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#Uptown Girls series
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Varian is an Uptown Girl by Billy Joel. I don’t care what anyone says. I don’t care that he lives in the country side and isn’t rich at all he’s from Uptown at heart
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hilarychuff · 2 years
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uptown girls in my asoiaf au graphic series
Who says money can’t buy happiness? Sansa Stark has everything a girl could want — a gorgeous apartment, a passport full of stamps from countries all over the world, a precious little pet pig, and soon the perfect 22nd birthday party. It’s poised to be one of the biggest nights of the year, attended by all the most famous socialites in the city and half of the music scene, and the second she sets her eyes on starving artist and upcoming singer-songwriter Jon Snow, she knows just who she wants to be her birthday present.
Myranda knows him from the industry, swears he’s supposed to be celibate or something, too committed to his art to invest any time in his love life, but Sansa knows how to make men want to go home with her. And Jon does, and then he stays there for three days in a haze of takeout and sex and songs he strums while bent over one of her father’s famous guitars. He stays until the constant candle light stops being romantic and her postmates account stops working, and then he tries to clumsily detangle himself and return to the real world while she tries desperately to convince him to stay one more day in this perfect fantasy she’s built for him. And then he’s gone. And then the money’s gone, too.
Before she knows it, she finds herself sleeping on her friend’s couch and playing nanny to a screaming, sickly little boy, spending her days bringing him to school and ballet and doctor’s appointments, trying to pretend she knows what she’s doing when an 8-year-old acts more like a well-rounded adult than she could ever hope to be. Her nights she spends alternately dodging Jon’s calls asking her to drop his lucky jacket at his record label and leaving him her own voicemails suggesting she could bring it to his place. 
When they finally meet at a restaurant, when she delivers his jacket scorched from a kitchen fire of her own making and made new with dye and shoe polish and the skin of a teddy bear she sacrificed to the task, he tells her he can’t see her again. He can’t get dragged back into her world, he says, a world where she seems free of the burdens the rest of them have to bear, especially not now that he’s finally landed a record deal, not now that his music is just as much a business as it is an art. He’s too close, he says, too close to having everything he wants, everything he’s been working for. She can’t make him stay, and so she lets him go, and she doesn’t mention how everything is falling apart around her as Myranda kicks her out, Robin fires her, Petyr tells her she has no choice left other than to sell her father’s guitars, her mother’s dresses, even her brother’s signed baseball card collection. 
All of it is gone, just like that, and Jon’s song, the one written about the four nights and three days he spent wrapped up in her bed sheets is playing on what seems like every radio station. But she’s strong. She’s a Stark, Ned and Catelyn’s daughter, Robb’s little sister, and she can make it through this. She can be brave. Her life may no longer be a fairytale, but it’s hers, and she’s determined to make something of it. 
ft. sansa as molly, sweetrobin as ray, jon as neal, littlefinger as roma sort of, cersei as bob sort of, harry as huey, myranda as ingrid, ned stark as tommy gunn
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malusokay · 6 months
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Girly Comfort Movies
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Little collection of my favourite comfort movies (take with a grain of salt lol) <3
Legally Blonde (1 and 2)
the devil wears Prada
The Princess Diaries (1 and 2)
Little Woman
Clueless
Mean Girls (1 and 2)
Pride & Prejudice
Roman Holiday
Uptown girls
Marie-Antoinette
The Virgin Suicide
10 things I hate about you
Lady Bird
Jennifer’s Body
how to lose a guy in 10 days
American Psycho
A Cinderella Storie
Emma
Watching the detectives
La La Land
Peters to Juliette
Bling Ring
Fight Club
13 going 30
The Notebook
Breakfast at Tiffanys
Sex and the city
Dear John
The breakfast club
Mamma Mia
Monte Carlo
Black Swan
Girl Interrupted
Pearl
If you guys have any more suggestions and/or recommendations (maybe some shows and series as well!!), please feel free to share them with me in the comments!! <33
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highvern · 27 days
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Ateez in Different NSFW Careers
Pairing: ot8
Genre: smut, 21+
Warnings: lots of sex, masturbating, porn, domination/submission, fetishes, lmk if i missed anything egregious
Note: this is an idea for a miniseries but idk and thought id put it out there to see if people are interested (dont bring up the ateez mixtape series, im working on it!) thank you @wingsofimagery @yessa-vie for listening to this brain rot
read more here
Hongjoong:
onlyfans creator, solos of him masturbating or nudes. weirdly artistic? like camera angles on point, edited to perfection, color graded. rarely, if ever, collabs with others. occasionally posts erotic photography of one unidentifiable woman. his subscribers aren't sure what to make of it but pictures of them together are some of his best work. daylights as a photographer and has some of his work in small galleries across the city.
Seunghwa:
amatuer porn star, makes homemade couple porn or something with a close female friend. domestic/bf vibes in every video. v soft with each other even when they're having rough sex. people assume they're actually dating bc of the insane chemistry even though they never show their faces. its his fun dirty little secret no one in the office knows.
Yunho:
boyfriend for hire. specializes in "turn your brain off for the night, i'll handle it." rent him to be your date to an event or just for a night on the town. doesn't always sleep with his client (his discretion) but usually cuddles and will spend the night. just trying to pay off his student loans since being an analyst pays shit. big yunho bc he has a big... u kno? and loves hearing the women he sleeps with rave about it. has had several repeat customers and older women that recommend him to their friends.
Yeosang:
audio erotica. just aside hobby for him. tbh 9/10 times forgets to record or that he even has the account. started bc a girl he was seeing freshman year of college told him she wanted a video with the sound on and he didn't know what that meant but she liked his voice enough to let the completely black screen slide. posts sporadically but always makes waves when he does. people have offered him money for custom audios and he always turns them down.
San:
fetish model. shibari, leather, latex. you name it, he's most likely modeled it. has portrait of himself (unrecongnizable, facing away just his back criss crossed with ropes, hands bound at the base of his spine) hanging in his apartment. his friends think its weird since they know he's the one in the picture but most of the girls he brings home just think he's into some freaky stuff. started bc he would nude model for the art classes at his college when he needed fast money for weed. people assume he likes really kinky sex bc of his job but he prefers vanilla sex most of the time bc his job is so kink heavy. works as a fitness instructor as his 9-5, and had a few people recognize him but most are cool and leave him alone
Mingi:
nsfw twitter creator. videos, pictures, sliding into dms. mingi does it all and enjoys the comments of people thirsting over him even if he's one dick among thousands. for his day job he works in a sex store and flirts with the exotic dancers who come in to buy their costumes (turned down every single time, there's even a pool for how quickly he'll strike out). the one girl that flirted back still lives in his brain rent free bc all she did was smile and he folded like origami. now when she comes in mingi has to remind himself not to drool.
Wooyoung:
cam boy brat, sugars on the side. likes being degraded by his audience when he's bad. lover of milfs, and has a sugar mommy he sees once a month. loves being wined and dined by her and then loved on at her fancy apartment uptown. started doing both in college to pay rent, now works at a dance studio and keeps it up bc the extra cash is nice. enamored with taking pictures during sex. has a collection of polaroids with his current FWB that he cherishes more than anything (always carries one in his phone case). toyed with the idea of having her come on his streams but he doesn't want to share. he should probably look into that more.
Jongho:
dungeon dom (IDK), the kind thats a look don't touch dom. if you need a session to work through your stress, go to him. sexy spanking, punishment spanking, therapy spanking. he's got the knowledge and know how. has a strange collection of vintage dvds and magazines. rare stuff that he treats like art rather than smut. jongho i never want to speak on your name im sorry
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Taglist: @tomodachiii @cvpidyunho @miniseokminnies @ddaengpotate @arycutie @gaebestie @primoppang @gyuguys @mine-gyu @doremifasire @missminhoe @toplinehyunjin @crvs4vldtn @prettygyuuu
© highvern. copying/reuploading/translating my work anywhere is strictly prohibited.
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dr-aculaaa · 8 months
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1990s!Steve Harrington x fem!Reader
read the Dad!Steve Sunday Morning series here
Before that old house just at the top of a slight sloping hill with a swinging bench in the wraparound deck, before you even owned the keys to those cherrywood feather river doors- it was just the two of you in that little studio apartment, hungover from last night’s show, sharing leftover Lucky Dragon egg rolls and veggie lo mein. Major League Baseball is on strike while you and Steve watch Seinfeld every Thursday night.
Lazy Morning Smut Request
90s!Steve Long Hair Edits
Northern Sky (wc: 12.5k) - You and Steve told your girls how you met, but here’s the other half of the story that you’ll never tell: sharing a brown bagged peach schnapps and stumbling into your room after getting lost on the way back to the hotel. You’ll have to see if Munson’s Hunch is right or not. drunk smut.
Northern Sky - First Dance art
Comedown (wc: 2k) - something new in the bedroom after going to an opening for photographer!reader’s newest piece. Smut.
Now and Then - Edit
At the bar with Steve and his friends - Edit
Vienna (wc: 3k) - Birthday blurb compilation.
I’ll Be Seeing You - Christmas, 1981 (wc: 1.5k)
Ride ‘em Cowboy - music blurb
In the Warm Room - 1994 (wc: 1.2k)
In the Warm Room - 1995 blurb
In the Warm Room - 1996 (wc: 2k)
Hairy Husband - Art
By the Window - Edit
Big Ears - Art
Seeing Titanic in 1997
Snowy Woods blurb
Pegging Blurb
Did You Just Order a $5 Shake? (wc: TBA) - It’s your first October together and you knew Steve was too good to be true- he doesn’t like Halloween! Still, he lets you dress him up as the Vincent to your Mia, and the two of you head uptown to party. Your plan was to show Steve a good time and change his mind, but you drank too much, and now you’re fighting in the bathroom. angst. hurt/comfort.
Wild Horses (wc: TBA) - Your wedding with Steve is only three months away and nothing is going the way you planned. After recovering from an argument that started over Chantilly Lace versus Swiss Coffee, Steve reminds you who that special day is really for- so you pack a weekend bag and head to Atlantic City. His mom was a tough nut to crack, what is she going to think of you now that you’re eloping in New Jersey. Honestly? From the way Steve’s looking at you while walking on the boardwalk tonight- you couldn’t really give a damn. angst. comfort. Oh, the comfort.
warnings: 18+ mature content (minors plz dni) no use of y/n, there will be more smut in this series, romanticized city life, early relationship (dating + engagement) a sprinkle of Steve’s trauma, food mentions, alcohol, drugs, smoking, Reader doesn't eat meat, no physical descriptions of photographer!Reader besides outfits & hair lengths
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gg-pedro · 2 months
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can you hear the music (ch. 6) - joel miller x reader
masterlist
summary: everyone in jackson is trying to distract themselves from something. you teach ellie piano, and you find yourself trying to help more than one miller settle into their new world.
chapter 5: joel loves you, and you let him. you could live a million more days like this.
warnings: post outbreak!joel, jackson!era, joel x reader, AFAB!reader, platonic!ellie x reader, protective!joel, implied age gap, unprotected piv, ellie plays the piano, sweet smut, fingering, joel needs taking care of, bittersweet fluff, but almost entirely fluff, happy ending :)
words: 5.5k
a/n: grand finale! i hope i delivered for all of you. thank you endlessly, and from the bottom of my heart, for reading and supporting my stuff and this series. its been so incredibly fun and fulfilling. enjoy this!!
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-
Life was sweet. Life was good. 
You blinked and spring had become summer. The fields grew unruly with wild grass and baby’s breath, the sun shined longer. Clouds lingered, but they didn’t stay. Days were hot and saccharine. 
You heard music everywhere. In the swallows outside your window at dawn, the rustle in the pear trees when the wind blew, in Joel’s voice when he hummed you to sleep. In the creaks in the floorboards that you had memorized as his footsteps, the hymns and nursery rhymes that kids sang, and in your old upright piano that was slowly losing falling out of tune.
It had been quiet for so long, but now it was loud– deafening at times. Impossible not to notice.
The best music of all, perhaps, was the songs Ellie was learning for the informal recital that you’d suggested she put on. And even sweeter than that was the way she’d changed since you first met. She no longer reminded you of a scared little girl, always choosing the fight over the flight. She was strong and bubbly and hilarious, and watching her find a reason to be proud of herself was even more rewarding than watching her become a talented musician.
The song selection was completely inappropriate, but it was perfect anyway: Billy Joel’s Uptown Girl (for her Joel, of course), the Jurassic Park theme, and finally, Ain’t Too Proud To Beg by the Temptations. 
The two of you were conspiring against Joel for weeks now, planning the surprise for him and practicing whenever you got the chance. 
You had a sneaking suspicion that he and Ellie were hiding something from you, too. Ellie was far too giddy when she saw the two of you together. She lingered a little too long after dinner, or when you were sleeping over, or when you’d planned a day to spend together.
If Ellie had one fault, it was that she was awful at keeping secrets.
After inviting you out on a horse ride through the outskirts of the perimeters of Jackson, Joel took a detour. He went northward, through the green woods and out into a clearing, and you were soon back at the white farmhouse. 
It looked the same, aside from a little more wear on the outside from this year’s harsh winter and wet spring. The roof was still caving in and the doorway was still open. The ivy was thriving, twisting up towards the peak where the sun had worn away at the crisp white paint.
“You wanna see the inside?” Joel asked, glancing over his shoulder at you.
“Is it safe?”
“I’m here, ain’t I?”
He helped you slide off the back of the mare, your hand slid instinctively into his as you walked up to the wrap around porch. Inside, the interior was fitted with dark hardwood and floral wallpaper that had started to fade and peel. In the front sitting room, the sun had bleached the upholstered arm chairs and faded the photos on the wall. Still, it was beautifully preserved, clear that this place was home to a lifetime of memories.
The breeze blowing in through the front door was warm as Joel took both of your hands into his. He was slightly tanned now, and patches of his salt and pepper hair looked more caramel. You couldn’t stop yourself from smiling when you looked at him– he was gorgeous, and you loved him, and he was yours.
“I know I can’t give you this,” he started quietly. “I wish I could, baby. I would if I could.”
“I’d never ask you for this, Joel,” you countered.
“Yeah, ‘cause you’re sweet and you never ask for things, not even if you wanted to.” He brought up a hand to brush your hair behind your ears. He always said he liked it when it was out of the way, because he liked seeing your face. “I’m wanna ask you for somethin’, though”
“Okay, shoot.”
“I want you to move in. With us. Me and Ellie. Before you–”
“Joel–”
“–she really looks up to you, you’re good for her. It’d mean somethin’ to her, and to me. I know, I know, I’ve asked you a hundred times, but I’m askin’ for real this time,” he said, cutting you off once and for all.
“It wasn’t real all those other times?” You looked at him with a smile. “What would we be then, if we lived together? What would you call me?”
His partner. His wife? Just his, maybe. 
You looked away from him for a moment, watching the sunlight as it poured through the windows and highlighted everything in orange. The shelves propped up against the walls were lined with books and picture frames and knicknacks. There was still a throw blanket draped over the couch. People had built a life here, and were likely forced to abandon it all. 
When you looked back, Joel was reaching into his pocket to pull out something that was small and caught in the light. It was thin and shiny gold, a ring with three symmetric diamonds set into the band. He took your hand, dirt under your clipped fingernails and all, and slid it onto your ring finger. 
“I’m not askin’ you to marry me. We can call it that, if that means anythin’ to you. I just want to give you somethin’ nice. A nice life where I can keep you safe. We can paint the house, fix it up inside a little. Give you somethin’ like this. I’ll call you anything you want.”
You laughed at the way Joel was dancing around his words, and the way that he continuously fidgeted with the ring on your finger. Always avoiding strings, giving you a way out before you even had the chance to get a word in. You wished you had found a way in all this time to make him understand your commitment to him, without a ring or a pretty house or any of it. 
You just rested your hands on his shoulders and kissed him. His hands found the small of your waist and you melted into each other with a familiar rhythm. Light was striking your eyes as you pulled back, and you nodded.
A life. A nice one. Yes. A thousand times yes. 
“A ring and all, hm?” you replied quietly, still wrapped up in him. “Yes. That’s my answer this time.”
He kissed your cheek, and you could feel his lips curve into a smile. “Okay. Okay, good. I love you.”
You leaned into him and he wrapped an arm around you from the side. “I love you, too.”
Again, you stared at the picture frames still hung on the wall. A full family– parents, kids, grandparents, all commemorated permanently in this house. You could have something like this, too. Not everything had come to an end when the world had fallen apart. People persisted. Love, connection, and happiness. It was still here, alive and humming in all of the places you had been.
You realized now, in Joel’s arms, that you had to start from scratch. Build up the beautiful life that was already budding before you. This was something you would fight for. 
-
Fresh white paint slopped messily onto chipped brown walls, Joel in the corner of your eye with paint splattered on his own worn t-shirt.
You heard the sound of his footsteps padded by the sheets on the floor approaching you, even over the music that was flowing from the crank record player in the corner of the room. An old Frank Sinatra: Songs For Swiningin’ Lovers! record was spinning and skipping, songs from forever ago that made your heart feel a little heavier.
He grinned at you as he grabbed your waist, taking the paintbrush you held in your hand and holding it up out of your reach. 
“Hey,” you warned when you broke the kiss, “I’m picking up your slack over here.”
He laughed and swiped his thumb over your cheek. “I see that. Got paint all over your pretty face.”
As you were about to protest, he kissed you again and his hands trailed down to your hips and ass. He tasted like cool silver and sparks of electricity. His beard scratched your face as he started to back you up to the wall. The paintbrush clattered to the floor. 
The two of you had been systematically moving furniture and covering whatever else you could as you started the process of freshening up his and Ellie’s place. Your place, too. You’d all but cleared your own house out, and you felt your lives officially combining. The whole process of knowing Joel had been like passing right through him. Knowing him deeply– the good, the bad, and the ugly– until you could stand on the other side and look him in the eye and say that you loved all of it. 
“You up for a break?” He offered with his mouth ghosting your collar. 
“Painting’s gonna take forever if you keep this up,” you pointed out.
“Not my fault that y’look so damn good in overalls.”
You laughed, and he laughed, and he slung you over his shoulder before you could get another word in to carry you upstairs.
You shed your clothes like a second skin onto the floor, lying bare for each other in the sunlit bedroom you shared. Joel fucked you differently now. There was no desperation, no quickness, no fear that you were going to disappear beneath him. He fucked you sickeningly slow, torturously, like he had realized that it would last a lifetime. A lifetime of feeling you.
His tongue met all of your weak spots while his fingers breached your throbbing entrance. He pumped long, gratuitous beats with his ring and middle finger and you shook as the ridges and years of wear on his hands hit every pressure point that made you feel good. 
Compliments and praise rolled off his tongue and reverberated into your body. Sweet girl. Pretty little thing. Feels good, huh? Beautiful. Tell me you feel good, baby. Just like that. Mine. Mine. 
It felt like he could make you come with his voice alone. 
He liked playing with you, though. Knew intimately how weak he made you. Still, you felt like you could give your most vulnerable self over to him and he would protect it with his life. 
“Joel, Joel– so close–”
He paused his work, meeting your eyes between your parted thighs. “Not yet, darlin’, I’m gonna feel you come. Wanna feel it.”
Tilting your hips up to meet his, he hooked your legs on his shoulders and thrusted methodically inside of you. He stopped every once in a while to tease your clit, still crying for attention, with the wet head of his cock. You moved your hand down to touch yourself, rubbing fast circles against the spot, but he grabbed your hand away and insisted on stimulating you himself.
He treated you too well. Didn’t want you lifting a finger while he was taking care of you. With his free hand he felt you up all over, raising the hairs on your body and making you shiver. He loved watching what he did to you. Loved when you made him feel drunk and desperate. 
The one thing you could give was grabbing his arm as you came, letting him feel your walls convulse and shudder around his cock. That was usually his trigger– he couldn’t stand it much longer as he watched you whine and moan around his name, repeating it over and over like a fiery prayer. 
Oh, Joel. Joel. Joel. Joel. 
Sweating and panting in the small room, already hot from the harsh summer, he laid there quietly with you. You could hear You Make Me Feel So Young still warbling from the record player as you ran your hand up and down his side.
Dark brown lashes met his skin as his eyes slipped shut. You couldn’t tell if he was getting old fast or just getting more comfortable with you, because it seemed like he was falling asleep next to you every chance he got.
You were glad. Setting all of your happiness and contentment being with him, you were glad that you made him feel safe– to watch those walls that he’d built up so high and impenetrable to slowly drop since you’d met him.
You propped yourself up to lean over and kiss the bridge of his nose. “Was this your plan all along? Tire both of us out so you had an excuse to stop painting for the day?”
He cracked an eye open, a smile spreading on his face. “M’not tired. You paint all you want, baby, I could watch you all day.”
“Mhm, making me do all the work, as per usual.” You shut your eyes and dropped your head against his chest.
“You’re too young to complain. I’m too old.”
“Not too old to fuck me like that, though?”
He laughed in a way that told you he was also rolling his eyes. “Never too old for that.”
“Touché, Miller.”
Your breathing started to even out and your skin felt temperate from the sun breaking through the curtains. Joel’s arms were firmly tucked around you and it almost felt like an instinct. He protected you, even if you didn’t want him to. Took care of you when he didn’t have to. Loved you just because he could. 
You let him. You could live a million more days like this.
-
You painted more walls, filled old cracks, broke a pipe or two in the process. Joel was always there to fix things. It was messy and far from a perfect renovation, but it was home and that was enough. 
Your personal passion project, however, was fixing up the backyard. With the lawn mowed and overgrown weeds under control, you were determined to start a garden. You picked a six by three patch of land towards the back, adjacent to the huge bur oak that provided a nice radius of shade for half the day until the sun shifted. 
Joel had built the wooden perimeter for you and you had nurtured the rest. All it took was a morning of ripping up grass and a few seed packets from the town’s garden, and your plants were already starting to breach the soil and bloom. On a particularly warm afternoon, watering can in hand, you were worried that the zucchini was going to overtake the whole thing.
From the corner of your eye you saw Ellie slide out of the back door and stomp over to the shade of the oak tree, promptly laying down on the cool grass with a groan. Her hair, usually tied back in a practical ponytail, was sprawled out on the ground beneath her head.
Wordlessly, you dropped the watering can and sank down a few feet away, facing her. 
“What’s up with you, kid?”
She huffed again, covering her eyes with her forearms. “My hair’s too fucking long,” she said at last. “Making everything hot. I wish I was bald.”
You laughed. “I’ll shave it off, if you want.”
She lifted her arm slightly to look over at you. “It’d look sick, right?”
“Yeah. Super metal,” you agreed. “You’d still be pretty bald by wintertime, though.”
 She only groaned at that revelation.
“Do you know how to braid?” You asked, lying down on your back. The tree was rustling in the wind and the gaps in the leaves allowed thin beams of light through. 
“Like, a regular braid? Kinda… falls out, though. Then I have to care about it.”
“French braids, then? The kind that goes up your whole head?”
“It’d look stupid,” she concluded. “I’m not seven.”
“No, c’mon. It’ll stay in for a few days, too. If it’s out of your face, you won’t even have to think about it.”
She sat up this time, running her fingers back and forth through the grass. “I don’t know how.”
“I’ll show you. Go get a brush and some hair ties.”
With simply surviving being Ellie’s number one priority for so long, you doubted she had ever put much mental energy into caring about how she looked. A hairstyle and clothes were surely an afterthought when living to see the next day had been so uncertain. But she was a teenage girl who had been at a comfortable distance from death for a while now, and she deserved to feel good about herself. Pretty, even.
So the two of you sat, her sat criss-crossed in front of you as you got to work on parting her hair into two and weaving tight plaits into each side. You tried to be as precise and methodical as possible without pulling too hard or making her sit there for too long. Her hair was long, thick and slightly wavy in the humidity. 
You put both hands on her shoulders when you were done, admiring your work. “Better? Turn, let me see the front.”
She did as she was told, smoothing her hands over the braids that sat on her shoulders. “Yeah, this is better.”
“You look beautiful.”
She rolled her eyes. “Fuck off.”
“I’m telling you the truth.” You tilted your head and smiled at her. “If you like it, I’ll show you how to do it on yourself.”
She shrugged as she stood up, taking the brush and comb from your hands. “Dunno. Ponytails are like, a billion times easier.”
“If you say so.” You caught her wrist before she could turn to walk away. “Offer still stands. I’m always here for… girl stuff. I know a lot more about some things than Joel. Okay?”
“Yeah, girl stuff. Hair and periods and shit. Got it. Thanks.” She waved you off dismissively. 
“I’m serious. Just know that,” you called after her.
“I heard you!” She yelled back, already halfway across the lawn.
Joel came home later than expected that night, long after the two of you had eaten dinner. He was half expecting you and Ellie to be in bed by then, so it came as a surprise when he shut the front door and heard back and forth bickering mixed with tearful laughter pouring out of Ellie’s bedroom.
