertise!" Even when she was loud her voice was just as comforting, the tone reminiscent of a silk blanket on her skin

"All it took for me was bleach, a bottle of violet Arctic Fox dye, and the holy spirit of Brad Mondo"

"First of all I'm not trusting no mans named Brad," Ra'jah cackled a little because, yeah that's fair. "And secondly, if you're free, come an' help a girl out then!

"You're inviting me over? Wow we're moving kinda fast Kylie" 

"Oh shut up bitch" but the undying twinkle in her eye confirmed the unsaid agreement that Ra'jah would be doing Kylie's hair, at some point.

"I'm free on Thursday, can I visit then?"

"Yea that works" She smiled, and the closeness between the two wasn't something the taller girl ever planned, or really felt before. But she had it now, a friend she really cares about, and she never wanted to lose it.

"Shit what time is it?" Even in her Shitty Human era she was still a timely gal, her mother didn't raise no late hoe. "Don't stress it Raj, we have like 15 minutes. Introduction to drafting and sewing, right?"

"Yes ma'am. Wanna start going?" "Sure thing" This year is for a new start, making new friends, and getting a chance to create new first impressions. Rebrand herself y'know, and the hindrance that is Scarlet's existence, wrapped in all the ancient things she'd rather not think about, won't stop her.

The walk to class was a pleasant blur. With Kylie yawning and walking essentially shoulder to shoulder with Ra'jah had they been the same height, they slipped into both  comfortable conversation, and silence. With all the noise around them, their presence brought an ease without any awkwardness. 

 A trek opted through the outdoor route that was albeit a tad longer, provided some well needed greenery and fresh air.

"You excited for class?" Ra'jah asked, only half aware of where she was walking to. Her body was on autopilot, and Kylie knows the way, probably.  

"You're amazing if you can get excited by class"

"It's fun!"

"Only 'cause you're good at it"

"You're good at it"

"You know what I mean. Isn't this one your favorite?" 

"It's not my favorite" 

"Uh huh"

"I just like it a lot. Maybee essentially jus' cause I don't hafta try" It was a mandatory course, but Ra'jah's not complaining. Perhaps it's a little vain to enjoy something just to remind everyone you can do it, but it was an easy break from the rest of the courses. And a nice little egoboost.

"So I'm right!" 

"C'mon it's October and we're still on basic techniques"

"It's called introductory," She remarked. "Do you even pay attention half the time?"

"No but bitch neither do you"

"True" Kylie grinned in agreement.

"The way you're coming for me but it's easy for you too!" She hasn't been sewing as long as Ra'jah, but she has great taste so it really balanced out. "And let it be known that I use that class time to think about incredibly productive things"

"Oh that's her name?"

"What?" She didn't mean for her tone to drop. Didn't mean for her legs to stop walking, planting themselves into the cement. Didn't mean for the smile on her face to plummet at the implication. Her visceral reaction was louder than the cluelessness she gave off.  

"Calm down" She giggled, as if Ra'jah's reaction woke her up from her grogginess, her breathlessness equivalent to a shot of espresso for Kylie. "You just seem really occupied sometimes is what I meant"

"Me? No I'm not" She couldn't convince herself.

"Okay babe. The models of your fashion sketches just look a little reminiscent"  

"You know Scarlet isn't the only person with ginger hair right?" Ra'jah bites back, the condescending tone not her intention, but not exactly unwanted in the moment. Scarlet is insufferable, she doesn't want her own name slandered is all, being associated with the arrogant shit.

"Baby, I ain't mention Scarlet. That's all you.'' She had a shit eating smirk and maybe Ra'jah takes everything back about how nice friends are. IF there was inspiration, Scarlet is objectively nice looking so it's not a big deal there might be similarities if you squint.  

"She was implied" 

"If you want her to be"

They get inside and take a seat at one of the large tables, divided into stations with a sewing machine and some material at each one. Ra'jah takes a spot at the edge, with Kylie seated to her right. 

 On paper, it's all been planned out for Ra'jah; during her strolls between classes she'll take in all her surroundings and actively look for inspiration, pondering all the natural shapes and patterns of the world in a way she can manipulate into clothing. On paper, she'll make the most out of the introductory class, sketching designs between the minimal notes and sewing practices. On paper, she'll finish the mornings class with ease and have extra time to practice some new things. 

In reality? Paper is flimsy, especially when its accountability is held by a fleeting mind. It's hard to bask in the world when unwanted questions plague her head. Mostly revolving around a certain redhead. God, fuck her. Fuck her pretty eyes and fuck her sculpted face and fuck her euphonious voice. Does everyone who sees Ra'jah see her patheticness? How she allowed some cunt to infiltrate her mind, set up home in her head and take up all the space? Let her infect every cell in the brain like a parasite until her skull is nothing but an infiltrated shell for an infestation caught up with infatuation?

"Ra'jah, you good?"  The girl sat across from her, Trinity, piped up, and Ra'jah had to bite back a smile. The icy, timid girl she met just a few weeks ago was starting the conversation.

"Yeah, I'm fine, why?"

"You just looked a little spaced out" 

"Nah, it's just that this class is a breeze an' I'm just thinking about a project for another class" 

"Mmm"

"Plus it's hard to just think of designs when there's no inspiration"

"I mean, we're supposed to practice gathering and making ruffles right now"

"Oh shit! We are?"

"Yeah girl!" Ra'jah, shaking her head at herself, finally picked up some of the fabric around her and got to work. "You'll be alright?"

"Oh don't worry about me! I'm all good"

"Okayyy if you need anything just yell" Ra'jah replied with a hum and a nod. Watching the girl running the fabric under the machine, memories of the first time they'd talked flashed, days of the nearly silent girl feeling so distant.

  "I really like your earrings" The girl raised her head, looking left and right a little as if making sure it was directed at her. 

"Thanks." She mumbled, vaguely looking at Ra'jah's direction. 

"If you don't mind, where'd you get them?"

"Uh, I thrifted it."

"Oh, cool" Ra'jah smiled, before quickly adding "Thanks". The raven haired girl didn't reply. The start of the intriguing game of 'does she hate me, is she shy, or both?' 

   After all the awkward attempts made for the quiet girl to be comfortable and maybe make a friend, a sense of pride rang through her. She met Kylie and Trinity here a mere month ago, and yeah, maybe she could be nice. She could walk the fineline of warm socialization without being annoying. The new Ra'jah doesn't do unnecessary mean quips just for the sake of a little power rush. She can be authentically her while being polite. New Ra'jah makes friends- not enemies. 

"Oh by the way" Ra'jah snapped her head up at Trinity's voice 

"Yeah, what's up?"

"I know it's a little random but do you know what you're gonna be for Halloween?"

"Huh. Well, I haven't really thought about it" Ra'jah remarked, "I just don't care for Halloween and all that"

"Really? Girl, you're not gonna do anything, dress up, go out, nothing?"

"Baby all that work and money for some costume I'll wear once? No ma'am- and the fuck will I do, I barely have ideas for school!"

"Hey, you could wear anything and it's a costume. Wear a black dress, you're a cat"

"You think I'm that basic?"

"Yeah?"

 "Fuck you" She snorted, and Trinity had a goofy smile, looking at Ra'jah with a sense of familiar fondness. "And thanks, really, but I don't care for all that spooky shit anyways"

"Damn, alright!" Teeth out and all, she laughed. The blonde on the right leaned in a little, a pleasant opposition of Trinity's hesitation is Kylie's eagerness

"Jesus Ra'jah, what did Halloween do to you?" The southern girl butts in. "You could dress as the grinch of Halloween, steal children's candy" 

"You know what, yeah, I'll be a sluttified grinch"

"You're kinda built the same already" Trinity joins with a grin

"Hey!"

"Sluttified? Are you implying the grinch isn't sexy enough?" Ra'jah choked a little at that, found herself smiling with some dopey content, at what exactly she's not sure. 

"Do ya'll think being the grinch would count as like, being a furry?" Trinity asked, voice dripping in an odd amount of seriousness. 

"What? Baby no" Kylie jumped in. "Yes! absolutely, how would it NOT?" Trinity argues, and maybe it's the easiness of everything.  Of how nice it is to just fall into banter when you let people in. Bouncing off the two girls, she doesn't need to think of how to be funny, how to one up herself, remind everyone of why she's worthy. She can just, be. And that warrants a smile. 

With Ra'jah's elbow propped on the table, she rested her cheek against her palm to face forward, before turning a little to face Trinity

"But why do ya ask Trin? About Halloween"

"Oh, kinda last minute but I just want some ideas to figure mine out" She shrugs, and Kylie leans over once more. It's a little heartwarming, how physically close she always instinctively wants to be. 

"Oh! Are you going to the Halloween party this weekend?"

"Nah parties aren't really my thing"

"Awh, but it'll be fun!"

"Yeah standing in a mass of people I won't talk to will be so fun"

"Fine- Ra'jah, are you goin'?" Rajah turns her head to follow the voices like a cat keeping up with a beam of light. 

"Uh..."

"RIGHT, forgot, Halloween's not your thing". A party where she can have a disguise, let loose and have fun. It feels almost embarrassing to admit to her newfound friends that she's never been to a party, and the thought of a Halloween party didn't even cross her mind. Maybe Halloween isn't not her thing, it's just not something she'd indulge in. For reasons. Like, schoolwork. 

"Welllllll…" Ra'jah hummed, dragging on with a small grin

"OH the prospect of partying changes things huh?" 

"You know, me an' Halloween, we complicated okay!" They laugh, but Ra'jah's left thinking. New or old Ra'jah both, spends a little too much time in the internal realm of the brain. 

The class falls silent except the murmurs of the buzzing machines, and the three chatter in whispers. Although usually it's mostly her and Kylie with occasional injections of confirmation from Trinity

"You're insane if you think spaghettini is better than fettuccine" Kylie protested "Spaghettini is literally the objective worst"

"Says who?!" Ra'jah paused sewing to look up at Kylie in defiance

"Me!"

"Trinity which is better" 

"Huh? Ya'll It's too early for this." Trinity complained.

"Oh, says the bitch who asked if the grinch was a furry" Ra'jah retorted, but Trinity brushed her off to look at Kylie "Oh wait! Also, Kylie, what're you gonna be for Halloween?" She gave a little snicker before answering 

"Don't come for me but honestly? Was thinking about being a cat" 

"AAAAAH!" Ra'jah and Trinity erupted laughing.

"But like, a hot one okay!" Ra'jah quickly tried to redeem herself.

"You'll be the hottest ass cat around" Plus, worse comes to worst, Ra'jah will be a witch or something, and they can be hot and basic together. 

When the class ended, they packed their things, and exchanged their goodbyes

"I'll see y'all around!"

"See you! Good luck on your textile project Trin" 

"Thanks!" She waved, yelling a final "Bye!" 

"Bye!" The three part, and Ra'jah makes her way to her second class. History of costume and design was next, and quickly weighing it out, she decided to take a quicker path through the halls. Suddenly, the weight of a body knocked at her side, the two stumbling around for a few seconds. A gust of papers had fallen from both parties' arms, and landed on the floor.

"Oh shit! I'm so-" Scarlet cuts herself off when she looks up at whom she's bumped into.

"Maybe watch where you're going" Ra'jah snorts out of sheer instinct, squatting down to gather her papers where Scarlet follows suit, just a little too close. The vague, sweet scent of strawberries she gives off is suffocating.

"Maybe if you weren't such a stuck up cunt taking up half the hallway I wouldn't hit you" The attention sends a masochistic jolt down her spine

"Uh oh someone's in a bad mood. Stuck up cunt that's a new one! Love the creativity. You should drop out of this school and be a writer" As much as she screamed internally to just shut the fuck up and get your things, it was so easy to slip back to this.

"Thanks but I'm good! When you fail out this year you can give it a try"

"Baby, me? Fail out?" Please don't imply that. Please don't make me doubt that I can and deserve to be here. I don't want to seek approval from others, but I can't help but be hurt at disapproval. Of course, her thoughts don't verbalize as the words that come out of her mouth. "That's a lot of talk for a girl who probably spends more hours getting fucked than studying" Before she can think it through, process the flash of hurt on her face and the way her fingers tense around the last piece of paper, before Ra'jah can really understand the weight of her own words she continues. "But I guess that's how you get yo' A's right?"

Their exchanges were in aggressive whispers, hushed to anyone above them. To most people, they'd find a sight of two girls muttering to one another while they pick up some things they've dropped.

"You're so much prettier when you're quiet" Scarlet huffed, standing up in one swift motion. Those words aren't a compliment. Like, at all. So why does Ra'jah's dumb, twisted heart stop for a second? The implied connection of herself and 'pretty' slows her body and slurs her mind until she's pushing herself up off the ground in slow motion. It's been so many months of mundanity, the small interaction felt all so familiar and foreign and exciting at the same time.But the haziness of her words and their little games makes her forget for a second of what the fuck just happened, and a wave of patheticness washed over her as she started to walk, eyes focused at the cream walls. For all her hemming and hawing, Ra'jah hasn't. Fucking. Changed. 

A rush of everything dives into her guts, a sick adrenaline coated in dread, self loathing and the slight urge to cry, nestling in her stomach like a bird claiming a branch as it's home. Her skin was electric, and she hated to admit she loved it, the thrill of interacting with her, cattiness and all. Imagine feeling this much from fucking bumping into someone? Fingers clenched, nails digging in her own palms at how much she hates her. Intense emotions are a high of their own, and Ra'jah can't help but indulge. The piercing sting of her flesh being pressed in with her nails is intensified as she listens for the faint voice of that lanky girl always accompanying Scarlet. 

"You good Scarlet?"

"Yeah, thanks" She can't look back, but she can't help but wonder- are they hugging? Holding hands? It doesn't- it shouldn't matter to her. The fun amusement pales in comparison to the misery settling in. The realization that she's fighting with Scarlet like they're 16 at the back of English class.

Of all the schools, why'd that girl have to come here? Of all the things to pursue, why the same as herself? Of all the people, why'd it have to be her? Ra'jah didn't have the audacity to explore the last question. What she means, she's not too sure. The only thing in the world she's sure of is that she can't be both New Ra'jah™ and Old Ra'jah™ to different people. The line between the two existences isn't so bold anymore, and painting over the bumps isn't as effective as she'd hoped. 

  ***

  Truth be told, watching herself move around in skirts was one of her favorite things- just about tied with watching others watch her. Maybe that's why she joined cheer in highschool. Especially with the support from (or, lack of thereof) a certain grimacing purple haired girl, a runaway model from a fashion show who wound up wandering this school. She never needed to turn and look, didn't need sight to know there's a burn at her back, nor who it's radiating from. Scarlet always walked with just a bit of a straighter back, just a bit more purpose, and just a bit more stride in her step when her favorite pair of wandering eyes were around. A small part of her always wants to turn around, catch her gaze and watch her frantically look away and pretend she's talking to someone. Or maybe she'll hold it, stare back with just as much intensity. But her wistful attention is enough of an ego boost. The scowl ridden bitch, smile washed away just for her, and yet that's where her attention lied. It made her bite back a smile. 

