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saturnbubblez · 8 days ago

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Forgot to mention that Starboy’s whole thing is that he was a mannequin from a outfit ideas game and was forsaken when his game was deleted. He’s sorta. Learning to be human still so he creeps people out.

Heyyy first time posting a fic ever!!! This is a short oneshot about me and my bf’s Forsaken ocs: Starboy and Bucket. They are very gay. Depending on how well this does I might start writing Forsaken fics based on requests or ships I like soooo yea! Please lmk if you like it! I’m planning to make this a series.

Bucket belongs to @shimmerwoof

Dividers by @cafekitsune

“I don’t belong to anything.”

Bucket was caught off guard. Who starts a conversation like that?

He didn’t want to be rude. He understood how important it was to give Starboy the benefit of the doubt: he wasn’t like the rest of the survivors after all. He didn’t understand what was acceptable and what wasn’t, so it wouldn’t be fair to really expect him to “be normal.” Bucket didn’t hate that about him. Quite the opposite, actually. The more alien side of Starboy would show when he encountered something new, and often it would make Bucket laugh. That’s why Bucket wasn’t deterred by Starboy like the other survivors seemed to be.

When Starboy had asked for Bucket to walk with him, he’d agreed! When Starboy walked him down to the dock, he’d followed along, even ignoring the crazy part of his brain that tried to insist that Starboy was going to try and drown him. It wasn’t like Bucket had no reason to agree either, there were plenty of reasons to follow along. To get away from the other survivors for a little bit, to feel the night breeze, to see Starboy’s face reflected in the water, maybe for a kiss.

But something was different. Starboy wasn’t really acting like his normal self. There was an air of mystery to him this time, and Bucket found it unnerving. It’s probably just because he’s been spending so much time with Two Time recently. But I shouldn’t let myself think that he’d ever hurt me just because he’s hanging out with someone who stabbed a guy once. Bucket reasoned with himself. As if on cue, Starboy turned to face Bucket, his hair curling in a way that Bucket knew he’d drawn many times.

“Two Time” Oh no “says that” oh please no “the Spawn” —Bucket began to plan his escape— “gave them their ability so that they could better serve them.” Bucket’s escape plan melted away as Starboy took his hand. “Do you think you were given your abilities so that you could be a great artist?”

Bucket felt heat rush across his face. What Starboy had said was just as flattering as it was almost offensive. Did he bring me here to flatter me… or just to talk about art? “Well, I practiced painting—“ and again, he went silent as Starboy interlocked their fingers.

“That’s what you belong to. You’re an artist.”

Then it clicked with Bucket what Starboy was trying to say. “Are you talking about people’s… purposes in life?” He asked tentatively.

Starboy nodded in a way that resembled excitement as he was reminded of the word he needed to continue this conversation. The stars around his head swayed back and forth with him, emitting a soft twinkling sound. “Yes! Two Time’s purpose in life is to serve Spawn, and your’s is to be an artist.”

Bucket supposed that wasn’t an incorrect statement. “Yea…?”

“I don’t have a purpose. At least not yet.” Starboy continued. “But I think I could…” The way Starboy drew out those words told Bucket that they carried some deeper meaning behind them. There was something Starboy was trying to tell him, made obvious by how Starboy looked at him with genuine hopefulness.

Bucket was still a bit confused. He shifted backwards slightly, trying to find the right thing to say. “Oh, well, you don’t really need a purpose in life. Some people would probably tell you no one truly has one!” He tried to sound wise, hoping to at least impart something on Starboy during this confusing conversation. Much to Bucket’s dismay, it seemed he wasn’t properly catching on to what Starboy wanted him to, because the hope in his eyes was quickly dying. “I just mean that— you don’t have to worry about not being good at stuff like art and— whatever it is Two Time is good at.” Bucket used the hand not being held by Starboy to scratch uncomfortably at his neck. His eyes shifted from Starboy’s face to the water below them, where Starboy’s shoes dipped past the surface. Bucket wasn’t unaware of the fact that Starboy was allowing his socks and shoes to get completely soaked. That can’t be comfortable why is he so silly—

“I was a good model for you, right?”

Bucket tensed, remembering the last time Starboy had modeled for him. He supposed it had been a while. That had been around the time Bucket had started to feel things for the dandelion yellow survivor. Starboy made a pretty good model for Bucket the first time he’d asked to paint him, staying stiller than any model he’d ever asked to paint before. Starboy sat as rigid as a statue, giving Bucket the opportunity to become very familiar with his features. The sharp edge of his jawline, the chaotic curl at the ends of each strand of hair, and his deep-set, almost hollow-looking eyes which reflected everything back like puddles. He was attractive, and Bucket could only pretend not to notice it for so long.