Quietly, he made his way upstairs, lingering by her door that was slightly ajar. Warm, pink light seeped out of the space along with the familiar sound of her giggle.
With a fistful of your hair in her hand, trying and failing at her attempt to create a presentable french braid, you were winded from laughter.
“For how awful this looks, Ellie, I don’t know how you’re managing to scalp me.”
“I’m doing it like you showed me! Grab a chunk from here, put it together, put it over the middle. Chunk, together, middle. Chunk–”
She yanked on a thick strand of hair. “Jesus, ow.”
“Shut up, it looks great.”
Holding up a mirror to your hair, you shook your head.“It looks like I got in a fight with a rabid animal and lost.”
Ellie laughed again, her grip going weak as she flopped backwards onto her bed. Shaking out the rest of your hair, Joel watched you lay down next to her, trying to catch your breath as you wiped tears from your eyes. You looked at each other in the dim pink light, twin grins on your faces.
“Do you regret your offer now?” Ellie asked.
You shook your head. “No, not really.”
Joel pressed himself up against the wall in the hallway, smiling to himself. Things were so bad for so long. When things are bad enough for long enough, you think it’ll stay that way forever. You think it’ll never be good again. You think you’ve changed for the worse.
Joel often discounted himself, thinking that all that bad had done something irreversible to him– an insidious, evergreen thing that he wouldn’t be able to tear out of himself. 
But you– Ellie– his girls, you washed that away in him every new day with you. Soothed burns from a lifetime ago, siphoned out poison that felt like it had eroded him entirely. Things could still be good. He could be good for the two of you, at least. 
With time, everything heals. He was sure of it.
-
The only thing missing from your new home was a piano.
It was the last thing to move, and it took you, Joel, Tommy, and a few passersbys who were tired of watching the three of you struggle to carry it just a few houses down the street.
You were heartbroken when the move had thrown it badly out of tune. You could play, but you were hardly a professional, and you were at a loss as to how one was supposed to tune an 88-key piano. 
Joel watched you sit in front of it, hands steepled in front of your face after you had attempted to transpose a few songs you knew into something that sounded mildly similar, but it was no use. 
He put a hand on your back as you stabbed the keyboard in a few more places, fingers moving fluidly as you played different scales. The sound was twingy and grating.
“It’s alright, hon. We’ll fix it,” he murmured.
“It was already old to begin with. I should’ve known. You’d have to take the whole face off, tune each one… and with what, a wrench? I don’t even know what it’s supposed to sound like.”
Joel was quiet for a while, inspecting the front panel of the instrument as you continued to play out of tune melodies. “I’m pretty handy, ain’t I? It’s not rocket science. You know what it’s supposed to sound like, c’mon now. You know the thing like the back of your hand.”
When you didn’t respond, Joel left the room. You dropped your forehead onto the keyboard, cringing when it made a loud, angry sound. Maybe this was a sign. You should never have disturbed it. You had this one perfect thing, this piano that had fallen right into your lap when you had moved to Jackson. It had changed everything. It made you feel human again. It felt like a sign from the universe, one that reaffirmed the creeping fear that you could only have so many good things and that you certainly never deserved them all.
Joel pulled you from your stupor when he sat down on the bench next to you. He had a screwdriver in hand, silently putting himself to work on revealing the hammers and the pin block. You didn’t lift your head from your hands until he started tapping on middle C, then crudely turning the tuning pin with a striking wrench until the sound was clear and in tune.
“Stop, stop, don’t touch it– that's it,” you said with your hand on his wrist.
He nodded, and you weren’t even sure he recognized the wave of relief that washed over your expression. He just went onto the next, D, until you signaled for him to stop when you heard the correct sound.
Joel sat with you for hours as the two of you worked on it. You took over after a while, making him play different chords on his guitar to ensure the sounds were matching up on the black and white keys together. You were almost certainly driving the neighbors insane, hitting the same notes over and over again until muscle memory kicked in and it sounded like it was right.
It was an amateur's job, undoubtedly. Any trained musician would probably be horrified by your heavy handedness, your unreliable ear for the notes, Joel’s corroboration on the guitar– it wasn’t perfect. To you, though, it was. By the time you had adjusted every tuning pin, it sounded better than it ever had before.
Tired and driven a little crazy from the incessant noise, you and Joel sank down into the couch. The main panel still needed to be reattached, the floor cleaned from loose sheet music and tools, but it didn’t matter. He wrapped his left arm around you like he always did, placing a gentle kiss onto your forehead.
“Told you,” he chided. 
“Thank you. I love you.”
You dropped your head into the warm crook of his neck, and he didn’t say anything back. He didn’t have to. He’d been telling you he loved you for the past three hours, in his own secret language that enveloped you and hummed quietly in the air. I’d do anything for you, it said, whether it be peeling your orange or fixing your old piano or falling on his own sword. For you, I would. I would I would I would.
“Don’t have to thank me, m’just glad you’re happy.”
You didn’t have much left to repay him with. You don’t think you’d ever be out of debt with him, for giving you everything. You would have to make it up to him. 
-
With your piano renewed and that nagging empty feeling confidently shut out of your head, you and Ellie practiced together like mad. She was insistent on rehearsing the songs she had picked for her recital until they were entirely flawless. 
You forced her to set a date to show Joel out of fear that she’d never come to a point where she felt satisfied with herself. He went out with Tommy that day, promising he’d bring something back for the two of you, which signaled that he would be gone for the afternoon and into the evening.
You braided Ellie’s hair, fixed up your new home together, and taught her how to bow at the end of her very informal performance. She was refreshingly giddy and excited, telling you over and over again how surprised Joel would be. 
“He already knows you’re good, hon,” you reminded her.
“Yeah, but I’m like super fucking good now. Bet he doesn’t know what my dainty little lady fingers can do.”
You laughed, pulled her in close to your side, and agreed before she asked to practice one more time before he got home.
When you heard him at the door that remained permanently unlocked, you were in the middle of dragging two chairs from the kitchen into the living room to position by the piano. You greeted him, and he kissed you long and slow, grabbing you from behind.
“You look nice. Really pretty, darlin’. Why’re all the lights off? Am I forgetting somethin’?” He said, a hint of concern in his low voice.
You shook your head and pulled yourself away from him. “No. We have a surprise for you,” you revealed. “Go up and change into something nice. We’ll be down here.”
You could see the gears turning in Joel’s mind, leafing through his recollection of birthdays and anniversaries and any other thing he could think of that would warrant a surprise.
“Everything’s fine, Joel. Better than fine. Good. It’s just us.”
He put his hands up in surrender before disappearing up the stairs. 
You sat next to Ellie on the piano bench, wrapping both of her hands up in yours. A single, loose french braid ran down her head and spilled over onto her shoulder. A few stubborn flyaways curled up around her temple and framed her face. 
“You look perfect. You’ll be great. It’s Joel, anyway, you could play Baa Baa Black Sheep and he’d give you a standing ovation.” You smiled.
She nodded, smiling alongside you. “Yeah, I know.”
Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, so you pulled her into a long hug before letting them fall. The universe worked in funny ways, you thought. You had Ellie to thank for bringing Joel here, and Maria for forcing her into trivial music lessons after music had become little more than obsolete after the world had come to a screeching halt.
But mostly, you wanted to thank her for showing her so much good. For reminding you that some things, the most important things, never really did fade.
“Thank you. For everything.”
“Yeah… you’re welcome. For whatever I did.”
Joel came down the stairs slowly, evident that he was tired and his right side was bothering him again. He had a hand on the healed scar on his abdomen when he entered the living room, dressed in fresh jeans and a green button down.
“Surprise!” Ellie exclaimed. “You have to listen to my ‘recital.’ Just sit back and enjoy, old man.” She grinned.
“Oh man, this is a surprise. Y’all should’ve told me about this,” he said, making his way over to one of the kitchen chairs that were placed a few feet away from the piano. “I’m all ears. Play away, kiddo.”
You took your seat next to Joel, and he grabbed your hand to squeeze it. When you looked over to him as Ellie played the preamble to Uptown Girl, his eyes were a little shiny. 
She played like a true pianist. You’d heard her set a million times, but the smile on Joel’s face made something heavy and light all at the same time catch in your chest. You couldn’t quite describe the feeling– pride? Contentment? Honest, pure happiness? Whatever it was, it felt good. You felt whole.
Joel couldn’t help but laugh at the 180 switch to the Jurassic Park Theme after giving her raucous applause for the first song. She giggled her way through it, too, and so did you. If she missed a beat or her finger slipped on a key, she just kept playing, nodding along with the fractured beat. 
He was leaning back in his seat when she hit the first few notes of Ain’t Too Proud To Beg, but soon perked up. 
“This is a good one, El. A good one, damn. The Stones covered this one, right?”
“Shut up, I’m concentrating,” she quipped. 
I know you wanna leave me
But I refuse to let you go
If I have to beg and plead for your sympathy
I don’t mind, ‘cause you mean that much to me
You smiled, seizing your opportunity to grab him by the hand and pull him up and out of his seat. He humored you, taking you by the waist to sway around the living room with you.
Now I heard a cryin’ man is half a man
With no sense of pride
But if I have to cry to keep you
I don’t mind weepin’
If it’ll keep you by my side
Your laughter melted and swam in the air along with the music, nearly toppling each other over when he lifted your arm to spin you around. You both sang along with the tune of the music as Ellie played, and she glanced over her shoulder at the two of you with a smile spread wide across her face. 
Ain’t too proud to beg, sweet darlin’
Please don’t leave me girl
Ain’t too proud to plead, baby, baby
Please don’t leave me girl
You pressed your back up against his frontside and he wrapped both arms around you from behind while he swayed along with you. You looked up over your shoulder, and he met you with a sweet kiss.
Both of you applauded wildly when Ellie finished, and she stood up to give a very haphazard bow, as you’d taught her.
“Sit back down, I wanna hear that one again. Man, you’re too good,” Joel said, coming over to her to ruffle the top of her head. “You killed it, darlin’. Keep goin’.”
Going for the encore, you and Joel rocked to the music in each other’s arms. You faced him this time, your arms resting on his shoulders while his found your waist again.
“You did good, baby. This is… I’m so glad you’re here,” he whispered.
“She’s here because of you. We both are, if you think about it.”
He nodded, his dark eyes glistening in the light again. “Yeah… don’t know what I did to deserve it.”
You kissed his lips, drawn out and lovingly, smiling against them. “You deserve the world, Joel Miller.”
He laughed quietly as he shook his head, fully pulling you into his arms. He dropped his head onto your shoulder and clung to the fabric of your shirt. “I love you. Just… so much.”
At last, you thought– maybe there was only one universe. Only one life. One chance to cry and sing, to love and be loved, to feel the ground beneath your feet and say I am here for a reason. I can be good. Get better. A hundred thousand days of sun, sleepless nights below heavenly stars, a few more cold winters to get through. I am here with him, in this universe, where we’ve both changed. Been able to know each other. 
You had no clue if you’d get only one or if you’d get ten thousand more. If all of your lives would have Joel in them, finding him as your neighbor or your best friend or as a stranger across an ocean. You hoped you’d always find him, in one way or another. 
But if all you got was this one– just this one hard, beautiful life, one chance to hear the music–
It would be enough for you.
-
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scarlettscribbles · 4 months
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prologue
PART OF neither the angels in heaven above, nor the demons by the sea DRABBLE SERIES ↠ masterlist
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- Lucy Gray Baird & Daughter!OC, mentioned Lucy Gray Baird x Coriolanus Snow
Summary: 1.7k words - The words were on the tip of her tongue before Coriolanus had let it slip that he'd killed three people.
As Lucy Gray became a ghost lost in the wind, so did her secrets.
a/n: i cannot stop thinking about snowbaird !! inspired by my visenya-verse and also bc i love writing about children being loved :)
also, shout out to PlayingTheGameOfThrones' It's Quiet Uptown! i was reading snowbaird fics and i was so happy to find a secret kid fic. literally squealed in excitement bc i was like, that's what's literally in my brain rn
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In truth, Lucy Gray was too young to be doing this. Halfway eighteen, with her heart broken by a man — a boy, really — who almost killed her. Ironically, the suspect of her current predicament was the same person. Oh how Lucy Gray hated it that he still haunted her now.
She had Lucy Gray’s tan skin, her baby girl. The wisps of her hair stuck against her forehead were bright blond. Lucy Gray wondered if her hair would darken eventually.
Annabel Rose Baird was a sickly baby. Her heart was weak and every night, Lucy Gray would have trouble sleeping, afraid that she’d wake up with a cradle gone cold. But she was a survivor, her Annie. Much like her mother. (And father.)
But they could not live on that alone. Lucy Gray, barely recovered from birth, wrapped her baby tight on her back with a sling and took their meager belongings in a bag, setting out to find the community up North Billy Taupe had once talked about. Lucy Gray walked for miles and miles, sometimes wishing she hadn’t left behind that lovely orange scarf her lover gave her. It would’ve made for a more comfortable sleep in their journey. She could’ve given it to Annie as her baby blanket, something to remember her childhood by — the one piece of her father she would ever know or keep. But alas, Lucy Gray had left it behind along with the broken pieces of trust she once thought she could rely on.
Lucy Gray found them eventually. Or rather, they found her. It was in the middle of the night and she’d just put Annie to sleep when flashes of light shone through the gaps between the trees. Cradling her whimpering baby close to her chest, Lucy Gray raised a hand in surrender, hoping that she was saying the right words for them to not shoot her.
They took them to their leader and gave them a small cabin. It was cozy and comfortable but it wasn’t home. Not when their leader, with his calculating eyes and access to Capitol broadcasts, look at her and her baby with such intense scrutiny. Lucy Gray’s paranoia increases every time he “accidentally” chances upon her with questions about the Capitol, about the Hunger Games, about Annie. He’s not as subtle as he thinks he is. Lucy Gray endures his questions, answering casually to alleviate the suspicion upon her. Her heart threatens to beat out of her chest every single time. She could only properly breathe again when she’s back within the four walls of their cabin, with Annie safe in her arms, her little puffs of breath warming Lucy Gray from the inside out.
The one saving grace of the place was Dr. Hartree. She was training under some big shot Capitol doctor when she fled, so she knew more than the District healers did despite the meager hospital equipment she had. She diagnosed Annabel Rose with something called moderate Ventricular Septal Defect; a heart disease she had since birth. Dr. Hartree let her listen to the whooshing sound of her Annie’s heartbeat through the stethoscope. Her baby’s got a hole in her heart. Lucy Gray wept.
Dr. Hartree said that the hole might yet repair itself, that she could look for some medicine that could help strengthen Annie’s heart muscles. But if it did not, Annie would need heart surgery which Dr. Hartree was neither qualified for nor equipped to do. In that scenario, going to the Capitol would be Annie’s best hope, said the doctor. The community’s leader approved Dr. Hartree’s request for getting the medicine. In exchange, Lucy Gray had to take on additional work on top of what she’d already been assigned with to earn her keep. Lucy Gray was both thankful and suspicious. She was no fool, a big favor like that didn’t come without heavier strings. But her baby was alive so Lucy Gray kept her head down. (For the moment, at least.)
Annabel Rose grew up a happy child. She was small for her age but her presence filled the room and her heart was so full of love. Whenever she smiled, a deep dimple showed on her cheek and her warm brown eyes would shine like stars in the night sky. Her baby never did grow out of her blond hair, riotous curls tumbling down her head. She looked like an angel; Lucy Gray’s own angel.
She was truly heaven sent. There were no words to describe how much her daughter made her happy, which was something, coming from a songwriter. Oft Lucy Gray wished the Covey had a chance to know her daughter. Annabel Rose fit in alright with the children of the community, but children can be cruel sometimes. Annie’s body was weak and she ran out of breath fast, making her unable to be included in strenuous physical activities. Lucy Gray was not deaf to the whispers of “runt” that surrounded her daughter, whispers that eventually reached Annie’s ears, causing her to come home tearfully, fisting her mother’s skirt and asking what it meant. Once upon a time, Lucy Gray would have been rearing for a fight but everything was different now. She didn’t have her Covey; her and Annie were alone.
Oh, people were nice enough but, like in District 12, they seemed to be able to sense an otherness in her and Annie that made them unable to accept them fully. It didn’t help that the community leader’s demeanor was like that either. The residents liked and respected him better than the strangers they barely knew anything about, so of course they’d follow his example.
Lucy Gray had been missing her Covey so much that she contemplated going back to District 12, back to her family, when she’d heard that an electric fence was put around it, complete with Peacekeepers patrolling the perimeter. They’d never bothered with that area before, but Lucy Gray had an inkling why they suddenly found it important.
So what else could she do but grit her teeth and bear it? Every night Lucy Gray would sing songs to Annie and tell her stories about the Covey, about her family and the colorful nights and laughter they shared. And Annie’s eyes would shine in the low lamplight, humming along to the tunes.
Lucy Gray did not bring her guitar with her during her journey out of District 12, but she was able to obtain a smaller version — a ukulele — from a traveling salesman. His initial offer nearly took all her saved up money to pay for, but she was able to haggle down to a more reasonable price. At 3-years-old, Annabel Rose learned the basic chords from her mother. The first song she learned was to the tune of Lucy Gray's namesake.
It tugged at Lucy Gray’s heartstrings to hear her Annie’s sweet voice in the warmth of their home. She resolved to write a song for her daughter’s fourth birthday as a gift. Lucy Gray had her song, and so did her Capitol boy. It was only apt that Annabel Rose had one too.
It was the night of Annabel Rose's fourth birthday when everything went wrong. Lucy Gray was humming underneath her breath to the tune of a new song, their tiny kitchen fragrant with the smell of a birthday cake she’d stolen half the ingredients for to bake. She lit up a deformed red candle she attempted to mold from whatever melted wax she could find, cupping the flame between her palms briefly to keep it from being blown out. With a satisfied sigh, she wiped her hands on her apron and walked to the bed to shake her daughter awake.
All Lucy Grey felt was the cold skin of her daughter, her breathing shallow and her skin tinged blue. Her heart dropped to her stomach. With shaking hands, she wrapped Annie in a blanket and lifted her into her arms.
On the way to Dr. Hartree’s cabin, Lucy Gray would not realize that she’d been singing the song she’d written for Annie. And she will sing it under her breath while the good doctor examined her daughter, telling her the heart defect had gotten worse. She’d sing it at the back of her mind while Dr. Hartree tells her that surgery wasn’t an option anymore, that the medicine Annie’ll need is only available in the Capitol, that if she wants her baby to live she’ll need to find some way to get her a heart transplant. She’ll sing it and sing it, hoping the girl she’d written it for would awaken long enough to sing it with her.
She would only stop when Dr. Hartree clasped her hands, telling her in a hushed whisper that she’d found a way to get them to the Capitol discreetly. The doctor’s got family among the Peacekeepers in District 12 who was going to go to the Capitol in two days. Some officer fellow that was high-ranking enough to have his own private train cabin, and kind enough to share it with them. Dr. Hartree had given her temporary antibiotics for Annie with an apology that she couldn’t do anything more. When they arrive in the Capitol, Lucy Gray was on her own. Lucy Gray who had no penny to her name, who would probably be shot on sight once the Capitol had caught wind of her existence.
Her mind was racing on the morn she and a barely-lucid Annie snuck out to the gates. They were met with a heavyset man two heads taller than Lucy Gray, driving a military jeep. Time passed quickly and they encountered no hurdles getting to the train station on time. He lent them warm Capitol-style cloaks so they could blend in upon arrival. He’d even made her a cup of tea, noticing the nervousness in her demeanor. Lucy Gray had not been expecting such kindness from a Peacekeeper, no matter how highly Dr. Hartree spoke of him.
It was nighttime when they arrived, snow falling heavily on the ostentatious buildings. It wasn’t only the cold that made Lucy Gray shiver.
Under the cover of the night, Lucy Gray held her Annabel Rose and rapped on the door of the one she’d hoped would help them. If blood was not an enough reason, she could always appeal to their conscience.
The door swung open.
“Tigris, I need your help.”
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18 | chapter four
summary: you met a strange girl and her gang, although you honestly couldn't focus on anything with billy on your mind. Oh, and billy wants to rip jason's head off.
warnings: a softy chapter
listen to: Breakfast - Dove Cameron | Uptown girl - Billy Joel |  These boots are made for walking - Nancy Sinatra (playlist here)
word count: 2.2k
series masterlist + read the next chapter early on my ko-fi!!
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“You seem like you’re having a bad day,” the blonde girl with wavy hair that had sat down next to you in the last couple of classes muttered as you pulled your bag into your shoulder. 
You hadn’t really talked to anyone since meeting (for the second time) the infamous Billy Hargrove. You weren’t sure what annoyed you so much about him, maybe it was his bright smile or his eyes, those damn blue electric eyes. 
Sure, you understood the appeal, he might be handsome and look hot and drive a really fucking nice Camaro but it wasn’t about that. It was about his actions, the ones that you knew by heart already, make a girl fall in love with him, deeply, take advantage of her and take her to bed, use her as many times as he wanted to, and then discard her. 
Discard you, you thought. 
“Really bad first day?” the blonde girl asked again and you finally turned to see her. She had an amazing set of freckles that seemed like a Milkyway under her eyes, through her cheeks and nose. She had pretty soft blue eyes and a goofy smile. 
“It wasn’t as bad as I thought,” you shrugged as you both walked out of the class. 
“Really? Because Hawkins honestly sucks,” she admitted and you laughed in return. God, how many people hated their own town, you thought. You’d never hated Chicago, not even after what happened with your parents or everything else. It was your home, it would always be your home. 
“So, everyone hates Hawkins here?” you asked her, but she squinted her eyes a bit as she examined you. 
Suddenly, realization setting on her face. 
“Oh, so you’ve never lived in a small town,” she replied as if it all made sense now and you nodded. “Where did you come from?”
You frowned at how she phrased the question. “Chicago, it’s the best place to live truly, I-” you replied and she snapped her head towards you before grabbing your wrist and pulling you through the green and yellow hallways of Hawkins as people turned to watch. 
“Look what I just found!” she screamed as she waved at a group of people that were huddling in their lockers. You suddenly felt the small urge to run away but you knew it was better to have a couple of friends than none in a new place, especially now that you didn’t know if Hargrove had ruined your chances of getting into the cheerleading team. “A city girl with an open mind!” she babbled as she placed you in front of them. 
“And you’re scaring her, Robin!” one of the guys muttered as he rolled his eyes. He was handsome, a fact, he had a nice smile and the hair, it wasn’t neat but it felt like it was styled to perfection. “I’m Steve,” he said as he shook your hand with both of his big hands. 
You nodded and then turned to the others who followed suit. 
“Nancy,” A small girl said with a small smile, she was holding the hand of the other guy that was next to Steve.
“Jonathan,” he muttered, clearly a lot more shy than Steve and the last one next to him. 
That guy was clearly not shy, he didn’t give you his hand or a smile. He instead moved his long hair to the side and made a rock sign with his hand as he took out his tongue like Gene Simmons from Kiss, “Eddie,” he mentioned casually. 
You nodded and they stared at you for a little longer than what you’d like, until you got that it was your turn and you cursed mentally. 
“I’m y/n y/l/n,” you replied fast before passing a hand through your hair. “Just moved here,” you explained as you twiddled with your fingers. 
“Yeah, we figured,” Jonathan muttered. 
“Sorry, that was stupid,” you replied before pinching the bridge of your nose in exasperation before giving a step back as if it was a reflex. 
You weren’t usually one to get nervous, there were few moments when people actually figured your emotional state. But it honestly hadn’t been your day, it hadn’t been your week or your month even; you’d come to wonder if your life would be like this forever but you refused to believe it. 
You had a plan in mind. 
“No it wasn’t!” Steve intervened, a little bit to excited as you raised your head with a frown, was he trying to be nice? you thought. “I think I saw you before. You live at Oakland, right?”
You blinked a bit, surprised that someone had actually been paying attention to you. Someone other than Billy Hargorve. “Yes, just moved in,”
“Oh so you are neighbors!” Robin exclaimed. 
“Really?”
“Yeah,” Steve replied and you simply smiled. “I can give you a ride, if you want,” he muttered but you shook your head. 
“I already have one, it’s fine but thank you,” you replied politely with a smile before turning to Robin. “And thank you for introducing me to your friends even though you didn’t even ask me my name,” you said with a smile as you took her hand and gave it a squeeze. 
“I’m sorry I tend to miss social cues all the time,” she muttered as her cheeks blushed a bit. 
“It’s okay,” you replied sweetly. 
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” She said and you nodded with a smile before you made your way to the entrance of the school and into the school parking lot.