Scarlet is a pretty thing, and she didn't need constant confirmation to remind her that she's beautiful. She's hot, she knows it, Ra'jah knows it, and Scarlet knows that's all she is to her. A pretty thing. Whatever. She's not important. 

In fear of her brain melting, and/or being fried to a crisp, Scarlet doesn't bother having two classes back to back. Her mental capacity is full, and a nice salad will probably help with that. She's on her way to meet with Yvie for lunch, thinking about their weekend plans, when she takes a misstep and stumbles, all her weight focused in her shoulder which slams against someone else's side.

"Oh shit! I'm so-" the universe is an asshole. May the odds never be in my favor. 

"Maybe watch where you're going" Her sneer is venomous, and the universe has suddenly become just the second biggest asshole. 

"Maybe if you weren't such a stuck up cunt taking up half the hallway I wouldn't hit you" Ra'jah didn't do anything, a rational voice lectures, but she ignores it the way she's ignoring the taller girls face. Scarlet's grabbing at her papers, avoiding eye contact because that selfish pile of shit on her right takes up enough space as is, and if she looks into her eyes, sees that stupid fucking face this close she might do something bad. Like, in the sense of, punching her. Yeah, she can't look at her or she'll beat her up. Because that's a fight she'd win.  

"Uh oh someone's in a bad mood. Stuck up cunt that's a new one! Love the creativity. You should drop out of this school and be a writer" Ra'jah snides, and she needs to drop out before Scarlet gets grey hair from her. 

"Thanks but I'm good! When you fail out this year you can give it a try" Her words are about as empty as her own stomach, because she hasn't eaten since last night, and Ra'jah will quit fashion school and become a science engineer before she fails out. 

"Baby, me? Fail out?" Yeah, with the flawless outfit you're wearing that you sure as hell made just because you were bored one night. Your pants could literally be sold as a luxury brand. The girl who started sewing when she a embryo in the womb, you'll fucking fail out.  "That's a lot of talk for a girl who probably spends more hours getting fucked than studying- But I guess that's how you get yo' A's right?" Scarlet looks up, not at Ra'jah but away from the ground, and the urge to yell, hit her, and cry come up at the same time. She wants to scream, get everyone in hearing range to know that Ra'jah is a loser who will amount to nothing. She wants to reach out and choke her. But articulating her anger into words is too much, and she ends up just whispering whatever words are willing to come out as she gets up, not caring if she left any papers behind. 

"You're so much prettier when you're quiet" And that's the closest thing to honest Scarlet's said all day. 

In the distance, she sees Yvie walking towards her, so she waits until the freshly dyed green haired girl is caught up beside her. 

"You good Scarlet?" 

"Yeah, thanks" The two walk together, side by side, and Scarlet loops her arm through Yvie's, linking the pair. 

"You know, Scarlie, you should stop wearing heels before you break your ankles"

"Hey!" She giggled, slapping the taller girl's arm in response. "I never fall, people just get in my way" Yvie scoffs, unable to stop the corners of her lips turning up and giving her away, forever endeared by the shorter girl. Scarlet's affection makes her forget that they've only known each other for a month. They reach a set of blue doors, and Yvie opens it, holding it for Scarlet to come through. Her face seems puzzled 

"Are you down to go to Mika's Cafe? I want to get some coffee" 

"Sure, they have nice breakfast sandwiches and omelettes, I'm down" It's only a few minutes away from campus 

"What's on your mind"

"Just like, school stuff. I have to make a dress for creative fashion design, and I'm just thinking about it, and what I wanna do" Would it be tmi to blurt that Ra'jah is insufferable? 

"Cool," Yvie hummed, and spiteful words cycled through Scarlet's head, deciding on what exactly to say, before Yvie beats her to it, whipping her head in some seeming urgency

 "OH by the way, I know you're busy with your project and you're determined on getting in the top 5 and all," 

"Uh huh" 

"Buuuuut, there's a Halloween party this weekend, and I was gonna go with Brooke and her friends but they're not going anymore," Scarlet knows how Yvie feels about Brooke, and to be fair she's only met her a few times in passing, but how someone like Yvie could fall for someone as uptight as the boring blonde is beyond her. She doesn't dare bring up another possibility of why her dorm mate would be avoiding the stoic girl, a possibility involving a particularly hot headed latina glued to the Canadians side. "They decided clubbing downtown would be more fun or whatever," They're outside on the pavement now, and the afternoon breeze graces their skin. It's a welcome environment, and Scarlet slows down her pace to enjoy the air, with Yvie quickly matching her pace. 

"Wouldn't you rather go clubbing though? Like not with Brooke and them but with others," Scarlet is friendly and all, but she swears Yvie is somehow friends with half the school. She sure as hell can find a group to go with.

"I guess, but I want to go to the party," she quiets a little as she continues, "There are some people I want to see there, for fun and stuff"

"Mmmm!" Scarlet widens her eyes, looking at the taller girl with a knowing glare, sprinkled with a teeny bit of judgement. 

"It's kinda lame to go there alone!" 

"No it's not!" 

"Scarls, yeah it is"

"Why do you even care? Wanna impress some girls?" In response, Yvie rolled her eyes so hard Scarlet could practically feel it. 

"'Cause you want me to go to a fun Halloween party by myself? 

"Yes! You could walk up to anyone and there's like an 80% chance you already know them, and a 100% chance you'll become friends anyways" The quirky girl's charm is undeniable, she'll be fine without Scarlet. Yvie gives a defeated sigh

"Seems kinda homophobic" 

"Ugh you know what's actually homophobic? The fact that more people aren't madly in love with me. I'm LITERALLY perfect" The prospect of love feels like it's been dangled infront of her, her whole life. Imagine looking like Scarlet, and never dated before?

"You're right girl, you are" Yvie laughed her deep, hearty cackle and Scarlet wanted to melt a little. 

"Thank you, finally someone with taste" Looking at her outfit, she remembers that the tall girl's taste is kind of debatable, and Scarlet almost wants to say she takes it back

"You think Ra'jah has good taste then?" 

"What?" 

"Also a party seems like the best way to meet more people y'know?" She brushes over her last question, and it's much better that way.

"You know what, whatever 'll go with you" Scarlet agrees so she'll shut up. If she hears her roommate bring up she-who-shall-not-be-named-because-shes-a-stick-in-the-ass anymore she might lose her mind. And, she really doesn't have any other plans for the night so might as well.

 ***

AN: going to be a while for the next chapter bc im busy so here's a lil thing lol xo

***

They weren't supposed to meet here. Weren't supposed to see each other. At least, that's what Scarlet tries to tell herself.

"You are such a fucking pain, oh my god" Scarlet seethed because everything is hazy except the impassive girl standing before her and she can't think straight. Her cold eyes are apathetic and Scarlet wants to implode, like a glass thermostat engulfed in a burning heat where it's not a question of if, but an inevitable when? "Maybe I am arrogant" Her voice was coated in a sickly sweet frustration. She pushed further into Ra'jah's space, the taller girl stiffening at the ever decreasing space between the two. How can she be so still, so unreactive? This is all so amusing to her? Is she having fun, so fucking detached from everything and watching Scarlet crumble? Pretending like she cares about Scarlet past her pretty face? Enjoying her sadistic game? Fuck her, fuck her, fuck her. 

"Maybe I am narcissistic" Their faces were inches apart, and Ra'jah could feel the angry womans hot breathe on her cheek, the pungent smell of alcohol intruding her nose.

"But I'd rather be a confident, arrogant narcissist than whatever kind of sad fuck you are" 

Scarlet growled, and she wanted to breathe fire, burn Ra'jah's existence out of her mind and scream at everything she felt because of her. Except that she sees her, and wants her, wants to hurt her and touch her and without thinking her hands are digging around Ra'jah's waist.

"You are such-" Scarlet was interrupted as the other girl leaned in, framed the shorter girl's face with both her hands, and pressed her lips against Scarlets. Any thoughts or mental functionality she had were put to an abrupt stop. This wasn't supposed to happen. It's been so long, but no time has passed since they were last like this. The plug to her brain was pulled, and it's all static and her bodys done a full 180. Ra'jah's piercing lips are numbing, and her overheated body feels like it's been dunked in ice where all her nerves are all in shock. They weren't supposed to do this anymore, it's the only thing they've ever been able to agree on. She was frozen, unable to move, or think, far too busy being hyper focused on the familiar sugary lips on hers, sending waves of nostalgia through her body. Time has only heighted the intoxication. She gains some composure and surges forward, but Ra'jah's pulling away, opening her mouth to finally say something.

"You're so much prettier when you're quiet"

[howdoyousleep3]

Hi Miss K! I am here to put in a request: I hope you like it. Been having a hard time recently, health-wise, and your writing always makes me happy. I can't stop thinking about Stucky living in a cabin in a forest somewhere, all cozy, where magically there is enough sun for Bucky to grow a veggie garden. They can food and Steve likes to quilt when he isn't painting. Farmer daddy/baby vibes! Maybe this IS farmer daddy au, idk. Just thought maybe you'd like to write cabincore!Stucky. Love u ma'am!

Oh bug are you in for a treat. 

I read this and immediately felt certain people come to mind! So of course I naturally asked them to help me out in answering this with some random thoughts so! @hanitrash​, @trekchik​, and @cantabile-l​ have helped me answer this BEAUTIFUL Ask! 

They're 20 minutes from the nearest town, which is still small, maybe 3k people, tops. 

Steve bitches about not being able to find the right threads for his quilting, or the right yellow for his painting. 

Bucky has an ongoing feud with a rabbit that keeps eating his vegetables. 

They both thoroughly enjoy foraging for wild mushrooms and learning how to cook with wild plants.

Omg. The zucchini. Bucky has no clue and plants too many (which is really, really easy to do) and there is. SO. MUCH. ZUCCHINI. 

They eat it every meal for about two weeks straight and Bucky vows to never grow it again. Fried zucchini chips. Zucchini bread. Roasted zucchini. It's everywhere.

Don't forget the spiralizer/veggie sheet cutter for zoodles and zucchini-wrapped lasagna rolls.

They discover they like hot peppers and they make pickled eggs with hot peppers grown in the garden. Pickled cherry peppers. Pepper relish. 

There's wild berry bushes and they make blackberry and raspberry jelly and omg Bucky making jellies is tugging at my heartstrings

He gets those strawberry pots and one year finally manages to grow enough strawberries to make jelly and he’s just so goddamn tickled Steve can’t help but kiss at Bucky’s cheeks every time Bucky grins as he slathers a piece of toast or a biscuit in the preserves he’s proud of

Bucky starts doing woodworking, wants to find some sort of creative or artistic hobby to get him through the winter like Steve has. He scavenges logs and branches and shit and makes like, birdhouses and whittles little figurines and shit.

Oh my god can you imagine Bucky complaining about the rabbit and Steve's like, “I mean I've got some rope I could set some traps... Always wanted to try some rabbit stew...”

And Bucky is HORRIFIED

Goes away with a huff and won't speak to Steve for several hours because that is unspeakable animal CRUELTY.  Steve's just like ??? “But... You were just ready to kill the rabbit... You legit said those exact words...”

“But not actually!! Bucky yells from outside.

We love this, Nonnie! I love it because I grew up on a farm and living in a cottage in the forest, living off the land with my chickens, is the dream for me. Living my best Lumberjack AU over here lmao. Thank you for sending this in! It was a delight! 😘😘😘

[moody-cowdaddy]

Helping Hand [Part 2 - End]

Part 1: https://moody-cowdaddy.tumblr.com/post/186800803204/helping-hand-arthur-morgan-x-reader

Arthur Morgan x Reader | Oneshot/Drabble #3

Summary: You and Arthur finally get the chance to be alone, again.

Category: Smut.

A/N: I really, really hope that this is good. I stayed up way later than I should have lastnight to finish writing, and I am paying for it today. But here it is, hope y'all enjoy! If any of these gifs are yours, just let me know, so I can give you credit.

GIF CREDITS: The last gif belongs to @robwiethoff

**If anyone see any gifs that belong to them, please let me know for credit**

××××

Your head was swimming by the time you and Arthur made it back to camp. You couldn't believe what had just happened, and while it gave you the relief you needed for the moment, it wasn't enough. You could already feel that slow ache in your core beginning to build up again, and having Arthur of all people to touch you in that way only made you want it even more. More than anything, you wanted him to throw you down right here and fuck you senseless, but you knew you'd  have to wait. There wasn't a whole lot said on the way back. The two of you exchanged mischievious glances back and forth, and doing more than a little bit of flirting any time one of you would purposely brush your hands or legs against one another.

~

When you finally arrived back at camp, the two of you shared another look with one another, both of you chuckling nervously like two teenagers before you could even speak.

"So, uh, y'need help with gettin' this stuff put away?" You asked him.

He smiled, lowering his head just a little before peeking back up at you from below his hat. "Nah, let Mr. Pearson an' Ms. Grimshaw handle it, darlin'. I got somethin' I gotta help Dutch take care of."

You nodded at him. "Alright, well, I'll go see what I can get into 'round here."

You started to climb out of the wagon, but before you could, Arthur caught your shoulder with his hand. You looked back at him curiously, waiting for him to say something. His lips parted momentarily as he looked you up and down before speaking.

"You serious 'bout tonight?" He asked.

You scoffed lightly, wo cring if he was really serious with his question. You nodded your head at him. "Damn right I was.. Where?"

"Y'know that ol' shack down the road from here?" He questioned, gesturing he head.

"Yes," you answered.

"We'll head for it at dusk," he drawled.

"Lookin' forward to it," you breathed. You looked around to make sure that no one was watching before you looked back up at him, reaching over to give his crotch a squeeze. "Hope you are, too."

"Watch it, gal," he rasped, giving you a dangerous smirk as you winked at him.

The two of you exited the wagon and it didn't take long for some of the group to notice that the two of you looked a little more than flustered. Ms. Grimshaw came walking over to the two of you, giving the both of you a concerned look as she placed her hands on her hips.

"Ms. (Y/L/N), Mr. Morgan, are you two okay? The both of ya look you've been through fire." She reached out to touch the side of you face. "Yer as red as rose."

"Ah, jus' had a bit of a situation to take of, Ms. Grimshaw. Nothin' to worry 'bout," Arthur reassured her with a tip of his hat.

She sighed, looking at you, then back to him, "Wasn't O'driscoll's again, was it?"

You shook your head. "No, it was me. I just got a bit overheated out there.. It's very hot out today," you said, turning your head to give Arthur a look.

He gave you a knowing glance, with a devilish smirk pulling at his mouth.

"Oh, you poor things," Ms. Grimshaw said. "Can I get ya anythin'?"

"'Fraid not for me, I gotta get goin' with Dutch," Arthur said, before turning his head to you, "I'll see ya later, Ms. (Y/L/N)."

"I guess ya shall, Mr. Morgan." You chewed the inside of your lip.

He tipped his hat to the both of you once more before walking off over towards Dutch's tent. Ms. Grimshaw pulled you along with her, insisting that you needed to drink some water so that you didn't overheat yourself, but truth be told, you were already past the point of being hot. It was just in a very different way that what she was expecting. You watched Arthur the whole time that he was still around camp, and he watched you too, both of you eyeing eachother from across the way, counting down the minutes until dusk.