Eventually their sessions alone together began to stir more feelings than Bucket knew how to handle, and he had to call them off for a little while. Starboy had looked disappointed he wouldn’t be modeling anymore, but Bucket couldn’t explain to him the real reason why they had to take a break.

“Yea, Starboy, of course you were! I just needed a little break, is all! I can’t draw the same guy all the time, that isn’t good practice.” Bucket attempted to reassure. He settled the hand on his neck back onto the wood floor of the dock.

Starboy looked defeated but also understanding. “Yes, that makes sense.”

Bucket’s heart broke a little bit. Oh, is that what this is all about? Did I hurt his feelings? That wasn’t his intention at all! He should’ve thought up a better excuse back when he decided to stop…

“I don’t think that’s my purpose, though.” Starboy was monotone.

I’m glad, Bucket thought in response, concerned. He eyed Starboy’s face again and felt him let go of his hand. Bucket was incredibly aware of the lingering warmth of where their fingers had met just before. Embarrassingly, he could tell he already missed it.

“I think my purpose is to protect.” Starboy closed his eyes, and Bucket wondered if he was trying to manifest truth in his words. “Why else would I be able to turn my stars into walls and shields?”

Yea, alright. Not a bad conclusion to come to. Guest is the same way. He’s good at protecting others from the killer so that’s what he does!

“And I think maybe… I should be using my abilities to protect you.” And then a hesitant, “You’d like that, right?”

Huh? Bucket shook his head, his heartbeat picking up. “I m-mean, it definitely wouldn’t hurt to have someone looking out for me— but, you don’t have to worry, Guest and Shedletsky and—“

“No, you’d like it to be me.” Starboy cut in, speaking in his usual matter-of-fact tone. His eyes were open now, wide, knowing, and bright. In them, the water was reflected—a stunning shade of blue. Cerulean, Bucket correctly identified.

Bucket’s mouth opened and closed uselessly. He felt lightheaded as embarrassment scorched through the skin on his nose and cheeks. He wasn’t sure how he must look to Starboy right now, but he could assume it wasn’t completely flattering as his brain and body stalled in place. He clenched the edge of the dock until his knuckles turned white, suddenly uncomfortable in his crossed-legged position.

Starboy predicted Bucket’s next question and decided to answer it before he could ask: “Chance told me you have a…crush on me.” He spoke as if he was speaking another language; “and Guest told me it’s obvious I feel the same. Is that true?”

I’m going to pour paint all over Chance’s machines. And his clothes. And his body. And I’ll make sure it won’t wash off.

Starboy went on after Bucket failed to respond: “I liked it when you drew me or painted me. I liked it when you stared at my body for that long. I like it when I can feel you looking at me because it makes me feel like something in me is on fire and it feels good more than it hurts.” Starboy reached behind Bucket in a stupidly obvious way, snaking a hand around his hip. He pulled Bucket closer, and Bucket thought he’d die. “Do I make you feel like you’re burning too?”

“I…I guess—”

Starboy quickly licked his top lip as Bucket began to speak, and went in for a kiss. He mouthed gently against Bucket’s lips in a way that was somehow both mechanical and messy. But he didn’t go any deeper. Bucket was struck by how obvious it was he didn’t know what he was doing—and yet at the same time, couldn’t even force himself to care. His knees weakened, his shoulders tensed, and his arms froze.

It was like all his nerves went alight, burning with the same embarrassing sensation. Like something in me is on fire. Bucket wished he could laugh.

He wasn’t sure how long they sat like that, only that in that time he’d forgotten how to breathe. He didn’t even try. It was as if he was afraid that the breath would blow Starboy away. When they did finally part from each other, Bucket found that his body had angled itself more towards Starboy’s, and guessed that he had been pulled closer by the other man. One of his feet had joined Starboy’s in the water, and his shoe was temporarily ruined. Neither of them spoke for a while. They simply stared at each other, unsure of what to say.

Starboy looked pleased, as if he’d accomplished some sort of special secret mission. “I should tell Chance he was right.” Starboy got up, not paying his drenched shoes any mind, even when they squelched under his weight. “Thank you for sharing this moment with me.” And then he turned, leaving Bucket alone on the dock.

Bucket could see Starboy’s figure pass through a patch of darkness in the night before it appeared in the lantern light of the cabin they spawned in after every round. Bucket didn’t move as he watched him go, his mind stuck somewhere between ‘Was that supposed to be a confession?’ And ‘Where does Chance sleep again?’

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