As the warmth air of the summer hit you, you smiled. It was the first time in all day that you felt like you were actually able to breathe. Not even in class you had been able to push your anxiety and Billy Hargrove to the side, you felt like you had been stuck alone with your thoughts, unable to even use class as a means to escape those blue electric eyes and what had happened at lunch. You had tried to follow the exercises, especially on algebra, but you found yourself unable to concentrate on the equations on the page. It wasn’t until Robin had talked to you that you finally had thought about anything else.
You almost wished that you had actually spoken to her before, you’d rather busy yourself with trying to make new friends than have to cope with the reality that you were stuck in a town and the fucking King of the high school had put a target on your back.
As if you didn’t have enough trouble already.  
You felt eyes on you in that second and you turned to where you felt them, snapping you from your thoughts. You were immediately met by Billy’s blue electric eyes. He was surrounded by a group of people, some hadn’t even noticed you but others had turned to where Billy was looking and some even frowned. You scoffed automatically and although usually, you would turn away from his gaze, not even giving him an ounce of your attention, you didn’t. You instead stopped walking and maintained eye contact, challenging him. The wicked smile that appeared on his face made goosebumps appear on your skin while you still stared at him as you puffed your chest a bit and raised your eyebrows. 
You couldn’t imagine what was going through his mind but he didn’t falter either, he kept looking back at you and he raised his eyebrows back at you while sticking his tongue out a bit. You tried your best to stay level-headed because you knew what he wanted, you knew he wanted a reaction out of you but you weren’t going to give in. 
Not at least on purpose and although you would’ve kept staring at him as long as he insisted on maintaining eye contact, a voice made you back down from the challenge. 
“New girl?” the voice said and you turned around to see a tall blonde guy with a bright smile and dull blue eyes staring at you, he was wearing a uniform you’d seen during the day on most of what you assumed was the basketball team except for Billy Hargrove. He was unashamedly looking at you and for a moment you were particularly startled by his presence.
He looked like every guy next door. Pale, blonde, strong, all-American white guy. You wanted to roll your eyes to the back of your skull but you digressed. You didn’t particularly like the type of people, you were a cheerleader and you knew the two-face nature of those jock types. 
“y/n, actually,” you replied uninterested as you kept walking to where you’d parked. He didn’t take the clue though, he insisted on following you while Billy glared from afar. 
“Well, it’s nice to meet you,” he said and you turned to see him once more. “Chrissy told me about you,” he commented again as if you knew who he was. 
You didn’t even want to know but then again, if you were stuck you would take every little opportunity if it meant something going right. 
“Yeah, and you are?”
He blinked at you and then shook his head, he seemed genuinely distraught that you weren’t aware of his existence.
“Oh, Jason Craver,” he said as he extended his hand to you, you took it but made the handshake faster than what he apparently hoped for. “First mate of Hawkins basketball team,” he continued with his chest puff. 
“Cool,” you replied before spinning on your heels and turning towards your joy ride. 
And yet, he persisted. 
You sighed in frustration once you heard his voice again. How could you expect guys like this to take a clue? 
“Uhm, I know you move into Oakland street,” he continued and you stopped. 
“Does everyone here lives there too?” you asked. 
You remembered that you knew some stereotypes of small towns, everyone gossiped and everyone knew everything about everyone. There wasn’t privacy in small towns like that, not the privacy that you’d always used to have. In a big city, nobody even noticed you and you were hoping nobody noticed you either here. 
You were so wrong. 
“No, no but close,” he said and you nodded curtly. “I was wondering if you’d like a ride home?”
You shook your head quickly while thinking to yourself that you’d rather chew off your right arm than have him take you home. 
“I have a ride,” you replied as you shrugged your shoulders and tsked with your tongue. 
He stared at you with a frown. 
“Really?”
“Yeah,” 
“So, I see someone shot-gun you first,” he said as he passed a hand through his long and perfectly combed blonde hair. 
You didn’t understand the connotation and first. Even though you probably understood the thing he said, you hoped that it was a joke. You wondered if people still talked about owning women like that in small cities, but your hope died down as you stared at Jason’s blue dull eyes, you knew he was being serious. 
“Yeah, a pretty girl like you was obviously flagged down the first day,” he sighed with a shrug. 
“I wasn’t flagged down by anyone,” you snapped at him with a bitter and angry tone. 
“Not even Hargrove?” he asked before walking closer to you. 
The mention of the name made you want to run and hide, yet, you turned around towards where Billy was. He was still staring at you but the mischievous gaze was gone and replaced by a glare. You scoffed mentally, was he jealous? Your gazes linked for a moment, he watched you carefully but you tried to refocus. 
“No,” you lied, before walking to your final stop. 
“So, how are you getting,” Jason continued but stopped mid-track and you smirked to yourself as you took your helmet from your bike and quickly placed it on your head. “Oh,” he muttered. 
“Yeah,”
He stayed quiet for a few beats of silence as you got on the bike and turn it on. The roar of the engine caused goosebumps to appear over your skin and a satisfied smile to appear on your lips. You glanced at Jason who now had his hands on the pockets of his white jacket, he seemed a little bit awe-struck. 
“I’m impressed, there are no girls like…”
You stopped him. 
“Like me? Yeah heard that a bunch of times and it’s not that good of a line,” you grumbled as the bike started and you glanced at Jason with disdain. “Bye,” you muttered before you were driving off into the road.
Billy took a shaky breath as he watched you leave, he jerked his sunglasses out of his back pocket and flicked the cigarette to the floor. He straightened his blue shirt and pulled on his Aviators before walking to the driver seat of the Camaro, muttering a small bye to the group that was huddling around him. In all honesty, he wanted to run Jason over with the Camaro when he saw him talking to you, the charming smile he gave you made him want to rip his head off. He knew it was stupid, he shouldn’t be angry that he was talking to you Billy was never angry when other guys talked to the girls he was interested in.
But it was you. 
And there was something about you that he couldn’t seem to shake off.
***
author's note: once more I'm flabergasted by all the support I've received over this new series, LIKE REALLY THANK YOU FOR TAKING YOUR TIME TOREAD IT. I really can't believe it and although I know these chapters are a bit short like I CAN'T WAIT to let you see what will come next it's going to be a wild ride. THANK YOU SO MUCH and as always lmk what you think of the chapter!!!
***
Taglist: @happypopcornprincess @hannahnikohl @thescarlettvvitch @nymphadora000 @phishyie @amethystx3 @jaziscool @vixionix @gloryekaterina @alicetweven @frogtits1 @meg11 @pillowjj @fan1237 @bucky-daddy-barnes @starloriha @make-me-imagine @piper570 @dedicated2viktor @zanmorgan @queenofshinigamis @literally-a-ferret @slutformaddyperez @milkiane @mysterygirl-14 @oli-leo-ska @tsukibaby1 @samwilsonlove @theshinyrock @belledawnidk @the-mysterious-miss-s @rio-mx @nobody-000 @rlvslouis @linkpk88 @daygirl26 @steveharringtonswifey09 @alwaysbeenfamous @kazbrekkersangel @ilovewomen711 @allazay101 @dacresgff @nymphadora000 @that-levi-kenma-kinnie @riffcrusader @useless-snail @patheticreative @emmettcullenswife @milenadixon @whiskeypowder @ponyboys-sunsets @yunho-leeknow @kaillou66 @randomeddieblog @gifcottage @storeybook @nikt-wazny-y @kneelforloki @niviiera @pumpkin-kings @anitatvd @fanatics30
please let me know if there's a problem with the tags or if I forgot someone.
***
feedback is always welcomed!!
buy me a coffee or help me with my laptop? thank youu
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sergeantelvis · 3 months
Text
"Uptown Girl"
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Summary: Love was hard, but loving someone from completely different worlds was even more difficult.
Warnings: None
Fic Type: Maybe a series, angst and fluff
A/N: My god I haven't posted in here in ages I would love to hear feed back about this story it was just something fun id come up with I mean it may just be a stand alone, remember English is not my first language please be kind!! <3
Memphis, Mississippi carried the weight of dreams on its shoulders, and in the dim glow of the neon lights, Elvis Presley found himself at the crossroads of ambition and reality. The sun had set, casting shadows over the town, as Elvis sat on the porch of his family's modest home, strumming his guitar with a weary heart.
The evening held a melody of its own—a symphony of distant hopes and the echoes of unfulfilled promises. Elvis, a young man with dreams as vast as the Mississippi itself, sat with his guitar cradled in his arms. His fingers danced over the strings, extracting a soulful tune that resonated with the melancholy of his weary heart.
In the dimming light, Elvis's features were a canvas painted with the struggles of a life not yet fully lived. His eyes, deep and reflective, held the weight of dreams that yearned to soar beyond the limitations of his circumstances. The chiseled contours of his face told a story of resilience, each line etched by the hardships he faced and the battles he fought.
As he strummed, the rhythmic cadence of his guitar became a companion to the rhythm of his thoughts. The glow of a cigarette tip illuminated his face in sporadic flashes, casting a fleeting spotlight on the complexity that lay within. Elvis Presley was not just a name; he was a confluence of passions and pains, a bridge between the simplicity of Tupelo and the grandeur of fame.
The porch, weathered and familiar, became a stage for Elvis's introspection. His voice, when he sang, was a raw, emotive force that seemed to unravel the layers of his soul. Each note carried the weight of the stories he'd lived and those still waiting to be written.
"You know you shouldn't be smokin', it's bad for ya" He heard in the background, a voice that he had heard a million times before. Sure enough, there she stood.
Elvis turned, the ember of his cigarette glowing in the dimness, to find Rory leaning against the porch railing. Her voice, a familiar melody that carried both affection and concern, had a way of grounding him even in the midst of his inner turmoil.
Rory, a vision of beauty with her tousled brunette hair and striking blue eyes, exuded a timeless elegance that seemed to transcend the boundaries of Memphis itself. Her presence brought a gentle calm to the turbulence in Elvis's soul, like a steady anchor in the storm of uncertainties.
Tall, but not towering, Rory possessed a grace in her stature that complemented the poise in her every movement. Her eyes, the colour of a tranquil summer sky, held a depth that mirrored the vastness of the Mississippi, and Elvis often found himself losing track of time within their depths.
She wore a simple, yet alluring, ensemble—a vintage floral dress that swayed with the evening breeze. The soft fabric clung to her frame, accentuating the curves that made her presence in Elvis's world a captivating masterpiece.
As she approached, the porch's feeble light painted a chiaroscuro on her features, accentuating the subtle lines of her face. A gentle smile played on her lips, a mixture of love and concern that spoke volumes. Rory's beauty was not just skin deep; it was in the way she cared, the way she understood the complexities of Elvis's journey.
"Elvis, you're letting the weight of the world get to ya," Rory said, her voice a soothing melody. She reached for his hand, gently prying the cigarette from his fingers and extinguishing it on the porch railing.
He sighed, the tension in his shoulders easing as he met her gaze. "Rory, sometimes it feels like the world's closing in on me."
She nodded, a silent acknowledgment of the struggles they faced together. "You're not alone, Elvis. We'll face whatever comes our way, just like always."
As Elvis took Rory's hand, intertwining his fingers with hers, they stepped through the weathered front door of the Presley home. The familiar scent of home, a comforting blend of Gladys's home-cooked meals and the subtle hint of tobacco, enveloped them. Elvis's mother, Gladys, was in the kitchen, her silhouette framed by the warm light filtering through the curtains.
"Mama, we're home," Elvis called out, the affection in his voice resonating through the walls.
Gladys turned, her eyes lighting up as she caught sight of Rory standing beside Elvis. Her warm smile transformed the room, radiating maternal love. "Well, if it ain't our favorite girl. Rory, dear, come give your Mama Gladys a hug."
Rory embraced Gladys with genuine affection, feeling the warmth of a motherly love that had embraced her since she moved to Memphis at the tender age of ten. Elvis's father, Vernon, appeared from the living room, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he welcomed them.
"Elvis, son, how's my boy?" Vernon greeted, clapping Elvis on the back.
Elvis chuckled, a hint of weariness in his voice. "Surviving, Daddy. Surviving."
Gladys, with her nurturing spirit, ushered them into the cozy living room where the scent of a freshly brewed pot of coffee lingered. The room, adorned with family photographs and Elvis's burgeoning accolades, echoed with the shared history of joy and sorrow.
As they settled on the worn-out couch, Gladys, perceptive as ever, studied her son's weary expression. "Elvis, what's weighin' on your mind, honey?"
Elvis exchanged a glance with Rory, a silent understanding passing between them. Rory spoke up, "We just wanted to share some time with y'all, maybe lighten the load a bit."
Gladys's eyes softened with gratitude. "Oh, Rory, you're always a breath of fresh air. We're lucky to have you in our lives."
Vernon, a man of few words but immense warmth, nodded in agreement. The room, filled with the embrace of familial love, became a sanctuary from the world outside.
As the evenings unfolded in the Presley household, Gladys and Vernon couldn't help but exchange knowing glances when it came to Elvis and Rory. The unspoken connection between the two was evident, a palpable tension that hovered beneath the surface of their shared laughter and easy camaraderie. Gladys, with her motherly intuition, often found herself stealing glimpses at the young couple, her heart yearning for a love she believed was destined.
Vernon, equally astute, sensed the uncharted territories of their feelings. Over dinner conversations and shared moments in the living room, the couple often found themselves exchanging subtle smiles, their eyes speaking volumes that words dared not articulate. It was as if the universe itself was orchestrating a symphony of emotions, waiting for the right moment to unfold.
However, as fate often played its cards, both Elvis and Rory remained prisoners of their own unspoken desires. Fear of jeopardizing their friendship, the uncertainty of the future, and the weight of expectations shackled them from confessing the feelings that stirred within. Each stolen glance and every lingering touch carried the unspoken question of "what if," yet neither dared to breach the fragile wall that separated them.
The air became charged with anticipation as Gladys playfully suggested, "You know, Elvis, Rory's been such a dear to us. Maybe it's time you two consider something more."
Elvis, caught off guard by the directness of his mother's matchmaking, felt a blush creeping up his neck. He exchanged a quick, embarrassed glance with Rory, who, in turn, was equally taken aback. The pressure of the unspoken tension amplified as Gladys continued, "Y'all make such a lovely couple. Maybe it's time to admit what's been staring you in the face."
Vernon, chiming in with a twinkle in his eye, added, "Ain't nothing wrong with followin' your heart, son."
The atmosphere became charged with a mixture of embarrassment and frustration. Elvis, feeling the weight of the situation, finally snapped, "Enough! Can't we have a family dinner without turnin' it into a matchmaking session?!"
Gladys and Vernon, momentarily stunned by Elvis's outburst, exchanged a glance of realization. The laughter that once echoed through the room now lingered in awkward silence. Elvis, realizing the impact of his words, sighed and softened his tone, "I love you both, but can we just enjoy our time together without pushin' for something more?"
The tension that lingered in the air after Elvis's outburst settled into an uneasy quietude. The clinking of utensils against plates echoed in the dining room, punctuating the strained atmosphere. Elvis, acutely aware of the shift, stole glances at Rory, whose eyes reflected a mixture of empathy and curiosity.
Gladys, with her intuitive nature, decided to break the palpable silence. "Elvis, dear, we just want you to be happy. Dixie's a nice girl, but we can't help but think that maybe there's something more you're not saying."
Vernon, cautiously choosing his words, added, "Rory's been a part of our lives for so long. We can see the way you both look at each other. It's like there's a story waiting to unfold and plus you aren't even goin' steady with that Dixie Girl."
Elvis, his gaze dropping to his plate, hesitated before responding, "Dixie's a good person, Mama. I care about her a lot."
Rory, feeling the weight of the conversation, spoke up with a supportive smile, "Elvis, we're just concerned about you. We want to see you happy, whether it's with Dixie or someone else."
The conversation swirled in a sea of unspoken emotions, each word carrying the weight of unexplored possibilities. Elvis's mind, however, wrestled with the unspoken truth—that Dixie was a comfort, a safety net, but Rory held the key to a love he yearned for but feared losing.
As the evening progressed, the subtle tension lingered, overshadowing the shared laughter and warmth that once defined the Presley family dinners. The unsaid words and the undercurrents of unspoken love painted the room in hues of complexity, leaving Elvis at the intersection of his emotions.
After the dinner's echoes had faded, and the Presley household settled into a quiet evening, Elvis and Rory found themselves on the porch, bathed in the gentle glow of a single porch light. The air between them crackled with an unspoken tension, the residue of the family dinner still lingering in the atmosphere.
They sat side by side, a cautious space between them that mirrored the uncharted territory of their conversation. The soft hum of cicadas and the distant rustle of leaves added a gentle soundtrack to the evening as they hesitated, unsure of where to begin.
Finally, Rory broke the silence, her voice a delicate whisper in the quiet night, "Elvis, about what happened at dinner..."
Elvis, his gaze fixed on the flickering porch light, sighed. "I'm sorry, Rory. I didn't mean to snap like that. It's just... complicated."
She nodded, her eyes searching his face for answers. "Your parents care about you, Elvis. They just want you to be happy. And I want that for you too, you know?"
The porch held a hesitancy, an unspoken tension that lingered in the wake of their earlier conversation. Elvis, fidgeting with the hem of his shirt, broke the silence with an awkward cough. "Rory, about dinner… I didn't mean to snap like that. It's just, with my parents always trying to set me up with you, it gets overwhelming."
Rory nodded, her gaze fixated on the distant glow of city lights. "I get it, Elvis. It must be tough, especially when you care about someone."
He sighed, the weight of the unspoken truth pressing on his shoulders. "Yeah, Dixie's a nice girl. She really likes me, you know? Maybe it's a good thing, having someone who cares."
Rory's eyes flickered with a mixture of understanding and curiosity. "Elvis, do you like her?"
He hesitated, his gaze searching for the right words. "I mean, she's great, Rory. Really great. And it's nice having someone who's into me, you know? But sometimes, I wonder…"
Rory sensed the doubt in his voice, the undercurrent of something unspoken. "Wonder what?"
Elvis, unknowingly slipping into the truth he hadn't intended to reveal, rambled on, "I wonder if I'm just settling. She's nice and all, but there's someone else who's always been there. Someone I can't seem to get out of my mind, I mean when I started liking you I thought I was out of my mind that's why talked to dixie I know it was harsh but hey it was guaranteed"
The words hung in the air, a raw vulnerability laid bare. Elvis's eyes, clouded with self-doubt, missed the shift in Rory's expression. She leaned in, capturing his gaze with a depth that conveyed both tenderness and longing. "Elvis, you're wrong."
Before he could comprehend her words, Rory bridged the gap between them, pressing her lips against his in a kiss that spoke volumes. Time seemed to stand still as the world around them faded into insignificance. The porch, the city lights, and the weight of unspoken words dissipated in the tender connection they had long yearned for.
Elvis, initially stunned, felt the warmth of Rory's lips against his, a revelation that eclipsed any doubt that had clouded his mind. As the kiss deepened, the universe seemed to align in a symphony of emotions. The subtle taste of vulnerability and the familiarity of shared history melded into a moment that transcended the porch, the city, and the complexities of their friendship.
Rory, breaking the kiss but maintaining the closeness, whispered, "Elvis, I've always cared about you too."
The realization dawned on him, the clarity cutting through the fog of uncertainty. "Rory, I… I never thought…"
She smiled, a gentle reassurance that held the promise of unexplored possibilities. "Maybe it's time we stop overthinking and see where this takes us."
As they sat on the porch, their hands finding each other in the quiet aftermath of the kiss, the world around them became a canvas painted with the hues of a newfound connection. The city lights shimmered in approval, and the night seemed to whisper the beginning of a love story that had patiently awaited its revelation.
"Oh fuck, I just kissed my best friend"
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gendrie · 1 year
Note
five reasons why you ship gendrya?
1. they complement each other.
arya and gendry have a lot of qualities in common, but many of their most prominent traits are complementary. arya is sociable and friendly. gendry is more reserved and standoffish. arya is audacious and focused on the big picture. gendry is cautious and detailed orientated. arya is becoming skilled at concealment, but gendry is transparent. the combination of traits is what makes them such a good team. its not just personality, though. i’ve always felt that arya/gendry are a great example of an ice and fire pairing in asoiaf. arya is water/the north/the old gods/quick/lady/trueborn/sword and gendry is fire/the south/r’hllor/strong/lowborn/bastard/shield. honestly, they’re just a good match. gendry is strong and brave and loyal he’s the perfect partner for arya. he’s every bit as stubborn as her too so arya cant just railroad him into doing what she wants. 
2. similar experiences 
before they even meet they have scenes with ned who notes their resemblance to lyanna and robert respectively, but more importantly he tries to take their treasured items and a/g are totally defiant. later, they both flee kings landing together as they’re pursued by the same enemy which set them apart from the very beginning. “only gendry was different” arya recognizes this and trusts him bc of it. nearly every experience after the fact? they share: the battles, the starvation, the imprisonment, the trauma of the war. they went through all of that together. they played mom and dad to their little band of war orphans. which i think creates a level of understanding that few others could truly relate to. this theme continues even after they’re separated too. they're seeking justice, but their trauma and grief lead them both to religious cults that are dark, teaching them to kill regardless of guilt as per their boss who is the embodiment of death. gendry’s is a vengeful zombie (who also happens to be arya’s mother) and arya's the many faced god. they are BOTH serving death. this is genuinely one of my fave things about them as a ship. 
3. “but gendry came back” + “i don’t care what you say, i’m going back for him”
when everyone left arya and that baby behind gendry went back for them. he tries to get arya to go thru the tunnel before he does. when they run from harrenhal gendry is the one who convinces arya to stop and sleep. he lets her eat before him at the inn of the kneeling man too. he protects her and her identity. “she’s not alone. do like she says and leave us be” arya does the same for him. she shares her rabbit leg with gendry. she went after him when he was captured by the mountain’s men. she wanted him to go home with her to meet her mother and “stay” she frequently reflects on gendry’s counsel and how it was wise even if she couldnt see it in the moment. “and Arya knew he was right.” theres mutual respect and care. 
4. the playful vibe
as a pair they really do bring a youthful, fresh, energy to the story. acorn hall does 98% of the heavy lifting to lighten up what is otherwise a very dark book. theres also not a lot of friendship based ships in asoiaf. i actually cannot think of even one other example in the main series. which makes them a unique dynamic in this universe. and their scenes are just fun! like even when they’re fighting. everything from “then pull your cock out and take a piss” to “would m’lady permit????” and “you stupid stupid stupid STUPID” and “not the fucking moss again” (paraphrased) plus they hit a lot of tropes i personally enjoy. uptown girl, lady and knight, unresolved romantic tension, battle couple, like an old married couple, eating the eye candy, childhood friend to lovers, ect. 
5: “she was much the same at winterfell”
harwin says this to arya when gendry is being scolded and i love it so much. its about how a/g in relation to arya's identity. because with gendry arya can embrace her true self. she doesn’t have to be on guard. she doesn’t have to put on an act for survival. when everyone else sees arry or weasel or nan gendry knows the truth. she’s just “arya” when he asks her to go to the smithy to have a look. arya finally gets a chance to just play again. gendry is one of the few people she can truly be herself with and in an arc thats defined by identity that in itself is so significant.  and then theres: “those soft little things?” gendry has seen arya’s hands covered in the blood of her enemies, LITERALLY, and he still thinks they’re soft and little. one of arya’s greatest fears is that she won’t be wanted because she doesnt meet an arbitrary femininity standard and on account of the things she’s done to survive. but gendry has seen arya in rags, shaved head, eating worms, slitting throats, and thought “she’s the one” lol 
bonus: the potential
arya/gendry already has a great foundation going into the last two books. they're hardly an eleventh hour ship. but theres still so much to explore at the same time. they’ve grown up a lot. i wanna see what their dynamic looks like with the romantic subtext turned up a bit. theres a lot of foreshadowing suggesting their relationship will continue to be important. ive made this comparison before and i know its corny but they really are just this little acorn of potential that could grow into a tree so strong it can weather any storm. 
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y2kprettyprincess · 1 year
Text
🩷✨️Things I Watch When I'm Getting Ready ✨️🩷
Totally Spies
Bratz Shows and Movies
Barbie Shows and Movies
Monster High
Legally Blonde 1 & 2
The House Bunny
Breakfast at Tiffany's
Gentlemen Prefer Blonde's
Playboy's The Girls Next Door
The Nanny
Mean Girls
Wild Child
The Clique
The Princess Diaries
13 Going on 30
Two Can Play That Game
Uptown Girls
Overboard (The original)
First Wives Club
Grease (1 only)
Burlesque
Mamma Mia!