~

~Arthur's P.O.V~

Arthur had the worst time trying to focus on anything Dutch said during the whole ride out towards Valentine. All he could think about now was later on tonight, when he got to be alone with you again. He had always had a thing for you, but never came right out and said it, as he alway just assumed you'd never thought of him in that way, but today proved him wrong in that regard.

All he wanted to do now was have you all to himself, to get his hands on you again and make you come for him even harder than you had earlier that day. The thought of it was driving him wild, and he'd spent half of the day getting hard on after hard on thinking about it. It was to the point now that he was the one aching each time it crossed his mind.

If he hadn't had to accompany Dutch, he would have already dragged you off somewhere so the two of you could get the real release that you needed. Part of him just wanted to go off to get privacy, to pleasure himself to the thought of you, like he did a lot of the time, but he didn't want to do that. He wanted to wait. He wanted his frustration and need to build up inside of him so that when he saw you he could utterly ravage you.

"Son, are you hearin' a thing I'm sayin'?" Dutch's baritone voice cut through Arthur's thoughts like a hot knife.

"Sorry, Dutch," Arthur responded with a slight sigh. "Just a little distracted."

"Well, get yourself un-distracted. We got work to do," Dutch barked.

It was gonna be a long damn day.

~

~Reader P.O.V~

The end of the day couldn't come soon enough. You felt even more desperate now than you had before. You don't know what Arthur did to you, but it was definitely something.

You were sitting inside of your tent, doing your best to try to occupy yourself by reading when the sun had started to go down. Once you started hearing the familiar voiced of Dutch and Arthur as they entered the camp, you knew that they had returned. You threw your book down onto your cot as you all but lunged towards the entrance of your tent as you looked out towards the dirt road that led out of camp. Your heart jumped in your chest as you saw Arthur, still sitting there on his horse, waiting on you.

You didn't waste any time as you made your exit. You had to stop yourself from sprinting on over towards him. Of course you got a few strange looks from some of the group as they wo dered why you were in such a hurry, but you didn't care, nor did you have time to try to explain or makeup an excuse, quite frankly, you didn't care. Arthur sat atop of his stallion, a lantern in his hand as he watched you approaching him.

"Took ya long enough," you joked, flashing him a brilliant smile.

"Tried to make it back soon as I could, darlin'," he chuckled, reaching down for you to grab his hand as he helped hoist you onto the back of his horse. "Any second thoughts?"

You huffed, "Not a one." You wrapped your arms around his abdomen, feeling his body tense at your touch. "Get goin', Morgan," you whispered in his ear.

He cut his eyes back to you, dangerously, spurring his horse to a gallop as you headed away from camp.

~

It didn't take long for you to reach the shack that he was talking about.

He brought the horse to a skidding stop, helping you jump down off the animal so you could hitch it to the old rickety porch in front of the place. He jumped down off the saddle, following behind you, holding the lantern up as he stepped up onto the porch, pushing the door open of the abandoned place. It was quiet and dark inside; for a place that was deserted, it was rather clean. He sat the lantern down onto a small dining table that sat in the middle of the floor.

He turned around to face you as you closed the distance between the two of you. You reached out, grabbing his shirt. He put his hands on the sides of your face, pressing his lips roughly into yours as he slide his tongue past your lips, kissing you passionately. It made a groan escape your lips, and you could feel that familiar throbbing between your legs again.

You pulled back, looking up at him, "You've done somethin' to me."

He hummed, planting heated kisses against your jawline. "An' what's that?

"I need it even more than I did earlier. That ache's only gettin' worse," you purred, reaching down between the two of you to grab his already hard cock. "Feel's like y'might be, too."

He sucked in a breathe when he felt your fingers on his length. "Yeah, y'ain't the only one achin' now. I been like this all goddamn day thanks'ta you," he said in a roughly seductive tone.

"Don't worry," you purred palming his cock through his pants. "Y'took care of me, an' I'm gonna do the same for you." You gave his cock another generous squeeze as you smiled up at him.

"I know y'will, darlin'.. But, right now, I wanna watch ya do yerself." He drawled, pulling his hat off, throwing it on the table before reaching down to unbutton his pants.

"Mmm," you purred, feeling a jolt of arousal surge through you as he said that. "Is that so?"

"Yes ma'am." He licked his lips. "Wanna see how good y'look with them fingers inside yerself."

"Wanna help me get these off then, cowboy?" You bit your lip, spreading your legs for him.

The soft glow from the lantern was the only think that was illuminating his face. You pulled your hand away from his crotch, reaching down to unbutton your own pants. Neither of you could wait much more, so you walked over to the small table that the lantern sat on, and you hoisted yourself up on it. Now you were almost level with Arthur as he turned to face you. You kicked off your boots and stared up at him with a lustful eye.

Arthur stepped between your legs, his cock brushing against your thigh through his slacks as he reached for the tops of your pants to pull them off of you. You brush your fingers against his erection again, watching him shudder as he felt your touch. You slipped your hand into his pants, lowering them enough so his length could spring forward. You gripped it, pressing your thumb into the head, feeling that it was already slick from arousal. Arthur grunted, pressing his hips upward into your grasp, wanting to prolonge the feeling.

He threw your pants to the ground when he finally got them down to your ankles, his hand immediately going for your sex, making your body writhe on the spot. You hadn't even thought it was possible for you to be even more sensitive than you were earlier that day, but you were. A shockwave of pleasure ran rampant through you at the first feeling of his fingers against your folds again, it was desperately missed. He ran his finger lightly down the outside of your slit, the sensation forcing you to lift your hips to him. You slid your hand down along his throbbing shaft, making him groan slightly. He pressed his fingers into your wet folds, instantly soaking his fingers as they entered you.

"Goddamn, girl," Arthur grunted. "I ain't never felt a woman that stayed this wet."

You reached up as Arthur still had his fingers inside of you, pumping them lightly in and out of you. You unbuttoned your shirt just enough to expose your breasts to him. He let out a pleasurable sigh as he saw them, reaching out to cup one in his hands as he brushed a nipple with his thumb, watching it harden at his touch.

"Well, thanks to you, I'm even worse off than I was earlier. I couldn't stop thinkin' 'bout it," you whined.

You moaned, pulling your hips up again to grind against his hand, needing even more relief than before.

"What was ya thinkin' 'bout?" He purred, pulling his fingers out of you, placing them around his own cock now, using your wetness on his fingers as lubrication.

"I was thinkin' 'bout the way you touched me," you said lowly.

You looked up at him, leaning back as you watched him stroke along his shaft as he watched you, twisting his hand over his head, then back down his entire length as cupped his balls with the other. You reached down between your legs, spreading them open further this time as you pressed your fingers into your mound, whimpering, feeling a whole new wave of wetness and throbbing coming on as you got even more aroused at the fact that Arthur was pleasuring himself while he watched you do the same to yourself. He reached out to touch your breasts again, making you hiss at all these overwhelming sensations you were feeling all at once.

"Christ, y'got a pretty body, gal" he grunted, still pumping his hand along his cock. "Keep talkin', darlin'."

You gasped, pushing your fingers inside your folds until you reached your swollen clit, you rubbed small circles around it. "I was thinkin' 'bout how you touched me like this.. How good it felt. S'kept me goin' all day, an' seein' you cum for me, Arthur.. Jesus.."

He groaned, cutting his eyes up to yours, dangerously. "I been thinkin' 'bout it too, an' 'bout how warm an' wet that pussy'a yers is.. The way ya came all over my fingers for me."

"Uh-huh." Your moans began to increase, along with the pace of your fingers. "S'got me thinkin' 'bout finishin' on your cock.. Do y'wanna fuck me, Arthur?"

Arthur's gritted his teeth, letting out a louder grunt as he listened to you. "I do, darlin."

"How bad?" you breathed, lifting your hips up to brush your pussy against his cock.

"Bad, darlin'. Been thinkin' 'bout fuckin' you long before all this." He ran his free hand along your chest, pulling your shirt open even more to fondle your breasts. "Been jerkin' off to the thought of it."

You looked up at him, almost in surprise that he was admitting that to you. You bit your lip, pulling your hands away from yourself to wrap them around his neck, scooting yourself forward on the table.

He narrowed his eyes at you, a downright animalistic look coming over him as he grabbed the back of your hair with his hand, bringing your head forward to kiss you again. His other hand guided his cock towards your entrance, rubbing the head of it against your clit.

The two of you moaned, and your arms shot forward, wrapping around his shoulders as he pushed himself inside of you. Both of you shuddered, tangling yourselves together. Arthur let go of your hair as he reached down, pushing both of his hands beneath your ass to lift you up ass while he thrust inside of you.

"Y-Yes," you choked out. "Please."

"This watcha want?" He growled, squeezing your ass in his hands, slamming his hips into yours. "Huh? Answer me."

"Come on, do it then," you demanded. "Fuck me, right here on this table. Make me cum on your cock this time, Arthur. Make me feel like you did earlier," you begged.

You wrapped your arms around him, latching onto him however you could as he pumped himself in and out of you without restraint. Arthur grunted, ducking his head down for his mouth to find your breast, running his tongue over one of your nipples before taking it into his mouth completely as  he grazed his teeth over it to send you into a frenzy.

You threw tour head back, crying out as he completely had his way with you. Your breath had become labored and shakey as he bottom out inside of you over and over. You could feel that familiar knot tightening up in the pit of tour stomach now, your walls began to grip tighter and tighter around his cock, making his thrusts become erratic.

"Jesus Christ, y'feel so good, (Y/N)," he moaned, pressing his forehead against yours, his hair was tousled and messy as it hung down in his face.

"How good?" you whined, gasping for your breath, looking up at him wantonly, desperate for his praise. "Tell me how good I am, daddy."

"So goddamn good," he growled in a guttural tone. "Good fuckin' girl."

You writhed involuntarily, grinding yourself back against him now as your orgasm was stampeding towards you like a bull. There was no control over it this time. You were gonna come, and you could tell it wasn't going to be any small climax.

"Fuck, Arthur." You gritted your teeth as your toes began to curl up. You could even feel tears begin to well up in your eyes at the overstimulation you were receiving.

"Y'gone come for me?" He snarled, pulling one of his hands up to grab your face.

"Y- ye- yes," you gasped, struggling to say anything over your moans and pleading cries as felt your starting to come.

You dug your nails roughly into him, causing him to hiss in pain as he rammed his cock even harder into you. You were sure that you had to break the skin of his back in some places, even through his shirt. He gripped your face harder, forcing you to look up at him as you came completely undone for him. He moaned, on the verge of his own release as he watched you coming for him over and over.

He wasn't fit to last any longer once you looked into his eyes, silently pleading with him to finish with you. He shuddered into you as came, and you could feel his release as it flooded you inside.

"That's my girl," he cooed, praising you as the two of you rode out your orgasm.

It took a minute for you to full register what happened. You vision was blurry, and you were a trembling mess as you held onto him.

"Sonuvabitch," you breathed roughly, laying your head down to his chest.

You were completely and utterly exhausted at this point, and you were sure that if you stood up, you'd actually collapse into a crumpled heap on the floor.

"Y'can say that again," Arthur said, trying to catch his own breath as he pulled himself out of you, with his and your release running out of you, making a mess out of the table and your thighs.

"Don't let go'a me," you sighed, still hanging onto his shoulders.

"Y'alright, darlin'?" He asked, using one hand to steady you, and the other to get his pants back up.

You looked up at him with a weak smile, giving him a nod. "Very. I'm just exhausted now."

"Guessin' Y'don't want round three tonight then?" He chuckled, brushing your hair behind your ear.

You shook your head. "Ask me again tomorrow."

"Might have'ta hold ya to that'un." He smiled, buttoning your shirt back up for you. "Let's git'ya back to camp."

After he got your shirt buttoned, he reached down, grabbing your pants off the floor, still hanging onto you as he helped you steady yourself as you stood up. Luckily, you didn't crumple, but your legs were shaking like leaves in the wind, but Arthur kept you standing upright as he helped you get your pants back on.

You turned to him, laying a hand on his chest once you finally got your clothes back on. "Thank you for all of this, Arthur," you said.

"No need to thank me for somethin' I wanted to do anyway, darlin'." he shrugged.

You nodded at him with a smile as you wrapped your arms around his shoulders, kissing him once more.

[countryshitposts]

let's get these teen hearts beating faster, faster!

I've been working on this all day, also i'm gonna write that homophobia one shot. And i'm gonna sleep good night

tw for mentions of cutting

Five times Germany shows up at France's doorstep and one time France shows up on his (kinda).

1.

France hates Germany. Germany doesn't seem to understand why.

Of course, France thinks as she looks out the window, somewhat enjoying the calm morning that the world has provided for her as she takes a sip of her warm coffee. Of course that foolish boy doesn't get it. He is just like his family before him.

France sighs as she looks at the bright sun, remembering how she used to bask in its warmth during the Jazz Ages, glare towards the shining ball during the Great Depression, and long for it, reaching towards the bars of her cell, trying to find warmth in the shining, round ball that has always been a part of her life for over a thousand years. And now, she completely loathes mornings, hating the way the rays of that cursed sun shine underneath her curtains, the way they bug her from her beauty sleep as she reminds herself that it's another day in this world, and she is still - thankfully - alive.

Then she hears a knock on the door. France perks up, wondering who it was since her only visitors only visit her once a week, and not twice. She's not gonna lie- it feels lonely being alone in a house, all by herself. But she tells herself that it was fine, that she was independent from negative thoughts inflicted by others. She approaches the door and opens it, and much to her irritation and the notion of her day being ruined, she is faced with that small boy that Britain and America took in.

Allemagne was shorter than France by a few inches, his skinny legs shaking as he handles a bouquet of purple hyacinths. France scowls as she looks at the flowers, staring back at her with pleading eyes. She may not be an expert on flower analogy but Netherlands taught her what this means; purple hyacinth tells the person they are being given to that their giver was sorry. She crosses her arms, eyes looking down at Allemagne, his eyes obscured by those annoyingly large glasses. He looked so much like his father, France can't help but think he'll become like his miserable father in the future.

"What do you want?", France demands bluntly, and the boy starts to shake even more under her intimidating gaze and voice. She can't help but scoff, remembering Weimar's reaction when meeting her. France can feel paranoia drip inside her veins as she can see the foolish boy in front of her turn to something else in the future.

"Um...", the miserable boy in front of her breaks eye contact, looking anywhere else but France. He awkwardly adjusts his shirt and hair and looks back at her with an awkward smile, and France wants to wipe that smile off his face. He forwards the bouquet towards her. "F-for you, Frankreich."

France didn't think twice before slamming the door right in front of Germany's face, feeling her face heat up with anger. This boy's family had tormented her in real life and in her dreams, and now he wishes to bully her by giving her flowers that meant apology? That he was sorry for what his family has done to her? She vows that this boy will become a chore to her as time goes on.

She waits for the boy to leave, to rid of himself from her world. She doesn't want to see him again, she doesn't want to speak to him, she doesn't want his name back in her life again, remembering his father, grandfather, great-grandfather come and intervene with her life. After a few minutes, she opens the door again, to find the boy - to her pleasure - gone, but in his wake he leaves the bouquet of purple hyacinths behind. She glares at it, like the flowers had done something wrong, but knowing these will wilt in due time so she takes them in, but not before looking around to see if anyone was watching her.

She takes out a glass vase from her closet, fills it with water, and put the bouquet on it. France places the vase on her small dining table, loving the way it looks glorious underneath the rays of the sun.

France hopes that Germany doesn't ruin her morning tomorrow, wishing to spend some quiet time with herself before work time.

2.

It seems that Germany has the intent to ruin her mornings after all.

As she makes herself a cup of coffee to increase her productivity at work, a knock on the door sounds. She sighs as she turns the stove off, and opens the door. Much to her irritation and surprise, Germany was at her porch once again, holding another flower bouquet but this time it was irises. Netherlands had told her these flowers symbolizes friendship, and she looks at it with disgust evident in her eyes. This boy is suggesting becoming friends and allies with her? Absolutely not.

"I-I t-think w-we-", Germany stutters and France becomes impatient.

"Speak up, boy", France interrupts him. "I have a hard time hearing you all the way here."

Germany clears his throat as he pushes his glasses to the bridge of his nose. "I think we can both be f-friends."

France can't help a small snort escape her lips, "Us? Friends?"

Germany tilts his head, "You make it seem like it's impossible for us to be friends."

France stops laughing, realizing that this skinny, malnourished boy in front of her was serious of being friends. She glares at Germany, and to her hidden delight, he cowers before her. "Of course it is you idiot- your family has been my enemy for centuries, and you think that you could change that? A few years from now you'll bug and pester me more than what you're doing now."

"T-that's not true!", Germany exclaims, handling the bouquet of irises gently. "I think we can be good friends, if we can both just-"

France didn't let Germany finish as she slams the door right on his face, causing him to stumble backwards. On the other side the woman he was trying to woo was noticeably scowling, crossing her arms as she lets out a shriek of displeasure. This boy was frustrating- he couldn't take any hints! He shows up on her door the second time with a bouquet of irises that symbolize friendship - friendship! - on her doorstep. She loathes the boy with all her willpower, vowing to never forgive him and his family.

After a few more minutes she opens the door, seeing the bouquet of irises planted innocently on her porch. She sighs as she takes it in, secretly loving the way their colors swirl around her and her path, taking another dusty old vase from her closet and places the bouquet near the window sill.

3.

Of course, Germany tries again with his inconsolable offer of friendship on the third day. She hears a knock on the door as she makes herself French toast, and she groans, hoping to god it wasn't that exasperating boy again.

Truth be told, it is him, with another bouquet of flowers, this time with violets, meaning peace.

There is no such thing as peace in this world, France thinks as she scowls at the flowers, holding the door and ready to slam it on Germany's face.

"I feel like these violets can, um, s-symbolize us starting over again?", Germany says awkwardly in his small voice. "I-I just want to g-get to know y-you better, Ma'am France."

"And I want you to get out of my sight." With that, France closes the door, softer this time, as she leans against it, sighing, running a hand over her hair. When will he take a hint?

She hears a faint sniffle from behind the door, knowing it was Germany, before it fades away with the steps he carry. She opens the door again, to find the bouquet of violets lying so quietly on her porch so she does the same thing she does with it and places the vase of violets on the small coffee table at the center of her living room.

4.

Netherlands and Belgium were there when Germany's fourth visit occurs. She was talking to Netherlands about small topics, until he notices the vase seated on the middle of her table. He points it out towards France, who huffs and complains of Germany's three previous visits- Germany's lovesick eyes and stammering disposition, the way he fixes his glasses whenever he is anxious, his awkward smile and his concerningly small stature and skinny physique. Netherlands and Belgium nods through her story-telling, exchanging a few glances of knowing as she finishes her experience with the German boy.

Netherlands thinks for a moment, taking a sip of the coffee as he looks at France with an interested impression. "It seems that Duitsland has taken a profound interest in you, France."

France blinks, confused. "E-excuse me?"

Netherlands sighs. "The flowers, goddamn it. Next thing you know Germany'd be knocking on your door with a bouquet of roses in his hand."

France groans. "I'll punch his lights out if he ever dares consider loving me."

"Mom, I think that's rude for you to say to him", Belgium blurts in as she takes a bite of her waffles. "He just really wants to be friends with you."

"Belgium, it's impossible for me and a German to ever be friends", France defends. "We'll be rivals once Germany is in his late sixties."

"Rivals in bed", Netherlands mutters under his breath before masking it with a cough.

A small rap sounds from the door and France sighs, swearing to the god above. Netherlands motion for her to open the door, to keep Germany entertained. She opens the door to find, of course, Germany. The small boy's appearance is very worrying; he had multiple cuts and bruises on his arms, looking like tiny red lines. Beneath his eyes were dark circles, his forest green eyes reflecting stress and sadness. He is holding another bouquet of flowers, this time red carnations. She looks at it, the petals as red as blood dripping through her skin, plump and waiting for her to take it and accept Allemagne as more than an ally she can tolerate.

"I really admire you, Franckreich", Germany says through pants, sounding tired, his voice soft and breaking. "I think that you're a beautiful, interesting, and smart person to be with. I feel something deep inside me that-"

"Duitsland, it's nice to see you again!", Netherlands approaches them as he puts an arm around France's shoulder.

France looks towards Germany, but something about his display changes; his awkwardness and tense posture has become stiff, his awkward smile replaced with a thin line on his lips, eyes flaring up with... jealousy?

"Es ist schön dich wieder zu sehen, Niederlande", Germany replies flatly, his eyebrows furrowing, his grip on the bouquet tightening. "Are you and Frankreich...?"

Netherlands shakes his head with a laugh. "Oh nee, me and France are just being vrienden!"

Germany purses his lips, clearly not convinced, before his eyes set back on France. "For you, mein dame." He gives the red carnations to France, and she accepts it with no fight. Without another word, he leaves quietly, his walk and stance defeated. France realizes it is the first time she sees him walk away from her home.

When she closes the door, she glares at Netherlands, who was playing innocent and Belgium stifling her laughter.

"What was that display all about?", she demands, humiliation boiling. "I thought we agreed we were only copains, Netherlands."

Netherlands shrugs, a small smile playing on his lips. "It seems that Duitsland is jealous."

France looks at him with confusion. "What are you talking about?"

The man observes the red carnations in France's arms, putting a finger on his chin, then looks back at the woman with an emotionless expression.

"Yep, he loves you", Netherlands says.

"How would you know that?"

Netherlands rolls his eyes. "Red carnations mean either admiration or 'my heart aches for you' or Duitsland means them both."

France looks at the red carnations, conflicting feelings arising inside of her. Part of her tells her she wants it, she oh so wants another relationship, another romance to bloom and in its wake a wilted flower will form as the god of love make them drift apart over the years. She listens to another part of her brain, telling her that Allemagne doesn't need a chance; she doesn't want him, she doesn't need him in her life, she hates him and all his family members that had come before him.

Voices starts to swirl in her mind, rocking her back and forth, back and forth, back and forth, as she can feel tendrils of loop upon her skin, controlling every inch of her body as she listens to those words.

Hate him.

Hate him.

Hate him.

But a single thought rams through her mind, a mile stone in all the other voices.

Hate him?

With a frustrated growl, she throws the bouquet of red carnations to the floors, crumpling it, its smell making her even more infuriated. She starts to stomp on it, the walls inside of her breaking, as Netherlands and Belgium watches her destroy such beautiful flowers. France hates him, she shouldn't doubt it, he'll be just like his family, and they will be enemies, forever and ever.

She pants as she looks at the trampled heap of flowers on her floors, unrecognizable, their lush red petals covered in the imprints of her shoes. The floors were moist, but she has no care of that by now. She looks at Netherlands and Belgium, who were both looking at the flowers dejectedly.

"Does that mean you don't accept Germany?", Belgium asks.

"No", France replies, shaking her head. "If he dares show up at my doorstep again, I will personally implant my fist on his face."

5.

She was at the door when she feels Allemagne's presence. She slams the door open to find Germany, awkward as ever, with another bouquet of flowers, this time - disgustingly enough - a red rose. One of the most famous symbols of love. She didn't even give the boy time to speak as she clenches her fists and decks Allemagne straight in the face. He stumbles and lands on the steps of the porch, his nose bleeding and cheeks swelling. His green eyes let out a look of surprise and shock, his nose bleeding- it seems it cannot withstand a simple deck then. She looks at the flowers that Allemagne had dropped, the roses laughing at her, mocking her of her existence. With an infruriated scream, she stomps on it the same way she had stepped on the carnations, destroying them, defiling them. Allemagne shrieks for her to stop, but she kicks the remains of the flowers to his face.

She approaches him with an undefinable fury, her surroundings sweltering with fire, their waves spreading like a glorious crown all around her.

"Get up, boy", France seethes. With trembling legs he complies. She scoffs at how scared and intimidated Allemagne was, a flicker of a memory with her and Weimar interacting occuring in her brain, and she laughs at Allemagne's figure. "It seems you truly are like your father; a timid, lonely man, sensitive to the lightest of things. You can't even stand a punch without bleeding. How weak, how humiliating."

"F-Frankreich-"

"Get out of my sight and never come back!", she barks, and the skinny, little boy bolts, stumbling as he runs across town.

After he becomes just a shadow in her line of sight, she sighs heavily as she calms down, letting in a steady breath of air, looking towards the lawn to look at the devastated roses that were crushed beneath her. She feels empty, like there was no satisfaction of taunting a poor boy inside of her, feeling sadness conquer her veins as she tries to fend them away. She knows this feeling all too well.

Regret.

-1.

"That's the stupidest shit you've ever done", Britain says as they click their tongue, trying to tune their electric guitar's strings correctly.

Britain had dropped by the weekend after the whole Allemagne fiasco, pointing a finger at her and demanding her if she was the one who injured the boy. She screamed a yes, feeling frustrated over her conflicting emotions. Britain had sighed and comforted her as she starts to cry.

"Well, what was I meant to do?", France asks, and Britain snorts.

"Not deck him that hard?", Britain replies as they start to strum, creating a sense of music floating around her. "Seriously, what kind of joke were you playing, punching him? Even America is concerned and she never gets concerned."

"Mon dieu, Bretagne, would it kill you to stop making me regret the shit I pulled?", France asks them and they let out a light snort.

"Never", they say as they unceremoniously strum the electric guitar again, before their face contorts to a serious look. "You should go and apologize to him, though. He means well."

"Even if I apologize, I bet he's gonna start having a grudge on me", France says with a knowing smirk, faltering for a bit as she remembers his family looking down upon her with the same hateful glares. "Just like all the others."

Britain releases a whistle of a melody exasperatedly. "He doesn't hold grudges. Me and America know that by heart now. No matter how much you try and break the poor boy's spirit he just..." Britain's hands ghost over their metal arm, made by Germany himself, "...never seems to break."

"But he likes me!", France responds, "who the hell would like someone that fucking decked them on the face?"

"He still likes you, you idiot."

"What?"

"I swear I heard him sniffling about you while he's sleeping yesterday, you dense woman."

"L-likes me?" Genuine surprise comes from France once again, as she is faced with the prospect of someone actually liking her once again entering her mind. She considered herself likeable for only her looks, and she assumes that Germany likes her because of that as well. But there was something in him. The way he brings her bouquets and make her question the flower analogy, his awkward smiles, the jealous glance he threw at Netherlands, his helpless look as he runs back to his home, defeated.

He was genuine.

That was what she was missing.

She suddenly stands up, Britain looking at her, appropriately disinterested for her will to get Germany back.

"First of all, I need to go pay a visit to Netherlands."

-

Germany's arms hurt. Perhaps because he has let the blade sink into his skin once again, feeling the lines hurt and echo trhough him as he tries hard not to wince. The feeling of pain can appease his growing emotions of France, as the woman who had rejected him over and over make him an emotional mess, turmoil spreading from head-to-toe, maddeningly in love with her. He didn't feel the slightest bit of anger for his broken nose, deeming it a minor inconvenience as he had made the wrong move first. Of course France would not like him showing up to her doorstep, intrude on the little time she has to herself. When she had turned down his love, he was heartbroken, his arms screaming at him to stop this pain, as he cleans them up and wraps them in neat bandages, hiding them with his formal suits and waist coats.

He hears the voice of Britain from downstairs, and he knows that they have a guest over since they seem to be talking to someone else. Germany gets off the bed, preparing to look and act plastic as he puts on an undershirt that covers his recent wounds, and opens the door to the outside, into the hallways. He has gotten used to the winding staircase he had once called a way to heaven, a way to all the prayers he has been answered for his life. But then, he had thought to himself; he can't be in heaven if he has murdered thousands, millions of innocent people and soldiers under the watchful eye of his father-turned monster.

He remembers tears staining his pillow every night, trying to mimic an angel's voice and song.

As his feet land on the carpeted floors (Great Britain was never one for revealing floors) his eyes land on a familiar figure, and he stops cold.

Frankreich, as beautiful and as graceful as ever, was holding a bouquet of what he has given her for the past five days- purple hyacinths, irises, violets, red carnations and roses. She was talking to Britain, who was leaning against a counter and holding a cup of tea. Germany can feel envy surge up as he sees France laugh at something Britain had said. Then France takes notice of him, her smile fading as she and Germany stare at each other, wondering who was going to speak up first. Britain murmurs something about leaving them to it, as they make their way upstairs.

Germany can feel France's stare, her eyes never leaving him as it tries to break his walls down to a single cell. He thinks that maybe it was because of his appearance. He had never brushed his hair yet, light hair dancing upon his eyes and head like an imperial crown. Perhaps ir was the broken nose, or the dark circles. In any case, he blames himself for being too unhygienic-

"Your arms", France blurts after a minute of silence, approaching him and taking a close look towards one of his arms. Germany shakes, feeling the warmth of France's hand on his newly bandaged arm, as he flinches due to the pain she has inflicted. Germany did not fight as she uncovers her arms, full of scabs, blisters and light scars; the most recent ones were tinged red. France looks up at Germany, and he sees something he never thought he'd see- pure, utter concern. "Allemagne, you cut yourself?"

He gives her a hesitant nod, and she shakes her head as she rolls his sleeves to expose his scars to the air, and he looks at it with a sad look on his face.

"Is this because of me?", France asks, guilt evident in her voice.

"N-no ma'am", Germany replies. "I have been doing this ever since my father... departed and was replaced by that bastard man."

France sighs. "Even then, it's quite harmful to cut. Please stop."

Germany blinks. "I... I don't think a simple plead would stop me from cutting. Es tut mir leid."

France shakes her head. "I know. But we'll cope together." She puts the bouquet of flowers between them, and Germany notices how France's perfume overcomes all of the flowers between them.

Their foreheads touch, and Germany can feel his heart thumping, running around with joy as he finally gets to be with the woman of his dreams, the love of his life, the girl he will love to the moon and back.