The Proposal
Maid in Manhattan
Miss Confidentiality 1 & 2
Ocean's 8
Monster in Law
Hustlers
Half & Half
Girlfriends
Total Drama Island (specifically seasons w/ Heather in them)
6teen
Stoked
Harley Quinn: Birds of Prey
Gunpowder Milkshake
Crazy Rich Asians
Pretty Woman
Clueless
Bride Wars
Girl's Trip
All Bring It On Movies
Wendy Wu Homecoming Warrior
All Cheetah Girl Movies
Hannah Montana the show and movie
Zoey 101
Sailor Moon
Winx Club
W.I.T.C.H
Pretty Cure/ Precure shows and movies
Teen Beach Movie (1 only)
Lemonade Mouth
Polly Pocket Pollyworld
Bad Girls Club
The Simple Life
KUWTK (earlier seasons)
Jersey Shore
The Hills
POSE
P- Valley
All Early 2000s dating shows (Flavor of Love, I Love New York, Rock of Love, etc.)
Mulan 1 & 2
The Princess and the Frog
Tangled
That's So Raven
The Suite Life Shows
Confessions of a Shopaholic
Confessions of a Teenage Drama Queen
Cow Belles
High School Musical 1-3
Sharpay's Fabulous Adventure
The Game Plan
Princess Protection Program
Monte Carlo
The Player's Club
Showgirls
ATL (2006)
Merman In My Tub (anime short series on Youtube)
Charlie's Angel's 1 & 2 (2000 and 2003)
The Game (The Show)
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theemporium · 2 years
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oneshots
☞smooth operator (smut)
☞just friends, right? (smut)
☞awkward timing
☞late night swims (smut)
☞the set up
☞bowling dates and bruises
☞caught red-handed
☞uptown girl
☞meet me at the chateau (smut)
☞i wanna hear you confess now (smut)
☞what’s the fun in doing what you’re told (smut)
☞i’m yours
☞you are my sunshine 
☞i’ve got no soul to sell (smut)
☞i don’t wanna talk it out (smut)
☞she’s an angel in disguise
.
series
☞fratboy!steve (smut)
↳tainted love // hungry eyes
☞shoot to score (she’s the man au)
☞i’m about to show you, baby (pornstar!steve masterlist)
.
blurbs
☞steve fucking reader during prom (smut)
☞steve doing the spider-man kiss
☞steve “helping out” bestfriend!reader (smut)
☞steve comforting emotional!reader after sex (kinda smut?)
☞reader talking about steve during a girls’ sleepover
☞getting into an argument with established relationship!steve 
☞rockstar!steve fucking groupie!reader against the window (smut)
☞steve falls for robin’s ex-crush
☞steve realises he loves his best friend
☞reader modelling lingerie for steve (smut)
☞steve comforting stressed reader 
☞“I can’t believe you remembered”
☞“I think about you all the time”
☞surprising steve in the locker room after a game (smut)
☞inexperienced!reader finding steve’s porn magazine
☞reader and steve being oblivious idiots in love
☞skaterboy!steve realising you’re obsessed with his hair
☞seven minutes in heaven with shy!reader
☞steve and reader riling each other up in public
☞the morning after steve took reader’s virginity
☞steve listening to reader’s book rambles
☞hockey!steve fucking rival captain!reader in the locker room (smut)
☞hockey!steve wanting rival captain!reader to wear his jersey
☞rival captain!reader wearing hockey!steve’s jersey for his birthday
☞hockey!steve teaching his son to skate
.
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viperbarnes · 2 years
Text
Uptown Boy – [Oneshot]
40s!Bucky Barnes x Reader
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Summary: You've always played into the idea that you were nothing more than an airheaded, selfish socialite, it was easier than facing the rejection of who you truly were. Still, you were never able to fool your loyal driver, Bucky. No, Bucky Barnes saw right through you, and somehow he adored you anyway.
Warnings: lots of smut! reader is a bit of a mess, she's rude af lmao. there is a scene where somebody attempts to assault her, but it is not very vivid and they are stopped. the reader has a name, but it's written as a reader insert. she's described as being steve's half sister, but they are not blood related at all, and i wrote her as a woc, but there are no overt descriptions of her. i think that's all.
Notes: This is another of my old oneshots! This was a direct counterpart to my series Uptown Girl, which was about socialite!bucky, but you don't need to read it to read this.
story below the cut because it starts with smut lol
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“Keep going, that’s it, that’s it… holy shit…” You grin wickedly despite your heaving chest and breathlessness. You have a vice grip on Bucky’s shoulders, his rough hands holding your hips just as tight as you bounce on his lap.
The space is small and cramped, but it wasn’t as if you’d never done it before. Your dress is gathered at your waist, out of the way, but pulled open at the front to expose your chest. He always did like to see your body, the very few times you allowed it.
“You feel so good Lilah, so fuckin—” you cut him off with your lips, his mindless sex babble always grated on you a little.
Not really, but it was easier to say that than admit anything else.
“Come on Barnes, fuck me good and proper, like you promised,” You whine, knowing full well he’s putty in your hands. Your own fingers swirl over the bundle of nerves just above where you’re connected, and really, with all the unbecoming grunting sounds he makes, you’re so close.
“Jesus Christ, you’re a fuckin vixen… I’ll fuck you good and proper like you deserve? Little brat,” You half scoff, half-laugh. He always got a little mean when he realised your games but that was just fine by you.
“You gonna teach me a lesson, Daddy?” You pout, gasping when your jaw is grabbed harshly, and yanked forward. You moan into his mouth as he kisses you hard, his cock slowing to give you long strokes that push your limits and you finally come apart around him, your spine arching as your release is pulled from you, around you in soft little waves.
Bucky pulls out of you, and you scoot back to watch as he only palms himself twice before he's cupping his hand over the head, trying to minimise the mess of his cum spurting out. You swallow at the sight but begin fixing yourself before he can recover.
“For the record. I don’t think that’s even half of what you deserve,” His voice, deep and rough, sends a shiver down your spine despite yourself and you look up at him, smirking and raising your brow.
“Oh? Not enough spanking? Maybe next time you should bend me over and—”
“I mean the back of the car. If I had it my way you’d have a bed,” The sureness with which he speaks makes your heart thump but you push it away.
This was only fun. It didn’t mean anything. He knew it as well as you.
You grab your purse and quickly check your hair and makeup, powdering your face and fixing your lipstick.
“I have to go.”
“I know.”
“I’ll see you later.”
“Will you?” You look up at him, smiling lazily at you and you bristle.
“Not with that attitude you won’t. Fix it first, driver,” It’s snarky, needlessly so, but it soothes over whatever soft feeling arises at the look he gives you.
“Have a good evening, Miss Langley.” You scoff and push open the car door.
You suppose the attitude is to be expected. It’s what you get for fucking your driver, some fella not nearly as high on the social ring as you. But maybe that’s why you liked doing it, he was rough, not afraid to grab you, to push you around a little… and maybe you liked that more than you’ll admit.
You fix your hair one last time as you step up along the gravel driveway toward the main house. Your parent’s butler opens the door for you as you near, and you give him a small, genuine smile.
“Stan. Good to see you well.”
“And you Miss Langley! It’s been too long!”
“I don’t like to leave the city, you know me,”
The older gentleman takes your coat you'd only just put on and your gloves, and you give him one last friendly smile.
“You go sit down, I know my way.”
“Thank you, Miss Langley, Goodnight.”
“Goodnight, Stan.”
You turn back to the main foyer and roll your eyes at the laughter you can already hear coming from the drawing-room. You steel yourself and take a breath, before moving forward.
“Ah! If it isn’t my darling daughter! Gentlemen, let me introduce her!” You stand still as your Father approaches you, hand gliding over your back as he ushers you further into the room. You hadn’t been aware your parents had invited anybody but you.
“My youngest child, Delilah Langley. You might have seen her exploits in some of those gossip magazines–”
“–But I wouldn’t believe a word!” your mother adds sharply from the couch, and you look back to the men in front of you.
“Of course not. I’ve never swum in a chiffon dress. It's strictly silk or nothing,” your father bristles and coughs, but the gentlemen laugh kindly.
“Delilah, this is Mr Reginald Gorman and his son, Andrew Gorman,”
“A pleasure,” you shake their hands politely. Andrew is around your age, handsome enough but not really your type. Not nearly rough enough, with his perfectly combed hair and pristine suit. Your mother stands then, clasping her gloved hands together, her rings clinking against one another.
“Delilah, why don’t we powder our noses?” you want to roll your eyes, but instead, you smile politely at the two men.
“If you would excuse me,” you let your mother hook your arm around her as she leads you off to the nearest powder room.
The moment you’re alone, you take the time to pull out your lipstick, reapplying it once again and looking yourself over in the mirror.
“You need to pull yourself together,” your mother says, and you do roll your eyes this time.
“You smell like filth, like—like sex,”
You fix her with a bored look.
“That’s because I just let my driver fuck me in the backseat of my car. He’s very good at it, you see.”
She looks scandalised and glares harshly.
“That isn’t even funny. Don’t say stupid things,” she hisses, pulling perfume from one of the draws in the counter, and spritzing it over you.
“What did I do to deserve a daughter like…”
You stop speaking and you glower.
“The Gorman’s are well connected and they would be an excellent partner for your father to have in the business,” she says then, and you frown.
“Okay...”
“Andrew is your age. He’s handsome and—”
“You aren’t seriously trying to set me up, are you?!”
“Why not?”
You stare at her incredulously before she huffs and shakes her head.
“Delilah, you need to get over yourself. All you have to do in this life is to marry well, whatever you want to do on the side is up to you. You’re such a selfish girl, you’d have everything you’d want!”
“Oh, except for a loving marriage, excuse me!” you seeth, you can’t even believe she was suggesting this.
“What year is it?! 1789?!” you continue.
“Look who you were born into, look at the family you have and that of those around you. You don’t get to make those choices,” your mother scolds and you know just from her tone she’s not going to listen. Whatever you have to say she’ll ignore.
“Fix your hair and when you come back out, I expect a different attitude,” she breezes past you and you glare at her in the mirror and when the door shuts, you glare at your own reflection and the fact you’d told Bucky the same thing ten minutes ago.
All your life no matter what you did, the grades you got, how smart you were, nothing ever mattered to your parents aside from the way you looked and presented. Your brother was kind, he knew his parents ignored your education in favour of his, and he’d try to stand up for you, but he had his own issues. You don’t blame him for leaving the country the moment he could.
You played into who they wanted you to be. A socialite they wanted, a socialite they got. You partied too hard, flirted with every man in a ten-foot radius. It was fun, if you were honest, being the smartest person in the room at any given moment, playing them all for fools while you got what you wanted.
But it was biting you in the ass now.
It was too late to change your direction, you were a little past the normal age women settled down, it was now or never really. But you don’t know Andrew Gorman, and if you did know him, you doubted he’d be any different from every other rich boy with a rich father who lived off of their money.
You quickly fix your hair, making it a little messier even, and make your way back to the dining room.
You flirt heavily, almost too much with Andrew, your mother glaring at you across the table.
When dinner is over and the small group retire to the drawing-room once more, you excuse yourself to the bathroom but instead glide out of the home.
Bucky is waiting for you, opening the door and you don’t acknowledge him beyond a nod, sliding into the backseat.
The drive home is quiet. You’re lost in your thoughts.
You’d flirted with Andrew, but you hadn’t really paid him much mind. He was boring, a banker. Ugh. And your parents wanted you to marry him.
You imagine it, being married to him, having boring sex, living in a boring house, boring children. You half want to vomit.
You arrive home quickly, and you step out before Bucky can get the door, ignoring him as he calls a goodnight after you. You bathe and change and you’re halfway through brushing your hair when there’s a tapping on your window.
You ignore it, only looking up in the mirror as you go about pinning your hair back from your face and wiping your lipstick off. The window jiggles and then pops open, and you quickly look away, focusing on your own reflection as Bucky steps through the window, his foot landing on your bed briefly before he steps down, turns and closes the glass again.
“How many times do I need to tell you not to step on my bed with those disgusting boots?!” you huff, and finally, meet his eye in the mirror.
“Come off it, Lilah. What’s gotten into you tonight?” Bucky crosses his arms over his chest. You bristle at his concerned frown and finish wiping your face.
“You know I never like spending time with ‘The Langley’s’,”
Bucky shakes his head.
“No, it’s more than that. You’re upset.”
Again, you bristle, because he had absolutely no right to know you that well.
“It’s nothing.”
“Is it nothing? Or is it nothing that you want me to worry about?” he challenges, and God, you hate him sometimes.
You stand, letting your nightgown fall open, fully aware you hadn’t put pyjamas on yet.
“Both,” you purr, stepping to him, letting your hand slide over his chest. His eyes follow you and you know you’ve got him distracted enough that he’ll stop asking about your business. You push on his chest and he stumbles back, catches himself on the edge of your bed and you pounce, following him down.
You sink to your knees in front of him, fingers tugging at his pants already, the buttons coming apart fast and you’re pulling his cock from the confines of his briefs.
“Jesus, sweetheart…” Bucky breaths above you, his hands trailing over your shoulders and up to your hair as you lean over him.
Your lips settle around him quickly, and you know it's probably not a good thing, but you always loved the rebellious thrill you felt when you were fucking somebody.
It felt wrong, and that felt right.
You bob your head quickly, swirling your tongue over and under him, listening to his gasps and grunts of approval, your core tingling whenever his hands tighten and pull on your hair.
“God, you’re so good at that, baby, keep going, all the way….. Fuck!”
You genuinely preen at the praise, push yourself until you feel him hit the back of your throat and you hold there for a moment before pulling back completely, gasping and breathing hard. Bucky groans, watching you, one hand still in your hair, and the other moving to take himself in hand.
“Here, sweetheart lemme see…”
You open your mouth, still breathing hard and lick around his head, the velvety skin hot and throbbing under your lips and you watch him watching you.
“Fuck, you’re so good, hmm? So good, darlin’...”
You sink over him again and keep his eye contact. His free hand pushes your gown open, down your shoulders and he reaches forward, palming a breast with a groan. He pinches a nipple tightly and you whine around his cock.
“Yeah, do that sweetheart, fuck, make some noise for me,”
You do as asked, really the only time you obey anybody when they tell you what to do. You moan around him, helped by the fact he keeps pinching your nipple, and you can tell now with how he twitches that he’s close.
“God, you’re so pretty like this, so pretty when you ain’t talking back. Should just put my cock in your mouth next time you mouth off, mhmm?”
You whine at the thought of him pushing you to your knees, his length heavy in your mouth. You whine at the fact you have him between your lips now.
“Would you like that? Bet you would, filthy little brat,” he always gets more talkative the closer he is and you fucking love it. His hands tighten in your hair, pulling and you moan as he comes, the back of your throat coated in hot white and you swallow around him, relishing in the feel. You pull back a little and suck on the head of his cock until he’s jerking back from you, half a chuckle out his lips already.
“Fuckin’ hell…”
You pout up at him, watching as he recovers, and duck under his slightly softening length, lips wrapping around one of his balls and you suck lightly, wanting more from him, but he’s pushing you away again.
“You’re gonna need to give me a second, christ,”
You scrunch your nose and sit back.
With your small rebellion completed and the past five minutes committed to memory, you don’t feel much like any more tonight.
You hum and pull your nightgown closed again as you stand.
“I have an early morning,” you say, turning away from him and moving to your bathroom. Bucky shifts and watches you, blinking.
“Oh… I thought…”
“Not tonight. You got what you came for, now I need to sleep,” you can’t see him from where you stand at your sink, and for some reason, you feel nervous.
Bucky frowns a little, but tucks his cock back into his briefs, pulling his pants up and buttoning them.
“I’ll see you tomorrow, then, Miss Langley.”
You don’t reply, can’t bring yourself with how quietly dejected he sounds.
It was only fun. It didn’t mean anything. You both knew it.
You hear your window open and close and when you finally exit your bathroom, you lock it, turning out your light, and wishing he’d fought you on staying.
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“Is Catherine really wearing Chanel with those Balenciaga’s?!”
You turn to look over your shoulder, to a table some ways away and stifle a snort.
“You know how much she likes to remind people how rich daddy is,”
“Regardless of class.”
You chuckle at that, and lean back in your seat, sipping your champagne.
Another day, another breakfast luncheon.
“Have you seen that Andrew Gorman, Delilah?”
You turn back to Renee, rolling your eyes.
“He’s here? Christ, my mother’s relentless,” you down the rest of your glass.
“Wait, your mother? Is she trying to set you up with Andrew?!”
Your other friend, Susie leans forwards, and you roll your eyes again.
“Trying. She thinks she can just tell me who to marry and that’s that.”
Renee and Susie exchange looks and you frown.
“What?”
“Well, why wouldn’t you want to marry him?”
“What?”
“He’s handsome—”
“—rich—”
“—What more do you need?”
You stare at the two in front of you before leaning forwards and grasping the champagne bottle by the neck, pouring yourself another glass.
“Perhaps love? Is that so foolish?”
“Oh come on Delilah, when have you ever wanted love?!” Renee laughs and you notice for the first time what an ugly sound it is.
“Perhaps when it comes to marriage?” you shoot back. A hand comes to rest over yours.
“All a good marriage requires is money and a blind eye,” Susie says matter-of-factly and you glare.
“Oh, yes, because being forced to spend your days with someone you despise, while a lover sneaks around truly fathering your children is much better,” you hiss, and she bristles, smoothing down her dress.
“There is absolutely no pro—”
“—shut up, Susie,” you snap. You were hardly in the mood anymore.
You have no idea why you spend your time with either of the women, they were so shallow and conceited and— 
Well, you suppose you are too. If it walks like a duck…
But you know you aren’t. Not really.
Well, maybe a little.
But you were more than that. You knew business, you’d studied with your brother, not officially, but he’d lend you his books, encourage you in your learning. You weren’t dumb, regardless of popular belief, and regardless of how much you encouraged it.
Once upon a time, you’d dreamed of going to Paris, studying fashion, perhaps opening your own boutique, but after your brother had left the States, your parents had insisted you stay.
You don’t want to marry Andrew. You don’t want to be a trophy wife with a string of children who all look suspiciously like your driver.
You quickly finish your glass, standing abruptly and grabbing your purse.
“Where are you—?”
“—I’ve had my fill of bourgeoisie for today,” you turn up your nose at the two women, even as they gasp in offence, and take your leave.
You exit the hotel ballroom without much flair, breezing past several older society ladies who scoff at you as you go.
In the lobby, you spy Bucky sitting on one of the couches, newspaper in hand. He looks up as you step past him, double-taking before he hurries to stand, folding the paper and rushing after you, getting the door before you reach it, but only just.
“They run dry already, Miss Langley?” he asks, following you down the steps of the hotel.
“Not everything is about drinking and dancing,”
“Well, no, it isn’t. But it’s usually a pretty good guess when it comes to you.”
You shoot him a deep glare, but don’t reply as you both wait for your car to be brought around.
“Home, Ma’am?” Bucky asks, looking at you in the rearview mirror.
“My father's building,” you correct him.
“His… The Langley Holdings building?”
“Is that not what I just said?” you know you’re being snappy, and truly he doesn’t deserve your ire, but why must you explain yourself to everyone?!
Bucky raises a brow, but nods and you stare out the window as the city begins to move slowly by.
You arrive in good time, it was still near midday and if you were lucky, your father won’t have finished his lunch hour yet.
“Shall I wait?”
“You know I love it when you wait on me,” you smile slyly at Bucky as you pass him, your hand briefly playing against his lapel and he snorts as he closes the door.
“Don’t I know it.”
Being your father’s daughter means the moment you step into the building, you’re escorted wherever you want without question. You ride the elevator quietly as it takes you all the way up to the twentieth floor, and when the doors roll open, you step out without waiting for your escort.
“I can show myself, George,” you dismiss the man with a wave of your hand and continue past the receptionist who sputters at you as you push through the large mahogany doors of your father’s office. You close them behind you.
“Delilah? What are you doing here?” Your father grins brightly from behind his desk, standing as you move forward.
“I want a job,” you tell him, your voice steady and your hands clasped in front of you. Your father’s brow raises high and he fixes you with a highly amused look.
“A job?! Why on earth would you want a job?!”
“Because I believe I could be a valuable asset. You know I’m not dumb, you’re always telling me in your lectures. I don’t want to—”
“—Delilah, I’m not going to give you a job.”
Your mouth shuts with the firmness in his tone and you blink. You weren’t used to being told ‘no’ from anyone.
“Think of all that stress and time…” he moves around his desk to wrap an arm around your shoulder, and you frown up at his condescending demeanour.
“All you need to worry about is making it work with Andrew Gorm—”
“Oh for god’s sake!” You tear away from him, throwing your hands up in the air.
“You can’t just— Tell me who I’m going to marry!” you explode, and your father’s face turns furious, he raises a finger to point at you.
“I can and I will if you want to live off of my money!”
Your mouth shuts again, and you stare at him incredulously for a moment.
“You’re not going to continue to laze about on my dime. You can either marry Gorman or you’ll be cut off. That is final—”
You don’t stay to listen to anything else he might say, storming out of his office as fast as you’d come. You manage to keep a straight face all the way down to the lobby, right until you climb back into your car, slamming the door as hard as you can, making Bucky jump.
“Drive.”
“Where?”
“Anywhere! Jesus, just drive! It’s your damn job!” you yell, and immediately feel awful. It wasn’t Bucky’s fault.
God, why were you always so awful to him.
He blinks but you feel the car pull away. You sink into the corner of your seat, unable to stop yourself as you begin to sob into your fist. You slouch down and try to curl yourself up as small as possible.
This was your own fault really.
You’d spent so many years playing into the idea that you really were as dumb as everyone thought, and now you weren’t so sure it really was all an act. Nobody truly smart would limit their own options like you had.
You really were nothing but a selfish, spoiled, little rich girl. No real education, no prospects, just your father’s money. and stupid Andrew Gorman.
You don’t hide your crying as well as you hoped you might, because after a few minutes you feel the car pull to a stop. In your misery and self loathing, you’re about to snap at Bucky to drive again, but before you can, he’s climbing out of his seat and into the back with a slammed door.
You sob more, realising even after how terribly you treated him, he was going to try to comfort you. You don’t deserve it.
You’re engulfed in warmth, the comfort only another body can offer and you don’t stop yourself from wrapping your arms around his neck, holding him tightly as you cry.
Bucky doesn’t seem to mind that you’re crying all over him, which makes you cry more, he just adjusts his hold on you, arms soothingly running up and down your back as you weep.
“Shh, it’s alright Li, I’ve got you, let it out, sweetheart…”
You want him to hate you, for how mean you are to him, but he can’t even do that with how good he is.
“What’s wrong, baby? What happened?”
You can only shake your head, any words you have dying into a sobbed babble.
“I’m s-sorry… I-I’m sorry,” you snivel after a while and Bucky pulls back, looking down at you in both genuine sympathy and shock. His eyes soften after a moment though and he cups your face, wiping away your tears.
“Now I know something’s really wrong…” he says quietly, a tiny smile playing on his lips.
“When my unapologetic little brat apologises to me…”
You can’t help but snort, trying to make it sound like a scoff but you fail, and he smiles wider, having made you smile.
He removes his hand from your face and you whine quietly, only for it to return a moment later when he pulls his handkerchief from his jacket pocket, wiping your eyes.
“You’re alright, Lilah. Whatever it is. You’re the smartest, most capable dame I know. You’ll get through, Sweetheart.”
You nod, wanting him to ask you what is wrong, but he doesn’t, having learnt his lesson from last night, and it’s nothing you don’t deserve.
Bucky holds you for a while longer, before driving you home, and you spend the rest of your day ruminating in your room, thinking over your options.
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Your mother, ambitious as she is on your behalf, arranges a date for you and Andrew Gorman, and thanks to her knowing you’d never agree otherwise, you don’t realise until you’re standing getting into the car.
Gorman has only smiled sheepishly at your barely contained surprise, and before you could even get back out again, he’d raised his hands in surrender.
“Please, Miss Langley, hear me out! I just want to take you out once, I promise you, you’ll change your mind.”
You’d only huffed, and raised an eyebrow. You highly doubted that.
He had surprised you somewhat when you’d exited the car sometime later only to find yourself all the way out in Coney Island, standing in front of Luna Park.
“An amusement park?” You ask dryly. Andrew straightens his coat jacket and smiles in the way only somebody who had a reason to do so could.
“I might have heard you think bankers are boring,” he says, offering an arm to you.
“I do. They are,” you reply, eyeing him gingerly before looping your hand through his elbow.
“Let me show you I’m not,” he smiles boyishly again and when he looks away, you roll your eyes.
It was as if he’d made a list of places that would make him seem relaxed and carefree, and yet while in line you spy him scrunching you his nose at the sight of screaming children and families.
Andrew pays for your tickets and you move around the park slowly, every so often offering comments on an attraction, or food that looked positively middle-class.
You’ve narrowly escaped an attempt to persuade you onto the Ferris wheel, and you’re looking around you for a place that might sell you something with an alcohol content above that on the breath of the food tenders as they exhale over their wares, but you see none.