-

Es ist schön dich wieder zu sehen

Niederlande- It is nice to meet you again Netherlands

Nee- no Vrienden- friend Mein dame- my lady Es tut mir leid- sorry

[oneunicornaway]

Jupeter bartender AU part 2

So, I thought maybe this would be better as its own post with a link. So, there it is, with a link to the first part right here (in case you haven’t seen it yet).

EDIT: Now with a 3rd chapter! (the link will be at the end as well if you haven’t read this part yet)

Juno didn’t show up for a few days. In fact, he didn’t even seem to be following Ernest anymore. Peter would have been relieved but at this point, it was hard to tell if the lady had gotten bored with him for some reason, or if he was, in fact, just good enough that he had slipped below Peter’s attention.

And as much as he would have loved to believe that Juno wasn’t on his trail anymore, it seemed like the PI was possibly the most stubborn person he’d had ever met. In fact, the only possible exception he could think of would have been Vicky. If - and it was a big if - something had convinced Juno to lay off, she’d probably been the one to manage such a feat.

Peter tried to tell himself that he wasn’t disappointed. After all, it would allow him to finish this specific job and get off this planet. All endearing lady asides, he could feel his feet and his hands tingling with the need to resume his bouncing around the stars.

Which is why he didn’t know whether or not he should be happy, relieved, disappointed, or downright annoyed when he began his shift to see Juno slumped on the bar.

“Here to interrogate me again, Sir?” Enerst began, taking a whiskey glass off the shelf.

The instant Juno didn’t offer him a witty comeback, Peter knew something was wrong, but he let Ernest the time to find the bottle of the lady’s favorite poison before he noticed the heavy silence.

“Sir?”

Juno didn’t respond, barely even twitched. His usually percing glare was hazy, lost in a half-finished glass of whiskey. He looked positively awful: his eyes were circled with deep, purple shadows, and his lips were dry and cracked. He quite obviously hadn’t washed his hair in at least a week, and upon getting closer, Ernest could smell an odor of sweat and booze coming from him.

Juno would not be first in line to win an award of the cleanest lady on th planet, or even the city, but this was unprecedented.

“Juno?” Ernest tried, and Peter was surprised to find his worried voice sounded genuine. It seemed even his fleshed out mask had began appreciating the lady.

Juno’s eyes snapped to his face, bloodshot but somewhat alert.

“Hey. Tried to kill Vicky yet?” It was obviously meant as a joke, but the words felt flat between them, and Peter immediately noticed that Juno’s voice was slightly slurred, something he had never heard before. Considering the number of drinks he’d seen him gulp without batting an eye, Peter could only assume that Juno had drank enough that it would have killed any other person, like, say, a certain master thief.

“You’re drunk.”

Juno snorted.

“T’s'where you’re wrong. ’M not drunk enough.”

Ernest frowned.

“I am not going to serve you any more tonight. You should go ho…”

“No.”

It seemed that even drunk, Juno was still unchallengingly stubborn. Currently, he looked like he was ready to plant his teeth in the counter if Ernest didn’t obey his whims.

Fine. Peter just had to get creative.

“Very well.”

He rooted around in his bar to serve Juno another glass. Full of apple juice.

“No more alcohol, then.”

Juno looked at the glass, then back at Ernest, and huffed a derisive laugh. He didn’t get up and leave, like Peter had half expected him to, so he took the liberty of innocently placing a plate of mini-sandwiches next to him.

Because Ernest had other clients, he couldn’t just hang around Juno all night like Peter wanted to, but he kept an eye on him regardless. Maybe Juno wasn’t getting drunker, but he wasn’t getting better either. His eyes half tracked the dancers on the other side of the room, but Peter could tell his attention was elsewhere. One more than one occasion, it seemed like maybe he was going to be sick, and Peter could see him going rigid and gripping his glass tight enough that he expected at any time to have to go clean up the inevitable mess.

“Walter.” Peter turned around, surprised to find Vicky herself behind him.

“Ma'am! I didn’t know you…”

She cut him off with an impatient wave of her hand, looking past him at her establishment.

“Shit. He’s here, isn’t he? Of course he is.”

She ran a hand through her hair, looking impatient.

“Walter. Steel likes you, right?”

Ernest looked at her, a bit bemused.

“He… thinks I’m a spy.”

“Yeah he’s like that. Walter, you’re a smart guy right?”

“Um…”

She pined him with an intense look, looking then exactly like the successful businesswoman she was.

“Listen. Juno Steel is an imbecil okay? He’s also not often wrong.”

Peter had to repress the urge to freeze.

“Ma'am, I don’t…”

“Save it. Enerst Walter or whatever is not your real name. Fine. You do what you gotta do, I get it. You do your job, you don’t make problems, I don’t care. That’s not the point. The point is: you’re a smart guy.”

Her eyes hadn’t strayed from his, and, not for the first time since he’d come to Mars, Peter felt as though his layers of persona, of lies, were shattered and discarded. Here was Vicky, ruthless, loud, overtly uncaring, and she looked at him like one would look at a lost orphan desperatly seeking a home across the galaxy.

Something hot and violent was crawling up Peter’s throat, and he fought the urge to swallow it down as he relentlessly squashed all emotions. There was nothing there, nothing but quiet surprise at his boss buying in a PI’s obsession. Maybe another young man shaking off his former life, but that was all.

Ernest nodded.

“So you know that lady’s life suck.” Vicky shrugged. “ I mean, it’s not like it’s hard to notice, and I don’t have time to deal with his bullshit.”

“Ma'am?”

“Make sure he gets home, okay? I need him in one piece for the job.”

Ernest nodded again.

“And drop the Ma'am, alright? You sound like a goddamn cow. Just call me Vicky next time.”

“Yes, Ma… Vicky.”

She gave him a quick smile.

“Alright! Can’t let a girl waiting! I’ll see you tomorrow!”

She went past him as he made his goodbyes.

“And by the way,” She threw over her shoulder once she was halfway out the door “his consos are on your tab!”

“Sir, we’re closing.”

Juno’s head turned slowly towards him. He looked even worse that he had earlier, and the way he was blinking made Peter think he was chasing away tears. He wondered if he had managed to sneak some more drinks under Ernest’s nose. With the way Juno’s movements seemed slow and sluggish, it didn’t seem entirely impossible.

“What time is it?” He asked, sounding small and distant.

“One am. We should get you home.”

Juno nodded, but he didn’t move, and his eyes drifting away as soon as Ernest stopped talking.

“Come on.” Ernest grabbed his forearms and pulled him up. Juno didn’t resist, and it seemed like he could stand up on his own, but then he would stay immobile unless he was stirred in one direction or another. Ernest had to drag him out of the bar, nodding at Todd as they left.

In the cab, Juno was silent, staring without blinking at the lights coming from the various buildings.

He stayed silent as they climbed their way up the stairs (because apparently, if someone didn’t have basic commodities in the 24th century, it was going to be Juno Steel), and spoke again only Ernest had managed to get on the bed, and was trying to get his shoes off.

“Are you going to kill me?” His voice was distant, disconnected.

Ernest rolled his eyes.

“Sure. I’ve been waiting all this time to get you in bed so I could kill you with my spying skills.”

Juno nodded slowly, as if that made sense.

“It’s my fault.” he mumbled.

Ernest finally managed to free him of his heavy boots.

“What is?”

It took a few second for Juno to respond, and when he did, his voice sounded ragged.

“Everything.”

“Juno, I’m quite sure…”

Peter cut himself off. Juno had turned away from him, curling into himself and hiding his face into a pillow. He was utterly silent, but his shoulder were shaking slightly, and Peter could see his hand, gripping the cotton like a lifeline.

Neither Peter nor Ernest knew the words that would have helped, and it seemed like Juno was either ignoring him or couldn’t hear him when he called his name, so Peter only had the choice to stand on the edge of the bed for the long minutes it took for Juno’s breath to slow down as he slipped into sleep..

Peter looked. Of course he looked. If there was something in common between a Juno Steel and a Peter Nureyev, it was their curiosity, insatiable, dangerous. Peter had more than once almost died because he’d wanted to know more, to know too much, and he probably will again.

So he’d looked. The previous time, his interest in Juno had been automatic, perfectionnary, a quick look to prevent himself from what he could expect. Now he looked to know, to discover, to understand this rough, kind, sad lady.

Benzaiten Steel was a surprise. Peter hadn’t expected Juno to have a twin. He tried to imagine him, a second Juno, just as quick, just as smart, capable of just as much snark. He tried to imagine them : it seemed like the world wouldn’t be able to handle the enormity of having two like Juno around.

Peter was quick enough to regret the thought. To regret ever looking.

That night, he dreamt of Mag, of reassuring smiles and protective hands, slowly overrun with slick, black blood. He dreamt of a knife that would never wash, of a body that would never rest, of two scared little kids against the big, mean world.

Ta daa!

Link to chapter 3

whoop dee woop EDIT: Chapter 4 (the last one)

<3

[cyberphuck]

Golden Afternoon

As much time as we spent together, Adrian and I didn't actually share a lot of classes: we had different homerooms and different lunch periods and were even in different biology classes with the same teacher, like the educational powers that be wanted to keep us apart.

Or his mom did. I didn't know what kind of stuff witches could do. Adrian said she did stuff with plants, but maybe she had a plant that could warp the fabric of reality to keep that pink-haired girl away from her beloved only child. Chastity plant. Cockblock plant.

But she couldn't actually forbid him from seeing me, because even Mrs. Varsh knew that would only lead to me immediately becoming pregnant with his baby or something. So I could still come and visit him in his mom's shop after softball practice.

The best time to hang out with Adrian without his mom looking over our shoulders and making sure we left room between us for the Mother Goddess was just after he closed up the shop, around six. School let out at four, and I got out of softball practice at five thirty, which meant that after taking the bus to the library on Superior street and walking down to what some people called "Broomstick Boulevard" I only had to loiter among the foxglove and bergamot for fifteen minutes before Adrian locked the front door and we could hang out upstairs in the house, or downstairs in his mom's work room, where we were definitely not allowed to be under any circumstances. She kept a lot of cool stuff in there, though.

On a warm, bright afternoon on a day that hadn't bothered deciding whether it was late spring or early summer, I pushed open the door to Mrs. Varsh's apothecary shop, hearing the bell on the door jingle at the same time that magic prickled up my arm. Adrian called the feeling "like a spider wearing stilettos," and it got sharper the stronger the magic was. Sometimes it was pleasant. Other times not so much.

A pink-haired sophomore in dirt-smeared white pants and a Cooperhawks jersey didn't really fit in most places, but I stuck out like a goddamn pink-haired high schooler in a softball uniform in the shop, practically neon-bright in a place that was all earthtones and dusty sunlight filtering through the front window. There were three customers still browsing when I came to lean against the front counter where Adrian was marking things down in a ledger in his awful scribbly handwriting. He flashed me a "too cool and handsome to smile" look in greeting, and I gave him a "it's good to be so much cooler than anyone over thirty" nod back before turning to inspect what were considered impulse buys for a witch: bundles of sage, glass bottles, crystals of every color. Adrian was one of the slouchiest, sneering, fuck-the-system people I knew, so it was always weird to watch him stand up straight and smile charmingly at customers as they approached the counter, the piercings in his lips flashing as he said things like "Good afternoon Ms. Hemlock" and "Yes ma'am" and "Have a wonderful evening, say hello to the other ladies in your coven." I knew his mom was strict about manners, especially when it came to people who could give you crossed eyes and watery shits for a week if you pissed them off, but I still snickered at him and got a sub-zero glare in return.

A couple of sales and "Thank you ma'am, come back soon"s and insincere smiles later, Adrian was finally able to dash up to the front door and lock it, flipping the sign hanging in the window to 'CLOSED.' "I thought that broad with the purple hat was never going to decide what strain of marigold she wanted," he groaned as he came back to the counter. "For fuck's sake, if you've got a rash just get some cream for it. There's a reason western medicine exists, people, it's because it, like, works."

"It wasn't for a spell?"

"Nobody uses marigold in spellwork," Adrian snorted. "It's the main ingredient in poultices for skin conditions. She had her hands bandaged. Either she's been carving runes directly into her palms, which is stupid as hell, or she's got some kind of itch from forgetting to wash her hands after she works."

I wrinkled my nose. "Ew."

"Ew is right, and I wish they'd just take it to the clinic, because when mom finds out she's gonna make me wipe everything down with vinegar and lemon again." He leaned against the counter. "As if she isn't already piling work on me. I told her that if she wanted a slave, she should just build a Construct."

My eyebrows went up. "You said that to your mother?"

He shrugged. "Yeah." A pause. "Sort of. But she's been making me do all kinds of boring shit-- grinding down herbs, cleaning out the silk screens, poking plants."

"Grunt work," I said, stepping behind the counter and looking at the boxes of crystals lined up beside the cash register. "I bet you wouldn't have to do that stuff if you were a girl."

He throws his hands up. "I know! I'd be elbow-deep in all kinds of cool witchy shit by now if I were a chick, but I'm not even allowed to practice magic just because I'm a son instead of a daughter. I don't want to wear a pointy hat and dance naked under the moon or anything, I just want to learn to lay runes a little better. I've been looking at them, a little, and I think I can almost understand how they work. If I could just get a little training-- but if I even mentioned it to my mom, she'd freak out."

"That's bullshit." Stuck into a corner beside the register is a little white box about half the size of my hand; I winkle it out with my finger and then pull it towards me to open it.

"She hasn't found out yet, but I've been experimenting with-- oh shit, don't open that, Ash!"

I grin, already pulling the lid off. "What's in there, a horrible gooey demon? Severed finger? Used needle?" Nestled on a bed of cotton is a shiny black stone, a little chunkier than I was used to seeing in the shop. Someone's carved a simple little rune into it, rubbed with gold leaf to make it stand out.

"Don't look, it was supposed to be a surprise," Adrian whined, then shook his head. "God, I'm glad there isn't actually anything dangerous in there, I'd have a hard time explaining your stupid dead ass to my mom when she gets home."

"It's pretty," I said, staring down at it. "...Is it safe to touch?"

"Now you ask me," Adrian muttered. "Yeah, you can touch it. Just don't drop it, it's pretty fragile. I broke two of those damn things carving the rune before I figure out how to do it with a lighter hand."

I lifted the crystal out of the cotton, running a thumb over the rune. "What is it?"

"Black tourmaline." He wasn't looking at me. "It's a pretty standard protection crystal, with a really simple strengthening rune on it to make it, uh, louder." He rolled his shoulders stiffly, trying to look casual and failing. "It's for you."

"For me?"

"Yeah for you, and it was gonna be a surprise but you've got klepto hands apparently," he said, cheeks pink. "I was gonna cage it in something nice, like silver, and get a chain for it so you could wear it around your neck. It dispels negative energy and stuff. I thought you'd like it."

I could feel myself smiling, the crystal warming in my hand. "I do like it. It's really cool."

"...You think so?"

"Yeah. The gold looks good too." I looked up at him. "I know you could get into a lot of trouble for making this for me. It's kind of badass. Thanks, Adrian."

"Uh." He lifted his chin. "Yeah. You're welcome. I mean, you can't have it yet, it's too fragile to just carry around. But, uh. You're welcome."