What you do see, however, makes your skin crawl.
Bucky, dressed not in his usual black suit, but in shades of brown and white, his sleeves rolled up slightly, and his jacket slung over his arm. This alone wouldn’t upset you, it was his day off after all, except that he’s handing his jacket and hat to a pretty girl, winking at her as he does so, and further pushing up his sleeves as he grasps the hammer of the game they’re stood in front of.
A date?
Bucky was on a date?!
Jealousy overcomes you and you have the urge to run over and slap the girl across the cheeks. And then him. Twice.
How dare he?
Well, because he wasn’t yours, that’s how, the rational part of your brain argues, and you seeth.
Andrew directs you to a place to sit and eat, and you spy Bucky and his date moving to another restaurant seating area nearby too. He leaves the girl with a smile as he moves over to inspect the food options and your eyes quickly snap to your own date.
“Would you excuse me for a moment?”
“Oh, sure! I’ll watch the table.” Gorman says, looking around for a waiter, and you roll your eyes again. You disappear into the crowd easily, following Bucky until you spy him nearing a stall nearer to the edge of the rows of food stalls and tents.
By the time you’ve cornered him behind a tent, pulling him by the hand and shirt, he’s blinking in surprise at you.
“Lila—”
You cut him off with a kiss, a reminder more than anything, and for a moment he relaxes, kissing you back. You spin a hand around the nape of his neck, flicking your tongue across his own before you pull away just slightly.
“Does she kiss you like this? I bet not,” you scoff, dragging him back to you and for one more blissful second his mouth slots perfectly against yours.
That ends when he suddenly pulls away from you, stepping away, glaring down at you.
“What?” he spits. You coo, purring as you step forward into his space again, dragging your hand over his chest.
“Your date,” you say, jerking in surprise when Bucky takes your hand and pushes it off him, stepping back again.
“What is wrong with you?” he demands, and you feel the words slice through your stomach, spinning it around in confusion and embarrassment.
“What?”
“You can’t just— Delilah, what I do on my own time is up to me. You’ve made it perfectly clear that us— what we do, is just fun. That’s all. You can’t— you can’t insert yourself wherever you want!” Bucky seethes. You blink at his angry words, though you can tell he’s restraining himself, like he’s explaining to a disobedient child, and it makes you even more annoyed.
“‘Insert’ myself?!” you repeat, ready to chew his ear off, but your words die in your throat when he raises a hand to quiet you, shaking his head.
“Go home, Miss Langley.”
Bucky leaves you open-mouthed in the spaces behind the tents. Your anger at his scolding helps you not to cry, and you straighten your dress, fix your hair briefly, before stepping back out into the crowds.
Fine. If he didn’t want you, you’d find someone who did.
Then he’d be sorry.
You sights set on Andrew as you saunter back to the table, and you briefly catch sight of Bucky, his gaze following you for just a moment until you sit back down and you know he’s seen Andrew now.
Good. Serves him right.
You lay it on thick. You don’t even feel bad about it, because Andrew seemed more than happy for you to hang at his side as you walked, laughing girlishly at his bad jokes. You flirt terribly, all your inner turmoil disappearing slightly every time the man blushes just slightly. But it always comes back again, so you keep going.
You stay out with him all day, longer than you’d intended to, and when the park finally begins quietening down, you make your way back to the car.
“I’m glad you had a good time,” Andrew says, and you laugh.
“Eventually, at least.”
“Have I changed your mind?” he asks, opening the car door for you, and you turn to him, humming in a faux deep thought.
“I’m not sure yet,” you reply. Really, you didn’t want to give the guy the entirely wrong idea. You had no plans on seeing him again.
“Oh? I should try harder then.”
You almost smile at the words, but it’s cut off when he grabs your face, pressing his lips to yours clumsily.
At first you’re in shock, not quite knowing what’s happening, but it doesn’t last long, and you’re pushing him away as best you can.
“Andrew! Get off me!” you scold. Some men just needed to be set on the right track forcibly. Andrew’s brows raise, but he doesn’t let you go, his hands now sliding down to hold your body to him.
“You seemed so interested earlier, touching me, smiling, laughing… come on sweetheart, don’t leave a fella hanging…”
You gasp, struggling again when he’s kissing you once more, but his hold on you this time is too strong for you to push away.
Still, you squirm as much as you can, trying to rip your mouth from his, and when you do for half a second you scream.
“Help!—” you’re drowned out by his hand slapping over your mouth and you’re shoved back into the side of the car.
“Shut up, and get in!” Andrew growls, already pushing you down.
You kick at him, try to scratch him with your nails, but you’re blindsided by a powerful thwack to your cheek, your vision spinning for a moment as pain blooms in your jaw. 
Anger, fury overcomes you then, and you kick out even harder at the man trying to crowd you, his hands gathering up the bottom of your skirts.
“Get off me! Get the fuck off me!”
“Such a filthy mouth, we’ll have to do something about that,” Andrew chuckles. A pit opens in your stomach then as his hand latches onto the front of your dress, ripping it open and you can’t help it, you cry.
“Stop it, Andrew! Please! Get off—” you choke out, scared of how pathetic you sound to your own ears. However, before Andrew can get his hands on you further, he is suddenly yanked back, away from the car.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?!” a familiar voice growls, and you push yourself up, covering your chest, watching with wide eyes as Bucky steps between you and Andrew, his shoulders squared, his face the most furious you’d ever seen it.
“I think there’s been a misunderstanding, pal, my wife is just being diffic—”
“She’s not your wife,” Bucky cuts him off, and Andrew bristles and seethes, looking him up and down then.
“I’m warning you buddy, get lost now,” Andrew attempts to threaten, but Bucky only steps even closer, finger prodding harshly into the other man’s chest.
“No, I’m warning you; you ever even think about touching her again, and they won’t even know where to start looking for your body,” Bucky hisses, his voice dangerous, and you’re briefly reminded of why exactly you’d hired him. Andrew’s face flashes with fear, and you see him swallow. You finally gather yourself enough to clamber to your feet, holding your torn dress together.
“You got that, kid?” Bucky’s still threatening, still crowding the other man’s space when you stumble forward to grasp his arm, tugging slightly.
“Bucky, please, can we go?” you sniffle, relieved when he wraps turns from Andrew and immediately throws his arm around your shoulder, however he doesn’t break his eye contact with Andrew for another moment or so, until he’s guiding you away from the car.
You’re shaking involuntarily still sniffling when suddenly Bucky freezes, and he looks down at you, searching you over.
“Are you alright?! I heard someone scream, I didn’t— I didn’t realise it was you until I saw him…”
You nod, wrapping your arms around yourself as the evening chill sets in on top of your shaken nerves and ripped dress.
“Aw Jesus, what the fuck…” he laments, looking you over again, taking in your torn dress and you shrug.
“It’s fine, I’m fine,” you deflect, but his eyes only darken. Before he can say anything however, a shout from nearby makes you both look up.
“Bucky?! Buck what happened?!” A young girl, the same one from earlier you realise, runs over. You can’t help but bristle as she nears and Bucky steps away from you and toward her.
“Becca, pass me my jacket, her dress got ripped up.”
The girl, Becca, holds out the brown coat as she nears, and Bucky quickly takes it from her, turning back to you and wrapping it around your shoulders, fussing with it for a few moments like a mother hen.
You pull your arms through the sleeves and adjust it to cover you properly.
“Thank you,” you say quietly, eyeing them both as the girl comes to stand next to Bucky, and he places a hand on her back.
“Lilah, this is my sister, Rebecca,” he tells you, eyeing you knowingly.
You blink.
Sister?
You didn’t know he had a sister! You’d thought she was his date!
You feel utterly foolish for your display earlier, but try to not let it show as Becca smiles obliviously, and more importantly, kindly at you.
“Oh, I know who you are, my brother talks about you—” she’s cut off by Bucky nudging her, and you look between the siblings for a moment before clearing your throat.
“It’s very nice to meet you, Becca… I’m– I’m sorry for ruining your evening,” you sigh, wiping your face and she rushes forward, making you jump when she takes your hands in her own, as if you’d known her for years.
“Of course not! We heard your crying, I’m just glad Bucky found you!”
“As am I…” you sigh, looking down at yourself before you straighten.
“Well, I will walk back to the main office and ask somebody to call me a cab—”
“Like hell, you will,” Bucky says, receiving a nudge of his own from Becca.
“I’ll take you home. Come on.”
You aren’t given much room for argument, not when Becca wraps her arms through yours and pulls you along.
“I have to drop Becca home first, or Ma will hide me for making her miss dinner, but then we’ll be on our way,” Bucky tells you once you’re settled in the car, looking at you in the rearview mirror. You only nod silently, and he frowns.
As the Island meets the mainland, and you begin driving through Brooklyn, you find yourself mesmerised with the sights you’re met with.
You’d never really been to Brooklyn before, not these parts anyway, and as the houses get older, the clear level of wealth does as well.
Bucky lived here? Your family paid him well, you don’t know what exactly, but it wasn’t like you couldn’t afford to, so why was his family home in such an area of town?
You pull up at last to a house tucked next five to identical homes, all of them in various states of disrepair. The paint was slightly chipped, and you spy a rip in the flywire as you’re led up the steps, Becca having convinced you both to come inside first.
“Ma! We’re home!” Bucky calls out, closing the door behind him, and once again you’re mesmerised. You’d never seen a home that looked so cluttered and yet, organised and clean. The couch had patches sewn into it on spots, the radio sitting above the fireplace was old, even for the model type, and the curtains were similar, but mismatching.
A woman steps around the corner from the kitchen, apron on over a simple dress. Immediately, you see the family resemblance and can’t stop  from smiling to yourself.
“There you are! I was wondering when you wer—” she stops, eyes landing on you, before she looks between her children for a moment.
Bucky steps forward, his hand on your back.
“Mama, this is Miss Lilah Langley, I drive for her, remember.”
“Oh! Well, it’s lovely to meet you Miss Langley, I’m Winnie, Bucky’s mother! I’m so sorry, I’m afraid I’m not dressed for company!” she smooths out her apron nervously, and you wave her off, opening your borrowed jacket just a little.
“Neither am I, Mrs Barnes,” you tell her, and her eyes bug out.
“Wha— What on earth! You look like somebody dragged you through a hedge backwards, If I may say!” she hurries over to you then, buzzing around you in full mothering mode as she smooths down some of your hair, and cups your cheek, her thumb brushing over a rather sore spot on your cheek.
You feel your face warm at such tenderness and are glad when she looks to Bucky and Becca for an explanation.
“The creep she was out with, I found him tryna…” Bucky trails off awkwardly, looking to Becca who crosses her arms.
“He was tryna force himself on her, that’s what! Bucky ran over and told him what!” she says proudly, and Winnie gasps.
“I… I didn’t, I just told him to get lost…” Bucky rubs his neck, and it's sweet for you to see him in this environment. Clearly he was cursed to be surrounded by strong-willed women in every walk of his life. Or blessed, you aren’t sure.
Winnie looks back to you and strokes your cheek again.
“Oh darlin’, how awful, thank god for my boy, huh? How about we get you into something else for dinner, and then after I’ll fix this up? Hmm?”
You’re a little taken aback by how quickly she welcomes you fully and you stutter, your mouth a little dry.
“Becca, take Miss Lilah upstairs and find her something to put on, put her dress in the sewing room. I’ll take a look after we’ve eaten.”
You glance back at Bucky nervously as you’re directed up the stairs, and he watches you as you go, giving you a comforting nod.
“I’m afraid we don’t have anything quite as lovely as this…” Becca says once you’ve removed your torn dress, holding it to her face as she peers over the fabric and the stitching.
“It’s alright. I’m not allergic to lesser-quality—” you cut yourself off, face growing warm as you look at the younger woman.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—”
Becca eyes you, but shrugs.
“My mama will be able to fix this perfectly. Is this really Dior?” her voice sounds disbelieving and you frown a little as you pull the replacement dress up your hips, and fiddle with the buttons up the front.
“Of course. I bought it in Paris last year,” you tell her, and Becca sighs dreamily behind you. You turn, finding her pulling open a drawer that clangs slightly.
“Paris… how dreamy…”
You feel a little bad, maybe you shouldn’t have mentioned it, not when you can clearly see she and her mother share a bedroom that is the size of your shoe closet.
“Do you like fashion?” you hear yourself asking, as you step closer to see what she’s doing and find her rifling through a small collection of belts, all in various stages of wear or disrepair. She grins up at you with the brightest eyes you’ve ever seen.
“I love it! Sometimes I go to Mr Gorseki’s newsagent and read through Vogue. He always catches me though. But he does sell me the old issues for half price!”
You smile at the story and cock your head as she pulls out a belt and compares it up to the simple sky-blue day dress you wear.
“Hmm…” she puts it back and you watch her work for a moment, before pointing to a red belt.
“Why not that one?”
“Red? With blue?”
“It contrasts. You wear belts to accentuate your waist anyway, by wearing a contrasting colour there, you do more to draw the eye,” you say, and she stares up at you listening intently like you were a preacher.
“I see!” she pulls the red belt and you lift your arms so she can wrap it around your waist, buckling it at the front. She steps back and nods.
“I wish I could get away with wearing an outfit like that,” she sighs and you frown.
“You can.”
“Oh no, you don’t wanna dress too flashy round here. It’s just askin’ to get robbed,” she tells you, turning away to grab a hanger that she puts your dress on, before leading you from the room, down the hall.
“Oh. I see,” you say, swallowing curtly.
She opens another door, and moves in, hanging the dress from the curtain rail. The room was obviously a bedroom but had been converted into a sewing room, a desk with a simple machine set up on one side, and an ironing board and baskets of clothing littering the rest of it.
“Mama got so much work from the neighbourhood, she had to turn her bedroom into this just so she had enough space.”
“Work?” you ask, as she ushers you out again, turning off the light and closing the door.
“Yeah, she’s an amazing seamstress, she made the dress you’re wearing now!”
You look down at it, reconsidering it again. It was lovely, simple, but well made and designed.
“But, people started asking her to do their ironing as well, and now that’s mostly what she does. I think it upsets her, but she’ll lie and say honest work is good for the soul no matter.”
You hum and Becca delivers you to a small, cramped bathroom.
“Wash up your face. I’ll tell Mama to get some ice ready for you downstairs,” she tells you and you frown.
“Ice? For what?”
“Your cheek.” And then she closes the door.
You blink and turn to find the mirror, approaching it and gasping.
The left side of your jaw and cheek is mottled with a purple and blue bruise that blooms across your skin. You lean forward to poke at it and hiss, unsure of what you had expected.
Andrew had punched you. He’d actually hit you.
You move to sit on the edge of the bath and stare down at your hands. Anything could have happened if Bucky hadn’t heard you, if you hadn’t had that moment to scream. You imagine what might have transpired, what you would have done to get away. Tears sting at your eyes again and you jump with gasp at a gentle knocking on the door.
“Li? It's Bucky… Becca said you might need some ice…”
You stand, wiping your tears and putting on a brave face as you move to open the door.
“Thank you. I didn’t realise… I didn’t know how it looked…” you step back and take the offered bunch of ice, wrapped in a tea towel, but he doesn’t release it.
Bucky stares at you for a moment, before he sighs.
“Come on, sit down, lemme see.”
You obey quietly, unsure of what else you’re supposed to do, and hand him back the wad of ice as you sit on the bath. You stare straight ahead as he steps closer, gently tipping your face back with one hand, and pressing the frozen water to your cheek with the other.
“What your mother must think…” you shake your head just slightly and Bucky scoffs.
“She’s seen worse, trust me. Are you alright?” his question tucked on the end of his words makes you pause and you want to tell him once more that you’re fine, of course you are, but you can’t, your mouth disobeying your brain.
“Not really, no.”
Bucky stops moving then and the ice is replaced with his thumb, gently stroking your skin. You close your eyes at the threat of more tears, and lean into his touch.
“I’m sorry,” he speaks so softly you wonder how you’d even heard him.
“For what?” You let out a humourless laugh.
“Look at me. Lilah, look at me.”
You force yourself to open your eyes, and find Bucky crouched in front of you now, his own eyes boring into your own.
“I’m sorry for what I said earlier. It wasn’t… I shouldn’t have said it. I was upset, I thought you’d followed me…” his eyes dart down for a moment, but he looks back to you, and you can’t help but roll your eyes.
“As if I don’t have better things to do than to follow you on your day off, Barnes,” you sniff. His face scrunches into a grin, and he chortles.
“There you are. The quiet, thankful act was startin’ to worry me,” he jokes and you roll your eyes again. He stays smiling for a moment before he turns more serious again.
“Nobody's gonna touch you like that again, okay? You come and tell me, do you hear?” Bucky squeezes your hands, his voice low and dangerous again, but it doesn’t scare you. You nod, unable not to and Bucky lets out a breath.
“Good,” Bucky nods, and raises the ice back to your cheek, his other hand moving to smooth out and fix your messy hair. You find yourself conflicted between feeling unworthy of his concern, but preening at it all the same.
Dinner with the Barnes’ is a warm affair, Becca and Winnie asking you about your trip(s) to Paris, and fashion in general. You ask them about their own work, learning that Winnie was teaching Becca how to sew, but their day jobs often interfered. You laugh and smile more genuinely and more often than you have in years, and by the time you’re putting your repaired dress back on, your cheeks hurt, but not from Andrew’s slap.
“I would never have known it had been ripped, this is incredible work, Mrs Barnes!” you gush, and the older woman simply waves you off with a bashful smile.
“Oh it’s nothing, just some careful stitch work!”
“Do you take commissions?” you turn, and she flounders for a moment.
“Well– well I would, but I have so much to get done… I’m afraid I just don’t have the time.”
You grin and take her hands in your own.
“One commission from me, and you won’t have to get anything else done,” your eyes twinkle as you take in Winnie’s surprised expression.
Bucky drives you home, but you could have floated with how light the evening has made you feel. You almost forget how it all started.
“Becca likes you,” Bucky says, opening your door, and you shrug, taking his offered hand as you step out.
“Don’t worry, she’ll get to know me and get over it.”
Bucky shakes his head with a smile, and walks you up the front steps.
“Will you come up?” you ask, coyly, not quite wanting him to leave yet, still floating.
“I still need to thank you properly for saving me,” you purr, and Bucky’s breathing skips ever so slightly as you press your hand against his chest like earlier, but unlike then, this time when he takes your hand, he just holds it there, squeezing.
“Not tonight,” he says softly. You frown, stomach sinking a little, and you think for a moment that perhaps you really had screwed up everything in your life by waiting too long. Before you can speak however, Bucky pulls you near, leaning in until his lips delicately meet yours.
For a minute you freeze, memories of the afternoon flashing through your mind.
But Bucky wasn’t Andrew, and he’d never hurt you, so when your mind comes back to you seconds later, you sigh into him fully, wrapping your hand around the nape of his neck once more.
His own hands glide over your sides before he envelops you fully, curling you tenderly into him. Your heart thumps wildly in your chest, and you half expect him to change his mind, for his hands to start travelling, for him to push your door open and take you right there in the entryway of your home.
But he doesn’t.
He pulls away after a moment, ignoring your soft protests, but keeps you close, kissing your forehead.
“Goodnight, Miss Langley,” he says lowly, finally untangling from you, but only so he can lean past you, to unlock your door as you stare, utterly bewitched.
“G-goodnight, Mr Barnes…” you swallow thickly, reluctantly letting him pull away from your hold, and watching as he walks back to the car.
No man had ever just kissed you goodbye at the door.
No man but Bucky Barnes.
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“Is this all?” Bucky asks, loading one last hat box into the trunk of the car, and you hum, pushing up off the front gate where you’d been watching him for the last ten minutes. He wipes a bead of sweat off his forehead and turns to look at you, hands on his hips, chest heaving.
“Yes. But we still need to stop on the way,” you inform him, and he moves in sync with you, opening the car door and helping you climb inside. Summer had officially begun, and you were on your way to the Hamptons, to stay in your family’s chateau for a few days.
And more importantly, to attend the Summer Soiree. Less of a celebration for the Summer, and more of an excuse for all you rich people to show off and get drunk while judging one another for various tresspasses.
Bucky gets in the driver’s seat and starts up the car.
“Where are we stopping?” He asks.
“Forster & Son. On fifth,” you inform him and watch as he gets the car in gear before pausing, looking at you in the mirror.
“Isn’t that a menswear store?”
“Yes. You can’t expect to go to a ball without a half decent suit, and you will absolutely not be wearing that,” you nod to his work uniform of a simple black suit. He turns around fully to stare at you.
“What?”
“Well, you can’t be my date and show up in anything less than Dior, but they don’t do tailoring on the day.”
“Your date? To a society event?” Bucky blinks and you roll your eyes.
“Yes, Bucky. Now go! We’re already running late!”
Bucky stares for another moment before he turns back around, exhaling sharply as he begins driving.
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“Hmn, is there a more fitted jacket, Gertrude? I think we should be emphasising his figure more. It is such a nice one…” you wink at Bucky over the older woman’s shoulder, watching from your nearby seat as he stands stiffly up on the podium. Gerty hums her agreement and moves to pick a different jacket from a rack of hangars.
Bucky carefully removes the one he’s wearing, his eyes flickering back to you every so often. You’re almost certain he’s never been fawned or fussed over this much before, let alone in a designer shop.
“Here,” Gerty hands him the new coat and he slides it on gingerly.
“Oh, yes. Yes, yes, yes. That is perfect!” you breathe, standing and moving toward him.
“Gertrude? There’s a gentleman who would like to ask you about his tailoring…” the shop girl pokes her head into the mirrored room you stand in and the older woman excuses herself.
“S’okay?” Bucky asks, and you nod slowly, eyeing him up.
“Oh yes. I think this will do nicely…” you take his jacket and do the buttons up, never breaking his eye contact. From where he stands on the podium, you’re even shorter than usual, staring up at him from his bellybutton. You see him swallow thickly when you run your hands over his front, and then down his legs, and his eyes flicker to the door.
“Uh… Won’t she be back…”
“Not for a while… She’s being asked about tailoring, any man who has his suits tailored is thorough,” you purr, and lightly palm his cock through the designer pants. Bucky jumps, biting back a groan when you continue with harder strokes.
“Lilah…” he warns, and you look back at him innocently.
“Don’t you trust me?”
“Not in your goddamn—” his words choke off into a strained whine when you pull the pants apart, letting them fall to his ankles along with his briefs.
“Turn around,” you coo, and with an exasperated sigh, he shuffles to face the half circle of mirrors, arranged so customers could view themselves from multiple angles. You had a better idea for use of them though.
You slink around to his front and hum in approval, before you lean forward just slightly, resting your knees on the edge of the standee, taking his hips in your hands. With little fanfare, you take him in your mouth once again, eyes flickering up to his face where he looks down at you, jaw clenching.
It doesn’t take long to lick him to full hardness, and even less time for his hands to find your hair, careful not to mess it up.
“Shit, shit!” he cusses as you bob back and forth over his length, staring up at him as you do.
“Look at you, jesus, fuck!” his eyes trail to the multiple reflections of your in the mirrors, but his eyes are back on your face in seconds.
“You’re so perfect, Li, best thing in the world…”
You slow for a moment and pull all the way back, just to suck on the head of his cock, letting your tongue swirl in circles and he groans, head falling back a little.
“Jesus, Jesus! Come here!” 
You let him drag you back over his length again, but this time he leans over slightly, a hand gently wrapping around your throat and your eyes widen when he thrusts his hips forward. You can feel him feeling himself and it only makes you moan around him. Bucky hisses,  fucking your mouth quickly, in short, deep strokes that have your nose pressing to the base of his cock and your eyes watering.
“That’s it, can’t get anything on the suit, sweetheart, you gonna take it all?”
You whine again, and do your best to nod, staring up at him transfixed as he draws closer, until finally he’s cursing lowly, hips jerking him even further down your throat as you feel his release spill down you.
You remain like that for a moment, staring up at him as he groans quietly. He really was beautiful like this, you were lucky, really. His eyes open up to yours and he swallows, carefully pulling away from you, a hand coming to gently stroke your hair, and then the side of your face.
“You’re so beautiful.”
You’re about to roll your eyes and retort when a knocking on the door sees you yanking his pants up, both of you scurrying not to give poor Gertrude a show.
You buy the suit, and continue on to the Hamptons, and before you know it, you’re gazing upon Bucky once more in his lovely suit. You stay arm in arm with him all night, refusing to let him go, but if he minds or notices he doesn’t mention it, instead staying close by choice, his hand resting at the small of your back, his shimmying fingers sending shivers up and down your spine.
All night, when you’re met with so-called-friends and other acquaintances, you’re asked who Bucky is. Everyone knew everyone in New York, and they did not know Bucky. Every time you’re asked, you reply the same thing, and each time, it makes Bucky look at you softly, his hand squeezing your hip.
“And who might this be?”
“My handsome date for the evening; Bucky Barnes.”
“Oh, I don’t believe we’ve met, Bucky… are you visiting from Europe?”
“No. He’s from Brooklyn.”
And then you’d feign desperacy for a drink, and he’d usher you off again.
“You know, people are going to talk about you,” he says softly, a tiny frown on his face as you move to sit at a nearby table on the edge of the dancefloor.
“People are always talking about me,” you sip champagne and Buck’s eyes crinkle.
“Yeah, but—”
“Lilah! How pleasant to finally catch you!” Your mother’s voice cuts off Bucky’s words and the both of you stand stiffly as your parents approach.
“And here I was really trying my best to remain uncaught. I guess you win,” you deadpan, giving them both empty hugs and kisses. You move back to stand next to Bucky and your parent’s attention turns to him with varying degrees of visible dismay.
“Bucky,” your mother greets coldly, your father just as rigidly shaking his hand.
“Have you seen Andrew tonight, dear? Doesn’t he look handsome?”
You’d already had to stop Bucky from going over to the man when you’d arrived, so you stiffen a little when he’s mentioned, but simply turn your nose up.
“I thought he looked rather dated, actually.”
Your mother bristles and your father glares outright.
“So this is what you’re choosing?” he demands gruffly, displeasure clear in his voice. You square your shoulders, ignoring Bucky’s curious frown as you loop your arm though his.
“Yes.”
“I need a drink,” is all your father says, before he storms away, your mother eyeing you one final time, before she follows after him.
You breathe a sigh of relief, all your pent up anxiety leaving your body now. Bucky turns to you then, one hand on your arm, his other still around your back.
“What was that? What did you choose?”
You roll your eyes and wave him off, stepping to the side a little to grab more champagne, and you down it.
“A few weeks ago my father told me I was to marry Gorman or be cut off,” you reveal with a shrug. Bucky starts.
“What?!”
“Well what did they expect? Have I ever done what I’m told?” you huff, rolling your eyes. Before you can settle too comfortably into your nonchalance, Bucky brings your hand to his lips, his other curling around your waist once again.
“You do what I tell you,” he points out, and you scoff.
“That’s only because you don’t put up with me. Or maybe because you do, I haven’t fully figured it out yet. Either way, you put me in my place,” you shrug again, and he hums, pulling you closer so you’re forced to wrap your arms around his neck. He starts to sway you gently.
“Is that what you want? Someone to look after you? Put you in your place?” He sounds innocent enough, but he knows your body is lighting up, your core buzzing between your thighs at his words.
“Maybe… but only when it’s you,” you breathe out, and you’re about to close your eyes, his lips only a breathe from yours when—
“I hope I’m not interrupting?”
You pull apart with a certain amount of shock, looking to find your brother standing nearby, hands in his pockets as he gazes knowingly at you. You pull away from Bucky with a grin, jumping into the blonde’s arms.
“Steve!”
He catches you with both arms, holding you tightly for a moment.
“Lilah… you look beautiful,” Steve says when you’ve pulled away.
“Why didn’t you tell me you were coming home?!”
“It was kind of sudden… I’ll tell you about it later,” his face darkens just a little, but then he’s smiling, looking up to Bucky who stands behind you.
“Hi. Steve Rogers, Lilah’s half-brother,”
“The half doesn’t matter, ignore him,” you scold, watching as Bucky and Steve shake hands. You’d grown up with Steve, even if he’d been several years older than you, he’d never let you feel like just a ‘half’ sibling.
“Bucky Barnes. I uh—”
“–Bucky is my driver,” you say and Steve raises his eyebrows and whistles.
“I pity you,” Steve chortles, making you scoff and move back to Bucky’s side, watching as he shrugs.
“It has its moments,” Bucky shoots you a soppy grin as he places his hand back on your hip. You scoff again.
“Say, you like cars, Bucky?” Steve asks, and Bucky nods.
“I do.”
“Lemme get a drink, and I’ll tell you about this project I’m workin’ on in Paris…”
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You sigh as you hang your dress up, moving to remove the last of the pins from your hair. It had been a long night, but not necessarily a bad one. After you returned home, you’d need to sit down and figure out exactly what you were going to do. Steve was home now though, you could always return to Paris with him… but you’d be leaving behind Bucky…
A wrapping at your window makes you jump, and in fright, you turn to stare at the curtains. It comes again a moment later, and you swallow, moving to them, and pushing the coverings apart, gasping when you do so. You hurry to unlock the shutter, and push it open.
“What the hell are you doing?! Your bedroom is down the hall!” you scold as Bucky climbs through, shutting and locking the window behind him.
“I’m not sorry,” he says, straightening up and you frown.
“You will be when you fall four stories to your dea—” your words die when he tugs you toward him, mouth slotting over yours hungrily. You don’t fight him, melting into his touch right away, having thirsted after it all night.
“You never answered me,” he says, lips dragging over your cheek, and down your neck. You sigh, clutching at his arms and tipping your head back to give him all the access he could want.
“W—what question…?” you manage, and squeak when your nightgown is pulled apart, and his lips move to your collarbone.
“You want someone to take care of you? You’re always begging for me to teach you a lesson, put you in your place…”
You stutter and pull back slightly to look at him. Bucky just stares, eyes intense on your face.
“... No.”
He freezes and you take his face in your hands before he can pull away.
“I don’t want someone, I only want you.”
Bucky stares down at you, disbelief flashing over his features and you shake your head.
“I’ve been terrible to you Bucky, nobody else would have come back again and again, I don’t— I don’t deserve you, I don’t,” you swallow harshly, a lump growing in your throat as you struggle through your words.
“And—and I’m so selfish, I am, but I want you. Not climbing through my window, or in the back of the car, I want to walk down the street with you, and hold your hand, and—”
“How much have you drunk?” Bucky puts a hand to your forehead, and you laugh, pushing at him when his eyes crinkle and he rests his head to yours.
“I chose you,” you say quietly, and he looks back at you nodding softly.
“Oh, sugar…”
You close your eyes as his lips find yours again, softer this time, sweeter.
You let him pull your gown apart fully, watching as he goes about discarding your underwear, before ridding himself of his own clothes, and laying you down on the plush sheets. Lips drag over your chest where he’d left off last, and you cradle his head in your hands as he moves further and further down, stopping at your breasts for a moment, sucking firmly at a nipple and making you gasp.
You'd never actually let him fully undress you, fully appreciate your body, and despite having had him inside you countless times, it all feels new.
“Li…”
“Mhmn?”
“M’gonna take care of you…” He murmurs against your stomach, and you nod, eyes closed now.
“Please, daddy…”
You gasp when your thighs are hoisted up, and look down to watch him situate himself between your legs, holding you under the knees. He leans low and presses a kiss to your core, making you suck in air quickly, your belly fluttering violently. He repeats the action, leaning over and pressing his lips to your folds, using his tongue to push and pull the silk skin and you grasp at his hands on your legs, shaking just slightly.
“Buck…”
“Mhmn?”
You growl and lift your head to glare at him.
“Hurry up!” You demand and he lifts a brow, leaning up.
“How quick you start mouthin’ off again,” he tuts, and you glare harder. He slides a hand from under your knee to where his mouth just was, and you swallow thickly as he dips a finger inside slowly, his eyes trained on yours. You’re frozen in place, even when he pulls out again, pushing two back in.
“Gonna have to learn to hold that tongue of yours sweetheart,” his voice is low and your eyes flutter when he adds another finger, pumping into you carefully.
“Or what?” you manage to gasp out and his fingers stop, but don’t leave you.
“Or I’ll have to find something better for your mouth to be doin’,” he tells you.
“Don’t threaten me with a good time,” you sass and Bucky sniffs.
“If I didn’t love you so much, I’d shove your face into this mattress so you couldn’t fuckin’ talk,” he growls, bringing his movements again, pressing his thumb to your clit and making you jerk.
“Please, you’ll do that if you do love me,” you gasp and you hear him chuckle warmly.
His mouth returns to your core, his fingers still working your hole as he flicks his tongue over your clit relentlessly. You have to remind yourself to stay somewhat quiet as you writhe under him, hands fisting in the sheets as you come, losing all sense of everything except his mouth on you.
“Jesus Christ, baby… fuck…” Bucky breathes, looking down at his fingers, still plunging into you as your muscles squeeze and contract.
You mewl when he crawls back up your body, fingers glistening with your cum and you open your mouth when he brings them to your lips.
“Good girl. That’s a good girl, sweetheart.”
You suck diligently, holding his eye contact until he looks away, taking himself in hand and judging your leg further open with his knee.
“Come on, darlin’, open up, there we go…” he coos, finally letting his fingers fall from your lips as he slides the head of his cock through your soaked folds.
“You gonna finally fuck me good and proper, daddy?” you ask, hooking a hand around his neck, watching him closely.
“You’re goddamn right I am,” he growls, pushing in deep and you choke for a moment as he fills you, not waiting for you to adjust. Your nails pinch his skin, and you swallow a cry when his hips meet yours. You lift your knees more, bring them up so you can wrap yourself around him.
He lowers his face to yours as he starts moving, his tongue seeking yours immediately and you tug at his hair slightly with each thrust that sends you reeling. Despite this though, you can’t help but stoke the fire.
“Come on daddy, I thought you said good and proper?” you whine, and Bucky leans up to look at you, his eyes narrowed.
“Sometimes I think you like pissing me off, honey.”
“You fuck better when you’re angry,” you say, almost regretting it when he stops moving all together just to stare at you a moment.
For a split second you think maybe you’ve gone too far, but then he’s snickering, and before you can register it, you’re roughly tossed over to your front.
“You’re such a fuckin’ brat,” he scolds, kneeing your thighs apart enough for him to slide back in and you cry out, but your face is pressed into the pillow, muffling it.
The angle is foreign, almost too right and too deep, almost painful, but that also sends shockwaves of delight down your spine.
“You’re gonna lie here and I’m going to fuck you. If I hear anything outta you…” he pressed the back of your neck and your face is engulfed in a pillow again.
“Got it?” you nod, cunt hot and throbbing at his words and you keen in response to his lips pressing to the back of your shoulder.
“That’s my good girl.”
You suck in air when his hips pull away from yours, pressing back in all too quickly, and you clench your jaw at the feeling. You wanted him so badly your pussy was already clutching on to him, and the position only further exaggerated the sensation of fullness, making you feel like if he pressed any further you’d come apart at the seams.
But you live for it, need it even, and so even after his warning, you babble for him cheekily, damn near weeping as his cock pounds into you, and Bucky growls, playing his part dutifully and shoving your face into the pillow.
“I thought I told you—” he grunts as he shifts his knee, allowing him better access and you squeal into the pillow, his cock sinking even further and your back arches.
“—I didn’t wanna hear a fuckin’ word.”
You’re caught off guard when his hand releases the back of your neck and instead slides around to the front, lifting your face from the pillows. It’s just as effective though, his fingers squeezing at your throat cut off anything you have to say, and you choke. He lessens his grip after a moment, allowing you a few short breaths before he’s clamping down again and you wheeze out a moan.
“You like that don’t you, sweetheart? Like when I’m rough with you? Want me to put you in your place, don’t you, sugar?”
You nod the best you can, and gasp when he lets you breathe again.
“Please, Buck, please…” You sob, everything so good at once is too much, but you want more.
“I should just gag you next time. Tie you to the bed and gag you. Fuck you senseless and leave your cunt dripping in my cum, yeah? Would you like that?”
You don’t have to reply, your pussy convulsing around him and your body quivering slightly as he lets you don’t to the pillow again are answers enough. Bucky smooths a hand over the back of your head, cooing as you shake under him, clutching the pillow as you steadily release short, choked moans.
“That’s it, good girl, there we go darlin’...” his voice is softer now, and he pulls out of you, turning you to your side gently, hooking your thigh over his leg, he pushes back into you.
He holds you closer, presses his lips to yours as you reach out for him, anchoring yourself around his neck. He still fucks you hard, relishes in the continued sounds you make, your lips roaming his neck as you catch your breathe again. He clutches your backside firmly, pressing as far into you as he can with each thrust and steadily he feels his own pleasure rise.
“You’re so sweet, Li, you feel so fuckin’ good,” he murmurs, hearing you mewl under him, where your lips are sucking at the place under his jaw.
“Wanna make you feel good, daddy…” you coo, and Bucky grunts, going slow and deep again.
“Gonna let me cum inside you? Lemme fill you up?” he isn’t quite expecting you to moan so headily in response, but he certainly isn’t expecting you to push him to his back, your legs falling around his thighs as you start bouncing up and down on his cock enthusiastically.
“Come on daddy, please…”
Bucky doesn’t need to be asked twice, not when you’re begging for it like you are, so he grips your hips in his hands, curling his own up into you until he’s gasping, sucking in air sharply as his head lolls back.
“Lilah… Fuck… Sweetheart…” Anything else he has to say is drowned out by the pulses of pleasure that wash over him, and he holds you firmly in place as he empties inside you, groaning when he feels you grind down on him more.
After a moment you fall forward to rest against him, and Bucky wraps his arms around your back, holding you tightly.
“I love you,” you mumble against his chest, and Bucky chuckles, lifting your chin so you look at him.
“I love you too.”
You smile happily, and blink away any tears that might spring to your eyes, resting your head back against his collarbone and you sigh contently.
“Also, I forgot to tell you, you’re fired,”
Bucky starts for a moment, before he relaxes and huffs.
“How does it feel to be poor, hmm?”
You whack him in the chest, and he laughs, holding you tightly as he rolls you over, lips meeting yours once again, and he continues to make love to you until the early hours of the morning.
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“Oh, I’m useless! The only thing you’ll be able to use me for is dying the fabric red!” You exclaim in frustration, tossing the needle and thread down on the table in front of you.
“We’d have to bleed you more than a pin-prick for that, dear,” Winnie looks at you over her glasses and you glare.
“You’ll get the hang of it. You don’t have to be an expert overnight.”
Your frustration soothes with her words and you sigh.
“I feel so useless that I can’t help more,” you say softly and she chortles.
“You spend until the late evenings with your nose in that sketch pad, dreaming up new designs and you think that’s useless!” She continues to laugh and you shake your head.
“I’m going to put the kettle on. Would you like a cup?” Winnie hums in approval and you make your way from the workroom to the mezzanine office, setting the hot water to boil and staring blankly into your empty mug.
How your life had turned from exuberant parties and a life of excess, to hard work and a day job you had no idea.
Well you did. It had started with a business idea.
Your brother had invested initially, and you had begged Winnie and Becca to join you. In two years you had turned nothing into something, and now you were sitting on your very own relatively large pile of money.
You designed the dresses with clients, and Becca and Winnie would make them. It was simple, but had proved wildly successful. You’d even sent Becca to Paris with a collection of prêt-à-porter designs a Parisian boutique had been interested in selling. She’d come home speaking broken French and sighing dreamily and you were thinking perhaps you might need to set up a boutique over there yourself…
You’re pulled from your thoughts by a bouquet of lilacs that suddenly crowd your vision and you jump, spinning around.
“Bucky! Don’t scare me like that!”
He chuckles, and you take the flowers, smelling them briefly before placing them on the desk.
“Nothin’ scary about some lilacs for my Lilah,” he grins, leaning in to chastely kiss your lips. You roll your eyes but let him pull you into the kiss anyway.
“You have… grease all over you! Don’t you touch a damn thing in my shop!” You warn him, but he only runs his hands over your sides, stopping to squeeze your waist, thoroughly ruining your frock.
“Only thing I wanna touch is right here…”
You shake your head and sigh.
“Have you been having fun, grease monkey? Steve’s not bored you to death yet?”
Bucky smiles and hums.
“No, not yet. Besides, you know how he is, he gets so excited you don’t even realise he’s getting you excited about oil pumps or what have you…”
You chuckle and smooth your hands over his chest, cocking your head when he stays quiet for a moment longer.
“What?” you demand and Bucky sighs.
“Your brother wants to go to Italy… we’ve been invited to look at a new type of engine over there. It might be good for the company to invest…”
You frown and purse your lips.
“How long?”
“He says a couple of weeks but…”
“No!” You say, unwilling to live without him for so long.
“That’s unacceptable!”
“Come with me,” Bucky shrugs, knowing you were all dramatics and no pragmatics.
“I can’t. We’re moving into the Summer, and all our regular clients have me booked out for the next three months!”
“Let Becca take the meetings… you know she’s been shadowing you for ages, you’ve been saying yourself you think she could start consulting.”
You bite your lip.
“Maybe a short holiday might be nice… Italy, you said?”
“Sicily,” he adds and you sigh.
“I love Sicily…!” you whine, and Bucky leans in closer, bumping his nose with yours.
“Come with me. We’ll find a little cottage to stay in, you can take a break… maybe I’ll come home at midday and find you strolling around fully nude, just waiting for me, and I’ll kiss you stupid and—” despite his silly fantasy, you’re enthralled with the idea right up until Winnie meanders past the both of you.
“—and you can finally give me some grandchildren?” She asks as she makes her own cup of tea that you’d forgotten.
Bucky’s face turns bright red and you chortle, patting his chest.
“We’re working on it, aren’t we?” you grin at Bucky’s deepening shade.
“Well, work a little harder, won’t you?”
Bucky shakes his head as his mother disappears with her tea out the door and turns back to you.
“Whaddya say?”
“Well, we can’t let the old lady down,” you sigh dramatically once again and Bucky nods, his face drawn into faux seriousness.
“I promise you, come to Italy with me, and I’ll make sure we don’t.”
You laugh at that, head tilting back as Bucky grins mischievously.
When you sober again, you caress his cheek softly, and Bucky takes your hand, bringing it to his lips and kissing the small, simple wedding ring on your finger.
“Alright, Uptown Boy. I’ll come.”
364 notes · View notes
lady-pug · 10 months
Text
i'm in love (with an uptown girl) - Part I
Summary: In which Dustin is sure about your feelings for Eddie and Eddie's for Chrissy, but maybe he doesn't know the two of you as well as he thinks he does.
Pairing: Chrissy Cunningham x Reader
Word count: 5k
Warnings: mentions of period typical homophobia
Notes: I may or may not have accidentally fallen in love with Grace Van Dien and, consequently, Chrissy Cunningham. Chrissy was such a good character and she had so much unexplored potential, I wish we could have seen more of her.
This was supposed to be a one-shot turned into a two-shot turned into a three-shot when I realized how long it was getting. The title references Billy Joel’s ‘Uptown Girl’, a song Grace herself has mentioned would probably be Chrissy’s 'Vecna song', so I went with that.
Also also, I know renting ‘Return Of The Jedi’ means absolutely nothing (I myself used to rent Star Wars DVDs in a completely random order when I was younger, would just rent out the one I was in the mood for). I just used that whole interaction in order to help plant the seed about Chrissy, much like the series did with the ‘Fast Times’ scene about Vickie (as a kid I didn’t truly understand the purpose of having Leia wearing that in particular, both in terms of inside the universe and out, but now I do and I don’t like it).
Anyway, that was just me ranting, sorry about that! I really hope you enjoy this story, and if you spot any mistakes, please feel free to warn me and I'll correct it right away, and feedback is always welcome and appreciated.
Reader is female, but no physical descriptions provided
Reader's gender not specified
Next part | Masterlist | Read on AO3
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“She’s so pretty, isn’t she?”
“W-what?” your head snapped up so quickly you were scared you might have pulled a muscle, prompting the boys at the table to snicker.
“I said” Gareth emphasized, a smirk hanging from his lips “that she’s so pretty, isn’t she, Eddie?”
Said boy, who had been staring off into space and just so happened to have his head turned towards the jocks and cheerleaders’ table, snapped out of his trance almost as quickly as you had a few minutes prior.
“Who?” he seemed as confused as you felt.
“Chrissy Cunningham?” Jeff asked, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.
Your heart, the poor bastard, clenched painfully inside your chest at the mention of the blonde’s name. 
“Yeah, I mean… sure.” Eddie waved his hands dismissively.
“Come oooon!” Gareth, who had been sitting to the left of Eddie, whined and poked him in the ribs “We all know you’ve had heart eyes for her since, like, 8th grade man. No need to pretend otherwise.”
“Guys…” Dustin’s eyes darted towards you, a concerned frown on his lips.
“I don’t have a crush on Chrissy Cunningham?” Eddie answered, although it came out more of a question, his eyebrows furrowed.
“Dude, seriously? You think we haven’t noticed the way you stare at her at every chance you get? Especially when she’s wearing that cute cheerleading dress?” Grant spoke up, Gareth, Jeff and Mike snickering with him.
“Guys…” Dustin tried interrupting again, but the other boys seemed to pay him no mind.
“Yeah, man.” Mike piped up, his mean smirk making your blood boil slightly “If you stare any longer she’ll go from calling you ‘The Freak’ to calling you ‘The Creep’.”
Your fists clenched under the table, nails digging painfully on your palm. You were about to speak up but Eddie beat you to it.
“She’s not like that!” he closed his hand around the mini pretzel he was eating, crunching it in his fist from the force of his words “She’s kind and gentle and sweet.” he glanced at you from the corner of his eyes before speaking up again, softer this time “She’d never do that.”
“See?” Gareth pointed out “You’re already defending your girlfriend-”
“She’s not my girlfriend!”
“Keep telling yourself that.” Mike muttered under his breath.
“So you might as well make it official and ask her out already!” Gareth finished, throwing his arms up in exasperation.
You’ve had enough. Pushing your chair back with so much force it scraped loudly against the linoleum floor, you hastily grabbed your bookbag, stomping away from your usual lunch table and out of the cafeteria. 
“Great going dipshits.” Eddie threw a hard, stern glare towards his friends and quickly followed after you.
“What was that?” Jeff asked, bemused, still staring at the doors which you’d left through.
“I dunno.” Grant shrugged “One moment we were joking around, the next-”
“Guys!” Dustin yelled, startling his friends and earning the attention from other students at the nearby tables. Shrinking his shoulders, he smiled sheepishly, embarrassed, before addressing the other boys again “That was really mean. Even downright cruel.”
“What?” Gareth exclaimed “We were just teasing him!”
“Not to him, dumbass.” Dustin hissed sharply. “To her.”
“Your sister?” Mike asked, a frown twisting his features “What does she have to do with all this?”
“Seriously?” Dustin replied incredulously “You mean to tell me you’ve never noticed?”
The boys shook their heads and Dustin sighed, shaking his head in disappointment.
“For people who claim to have it all figured out, you surely are clueless.” he exhaled long and deeply, as if preparing to give a stern scolding to a bunch of four year olds “My sister has the biggest crush on Eddie.”
“What?”
“No she doesn’t.”
“Have you guys never noticed the way she stares at him? How she’s always giddy and happy around him?”
“Yeah, ‘cause they’ve been best friends since they were little?” Grant chimed in.
“No, it’s different.” Dustin tried looking for the right words to explain himself “It’s like… she feels safe with him. Like she knows at the end of the day she’ll always have a safe place right besides him to fall back in.”
“Except Eddie likes Chrissy.” Mike mumbled, the cogs turning in his brain.
“Exactly.”
“Now that you’ve mentioned it,” Gareth stared back at Dustin, wide eyed “she also stares at Chrissy a lot. Always with this wistful, dreamy look on her face.”
“Almost as if she wants to… be Chrissy?” Dustin completed, making a lightbulb go up simultaneously in all four boy’s heads “Yeah. She’s head over heels for him, and you teasing him about his crush only serves to remind her of what she’ll never ever have!”
The guys had the decency to look ashamed at his outburst.
“Now, if you’ll excuse me,” he said, getting up from their table and collecting his, yours and Eddie’s tray “I’m going to go find my sister and lend her my shoulder for her to cry on.”
Gareth, Jeff, Mike and Grant stared at his retreating form, guilt weighing heavily on their stomachs.
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Dustin found Eddie in front of his locker, shuffling through the stuff inside, looking for something.
“Hey, Eddie.” Dustin leaned against the door of the locker adjacent to his, crossing his arms over his chest.
“Hey, man.” Eddie answered, without so much as looking over at his friend. He looked annoyed, the boy dared say even slightly pissed.
“Have you seen my sister?”
The younger boy jumped about a foot in the air when the door to the locker was slammed shut, a smal, metallic black lunch box hanging tightly from Eddie’s fist.
“No, Henderson, I haven’t seen her.” he answered, a fed up expression crossing his face as he started walking away.
“Wait up, Eddie.” Dustin held him by the cuff of his jacket, preventing him from leaving “I wanna talk to you.”
The metalhead sighed and turned his attention to the boy, nodding for him to go on.
“I know you like Chrissy-”
“I don’t like-”
“Please, just let me finish.” Dustin held a hand up for him to stop interrupting, to which Eddie rolled his eyes but stayed quiet “I know you like Chrissy. I do, really. Just… don’t break her heart.”