"You said that." I leaned across the counter to kiss him on the cheek. "Dumbass. Hey, do you think your mom would let you off Saturday? They're doing that music thing in the park. I think it's just a dumb local band, but there's food trucks there too."

"Uh."

"Lots of people from school are going. If you want."

"Yeah, I--" he swallowed. "Yeah, I want. I mean." He cleared his throat. "It sounds okay. I'll go if you're going."

"You can text me tonight," I said, setting the crystal back in it's padded box and replacing the lid. "How long until your mom gets home? I brought that song I keep telling you about. You've got the thing to hook up to your stereo, right?"

Adrian shook his head, as if waking up from a dream. "Somewhere. I think it's in a drawer upstairs. C'mon." - Ko-Fi Twitter: @su1cidesauce

[bokkiedoke]

The Frozen Halls of Hades

At the far reachs of our star system lives a spiteful cosmic queen, forever P'O'd about what she calls "The dumbest fuckin' planetary decision since those pocket protectin' pricks decided to name their own planet after damn old dirty dirt.". Her name is Plutarch, but the historical reference is lost on her. The tyrannical ruler of Pluto, she planned for hundreds of years to finally take her robotic servants to Earth and destroy the quote "glasses-pushin' assholes" that dared say her domain was merely a dwarf planet.

"Seriously though, a 'dwarf planet', and then that Frankenstein lookin' fuck goes on TV every other day saying 'Oh but it's not really a planet anymore!'...", said the red faced monarch, scoffing, "...like if it's a dwarf it doesn't really count. That's goddamn dwarfist. What if I said you didn't really count as a Plutonian because you're a bit tinier than most?" What could be mistaken for a B Movie prop from 1960's Hollywood, or the trashcan it would be thrown in before a dude frizzle fried on too much acid took it back to his apartment and fucked it passionately, spoke.

"Yes my adroit and epigrammatic queen.", the robot said in a dandified voice.

With a roll of the eyes the queen responded, "Look, I know you've been on that thesaurus site, and that's great, but keep it simple when it comes to the compliments Tinny." "Of course my queen." The robot nervously shifted on it's duck-like rubber feet before turning to leave the room. Plutarch shot out of her chair, "Oh! Before you leave, what's the progress on the intergalatic ship?"

Tinny spun his...head?...around, "My queen! Don't you mean...Project First Contact."

Once again she rolled her eyes, "You robots are so goddamn ridiculous. First of all, that name is not at all incognito, and secondly, we aren't being spied on."

A person with bright pink skin leans in closely to her screen, the golden hue lighting up her face.

"Hey ugly, can you crank the volume a bit?"

Three bodyguards decked out in gear look at each other, puzzled.

"I think she's talkin' to you, X-X-Z.", says a sinewy lizard-like humanoid with a grin on their face.

A bulky female figure furrows her brow, "You're standin' right next to it, you lazy fuck. Also if you're gonna 'clean yourself' before shift please use some mouthwash afterwards"

The lizard sticks their tongue out, grazing the helmet of their leader as she stands between the bickering guards.

"EWW!", she yells, quickly removing her helmet to throw it across the room. "I don't care what you lick but make sure it's not my damn helmet. That thing'll smell like Akwa taint for days.". She re-adjusts her visor.

The engineer at the console looks over her shoulder and removes her earpiece, "Yeah don't worry, I got the volume under control. Assholes." Tamesis looks up after retrieving her helmet, "We're bodyguards, Dia. If the volume panel pulls a knife on you we'll be on it like a spacefly on shit, otherwise we'll leave the espionage to you." "Yeah speaking of how shitty y'all are as spies, your boss sent a fuckin' delivery ship here, something for you, he said it's for a 'research project', whatever that means."

Akwa fiddles with their Comm-Band for a moment, "Hmm, looks like it's a robot. I'll go get it."

As the mag-door slides up, Akwa hears something akin to tin cans being shoved into a garbage disposal. They look up from the user manual to see a large, rusted robot standing incredibly still in the middle of the cargo bay.

"Dude, you do know, that I know, that you're from Pluto."

The robot doesn't move.

"Look, two things are incredibly obvious. You're not a statue, and that piece of crap Plutarch sent you."

It still hasn't moved.

"...you're leaking oil and have a badge on your chest the fuckin' says Plutarch Robotics."

A speaker begins to crackle horribly inside of the chest of the robot, "Shit, cheese it y'all!"

A bunch of shoebox sized robots start driving down from the walls and out from under crates. The larger robot waves them into the escape pod.

"HaHAAAA," the robot's voice starts glitching a little, "...This is what you stupid Earth assholes get for spying on our queen! We've planted smartbombs all over this ship and now we'll be taking your only escape pod!"

As the escape pod begins to seal, Akwa yells back, "Uh, what about the ship you came here in?"

"I've got the keys, lizard brain!", he dangles them up to the window as the pod begins to release from the ship.

"You left it on, you rusty fuck. Also, the steering computer on that escape pod has CAPTCHA."

"SHIIIIIIIIIiiii-", the pod starts spinning faster and faster, careening into space away from Pluto. The mag-doors fly open behind Akwa, then the rest of the crew charges into the room. They look over their shoulder, "You'd think after hundreds of years of technology existing people wouldn't make 'Here's My Plan!' speeches."

Tamesis pulls them into the Plutonian ship, then looks to XXZ, "Quick, throw the crate in here!"

"Can't we just let it get blown up?", says X standing halfway into the ship.

"No, it'll come out of our pay."

Akwa looks at their wrist, "Yeah that thing's uh...one million krone."

The crate flys into the ship, almost smashing into Dia.

"For the love of Spacechrist!"

"Would hurting you come out of my pay too?", X smirks while dashing into the ship.

"Protecting me is literally your job, fuckface.", she cranks the throttle hard, and X trips back and hits her head against a panel.

Noise metal starts blaring in the ship as the rest of the systems come to life.

"Cosmic Shit, I thought that was just a joke!" Akwa screams over the music as they dash towards the volume panel. As the music starts to quiet down, Dia turns back to her guards.

"Looks like you do know how to work one of those." X pulls the pilot's chair back and leans over Dia's shoulder. "How about you just drive the ship before I quit my job and chuck you out the escape hatch?"

The de facto captain nervously looks down at the controls and nods her head in agreement. They quickly land on the planet, then Akwa and Tamesis slowly creep out of the escape pod to survey the halls of Plutarch's lair. After some silent pointing between the two and Akwa referencing their Comm-Band for a moment, they gesture back to the ship. As X steps out onto the surface she tiptoes out with a smirk, Akwa rolls their eyes and shouts back to her.

"Yeah we can just walk right up to the place from what I can tell. They might have some security inside but that front door is unlocked."

X pulls a K-Cannon off her back and leads the charge towards the compound. She gets to the large door and flings it open with one arm.

They enter the long glass hallway leading to what they think is Plutarch's chamber, when a robot resembling a posh usher steps in front of X. She shoots him a mean side-eye.

"Umm yes excuse me ma'am, but we regret to inform you all energy-based weaponry must be confiscateGAH AHH zzrrrrrrrrrrRRRRRRRRRRRTTTTT"

While the distinguished robot was making his speech, X had reached up and snapped off a piece of heavy chain and began strangling the mechanical messenger. As she snapped the chain tight, popping off his head, dozens of mishapen but rowdy looking robots entered from behind the group.

X went wild-eyed and started swinging the chain over her head as Immigrant Song started playing. Even though these robots were specifically made to not feel fear, they knew when to get the fuck out of the way. But as they tried to flee they realized where the chain came from. It was the one used keep the bay door open.

Metal body parts were flyin' everywhere. Akwa and Tamesis just stood back, partially because they were awe struck, but mostly because, to quote Akwa, "I ain't gettin' near that crazy ass fucker for any amount of money.". When the chaos had settled all that could be seen was X standing over a robot in the far corner of the room.

It was holding a chair, blocking the whipping blows from the chain. After a couple more brutal swings, X ripped the chair from it's hands. As the bot stood up to run, she swung the chair and smashed them so hard they accordian'd down into a small pile of rusty scrap metal.

Akwa observes the door before them, then tightens their eyes looking at the deep indentation within the metal lock. Opening up their Comm-Band again, they start looking through information at a rapid pace. Tamesis grabs one of the robot's hands from the edges of the chair as X stands over the heap of steel. She puts it into a slot next to the ornate door at the end of the hall and it opens with a pressurized hiss. Akwa looks puzzled.

"How'd you know that would work?"

Tamesis tosses the hand aside.

"All the bots are random hunks of junk, but their hands were the same. Pretty obvious really." When the gap widens enough for them, the group dips underneath the door and enters the chamber. X enters first and starts running towards the throne at the center of the room.

"You will die!", the thunderous screams of the hulking bodyguard echo throughout the room. As Tamesis and Akwa reach down for their weapons they feel something fly past them, and hear a large crash behind them.

"What...the hell...was that?", X says hoarsely before slumping over and passing out on the ground. "Akwa, this shit is crazy and we ain't gettin' paid for it, grab her and let's get the fuck out of here!"

Akwa strains to keep their beefy companion up as they approach the door and toss her under it. They turn around to Tamesis and notice her helmet is off. Without turning around she kicks Akwa under the door.

"Go to the ship, now."

The large door slams shut violently, but from under it a blue light emerges as Akwa drags X out to their escape. The building begins to shake, and bay lights flicker before turning off completely, then the light is soon replaced with the blinding blue glow. Testing their sidearm, Akwa notices all systems are now functioning. They bring out a porcelain white canister, then after fiddling with their Comm-Band, it morphs into a plasma welder.

Cutting a large hole through the bay door, Akwa quickly pushes X outside and then slides through. As they go to pick up X and run, they hear a pained scream steadily rising in volume. They peer down the hallway and see the blue light has softened, so much so that it's almost completely dark. With the light on their Comm-Band, they see Plutarch's chamber falling to pieces.

As a figure dashes towards the now opened chamber door they trip, and it comes slamming down on their back as they try to crawl away. A yelp rings in Akwa's ears. Heavy breathing turns to a sick gargling as the enormous door crushes down on them. Akwa looks behind themselves towards the ship.

"Fuck it."

Akwa dives back through the hole in the door. With a swipe at their Comm-Band they are now holding a sleek energy rifle, as they charge down the dimly lit hallway. While dodging falling rubble Akwa speaks.

"Don't worry, I can get you outta here, we got a Medbot back at the base, we'll be there in like, 2 minutes flat, you'll live..."

The door quickly rises and once again the blue light blinds Akwa.

"I hope you don't plan on taking a damn lich with us."

Akwa blocks some of the light with their hand, and notices Tamesis standing there. It's the first time they have seen her without her visor on, and her eyes look like an ocean of crashing waves.

"Look, we gotta get out of here, so stop staring at me. I'll explain on the ship. Okay?"

As they walk up the ramp of the ship, Plutarch's mansion becomes filled with roaring flames, which quickly die out when exposed to the emptiness of space. The crew sits around the small table in the cramped cabin, knowing they have a couple of hours until they get back to Earth.

"So Tamesis, what the fuck happened back there?", says X after she drops the large box of cargo in front of Akwa. They start digging into it.

Tamesis takes her helmet off, "Sure. I'm..."

Akwa pulls a manual from the crate, "I KNEW IT! IT'S A FUCKIN' SEXBOT!"

The End.

[ghostbustermelanieking]

snow in april (chapter 6 of 8)

deadalive au, casefile

one /// two /// three /// four /// five

warning for general eeriness, discussion/slight depiction of death, temporary death of a child

They didn't get very far. Of course they didn't, that would be too easy. There was a roadblock and scattered members of the police department were there. “Can't let you go any further,” the officer who stopped them told them regretfully.

“And why is that?” Scully said coldly.

The officer flicked his eyes over to the passenger seat, the woman in it, and gulped. “Roads too bad,” he said.

“We'll take our chances,” Mulder snapped, reaching for the gear shift.

“I-I can't let you do that, sir,” the man stammered. “Sheriff's orders.”

“We're FBI.” Scully presented her badge.

A man with a gargantuan mustache who was wearing the sheriff's badge came up to the car. “Ma'am, I'm afraid it doesn't matter who you are. You can't leave.”

“Where's Deputy Haswell?” Mulder demanded. “I want to speak to Deputy Haswell.”

“She's out. Resigned,” the awkward officer said. The sheriff shot him a look, and he slunk off, quietly.

“Hey, Sheriff, I know these guys,” said a man who Mulder recognized as the friend Haswell had called in, the one who had said it wasn't Calvert. Jeff something - Renner, maybe. Funny, he thought darkly, he's acknowledging us more than he did at Haswell’s. “Agents… Mulder and Sully, right?”

“Scully,” Scully corrected him sharply. Her voice was colder than the temperature outside.

“Right.” Jeff leaned on the car like they were old buddies, an apologetic look on his face. “Listen, guys, I'm sure you're real anxious to get home, but I'm afraid we can't let you through. You could crash, get killed, and I'm sure you don't want that with a little one on the way.”

“We're not concerned about crashing, I've had plenty of experience driving in the snow,” Mulder said shortly. “Besides, won't the weather be warmer further down the mountain? It's April.”

Jeff shrugged, a picture of innocence. “Don't know what to tell you.”

“There must be another road,” Scully said.

The sheriff shook his head. “This here's the only way out, unless you want to walk.”

“You can't keep us here,” she hissed, fierce and furious. “That's unlawful imprisonment.”

“No one's being imprisoned,” the sheriff said, his voice taking on a menacing tone. “Not yet, at least.” He lifted his jacket, just slightly, so that Mulder could clearly see his gun.

A wave of nausea rolled over Mulder, and he shifted the car into reverse. “Good decision, Agent Mulder,” Jeff said cheerfully. “Everyone will be safer this way.”

Somehow I doubt that, Mulder thought viciously, turning the car around. As he turned, he saw Calvert in a look.black winter coat, standing near the road block. He offered Mulder a small smile. Mulder looked away.

“What are we going to do?” Scully whispered as soon as the window was up and they were driving the other way, back towards Calvert Pass. “We can't stay here, and we can't walk.”

“We need help,” Mulder said, clutching the wheel tightly so his hands wouldn't shake. “We need to go to Haswell's, I think she's our best option for getting out of here.”

“I don't know that we can trust Haswell.”

“I don't know that we have a choice,” he said. Scully bit her lip and nodded. “I think you should call Doggett. At the very least, he could come up with backup, right?”

Scully nodded again, jaw clenched. Her hands were pressed together in her lap. “Hey,” he said softly, letting go of the wheel with one hand to brush her shoulder. “It's going to be okay.”

Scully turned to look at him. Her face was grave, hands pressed to her stomach in a way that could only be described as protective. “I have a bad feeling, Mulder,” she said. “I don't know how to describe it, but I do.”

---

They got to Haswell's quickly. Mulder came around the door to help Scully, and she made a face at him, and he said, “Please, Scully,” quietly, and she sighed and grabbed his arm to walk up to the porch.

Haswell looked a little surprised to see them. Actually, she looked kind of frazzled in general - in pajama bottoms and a ragged band t-shirt, hair in a frizzing ponytail, eyes a little wild. “Agents,” she said, opening the door a little wider.

“My field trip got canceled,” Lyla announced when they came in the door. She was sitting on the stairs with a book balanced on her lap. “Because of the stupid snow. That's why Anna’s at school and I'm not.”

“We need your help,” Scully was saying to Haswell, frantic.

“It was to the water treatment plant,” Lyla said. “I had to do a stupid report. It was established in 1974.”

“They won't let us leave town. We saw something last night, it came in our house looking for Mulder, and we tried to leave town but they wouldn’t let us,” Scully said, her hand tightening around his arm.

Haswell closed her eyes in misery. “I was afraid of something like this,” she muttered. “I knew this would happen, it's goddamn inevitable.”

“What do you mean?” Mulder said sharply. (It seemed clear to him, in the moment, that Scully was right about Haswell being suspicious, and he should've seen it from the beginning. He'd made wrong choice after wrong choice after wrong choice, and now they were in danger because of it.)

Haswell turned to look at her daughter, who was staring at them with interest. “Lyla, go to your room and play,” she said. The little girl's eyes widened and she scrambled to her feet and ran up the stairs. “Come into the kitchen,” Haswell said to Scully and Mulder, motioning them forward. They didn't have any choice, it seemed, but to follow.

In the kitchen, Haswell paced back and forth. She grabbed an egg-smeared pan from the stove and started scrubbing it over the sink. “I wasn't going to get you involved in this, you know,” she said, scrubbing furiously.

Mulder and Scully sat down at the table. He reached for her hand underneath it, and she slid her fingers into his seamlessly.

“I've always felt guilty when these things happen, because who the hell wouldn't. I'm a cop who doesn't save people.” She turned on the water, a hard spray. “But I've learned to let it go. Take the statement and move on. Have a good life with my daughters. I was never interested in their damn agenda, and I didn't know what they'd do to me if I tried to stop it.”

“Mari…” Scully started, warily, squeezing his hand.

The pan hit the bottom of the sink, soapy water splattering the countertop, and Haswell turned to them. Her face was slightly softer than before. “I know you don't trust me right now,” she said. “You have the right. But you have to understand how long I've been living with this. Since 1987. That's a lot of guilt, you know. I go away to school, to become a police officer, and I come back and learn what my town has come to. It's a hard thing to live with. I couldn't leave before because my parents were here and they were dying, and then I couldn't leave because I had two little girls established here and my husband buried here. So I've been trying to figure out how to deal with it for years. Because I know someday they'll try to recruit my daughters for their little club, and I don't want that for them. I want to save all those nice people who shouldn't have to die. Again.”

Mulder shuddered, his fingers tightening around Scully's. She knew from the beginning, she'd been playing them. “Haswell, just tell us the truth,” he said. “What the hell is going on here?”

“You want to know the truth?” Haswell snapped. “I've been trying to protect you. I thought maybe if you dug enough you'd put the pieces together, but it's too dangerous and this is bigger than the two of you. I thought if I played dumb and gave you Calvert as a starting point that you'd eventually figure it all out, find out what they were doing, but that didn't happen because you made yourself a fucking target. You want the goddamn truth?”

It's out there, Mulder wanted to crack, but thought better of it. He always had the absurd instinct to make jokes in dire situations and they never went down well.

“The truth is that people die in this town, and it's no accident. And everyone knows about it and never does a damn thing. The truth is that the person who killed Cara and Kyle Roberts was trying to bring them back to life,” Haswell hissed.

Mulder froze, heart in his throat. Scully's fingernails dug into his jacket. Of course, he thought. Of course I find a case and it's goddamn necromancy. Just his fucking luck.

“It never works,” Haswell said. “It never fucking works and the responsible party never learns, they're like goddamn children. They keep killing and killing and hoping for a different result, but they never get it. And no one can say a thing to them about it because they all think they're doing the right thing for this town.”

“Mari,” Scully said softly. She still had a firm grip on his sleeve. “Who's involved? How far up does this go?”

“Stay here,” Haswell growled. “I'll fix this, I'll tell them you were faking at your appointment, Agent Mulder, and then maybe they'll let you go. Then maybe you can send someone back to fix this godforsaken town. Stay here and watch my kid - Anna's at school, she’s going home with a friend, so you don't have to worry about her - and I'll be back.” She turned and stormed out the door before either of them could protest.

Mulder gulped. The lump in his throat was growing larger, suffocating, and he felt like he was going to be sick. “I wasn't faking,” he whispered.

---

They tried to put together the pieces. Mulder got out a pad of paper and scribbled down everything they knew - the victim's names and dates of death (including the original three outliers), details of their encounters with the scarecrows, everything Haswell had said before she left. It wasn't much, not enough to make a comprehensive theory. “Haswell claimed that people have been killing tourists in an attempt to bring them back to life,” Scully said, hunching over the paper. “And everyone just… knows about it and does nothing?”

“Calvert has to be involved,” said Mulder. “Because Haswell said she'd hoped we'd put the pieces together starting with Calvert, so he has to be involved.”

“A cult? A group of people in the town who believe they can bring people back to life? This could be a necromancy version of Dudley, Arkansas,” Scully muttered.

There did seem to be several similarities. Mulder suddenly remembered her face washed out in firelight, her mouth taped and her eyes filled with fear, and he shuddered. “Something similar to a cult would make sense,” he said out loud. “Haswell didn't want to be involved in it, but she also couldn't get away from it or report it because these are the townspeople she's lived around forever. And she possibly can't leave because they won't let her.”

“She might’ve resigned in an attempt to get away,” Scully pointed out.

“I think this is the last straw and she hoped that we'd be able to get her out with our credentials, bring some justice to this fucked up place. She probably just didn't expect one of us to fit the M.O.”

“So they lure people here… either through Calvert’s counseling service, or the blackout, or both… and they kill these people who have recently died and come back to life, in the hopes that… what, that it'll happen again?” Scully sounded slightly disgusted.

“And the scarecrows is where they go when they don't come back to life,” Mulder said. “It's like Anna said - he traps the souls of his patients forever.”

Scully didn't point out how ridiculous that sounded. She just said, “Mulder, there are more than seventeen scarecrows.”

He was surprised she had counted; he'd been too busy being generally terrified by them. “Maybe there's more than seventeen victims. They started with uninvolved townspeople… maybe they kept going.”

“Or maybe the extras are for future victims,” Scully said softly. She was looking at him.

Some slight nausea overtook him. You can’t escape this, Cara Roberts had said. You have to come back to the ground. But he would escape it; he had to.

Haswell didn't come back for a couple hours. “I think we should be worried,” Scully said. “If the bits and pieces of her story are true, then we can assume the townspeople will be hostile if she goes against them.”

“And if she was trying to trick us, was working against us, then she probably wouldn't have left us babysitting her kid,” said Mulder. He got up from the table, digging into his pocket for his keys. “I'm going after her.”

“No, you're not. You have no idea where she went, and besides that, we have Lyla here.”

“You stay with Lyla. I'll go.”

“You are not going alone,” she hissed angrily. “You have no idea what you're facing, and we only have one gun between us."

He sat back down; he wasn't going to argue, and he wasn't going to put Scully in danger, or Haswell’s kid.

Scully called The New Partner. “Agent Doggett? It's Scully,” she said, and Mulder was ridiculously happy she referred to him as Agent. “No, I'm fine, we both are. For now. But I don't know how much longer we'll be that way.” She paused uncertainly. “Listen, we ended up in a town in North Carolina called Calvert Pass. We were trapped here by the snow, and now the townspeople won't let us leave. We… Agent Doggett?”

Mulder tugged her sleeve. “What happened, did he hang up?”

“Agent Doggett? Doggett, are you there?” Scully spoke frantically into the phone, clutching it tightly in her hand like a lifeline. (It was a lifeline: theirs.) Even pressed against her ear, he could hear the crackle of static. “Doggett!” She groaned with frustration suddenly, letting the phone drop onto the table. “Call got cut off,” she lamented. She grabbed the phone and started punching in buttons. “It's dead,” she confirmed.

“Try Haswell's, I'll change your batteries,” Mulder directed. But a battery change didn't do anything, and Haswell's  cell was dormant as well. There was no way to reach anyone on the outside.

“Can they do this? Control our phones like this?” Scully whispered, horrified. Neither of them knew.

There didn't seem to be anything left to do but make lunch for Lyla. She came down, asking where her mom was, and Mulder lied and told her work, and Scully offered her lunch. She spread peanut butter over bread and cut it into triangles. Mulder watched in a mesmerized kind of way, tried to imagine her doing that with her kid. (No, wait, their kid.) She's going to get out of here, he told himself. No matter what happens to me, she will get out of here.

“When will Mommy be back?” Lyla asked softly when Scully put her plate in front of her.

“I don't know, sweetie. I'm sure it'll be soon,” Scully said.

The kid nodded, looking down at her plate in dejection and poking at her sandwich. Mulder thought of a distraction, a way to take their minds off of it all, and said, “Hey, you said you had to write a report, right? For the field trip you didn't go on?”

“Uh-huh.”

“You wanna show us the report? Scully… Dana’s a teacher, she could give you some pointers.” Apparently, Scully got his drift and nodded, smiling down at Lyla.

Lyla shrugged her shoulders, but she got to her feet and went back to her room, reappearing a few minutes later with a couple of sheets of large-lined notebook paper stapled together. She read her report seriously, in a voice that trembled with the obvious fear she had for her mother. When she was finished, they offered their compliments, and Lyla offered her a wobbly smile before heading off to watch television.

“You're pretty good with kids,” Mulder said when she was gone. It was the kind of thing he'd always thought and never said, because her daughter was dead and the IVF didn't work. But she was pregnant now and he could say that. (And nothing was going to happen to her, even now, so he really could say that.)

Scully murmured something like thanks, her head leaning against his shoulder.

Guilt was choking him, building thickly in his chest. “I'm sorry, Scully,” he mumbled into her hair. “I'm so sorry. I'm sorry I got involved in this, I'm sorry I didn't listen to you, that I put you in danger…”

“Mulder…”

“I'm sorry I left you. I'm sorry I walked into that fucking light because I was curious about what was on the other side. I'm sorry I didn't tell you I was dying.” He was on a role, had eight years of stuff to apologize for.

“Mulder.” Her hand pressed into his chest, and he stopped. “You didn't know,” she said softly. “You couldn't have known. They lured you here, so we would've been in danger either way. You probably saved us by digging into the Roberts murders, made us more aware of the possibilities.”

“Still,” he said softly. “It was stupid.”

“It was,” she replied, turning her face into his neck. “I won't deny you did some dumb things, and I want to talk about it later. But I was unfair these past few days. I haven't been considering what you've been going through as much as I should have and I was too harsh the other night.”

“You were telling the truth,” he said. “You're entitled to your feelings, Scully, most of the time you don't even let me know how you feel about things…”

“Hush.” She pulled away to look in the eye, cupped his cheek. “We need to talk, and we will. But there's no sense in starting an argument now. We're going to get out of here.”

His hand moved up to cover hers. “And you're going to be a mom.”

She swallowed, turned her hand over in his and took it. “We're going to be parents,” she said, squeezing it. “If that's what you want.”

It was what he'd wanted since the IVF, since she'd awkwardly asked him to be the donor. He leaned in, resting his chin against her hair, not letting go of her hand. “It's what I want,” he whispered, and she pulled their hands up to her mouth and kissed the back of his.

They would get out of here, and so would the Haswells. They had to.

---

It was freezing outside, and Anna was walking home alone.

Her friend’s father had been upset at dinner, something about the roadblock and the “goddamn FBI agents”. Penny and her little brother had been staring at him like they didn’t know him, and Penny’s mother had touched him on the arm and said, “Dear, not at the table… or in front of guests,” with a pointed look at Anna.

And Anna had thought about her mom, her request to move, her strange dream last night. Her dream-dad’s order for her to run. And she’d felt the need to get home right away, an unexplainable need crawling around under her skin. “I have to go,” she’d said, standing and walking quickly to the coat rack by the door. She didn’t even bother with getting her bag, just bundled up and ran. And now she was walking home alone.

The woods were almost absurdly dark, like something out of that stupid Robert Frost poem she had to memorize for school. Lovely, dark and deep, or whatever. Anna shivered, shoving her hands further into her pockets. And then she heard a strange voice, low and whispering: “Anna…”

Anna turned, startled, looking around. “Penny?” she demanded. No answer.

It had definitely been a woman’s voice. “Mom?” she called. “Lyla?” No answer. Must’ve been just the wind, she thought furiously, even though it was a horror movie cliche, and started running.

“Anna Rose Haswell…”

Anna ducked behind a tree, heart pounding. She pressed her shoulder against it, trying to catch her breath. Don't let them see you, is what everyone says. If they see you, it's over. She held her breath, pressing herself against the bark, trying to shrink into herself. Something silver stuck up out of the snow: a lighter. She snatched it up, the closest thing to an actual weapon she had; it was cold in her hand.

A very distinct sound echoed in her ears, she knew it from watching the scarecrows walk a dozen times. It was the sound of a straw hand scraping against the bark of the tree. She pressed her back against the tree, shutting her eyes, and tried not to scream.

More scraping, more rustling. Breathe in, breathe out, Anna instructed herself, trying to stay calm. And then the voice again: “Anna?”

She opened her eyes and found herself surrounded by the scarecrows. Blank button eyes, beaked nose, stitched smile. She screamed. One stepped towards her, and her fingers fumbled on the lighter until they found the right spot and a tiny flame popped up. She thrust it forward, onto the straw hand.

The scarecrow made an inhuman sound and stumbled backwards, waving its flaming arm. It brushed up against another scarecrow’s arm and that one went up in flames. The cycle repeated itself, several others going up. Anna turned, frantic, and thrust the flame at a few others. As more went up in flames, she ran, past them towards her house, dropping the lighter in the snow.

“Anna?”

She froze, boots skidding in the snow. This voice was different, familiar. She whirled around, tears falling, looking for the source. “Anna Banana?” the voice said again.

She turned and found the scarecrow that the voice was coming from. It wasn't burning yet, and it was looking at her. Not malevolently. She sniffled. It couldn't be. It couldn't be, but it had to be. “Daddy?”

“I have to show you something, baby,” he said. “I'm sorry.” And Anna's vision went fuzzy at the edges.

Her father was hunched over a limp little girl - her - on the banks of a river. Please, you have to help me, you have to save her, he begged, and Anna saw Dr. Calvert all of a sudden, standing behind him with his hands in his pockets, a grave look on his face.

I can't, he said sadly. I'm not allowed.

Please. He was crying, cradling the girl who was Anna in his lap. You can't do this, she's my daughter.

I can't, Calvert said again. I can't help you.

Her dad sobbed, hunching over her. He was whispering - No, no, no - and stroking her hair. Calvert looked away, like it was hard to watch. They stood there on the banks for a minute before Calvert stepped forward, putting a hand on her father's shoulder. Calm down, take a deep breath, he said. Here, drink some water. He handed her father a canister.

Goddamnit, I don't want water, her dad hissed. My daughter is dead… god, please. He was rocking her back and forth.