“Chrissy’s?” Eddie seemed confused.
“No.” he said your name hurriedly, desperately trying to get his point across “I really shouldn’t be telling you this, but she really really likes you. Like -likes you.”
“She doesn’t like me.” Eddie answered unphased, his calmness making Dustin’s heartbeat pick up in anger.
“Yes, she does! How come you don’t see that?” he rubbed a palm over his face, the pull on his cheeks stretching his lower eyelids so far Eddie worried his eyes were about to pop out of the socket “I just- I… I just don’t want her to get hurt.”
Eddie’s entire demeanor deflated, a small sigh escaping through his lips. As annoying as the young boy could be sometimes, Dustin had an enormous heart, always worrying about others and putting their needs and feelings before his own, and (Eddie felt a twinge of pride anytime he thought about it) he was loyal to a fault. Those were among the first things he noticed about the boy when he started his freshman year, prompting the metalhead to quickly take him under his wing. That and his Weird Al tee.
He laid a hand over Dustin’s shoulder, squeezing gently.
“I can assure you, with the same certainty that the sky is blue and ‘The Empire Strikes Back’ is by far the best one in the trilogy, I’m not going to break her heart.” seeing a tiny residual layer of distrust fleetingly cross through Dustin’s eyes, he squeezed his shoulder tighter “I promise.”
Dustin nodded thoughtfully, shyly smiling up at his friend.
“Thank you.”
Eddie smiled back at him, giving his shoulder one last squeeze, before he was back to his usual dramatic self.
“Now, I’m going to find your sister and beg for forgiveness. I’ll even drop to my knees and grovel if I have to.”
Dustin laughed at his antics, watching Eddie practically skip down the deserted hallway away from him, clutching the metal lunch box loosely on his hand.
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“If you continue to stare at the table like that it’s gonna go up in flames and probably spread all around the woods. And I really don’t want to add crimes against the environment to my ever growing list of felonies, you know?” Eddie’s face morphed into a shit-eating grin as he stared at your slumped form.
You only spared him a half-hearted glare before balling your hands tightly. You slammed your fists against the wooden picnic table in front of you, jumping out of the bench and starting to pace along the leaf covered ground.
“It’s just so annoying, you know?” you huffed angrily “They notice one little thing, one wrong thing might I add, and just believe they’ve got us all figured out!”
“Yep.” he agreed, also mildly annoyed at the situation.
Throwing your arms above your head in frustration, you kicked some of the leaves with the toe of your sneakers.
“Even if you were into Chrissy, how is that any of their business?”
“Mhmm.”
You paused for a moment, wringing your hands together, a nervous habit you couldn’t seem to shake.
“But they are right, you know?”
“How so?” Eddie’s entire face scrunched up in confusion.
“You have been staring at Chrissy a lot recently.” you spoke quietly.
His face softened at the way you seemed to withdraw into yourself, letting your insecurities get the best of you. He stood up from the other bench, the dry leaves on the ground crunching under his white Reebok’s as he closed the distance between the two of you, resting a comforting hand on your shoulder, not unlike how he had done with your brother earlier.
“I’m just looking out for her. She hasn’t been all that well recently and Carver…” he sighed at the mention of his arch-nemesis “They may be dating but the dude still scares me when it comes to her. And she hasn’t been really happy with him for a while now. I don’t want her to get on his bad side.”
Your heart swelled with affection towards your best friend. Eddie had a heart of gold, one he hid behind leather and chains and metal and fantasylands to protect it from being hurt. Only a few selected individuals got to see this side of him, and you were extremely thankful you got to be one of them.
“I do not have a crush on Chrissy Cunningham, okay? You’ve got nothing to worry about.” he squeezed your shoulder playfully as his once soft smile grew mirthful “Besides, from how well we know each other, I’m actually offended you’d even suggest such a thing.”
You giggled at that, eased by both his actions and his words. Sensing you were back to your usual self, Eddie smiled, taking a step back, his eyes never leaving yours.
“You do know that this would all stop if you just told them the truth, right?” he asked seriously “At the very least Dustin?”
You snorted.
“Right, because that is super easy and plausible.” you mocked “What would I even say to him? ‘Hey, little bro! You know how you’re into Suzie, a girl? Yeah, so am I.”
Eddie threw his head back, a loud and full laugh escaping from his wide smile. Tears gathered in the corner of his eyes as he clutched his stomach, almost doubling over at the hilarity of your words.
“Man, oh, man. The way you phrased that-” he hiccuped, trying to regain his breath while wiping away some tears that had escaped down his cheek.
You couldn’t help but giggle as well, his laughter contagious, and a small smile formed on his face at having helped improve your mood.
“Yeah, it sounded pretty weird, didn’t it?” you shrugged your shoulders sheepishly.
He nodded, finally being able to stop chuckling.
“Just tell him you like pussy, can’t be that hard.” he sat back down on the bench, crossing his arms over his chest.
“Edward Cornelius Munson!” you gasped and slapped his shoulder.
“What, so do I!” he threw his hands up in amusement before smirking “That, among other things.”
“I know, it’s just… I’m not about to use such a-” you hesitated as you took in his wolfish grin “foul language with my baby brother.”
“He’s a high schooler!” he almost shouted.
“No matter how old we may be, he’ll always be my baby brother.” you answered, sitting back down on the bench, your smile faltering for just a moment. It was only a moment, but Eddie noticed. He always did when it came to you.
“You should tell him, you know?”
Your face fell completely, smile disappearing as your shoulders slumped.
“You know I can’t.” you said softly, prompting a small sad smile from him “What if-” you swallowed thickly before whispering “What if he doesn’t look at me the same anymore?”
Eddie reached across the table, his hands laying palms up against the old wood. His fingers crooked in his direction, signaling for you to lay your own on top of them.
“He’s your brother.” he squeezed your hands tightly in his own “You said so yourself, he’s your baby brother. That kid worships the very ground you walk on.”
“Eddie-” you shook your head, but his hands closed even more tightly around yours.
“No, listen to me.” he said firmly, his stern voice promptly shutting you up “He’s your brother and he loves you, so very much. Nothing, and I mean absolutely nothing could ever change that.”
Your eyes prickled, brimming with unshed tears. With a sniffle you squeezed his hands in return, willing yourself not to cry.
“Thanks.”
He smiled at you one more time before dropping your hands, his smile turning mischievous. 
“But seriously, Chrissy Cunningham?” he smirked, a mock disgusted look on his face “How basic can you be?”
“We’ve been over this before, Eddie.” you giggled “It’s just- she’s so-”
“So pretty and kind and nice, yeah yeah, I’ve heard it all before.” he waved his hands dismissively at you “Why don’t you talk to her?”
You snapped your head at him, eyes widening minutely.
“What?” you stuttered “Are you insane?”
“What, why? It was just a suggestion!” he raised his hands in mock surrender.
“I couldn’t possibly talk to her! She’s pretty and popular, she’s-”
“The Queen of Hawkins High?” Eddie completed.
“Yes, exactly. And I’m just-”
“A freak?”
You shook your head.
“-me.” you whispered sadly “She’s everything and I’m just… me.”
Eddie’s eyes softened, something akin to pity and concern crossing behind them.
“That’s not true.” he spoke softly, as if you were a cornered animal and any loud noise would spook you. He sighed at the way you shrugged, realizing he couldn't get past the insecurities that had lodged themselves in your brain.
“Besides, she’s with Jason.”
“Fuck that dickhead! He’s not worthy of her time.” Eddie blew a raspberry “She’s really nice. He doesn’t deserve her.”
Ever since she started buying from him, the two of them had become really good friends. Eddie was very fond of her and would do almost anything to keep her safe. Even fighting her own boyfriend if it came to it.
“Yeah, right.”
“You should talk to her. You have a lot more in common than you realize.” he shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant “If nothing else, I think you two would be great friends.”
You smiled at him, a genuine smile this time. You were very grateful for having Eddie in your life. He was always there for you when you needed, always willing to drop everything just to make you smile. For a smile while you were afraid of losing him, having revealed your secret when he confessed to having a crush on you for a while. You were a sophomore, he was just starting his first round as a senior and you had known each other for a long while when he dropped that on you. You were scared, terrified even, that you’d end up losing him completely, but he hadn’t been disgusted nor weirded out, like you’d expected. Quite the opposite, in fact. He had been incredibly supportive and even revealed that he himself wasn’t very conventional when it came to relationships.
“I mean, as long as they love me and treat me AND my friends right… and don’t mind me blasting Black Sabbath on my sweetheart every once in a while, who cares? Guys, girls, people who are neither? Doesn’t matter, man.” 
“Thanks, Eddie.” you smiled at him, giving one of his shoulders a soft punch.
“If you want the teasing to stop, though, you’ll have to tell the boys from Hellfire.”
“And risk Mike Wheeler running his loud mouth around? Then get turned into an even bigger laughing stock for being something even worse than a ‘freak’ in their eyes? Or worse, get beat to a pulp by someone like Jason Carver? No, thank you.”
Eddie agreed. Then, for a moment, he looked up, brows furrowed, deep in thought.
“To be fair, I’m pretty sure Wheeler has a puppy dog kinda crush on me.”
“Oh, no, he does. For sure.” you nodded vehemently “He pretty much stole your style and your mannerisms, there’s no way he doesn’t have at least a small infatuation towards you.”
He chuckled.
“Doesn’t he have a girlfriend, though?”
“Yeah, El. But he also talks about Will Byers almost as much as he talks about her. It’s always ‘Will this, Will that’... you might as well incorporate Will, the Wise into our next campaign.” that made him giggle and shake his head at your antics. No matter how much you teased your brother and his friends, you loved those munchkins very much.
Him, sensing you were finally relaxing, decided to throw in a joke to alleviate the mood even further.
“Soooooo, Henderson… when are you asking her out then?” he said, smirking at your smiling face.
You threw your head back, laughing at his jokester self.
“I dunno, Munson.” you shrugged “When are you going to ask Steve Harrington out?”
“Uh, never?!” his face looked almost offended, a pink tinge dusting his cheeks, but in truth you knew how much he liked the former ‘King’.
“There’s your answer.”
He chuckled, amused.
“See, that’s why I keep myself open to the opportunities. There’s plenty of fish on this sea.” he tsked “Try being more like me, won’t ya?”
“Oh yes” your face turned mockingly serious “I’ll be exactly like you. With at least twice, if not more, as much opportunity and yet you’re still alone.”
With a hand to his chest, he gasped dramatically.
“How dare you?!” he glared at you playfully “Low blow.”
“It’s the truth.”
He chuckled, pulling a laugh out of you, and for a moment, all your worries vanished.
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“I swear to you, Max, if he so much as thinks about hurting her I’ll personally break every single one of his fingers so he can never play his precious guitar ever again.” Dustin hissed as he pushed the doors open at Family Video.
“What’s going on?” Steve asked, exchanging a suspicious glance with Robin.
“Dustin here is threatening bodily harm.” the red-head explained as she walked towards the horror section, stopping briefly to stare at a copy of ‘Pretty In Pink’ in the romance section.
“To whom?” Robin asked.
Dustin sighed heavily, like the thought gave him an immense amount of pain.
“Eddie.”
Steve stared at Dustin as if he’d grown a second head. Normally Dustin wouldn’t shut up about his Dungeon Master, he basically worshiped the dude, to Steve’s mild annoyance. So for him to be mad at Eddie, something drastic must have happened.
“What did the dingus do?” Robin pinched the bridge of her nose.
“Oh, don’t ask-” Max shouted from over between the shelves.
“I’m glad you asked!” Dustin cut her off, jumping up and sitting over the counter, ignoring the protests of both Steve and Robin “Okay, it’s kind of a long story.”
“Oh, no.” Steve mumbled under his breath.
“So, you guys know my sister, right?”
“Of course we do, she’s one of our best friends. Also works here all other days of the week?” Robin questioned, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.
“Yeah, her.” Dustin continued, unbothered “She’s got it bad for Eddie. Like head over heels bad.”
Steve almost choked on air. From the corner of his eye he could see Robin shooting the young boy a funny look, almost in disbelief.
“But the thing is, Eddie has it bad for Chrissy Cunningham.”
Robin and Steve stared at one another, jaws hanging open. 
“Okay, and?” Steve asked.
“And?” Dustin asked incredulously “And she’s bound to get hurt. She’s going to get hurt and-” he let out a shuddering breath “I don’t want to see that happen.”
Both Steve’s and Robin’s gaze softened at the boy’s kind words. 
“If it serves as any consolation, Dustin, your sister does not have a crush on Eddie.”
“Yes, she does!” Dustin practically shouted “She’s my sister and I know her! She is in love with Eddie! It’s so obvious, why can’t none of you see it?”
“Dust-” Robin tried interrupting, but the boy cut her off, offended.
“What kind of brother would I be if I didn’t know my own sister?!”
Robin raised her hands, trying to calm the boy down.
“Okay, okay. Fine.” she sighed defeated.
Steve sensed Dustin was getting upset and tried to placate him into calming down.
“Hey, man. If, by any chance, he ends up breaking her heart, I’ll help you bash that metalhead’s skull in.”
Dustin smiled a toothy grin, reassured by his friend’s words.
“Now!” Steve clapped his hands “I assume the two of you aren’t here just to gossip now, are you?”
Dustin straightened his spine, jumping down from the counter and disappearing behind some shelves. Moments later he came back, dragging a reluctant Max by the wrist.
“Maxine here” he started (to which Max mumbled ‘Call me Maxine again and I’ll break your fucking nose’ under her breath) “has never watched Star Wars.”
Steve gasped dramatically.
“Seriously?! What a crime!”
Robin rolled her eyes.
“You haven’t watched it either, dingus.”
“Yes I have!”
“Sleeping halfway through ‘A New Hope’ doesn’t count as watching!”
“Anyway,” Dustin cleared his throat “Mike and I agreed that it’s about time she watched it and decided on a movie marathon. Lucas is also joining us. So if either of you can get me the tapes for the entire trilogy, we‘ll get out of your hair as soon as possible.”
Robin started typing in Dustin’s file while Steve went out back to retrieve the requested tapes.
“Uh, guys?” Steve came back to the front of the store holding one tape in each hand “Looks like someone already rented one of them.”
“What?!” Dustin’s voice broke as he reached for the tapes “‘Return Of The Jedi’ is missing! Who in their right minds rents only ‘Return Of The Jedi'?!”
Robin looked at Steve, a mischievous smile crossing her features. He knew she could only mean trouble.
“Let me check that out for you.”
“Uh, Rob.” Steve mumbled, concerned “That’s against company policy.”
“Come on, Stev-o, live a little! We do this all the time to find out stuff about people.”
“Oh, and checking the renting log for Star Wars 3 will tell us what exactly?”
Robin smirked. Oh, Steve didn’t like where this was going.
“If we cross reference it with the other two,” Robin started typing on the computer behind the counter “we can check out who rented all three of them together or rented all three of them separately but in the correct order.”
“And those who rented just this one?”
Robin’s smirk only grew. She looked at Steve dead in the eye and mouthed the word ‘boobies’. Steve could practically hear the moment the shoe dropped, his own face morphing into a smirk. 
“Are we missing something here?” Max asked, suspicious.
Robin dismissed her and continued typing. It took about twenty minutes, but she eventually had printed out an extensive list of names after having written down a bunch of names and connecting them on her little white board.
“Okay, munchkins.” she turned to them, swiveling her chair “I have it. After pulling the records of the past six months, I managed to find out all the people who rented ‘Return Of The Jedi’ solo.”
Dustin giggled, and Max rolled her eyes, but a tiny amused smile pulled at her lips. Steve awaited eagerly, hanging from the edge of his seat.
“Let’s see, from oldest to newest.” Robin cleared her throat “Eddie Munson, clearly; me; Vicki; Eddie again; your sister.” 
Steve side-eyed her, his brows furrowing in confusion, but Robin kept going without paying him any mind.
“Vicki again; your sister again; Fred Benson; Eddie; Vickie; Eddie; Jason Carver;” her face scrunched up in disgust (to which Dustin screamed a “Jason Carver likes Star Wars?! ”) before continuing “your sister; Vickie; me; Eddie aaaaaand… oh!”
Everyone froze, startled expressions paralyzing their faces.
“What do you mean ‘oh!’?” Steve asked, incredulous.
Robin’s eyes were wide as saucers, her eyebrows so far up her forehead they disappeared under her short bangs. Her mouth hung wide open and only small stutters came out. Swallowing hard, she exhaled sharply through her nose before turning to her friends, her voice low.
“The last person to rent ‘Return Of The Jedi’ and who currently has the tape is Chrissy Cunningham.”
Multiple things happened at once. Steve’s jaw fell almost to the ground, Dustin let out a loud disbelieving yelp and Max’s eyes widened just a fraction. 
“Seriously?” Dustin asked “Chrissy Cunningham, captain of the cheer squad, queen of Hawkins High, Jason Carver’s girlfriend, rented out a Star Wars movie?”
Steve and Robin glanced at one another. It was clear their incredulity stemmed from a totally different reason then the two kids. 
“Oh, well.” the boy threw his hands up in defeat “I guess our movie marathon is fucked.”
Max looked conflicted, slightly relieved but at the same time kind of bummed. Steve was already pulling the file for ‘Return Of The Jedi’ on the computer again, desperately trying to put a smile back on that kid’s face.
“She’s due to return it tomorrow. Why don’t you come by then? It’s Friday anyway, don’t you have Hellfire today?” 
“Yeah, I guess.” Dustin shrugged “We were going to head straight to Mike’s after the club and Max would meet us there.”
“Tell you what,” Steve nodded his chin conspiratorially “why don’t you take something else for today, have a sleepover, and as soon as Chrissy returns the tape tomorrow I’ll drive by the Wheeler’s and deliver it to you, okay?”
“But what if Chrissy doesn’t return it on time?” Max asked.
The sound of keys being smashed on the keyboard pulled their attention back to Robin, who had taken over the computer.
“It says here she hasn’t missed one due date, and she’s been coming here for quite a while now.” she smiled reassuringly “You guys have nothing to worry about, Steve’s got this covered for you.”
After a few more moments trying to reassure Max’s everlasting distrust and restore Dustin’s goofy mood, the two kids left with a copy of ‘Gremlins’, one of Max’s favorite movies of all times. As they were about to set foot outside the door, Robin called out to Dustin.
“Don’t worry about your sister, okay? She’ll be alright.”
Dustin nodded and they left. With a huff, Robin slumped against the counter.
“So, what was that about our dearest Henderson having a crush on Eddie?” Steve asked.
“Trust me, dude, she does not have a crush on him.”
“Dustin seemed pretty adamant that she does.”
“She doesn’t.” the girl hissed.
“How could you possibly know? She might be one of your best friends since forever, but sometimes people rather keep-”
“Because I know!” Robin practically shouted “Because she’s also into the same stuff we both are!”
“You mean…” Steve’s eyes widened, before his confusion gave way to understanding “She did rent that Star Wars a lot.”
“Yeah, exactly.” Robin leaned closer to him and lowered her voice down to a whisper, even though there was no one else in the store at the time “We dated briefly in middle school. We were both going through a self-discovery journey kind of thing and we helped each other out. It’s good talking about your feelings with someone who actually gets it, who also knows exactly what you’re going through. That, combined with the fact we’d been friends for so long, had us both thinking that dating was the natural progression of things.” she smiled a sad, fond smile before shrugging “Don’t get me wrong, she’s pretty cute, smart and all, but we quickly realized it was more like kissing a cousin than anything.”
“Ew.” Steve shrudded.
“Mhmm. So we broke things off about a month in.”
“Wow. That’s nice actually.” Steve smiled at her “It’s nice to know you didn’t have to go through all of that alone.”
Robin nodded in agreement, turning back towards her friend. She found him already staring at her eagerly. She closed her eyes with a sigh.
“Spit it out.”
“So our resident freak has a crush on the Queen of Hawkins High?”
Robin eyed him funny.
“No he doesn’t.” she scoffed “There’s only one person in this town whom Eddie fancies, and it’s certainly not Chrissy.”
“Who’s it?” he asked, like a kid who’s begging their parents to reveal the contents of their Christmas gift in advance.
Robin felt like she could facepalm. Better yet, bang her head on the counter multiple times.
“Seriously, Harrington?! Are you really that dense?”
Steve stared at her like a clueless puppy.
“What?”
She huffed and grabbed a pile of returned tapes to sort through.
“Anywaaay…” Steve sat next to her again “What do you think?”
“About what?”
“Uh, duh? The fact that Chrissy rented that movie? You said so yourself and that list was pretty self explanatory.”
Robin smirked at him, a small chuckle climbing out of her throat.
“I think, my dear friend,” she topped her act off with a wink “that there’s more to Chrissy Cunningham than meets the eye.”
65 notes · View notes
stcverogers · 2 years
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JUNE FIC RECS!
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what i’ve been reading and obsessing with over the month of june
this is extremely important and i take this very seriously out of respect for the community. please do remember to read the rules for the respective blogs before interacting with or reading them.
F: fluff A: angst S: smut
𖥻 - series
masterlist
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CHRIS EVANS + STEVE ROGERS
S: i hate you more by @americasass91 haters to lovers, there was only one bed. smut ensues.
F: always you by @fangirlovestuff it’s always been you, steve, and bucky. when bucky gets married, the dynamic between you and your other best friend shift.
F + A: fixing the broken by @maemelany 𖥻 in which you and chris decide if your marriage is worth any saving.
F + A: if only you knew by @kayteewritessteve 𖥻 steve rogers ripped your heart to absolute shreds. 7 years later, you’re back in town for bucky and natasha’s wedding. is there room for second chances?
A: all love by @dameronology rest easy, captain rogers
F: the super seller patch by @sweetsbfreex trust in that steve rogers’ daughter strives in just about anything she does. not without a little help from her father, of course.
S: birthday sneak by @rocketrhap3000 happy birthday, chris evans.
F: your comfort by @astranva don’t touch the baby bump
A + F: futile by @rocketrhap3000 𖥻 chris evans, the boy next door.
F: lover by @lanadelreyscokewhor3 the girl in steve’s story has always been you
F + A: slow like honey by @heli0s-writes 𖥻 sarah rogers is utterly in love with her teacher, and apparently, her father too.
F: anything she says by @angrythingstarlight chris would do just about anything for his girl
F: lily by @the-bau-quinjet steve rogers has kept a lily shaped secret from the rest of the avengers
F + A: the boston brute by @time-for-a-lullaby 𖥻 chris evans, star player for the boston bruins. does his reputation precede him?
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SEBASTIAN STAN + BUCKY BARNES
F: a faux pair by @sweetsbfreex alpine and you have a deep inner hatred for one another
S: grapes and wet dreams by @001sgf exactly what the title says.
F: he’s just a kid by @youlightmeupfinn grant rogers is ever the charmer and bucky can’t help but feel just a wee bit jealous
F + A: silver by @youlightmeupfinn 𖥻 bucky’s a rockstar and you’re just being strung along for the ride
F + A: can we talk? by @touchstarvedirl the consequences of living in the digital age where reporters would do anything for a cover story
F: to the moon and back by @nexusnyx bucky barnes learned that he is indeed deserving of a family
F + A: as it was by @heli0s-writes 𖥻 you know, it’s not the same as it was
F + A: a little death by @crescentbucky 𖥻 bucky loves natasha, natasha loves steve, but you also love steve, but steve loves natasha. but wait, bucky loves you?
F: to be touched by @corpsekiller bucky barnes is a well-trained stealthy soldier and you can’t help but like feel he’s using those abilities to avoid you
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THOMAS SHELBY
A: heartless by @retromafia tommy shelby lives with a damning secret that he keeps buried deep within his soul
F: the layers of thomas shelby by @theonewiththefanfics 𖥻 thomas shelby on surface level is a rugged gangster with a gaze that could kill but beneath all that lies a loving man
S: a little leeway and a lot of restraint by @constillatedchaos tommy shelby and his pretty little thing
A: it’s quiet uptown by @wouldpollyapprove 𖥻 thomas shelby cannot simply pick and choose who he wants to be with
S + A: forgotten dinner by @pherelesytsia tommy’s forgotten about dinner but that’s the least of your worries
F + A: all for them by @creme-bruhlee everything that thomas shelby does is for his family
F + A: tired, tired sea by @peakyswift tommy shelby’s eyes are blue like the ocean.
F + A: apology by @reidrco tommy shelby doesn’t do apologies
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AARON HOTCHNER
S: 110 degrees by @sunshinexhotchner the weather isn’t the only thing that’s hot
F + A: our past life by @hotchnerxo 𖥻 you cannot start afresh, but you can start again.
S: well respected by @hotchs-bitch 𖥻 the tales of aaron hotchner and his dutiful girlfriend
F + A: the long haul by @shmaptainhotchner 𖥻 the proposal, but you’re a bau agent and aaron hotchner’s the groom
F + A: intelligence & issues by @honeypiehotchner 𖥻 and all the pieces fall, right into place
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HELMUT ZEMO
F: these small hours by @clints-lucky-arrow zemo being a dad
F + A: blame by @shmaptainhotchner seven years ago, your family fell apart. zemo comes back after all this while and there is a sliver of hope that he can make everything feel better
A: the loyalty complexity by @dameronology where do your loyalties lie?
F: bring the corsets and the cinches by @corpsekiller you give zemo his personal runway show
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507 notes · View notes
violetsandfluff · 1 year
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Tidy Little Secrets: Part II
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previous part // next part // series masterlist // my masterlist
tw: SLOWWW BURN (it picks up soon I promise), sex (in different parts), sexual tension, age gap, allusion to smut, potentially triggering dream scenarios, and other sensitive topics such as decapitated chicken snow globes (you heard it here first). that said, enjoy!!
wc: 5.1k
Your visit with Harry left adrenaline coursing through your veins. Your heart was pumping blood through your body three times faster than usual to support the overtime your brain was working. Your focus was hardly set on the road, or the speed limit, but rather on the green-eyed, broad-statured man with the gleaming mansion uptown.
A cloak of obsession veiled your mind, and a mound of heat was positioned permanently between your legs, intensifying every time you recalled the dream you’d experienced as you snoozed involuntarily on Harry’s sofa. Your feral mind raced as your thoughts strayed to the glimpse of his bedroom you’d caught. It was some sort of unsaid truth that there had been many gorgeous girls in his bed and a meek, meager section of your mind couldn’t help but wish you could one day be among them. For now, though, you were a lowly housekeeper, but that was better than nothing.
You made it home much more quickly than you’d arrived. Letting yourself into your dingy apartment, you were filled with a mild sense of disappointment. After experiencing Harry’s grand mansion, your abode felt like a sewer. Still, though, it was home. It housed your possessions and maintained a steady temperature, which was all one really needed. The first thing you did after you set down your bags was call your sister. You had a lot of steam to blow off after your excursion.
Your phone vibrated as you willed your sister to answer. Much to your relief, she answered on the last ring, anxious to hear about your new job. You were talking a mile a minute before she was able to get more than a cheery hello in.
You told her about the mansion, and how pristine the neighborhood was. His kitchen, garage, flower garden, and secret room all made their way into your conversation. You spoke in vivid, ecstatic detail about his living room, his bookshelf, his floors, and his hair. You only left out the minor parts where you had had a wet dream on his couch and disobeyed him by entering his bedroom. Nataly listened intently to every detail until, at last, you stopped to take a breath.
“His suit was so crisp and proper-looking and his hair, Nat. If only you could see his hair!”
“Wow,” she breathed. “I told you it would be a good job to take.”
“He’s so hot,” you whined, “and he pays me so well! I’m so incredibly grateful he hired me.” You disclosed several more details regarding your pay and employer, all of which Nataly absorbed wordlessly.
“Even I don’t get paid that much,” she said faintly, trying not to let jealousy overtake her excitement for you. “Good for you! And I’m sure him being hot makes the job better?”
“It’s distracting at best,” you grimaced. “Either way, though, I’m so glad you opened my mind to the job. You deserve all of my thanks.”
“Aww, Y/N.” Nataly was touched. “Sisters for sisters, am I right?”
“Of course,” you replied happily. “I’d never let you down.��
“Nor would I you.”
A welt of giddy ecstasy formed deep inside you. She had been there for you throughout your childhood, demonstrating the tough love you needed to thrive in the long run. She had been like a parent to you when you were younger, but now that you were both older and living independently, you were more friends than relatives.
This proved to be quite useful in situations such as this, a job search gone a million times better than imaginable.
You went to bed with a stomach full of butterflies, imagining with your overactive brain what interactions with Harry tomorrow would bring.
Snippets of your wet dream tormented your subconscious, weaving themselves into a paradisal, sex-etched dream in which you were Harry’s housewife. You lived a life cleaning your shared home by day and embracing him by night while he worshiped your work and your body. He told you how precious your children were and how he needed more of them. He told you he wanted a dozen little y/ns running around, playing with each other, and being downright adorable.
“You make the garden grow beautifully, my love,” Harry praised you as he knelt before you, his head dipping under your skirt. “And kneeling before you, I can see how you make the floors gleam. Plus, as we tucked in the children at bedtime, I realized how much they all resemble you. They have your eyes, your smile, and your heart. I’m going to need a million more.” He ducked his head out from under your skirt to examine your face as it beamed down at him, but it didn’t take long for him to begin devouring you.
“You’re so strong, mama,” he cooed, his face buried deeply into your pussy. You could feel his hot breath as it was muffled in your wet folds. “You do so much, and you do all of it well. You make beautiful babies as well.” He smiled a dimpled smile that only your clit could see before continuing. “It makes me feel like I need a thousand more. I know I’m busy but I need to show you how much I love you.”
“I know you love me, H.”
“Please, darling. You deserve the world.”
“You are the world.”
A gravelly moan clawed its way out of Harry’s throat as he continued thrusting his fingers into you. “Way too good for me,” he groaned. “You look so pretty, you’re so nice, you’re all tight for me and y’taste amazing,” he breathed. “You stand up to my cock so well. Do you want it in your mouth or your cunt?”
Your eyes were brimming with tears by the time you woke up. You hated it. You wished so desperately to ward off the remnants of the dream. Your pussy felt tender even thinking about the words he had spoken to you. You couldn’t remember much of what he had told you, but whatever it was had to be effortlessly sexy, just like him. The vision of him kneeling before you as he praised your pussy was a whole new level.
Harry would make a wonderful husband and father, there was no doubt in your mind. However, you hated the way he made you feel. After having met him less than twenty-four hours earlier, you had already had a wet dream about him on his sofa, spent an entire afternoon daydreaming about him ravishing you, and spent a night dreaming of his children. Anyone who could rewire your brain as such was dangerous.
You replayed every second of your encounters with him until a glance at your alarm clock told you that you had forgotten to set it the night before, and thus were running late. With a sigh of resignation, you slipped out of bed, not bothering to make it. After all, you’d be back in it the moment you returned home.
A trip to your wardrobe informed you that laundry would be a priority when you arrived home, but you were able to scrape together an outfit that consisted of leggings, a short-sleeved t-shirt, and an oversized hoodie. Fuck provocative skirts.
You gathered your hair into a messy knot at the back of your head and applied your makeup as well as you could through your haste. As the cliche stated, haste did indeed make waste. When applying your mascara, your hand slipped, smearing black paste from your lashes onto your undereye.
Fixing it was inconvenient at best, but the whole situation was a minor hitch compared to what was to come later in the day.
The drive to Harry’s house with the windows down and the radio blasting wasn’t half bad. You put on your favorite feel-good playlist and let the music wash over you as you drove. The melodies you’d grown to know and love filled your ears and your heart. You couldn’t fight the urge to smile foolishly.
The drive was long enough to rid your mind of any negativity and recharge you so you arrived feeling your best.
Harry was waiting for you just inside the door when you walked in. He greeted you with a pleasant smile and a subtle wink. “Good morning, love,” he smiled, standing stiffly a ways off. “How was your night?”
“Exhausting,” you groaned, nervously elaborating as you saw his face twist in confusion. “It was just a dream. I wasn’t doing anything else,” you explained. “Nothing I shouldn’t have been,” you mused under your breath.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” he empathized, clearly oblivious to your latter quip. “Care to talk about it? I have time.”
“N-no,” you stammered, “there’s no need for that. Do you have any jobs for me today?”
“Eager to work, are we, darling?” Before you could put a word in crosswise, he continued. “I’m not sure that I have much for you to do today. I’ve got dinner in the fridge, don’t worry about making anything. Just do whatever you see fit.”
“This place is immaculate,” you frowned, momentarily forgetting the professional demeanor you were expected to uphold.
“It’s not always this orderly,” Harry chuckled fondly. “You’ll have your share of messes, I’m afraid. However, if you must do something, I have a collection of vases in the kitchen that could use a good cleaning.”
“I don’t mind!” You flashed him a winning smile. “After all, messes are what I signed up for!”
“There are a lot of vases, darling.”
You poked your head into the kitchen, gawking at the open cabinets and mountain of vases on the counters and floor. “That is a lot of vases!”
“You don’t expect the flowers to pot themselves, do you?” Harry joked. “It’s alright if you can’t finish them today. I completely understand. It’s taken me a year and… I have yet to get to them.”
“I’m not complaining,” you smiled pleasantly, cracking a smile at Harry’s comment.
A soft hum brewed in Harry’s throat as he contemplated adding something, ultimately deciding not to. “Call me if you need anything, love, but I’m sure all you’ll need is in my trusty old closet.” He beckoned towards the crawl space under the regally ascending staircase. “I have lunch for you in the fridge. Any other questions?”
“I don’t think so,” you said, trying to maintain a cheerful tone. “You had better be off.”
“Are you kicking me out of my own house?” Harry placed his hands on his hips in a teasing attempt to appear cross.
Shocked by his sudden change in emotion, you stepped back and stammered out a panicked reply.
“I was only joking, love. You’re right. I can’t be late for my own job, can I?”
“Have a good day, Mr… um, Harry.”
“You as well, Miss… Y/N.”
~~~~~
A trip around Harry’s mansion told you that finding an area to clean would be harder than expected. There were a few shelves you could dust or a few books to rearrange, but that would take you an hour at most. What were you supposed to do while Harry worked an entire nine-hour day? You made your way to the closet beneath the stairs and retrieved a feather duster.
Hesitantly, you began dusting the various paraphernalia you found around his house; books on shelves, lamps, and the surprising amount of snow globes you found lined up on window sills, notoriously collecting dust.
While the quantity of snow globes caught your attention, the content of some of them was particularly strange. There were some normal globes that contained winter animals and snow, and others that contained galoshes-clad children and snowmen. Alongside these were more obscure choices for snow globes; a poop emoji decked out in Christmas lights, a cactus wearing a jacket, and a decapitated chicken holding its own head to name a few.
After making sure every table, window sill, and trinket was dusted to perfection, you knew you should start on the vases, a task you absolutely dreaded. Your hands trembled increasingly as you neared the army of vases. There had to be at least one hundred of them. Your stomach was filled with dread, knowing all too well that they were all equally valuable as they were fragile. You set your mind to cleaning the outsides with a wet, sudsy rag and the inside with the same rag or a bottle cleaner, depending on the size of the opening. You drew in a deep breath to calm your mind and steady your hands. If they went on trembling as they had been, you’d surely drop every vase you dared to touch.
The sizes of the vases varied, as well as the height, colors, and patterns. Some of the vases were round and smaller than your hand while others were thin, tall, and tapered. They ranged in color and material from pure, spotless crystal to eccentrically painted clay pots. They were all beautiful in their own ways, but some were definitely more eye-catching, including crystal vases with ornate detailing etched into them. You assumed those to be the more valuable, more fragile vases.
You consoled yourself with the thought that if you were to shatter a vase in a freak turn of events, the money for a replacement would be withdrawn from your paycheck, which was more than plentiful to begin with. Reassured by your worst-case scenario, you grabbed a pair of tight gloves from the closet under the stairs. They proved to be more than helpful in providing grip to your fingers, which would have been too slippery alone.
You began with a broad rectangular vase that appeared sound and sturdy. You sponged down the outside before inserting the bottle cleaner and cleaning out any dust that had accumulated inside. You held onto its neck as if your life depended on it, because, in essence, it did. Your self-esteem was at stake.
Washing the vases wasn’t nearly as nerve-wracking as you’d anticipated. Eventually, you fell into a rhythm of polishing their outsides, thrusting a bottle cleaner inside, and rinsing them. The idea of Harry coming home to a counter full of perfectly clean vases motivated you. You couldn’t help but crave the praise he’d bestowed upon you in your dream. The view of impeccably arranged flowers thriving in his backyard made the task much more bearable.
Just as your confidence was in full bloom, your mind began to wander from the task at hand to a daydream similar to those you’d experienced the day before. Memories of your dreams wore at your stomach like a butterfly-infested pit. You tried to shake them, but you dropped a vase in the process. You jumped back in alarm as the painted terra cotta pot crashed to the floor, crumbling into an array of brightly colored pieces.
Your teeth sunk into your lip as you brainstormed ways to tell Harry that you had broken his vase. It was only your first day on the job; far too early to mess up so royally. Once your wits were gathered back up, you tiptoed carefully to the closet under the stairs in search of a broom and dustpan. You swept up the shards of pottery as carefully as you could before withdrawing a mop and bucket from the closet and cleaning the floor thoroughly.
~~~
After three more days of cleaning Harry’s house, a pit still grew in your stomach every time you wondered how you would break the news of the broken vase to Harry. Would he be upset or would he laugh it off? Would he take the money for a replacement out of your paycheck or fire you? You swore to yourself that you wouldn’t let your mind wander to worst-case scenarios. But it had been days since the vase was broken. Surely he would know that you’d delayed admitting this to him for one reason or another.
He had praised your work in cleaning the remaining vases, rewarding you with a glass of his favorite wine. The thought of telling him now that you’d shattered one of his precious vases was daunting. You shouldn’t have accepted his reward. You hoped he wouldn’t recall his kind action after the fact, but there was only so much you could about it now.
You distracted yourself with daydreams until he returned and your conscience would force you to admit your fault to him.
The yearning, lustful side of your soul longed to bear his children. You could imagine an army of children in the kitchen, making a mess out of cookie dough, or outside in his garden playing. You could see kids bouncing on their beds against your judgment and drawing masterpieces on the basement walls. These daydreams came and went throughout the day as you cleaned vases and dusted bookshelves.
Though it felt wrong to imagine Harry’s house filled with your children, you caught yourself smiling foolishly to yourself every time the thoughts crossed your mind. In fact, you were so enthralled by your fantasies, you didn’t hear the door open.
You were positioned in front of one of Harry’s numerous floor-to-ceiling bookshelves with a feather duster in hand, clearly serving no purpose as it hung limply at your side.
“D’you like books?” a low voice rasped from behind you.
You whirled around to find Harry leaning against the doorframe with half of his body in the living room.
“What?”
“Nothing, darling. I just asked if you liked books. I saw you examining the titles and assumed you were interested.”
“I do,” you responded slowly, feeling his eyes on you. “You’re home early.”
“No, ‘m not,” Harry replied. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but I brought dinner if you’re hungry.”
“Oh,” you stood awkwardly by the bookcase you had been “dusting” as you racked your mind for quick excuses to escape.
“Y’don’t have to stay f��you don’t want to,” Harry assured you. “Just know there’s more than enough to go around.”
The hopeless romantic in you yearned for more time with him. Any time could potentially turn into a night, after all. On the other hand, the more reasonable side of you told you to leave. You had been thinking about him all day, in ways he could never imagine. If your tongue were to slip after a drink, your cover would be blown and you could lose your job after barely having secured it for a full week.
“I’ll stay,” you decided softly. Your innermost conscience let out a howl of disdain.
Harry’s face broke into a broad grin. “Thank you, love. I know I haven’t really gotten to know you, and since my house has been getting to know you, I figured I should too.”
You nodded awkwardly, watching helplessly as he withdrew a styrofoam takeout container from inside a flimsy plastic bag.
“I just got pasta. I hope that’s okay with you.”
You let out a soft hum similar to a chuckle before feeling his gaze fixed on you once more. A wave of heat rushed to your cheeks as you scrambled to give him your approval.
“Come to the kitchen.”
You followed Harry through the narrow hallway that led to the kitchen. He removed two plates and wine glasses from a cupboard as you watched, twirling your hair uncomfortably.
“How much d’you want?” Harry asked, beckoning for you to join him at the counter with the food. “It’s pretty filling.”
“Not a whole lot,” you responded, but the closer you got, the better the food looked and smelled.
“Which is how much, love?” Harry pressed, lowering a mass of noodles onto your plate. “Not a whole lot like this? Less? More?”
“Like that,” you said meekly.
“You can always have more, darling,” he reassured you. “Wine?”
“A little bit.”
You nodded contentedly as you watched him pour two glasses of deep red wine dish up his own pasta. “We can eat in the living room,” he decided. “That’s what I do most of the time.”
“Such a gorgeous kitchen and dining table and you don’t use it?” you asked without thinking, your voice filled with a mixture of awe and disbelief.
Harry let out a rolling laugh. “That’s why it’s so spotless,” he explained. “If you want, we can eat in here.”
“You can choose. I honestly don’t care.”
“Let’s eat in the living room,” Harry concluded. “We can watch tv or read books or just talk; whatever y’want, love.”
Your heart fluttered as he spoke. You followed him into the living room, where he sunk comfortably into the woven, cream-colored upholstery of the loveseat.
“Sit anywhere y’like.” He made a broad, sweeping gesture across the room. You sat down tentatively on the sofa opposite his.
The two of you ate in comfortable silence for a moment before he broke the silence. “What kind of books d’you like, Y/N?”
“I like any kind of book,” you replied after swallowing the hardly-chewed bite of food in your mouth. “I read whatever books I can get my hands on.”
“I’m kind of the same way.” He shifted his weight from one hip to the other, crossing his left leg over his right. “I like older stories.”
“Such as?”
“Shakespeare-era stuff. I like tragedies. And romances.”
“And murder mysteries?” Your mind flashed to the murder mystery of his you had picked up in his second living room on Monday. You hoped you weren’t being too blunt.
“That’s more of a guilty pleasure,” he admitted with a sheepish smile through a bite of pasta. “I’m reading one now if that interests you.”
You let out a pleasant hum as you feigned intrigue. “Is it good?”
“Yes.” He aimed his twinkling eyes down at his plate. “Like I said, a guilty pleasure.”
“I’ve never seen someone so embarrassed to like mysteries,” you remarked innocently. “This is coming from a girl who listens to true-crime podcasts before bed.”
Harry’s eyes flashed up to you with a look of amused bewilderment. “That’s a new one to me.”
You smiled shyly as your cheeks flushed.
“True crime, hm?” Harry eyed you playfully as he took another bite of pasta. “Does it put you to sleep?”
“Kind of,” you replied bashfully, letting out a helpless laugh as you were suddenly stricken with self-consciousness regarding what you’d shared.
“No judgment, dear, its alright. I’ve got my fair share of interesting habits.”
“Oh?” you quirked an eyebrow, willing him to continue.
“You’ve seen my garden?”
“Of course. It’s beautiful!”
He nodded, ducking his head slightly. “I get up early every morning to tend the flowers before the sun rises.”
“That’s early.”
He nodded. “I suppose that’s not too strange. The world is filled with its early birds.”
“I guess,” you nearly whispered, trying only to fill the silence. “Your garden is beautiful. I assumed you had a gardener to tend it.”
“Didn’t see me as the gardening type, eh?”
You stuttered out an incoherent response, but Harry just laughed.
“That’s alright, love. Neither did I, at first. Maybe one day you can come early and help me. Maybe spend the night? Believe me, that was merely the tip of the iceberg regarding my interesting mannerisms. But we can save those for another night.”
It was all you could do to finish chewing your bite before you swallowed it.
Harry’s eyes were angled skillfully down at his plate, but high enough to catch your reaction. The b*stard.
“Do you want to watch something, love? Or would you rather read?”
“Either sounds good,” you said in a tone more chipper than usual as you tried to clear your head. Had Harry really asked you to stay overnight?
“Let’s put on a movie. Y’won’t be able to see the tv from over there.”
“Oh.” You craned your neck around until the massive flatscreen tv came into view.
He patted the cushion beside him and you joined him tentatively.
“I have blankets if y’want one.”
“I’ll take one,” you replied.
He tossed the remote into your hand as he rose to his feet, using a hand on your knee to guide his body upwards. “I’ll be back in a moment. Find something you like. I’ll watch anything. I’m easy that way.”
Your breath caught in your throat as you watched him leave. The backside of his navy blue slacks creased tantalizingly under his delicious ass as he walked, and his suit coat made his back look so muscular and broad. You could only imagine the wonders that lay beneath. These thoughts threatened to launch your mind into another spiral, but you tamed them as if your life depended on it.
As he disappeared from your sight, you sorted through the shows on his Netflix until you landed on a show you’d begun years ago. Though you barely knew him, the show seemed to be right up Harry’s alley, and you might as well rewatch a little bit if you were going to stay.
He returned in a matter of minutes with an armful of blankets. He cocked an eyebrow at the television before tossing a blanket in your direction.
You pulled it snugly around your shoulders and Harry did the same with his, casting you a playful smile and a shrug.
“Have you seen this before?” he asked, referring to the tv.
“A little. It was the only thing I’d started.”
“You didn’t finish it?”
“No.”
“Why not, love?” he asked rhetorically as he settled onto the couch beside you. “It looks like a perfectly decent show t’me.”
“You might not be into this kind of thing,” you informed him. “I don’t quite remember if I liked it. We can watch something else if you want. I just… panicked and chose something.”
“You panicked?” Harry repeated. “Are y’scared of me?”
“N-no.”
“You don’t sound so sure, love.” He raised an eyebrow adorably as you tossed the remote back to him. “If anything, I should be scared of you, the way you work so hard.”
You were struck by a sudden attack of deja vu.
“Cleaning all of those vases, completing the task that I could never bring my lazy ass to do.” He ran a hand over his stubble as he let out a shameful laugh, turning his attention to the tv.
The back of the couch proved to be a comfortable place to rest your head. Soon, you drifted off to sleep, unbeknownst to Harry. Much to your relief, your dreams weren’t haunted by ghosts of sex or elements of noisy children. In fact, you didn’t dream at all. Though you usually looked forward to the scenarios your dreams provided you with, you were grateful to have a peaceful sleep for once.
Harry’s voice awoke you two hours (and three episodes) later, breaking gently through the barrier between your mind and reality.
“Do you want to keep watching?” When there was no response, he glanced over to his left where you were sleeping peacefully. “Y/N, doll,” he called softly. “Wake up, love.”
You eased your eyes open, drawing in a long breath before a yawn escaped your lips.
“Tired, darling?”
“A little,” you replied, pulling the blanket tighter around your shoulders. “What time is it?”
“Eleven-thirty. It’s probably time for you to go home, doll. You can take the blanket with if you want.”
“I’m okay,” you said as you stifled another yawn.
“Do you need a ride?”
“I should be all right.” You rose to your feet, bending backwards slightly to alleviate the ache in your back. “Thanks for dinner, H.”
“You’re welcome, darling. See you tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow?”
“Monday,” he corrected himself, shaking his head as he rolled his eyes playfully. “Stupid Harry. See you Monday?”
“Sure. Harry?”
“Y/N?”
“On Tuesday, when I was washing your vases,” you began, standing as stiff as a statue as your heart hammered inside your chest, “I broke one.”
“You broke a vase?” Harry rose to his feet beside you and your breath caught in your throat.
“Which vase?”
“It was short and stout… terra cotta with painted geometric designs. I kept the pieces if you wanted me to try and fix it?” The words spilled out of you as your face flushed a deep shade of red. Tears of embarrassment pricked at your eyes.
“No, darling,” he chuckled, pressing a finger beneath his nose in attempt to muffle his amusement. “That’s not necessary. Don’t be upset, okay? I’ve got hundreds of them for a reason.”
You managed a weak smile as you took a deep breath to steady yourself.
“That vase cost twenty dollars at most. Don’t worry about it.”
“Twenty dollars-”
“It’s not that much, lovie.”
“It’s not a lot, but it’s not my money!” you insisted, beelining to the table near the door where you had placed your belongings upon arrival that morning. “I promise, I can pay you back.”
“No, Y/N.” Harry protested. “Please, darling. Don’t worry about it.”
“I owe you.”
“I owe you, doll. You’ve helped me out a ton this week.”
“You can take it out of my paycheck,” you suggested.
“You’re asking for a demotion?” Harry grinned. “Think of the vase money as a bonus.” He reached into the pocket of his stiff, creased pants and withdrew a twenty dollar bill. He held it out to you and you stepped back in confusion.
“For keeping me company.”
“I broke your vase and you shared your dinner with me.”
“Take it,” Harry insisted. “You’re not leaving without it.” Just then, with a smug smile slapped across his face, he took the money and hid it behind his back, watching your face intently for a reaction.
“H…”
“You can have it, love. I suppose it isn’t getting any earlier. Drive safely, okay?” He wrapped his arms around you, sweeping you up into his arms until he was holding you bridal-style. He pressed a hot kiss to your lips before setting you back on your feet and folding the bill into your hand. “Good night, doll. See you Monday.”
“See you Monday, H.”
Harry stood in the entryway for a long moment after you shut the door, removing his phone from his pocket to check the doorbell camera and ensure that you made it to your car safely. As soon as you were safely on your way home, he flipped from his Ring tab to his messages to catch up on anything he might have missed.
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