Robert, Calvert said quietly. He sat beside them on the bank. Just drink some water. It'll make you feel better.

Her dad made a terrible face, snatched the cannister from his hands and gulped a few mouthfuls before throwing it aside. There. Are you fucking happy now, Terrence? He hugged her - Anna - close, kissing her head. It won't bring my little girl back.

But it would; a minute later, Anna started moving. She bucked in her father's arms, coughing up the water harshly. Calvert scrambled back in surprise; her dad smoothed her wet hair back. Anna took raspy, trembling breaths, finally whispering, Daddy?

Her dad gathered his daughter up in his arms, hugging her tightly. Oh, baby, it's okay, he whispered. Just breathe, Anna, just breathe.

The scene shifted. The same place, different people. Calvert stood to the side. She was sitting on the bench seat of a picnic table with a beach towel around her shoulders, a young Jeff beside her. The reverend, younger, standing in front of her dad. Confronting him. Just tell me what happened and this will all be over.

I can't tell you what happened because I don't know! I'm not a part of your goddamn cult, Reverend, I don't know how I saved her. She was dead and then she was alive. Her father was agitated, turning away from the reverend towards Anna.

You don't know what happened. The reverend's voice was dangerous.

I don't.

The reverend moved forward and shoved him to the ground in one swift move. You have to know! he roared, leaning over her dad. Tell me what happened, tell me how you did it. It's not fair that my wife gets to stay dead and your daughter gets to come back!

Daddy? Anna called from a distance away. Jeff looked concerned; he pulled her onto his lap, covering her eyes.

What the hell, Sam? Let me the fuck up! her dad shouted. I don't know how it happened and I don't care! You're all crazy, this should've ended years ago!

The reverend groped for something, his hand landing on a rock. He raised it over his head. Jeff lifted Anna and turned her away, You don't need to see this, squirt, and the reverend looked down at him. Tell me, he said quietly.

Her dad's eyes widened. Don't do anything stupid, Sam, I told you I don't know…

The reverend’s hand descended.

Anna screamed. She screamed at the top of her lungs, sobbing hard, her eyes screwed shut. “I'm so sorry, baby,” her father said through the scarecrow. “I'm sorry, but I had to do that, you had to remember. Your mom is in danger. She's in Calvert’s house. You need to go get help for her, and then you need to leave town.”

“Mom's in trouble?” she whimpered, wiping her cheeks with the back of her hand.

“Yes, sweetie. I'm sorry to tell you this way. Just go get help and it'll be okay.”

She looked at the ground, didn't want to look at the thing that was talking for her father. “Okay,” she said. “I will. I love you, Daddy.”

“I love you, too, sweetie.” When she looked up, the scarecrow was walking away. She turned and ran the other way, wiping tears from her face.

---

By dinnertime, Haswell still hadn’t come back. It was getting dark, and Mulder and Scully were sitting in the living room with Lyla, watching another rerun of I Love Lucy. Lyla was coloring on the floor, laughing halfheartedly and occasionally at the TV. Scully was quiet, half-napping with her head on Mulder's shoulder. And then they heard the scream; a piercing, screeching scream.

Scully jolted up beside him. “Mulder, what was that?”

“I don't know, I don't know,” he said frantically. Lyla was looking up at them with wide, teary eyes. Please don't let it be Haswell, he thought.

“That's what Anna sounds like when she screams,” Lyla said, voice shifting towards tears. “I've heard it.” She hugged a throw pillow like a stuffed animal, terrified.

“Oh my god,” Scully breathed, turning to look at him. “Mulder…”

“Stay here, I'll go check,” he said, getting to his feet. Worry passed over Scully’s face, and he said, “It'll be fine, I promise.” He was talking to both of them, and he hoped it was true.

It felt like the temperature had dropped another twenty degrees outside - the temperature hit him like a ton of bricks. He shivered and grabbed his coat from the coat rack, wrapping it around him. “Anna!” he shouted into the cold and wind. There was no answer.

He picked his way down the frozen front path, past their car and to the main road, looking it up and down. “Anna?” he shouted. His voice came echoing back to him from the trees. Down the road, by an empty fence where the line of scarecrows should be, a small, dark-headed figure turned her head before ducking behind the fence.

Against his better judgement, likely, Mulder took off running. His feet slipped a few times on the snow and ice, but he managed not to fall. He reached Calvert’s house within the space of a few minutes. All the lights were off; the glass panels in the door to Calvert’s makeshift waiting room had paper taped over it.

The fence looked too empty; he tried not to dwell on where the scarecrows were. He shoved at the gate. Anna was crouched between a tree and the fence, somewhat out of sight of the house. “Anna?” he hissed, going to where she’d be in earshot.

“My mom’s in there,” Anna said darkly, urgently. “I have to save her.”

“What?”

“They murdered my dad! They murdered my dad and now they have my mom…” Her voice cracked and she wiped her eyes with the pads of her fingers.

“Whoa, slow down.” Mulder held up a hand, trying to calm her down. “Take some deep breaths and tell me what happened. It's okay.”

“It is not okay,” she said fiercely. “I remember now. I remember the day my father died. The reverend bashed his head in with a rock from the river. Reverend Greene, I've always hated him but I didn't know why. Jeff was watching. He picked me up and carried me away so I wouldn't have to watch.”

Reverend Greene. He recognized the name, and suddenly realized why: the first victim, Matilda Greene, had been found and called in by her husband, Samuel Greene, the local reverend. There were blocky chunks of text blacked out in the file, the same as in the file for the second and third victims. And the second and third victims had been found by one and the same: Samuel Greene.

“My dad, my dad, he… told me. Through the scarecrows. I set them on fire,” Anna hiccupped, and she pointed towards the woods where a faint glow was coming. “He showed me, I saw it. And he told me they had my mom in here. I have to save her. Right now, I have to save her.”

Mulder's mind was racing, but he didn't have time to dwell. “Anna, listen. Listen to me.” His tone was unusually stern, and she turned to him in surprise. “I’ll go in. I’ll get your mom. I'll save her. You need to go back to the house where it’s safe. My partner, Scully, is there with Lyla, she'll protect you. You need to be there for your sister. I'll bring your mom home.”

Stunned into silence, Anna nodded. Her eyes were wide and watering, her cheeks red from the cold and aggressive wind.

“Go on,” Mulder said. “Run and don’t look back.”

She started to turn, stopped. “Promise you'll bring her home?”

He gulped. “I promise.”

She nodded, wiping her eyes. She slid under the fence and took off running without looking back.

Mulder breathed a small sigh of relief and began creeping towards Calvert’s without a second thought.

The house stayed silent, the scarecrows stayed still. He went to the front door, directly, and grabbed the doorknob. The door swung inwards effortlessly. Okay, Mulder thought. This is basically the beginning of a horror movie. And because he’d always basically been a victim in a horror movie who’d managed to survive the films, he kept going.

The halls were dark, darker than the time he’d snuck around in the house before. Mulder fumbled in his coat for his penlight and found it somewhere in an inside pocket. The tiny beam didn’t do much to ward off the dark; he moved it from item to item to try and gage his surroundings, moved forward quietly. He reached for his gun for his free hand before he remembered he didn't have it. Scully has the gun, he thought. She'll be able to protect herself and the girls. That seemed more important than anything.

He kept going down the dark hallway, the tiny light enveloped in his palm. He passed the table with the book on it, and froze when he saw it was open.

The same scrawl was on the new page: FBI agent, claims to have drowned while being waterboarded by drug dealers that held him captive for three months and was resuscitated by his partner. Researching into him to confirm. Something different about him. From Alexandria, claims no immediate family. Claimed staying in town with aunt, really staying in cabins with pregnant woman (aforementioned partner pictured above). And above the words was the picture, the one of him and Scully at a crime scene that had been featured in the article done on them a few years ago. Press for the stupid fucking movie, Federman had sent reporters sniffing around for a straight week. The picture he’d cut out and pinned up in their office. The only picture of them together in existence, as far as he knew.

Mulder felt nauseous. The weight of it all almost brought him to his knees. Scully. They knew she was here, they must’ve known what she meant to him. And that put her in danger. Fuck, why had he brought them here? He’d probably never forgive himself for that if they got out of here. (When, he corrected himself furiously, because they always got out. They'd get away this time, too.)

He forced himself to keep going, the pen light obscured in his shaking palm. Finding Haswell and getting out was the most important thing at the moment. He went up the stairs, floorboards creaking under his feet. He heard a muffled moan from behind a door. “Haswell?” he whispered, moving the pen light towards the noise.

The moan grew louder, along with several hard kicks to the door. He fumbled for the doorknob and yanked it open, revealed Haswell bound to a chair inside, her mouth taped shut.

“My god,” he muttered, dropping down to free her. He had to pull her out of the room - closet, really - because there was no extra space inside. He pulled the tape off as gently as he could. “Haswell… Mari… are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” she said impatiently, voice wobbly. “The girls, Mulder… are the girls okay? I heard Anna screaming...”

“They’re fine, they’re fine,” he said, undoing the knots at her ankles. “They’re both back at the house, Scully’s with them. Anna had a run-in with the scarecrows, she says, but she's fine… she said that the reverend killed her father, she said the scarecrows showed her…”

Haswell made a choking sound. “They killed my husband,” she whispered. “I heard them talking about it. And I never knew, never thought to look…”

“It’s okay.” His fingers slipped uselessly at the ropes around her wrists, and he kept working at loosening them. “Once we get out of here, we’ll send people in. They won’t get away with this.”

“They’re targeting you, Mulder,” she whispered. The ropes fell to the ground in a coil. He stood and helped her to her feet. She was gazing at him seriously in the dark. “It’s not safe…”

“I know, I know,” he said. “We’re going to get out of here. Is there anyone in the house?”

“I don’t know.”

They turned together towards the staircase and started cautiously downstairs. “What happened?” he whispered.

“I went to Jeff’s to try and talk things over with him. He drugged me, and I woke up here, in the closet. I don’t know who all’s been here, I’ve just heard people talking. My asshole reverend, the one who murdered my husband. Jeff. Calvert. They mentioned you a lot.”

“Who's involved in this?” They hit the bottom floor, Haswell stumbling a little; Mulder steadied her.

“I don't know, I never went to the meetings because I didn't believe in the cause. Dozens and dozens, but… I never knew how many people in my personal life… my doctor, my kid’s elementary school teachers…”

“What is the cause, Mari? What's going on here?”

She turned to face him, dark eyes dead serious in the absence of light. “A long time ago, the people of this town had powers,” she said seriously. “In my lifetime, even. I used to make things float across the room, make it stop raining if I wanted to play outside…  Those powers started fading out of nowhere, after hundreds of years; people who already had them were weakened, my kids don't have them at all. Some have stayed around, weakly, the telekinesis and the weather stayed, but necromancy has faded completely. It was always the strongest and the hardest to use. They wanted to bring it back, they… They've been killing people who've had NDEs to try and bring them back to life, find out how to restore the power.”

Mulder's jaw clenched. “I lied,” he said. There was a burst of pain along his skull and he staggered, woozy. “I was dead a week ago.”

Haswell's eyes widened. And somewhere behind them, a floorboard creaked under a shoe.

Go! Haswell mouthed, motioning him wildly towards the exit. She was running, faster than him; he tried to keep up but his head was spinning, his gait wobbly. He felt a little like he was going to faint. Powers, he remembered Haswell saying. Some have stayed around, weakly. He had to get out of there.

The door swung open, exposing the night and stars and chilling wind. Haswell stepped out on the step and turned back to see him. It was so close, he was almost there, almost there…

The door slammed shut.

Mulder turned, dizzy, and saw Jeff standing behind him. His hand was up, aimed towards the door. Telekinesis, he thought distantly.

“I'm sorry, Agent Mulder,” Jeff said, as the floor came up to meet him. “But I think you really do have a better chance than the rest.”

Everything went black.

---

Dr. Tom Henderson was a man of simple needs. He was old-fashioned, he liked to smoke a pipe in the evenings. He always shared dinner with his wife, Lucinda. They watched Jeopardy every single night that he was home. On the nights he wasn't, Lucinda would watch without him and write down the questions she hadn't known the answers to and quiz him over breakfast the next morning. It was the simplest existence possible, he thought. Aside from some shadowy candle-lit nights and a few major surgeries (and one snowy night years ago, with a man taking his last breaths as he held his hands out before him, his heartbeats in his ears), there was no excitement in his life.

No one called during dinner. So when the phone rang over roast chicken, they both knew what it was. Dr. Henderson went to answer, and said simply, “I'll be there immediately,” before hanging up.

“Again?” Lucinda lamented, looking at him over her spectacles. “The last one wasn't even a week ago!”

“What can I say except it looks like it's going to be a good year.” He scooped up his plate from the table.

“They never happen in sequence like this,” she noted.

“It's an unusual situation, Lu. It happens.” He set his plate in the sink, paused before continuing. “But I've heard it's different this time.”

“Oh? How so?”

“The guy was dead for a lot longer than any of the others. Heard he was buried, even. So that should increase the chances of a successful resurrection.”

“Oh. And who's turn is it this time?” Lucinda said mildly.

“That kid Renner. He's invested in the cause, but has always followed the rules. Old-timers first, those who spent years with their powers.” Dr. Henderson kissed his wife on the cheek. “Dinner was delicious, sweetheart. I wish you'd come with me.”

“I don't have the stomach for that stuff. You know that.” She pushed her peas around her plate. “You have a good time, though. And be careful.”

[boyfriem-moved]

Things I noticed when rereading The Dream Thieves

- every time Ronan does anything a Little Gay Declan gets noticeably more high strung like he just can’t deal

- they mention laumoneir like twice which isn’t that important but it just made me realize that Greenmantle and laumoneir have this rivalry going and it’s really intense and henry’s mom rly has no business being there like um ma'am

- the gray man at one point lowkey seduced two random people into giving him beer by wearing a v-neck…okay buddy

- also he’s blond? And not like…gray? (Idk what I expected he’s not seventy but this came as a surprise)

- Ronan is super white

- so when Ronan sent gansey that…picture but then we found out it was actually kavinsky texting him whose dick was it? Like seriously how far did kavinsky go with this I kind of need to know

- before they left D.C. Mrs Gansey gave gansey a little mint plant and Adam a GODDAMN RUBBER TREE, someone draw them walking out the door with gansey holding the tiny pot and Adam lugging a giant motherfucking tree behind him

- where did that rubber tree gO?

- kavinsky is kind of just like a little kid who desperately needs attention and that’s honestly really sad, he didn’t know how else to get close to Ronan, I would say someone get him some help except…you know…he’s dead

- “the gray man gently threw Ronan across the kitchen table” is such a beautiful sentence that’s all

- I legitimately forgot the scene where Ronan talked to Niall in his dream and I didn’t know where the will came from

- it’s weird how gansey is the one who says “he needs to come to terms with his sexuality” he’s always been so proper and shit throughout the book and it feels weird to see him speaking like a teenager but ya know

- I put this in my drafts and forgot about it so now that I just finished rereading trk too there's a lot of references to tdt in there that I didn't pick up the first time because I read them so far apart so yeah