#((With the thread and heart and apple and doll.))

[redvexillum]

Thirteenth Kiss: Captivate I

A/N: Okay. So for my Lucifer x Reader fans, I know I promised Luci Angst Week like back in January and... well you know, burn out happened 😭. Please take this mini-series as penance or something to gnaw on as I work on my very belated Luci Angst Week story ✨️ Also tagging @heart-of-the-morningstar, the biggest Lucifer fan I know. I hope this is good enough, Queen of all Sexy Luci fic 😫💦

Summary: In a city of sinners and second chances, you were hired to play Lucifer’s fake girlfriend and found yourself entangled in something far more real than you have ever expected. Amid fireworks, confessions, and unexpected tenderness, two broken souls dare to hope for something true.

Tags/Warning: f!reader, eventual smut, fake relationship, Lucifer is touch-starved

Lucifer stared down at his phone, the screen glowing in the dim light of his lounge. A garish new app pulsed with red and pink hearts—“RENT-A-GIRLFRIEND”—and the absurdity of it made him scoff under his breath. Humans… ever the creative, desperate little things. He flicked his thumb with slow disdain, swiping left through profile after profile of sinners draped in seductive outfits, each more ridiculous than the last. 

His smirk twisted into a grimace when a particularly bold profile appeared—a sinner with deer-like features, wearing nothing but a g-string, her chest clumsily censored in a pixelated blur. “Oh, for Hell’s sake…” he muttered, recoiling like he’d just bitten into something sour. With a groan, he smacked his face and dragged his palm down it, dismayed. 

This is what I’ve been reduced to? Swiping through Vinder just to save face? 

He imagined Charlie's disapproving eyes, her warm smile dimming with disappointment. The thought alone was enough to sink a rock into his gut. 

He hated the thought of showing up alone to Charlie’s New Year’s party. Not after everything. Not after failing her for so long. Not after losing Lilith and fumbling his chance to raise their daughter properly. This—this—was his chance to do better. To be better. To show her, he could be present. That he wanted to be in her life. Really be there. 

When he visited the hotel last week, she’d pulled him aside. There was something in her eyes—something unsure and fragile—that made the air in his lungs tighten. 

“Dad…” Charlie’s voice was small, her fingers fumbling nervously with each other. Her eyes flicked from side to side like she was searching for an exit. 

Lucifer’s stomach dropped. A cold dread curled in his chest. Had he messed up again? Said something? Done something? He'd only just begun to repair the fragile thread of their bond. The idea of fraying it again, of losing her, was unbearable. 

He forced a broad, nervous smile and leaned on his staff, the apple-shaped top catching the light. “What’s up, kiddo? You didn’t like the stuffed animal I brought?” he asked, glancing at the absurd twenty-foot-tall plush rabbit looming in the corner. Its eyes glowed faintly red, and it had twisted horns, a bat wing, and a crooked spiny tail. 

“It’s all the rage in Lu-Lu World,” he added, hoping to lighten the mood. 

Charlie winced at the doll, her lips curling in a polite but pained smile. “N-no, that’s not it. I’m not a kid anymore, Dad…” 

That stung more than he expected. 

His throat tightened, a bead of sweat slipping down his temple. She’s pulling away… again. The crushing anxiety returned like a vice around his heart—panic that she might ghost him, shut him out, vanish from his life as if this reconciliation never happened. 

“But I still like the gift!” she rushed, waving her hands in mock surrender, her laugh nervous and forced. “It’s just that… uh…” Her eyes darted to the side. Lucifer’s gaze followed—and caught Vaggie watching the scene with a thumbs-up and an encouraging nod. 

He mirrored his daughter’s tension, his voice softening. “What is it, sweetheart?” 

She sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of her nose. “No, that’s not right…” she mumbled to herself. Then, after a pause, she straightened her shoulders and looked him in the eye. 

“Dad… I love you. You know that, right?” 

Lucifer froze. 

The words wrapped around his heart and squeezed, tender and unexpected. His expression cracked into something real—unguarded. His voice trembled with sincerity as he reached for her hands. 

“Aw, Charchar… I love you too. You mean the world to me.” 

“I—I know that after Mom left, things haven’t really been the same, but—” 

Lucifer’s brows lifted as though someone had flipped a switch in his head. His mouth formed a small, perfectly round “o.” 

“Oh, Charlie,” he said slowly, a hopeful gleam flickering behind his eyes. “Do you… do you want me to find you a new mom? Is that what this is ab—?” 

Charlie flinched. Her shoulders jerked upward, and her face scrunched as if she’d bitten into the sourest lemon in existence. 

“What? No!” she burst out, scandalized. “It’s not for me, Dad.” She pulled her hands away from his, her voice carrying both frustration and care. “It’s for you.” 

She clasped her hands together tightly, grounding herself, her gaze softening with an ache that mirrored his own.  “I don’t want you to be alone anymore. I don’t want you to keep clinging to the past like it’s all you have left.” Her voice cracked, just barely. “Dad, I just want you to be happy. And maybe… maybe if you found someone again…” 

Her voice trailed off as her eyes drifted to Vaggie, who stood nearby watching quietly. Charlie looked at her with a gaze full of warmth—adoration, even. It was the kind of look that said she knew love. That she believed in it. 

“…maybe you’d be less…” She made a swirling motion with her hands, as if searching for the right word. Her nose scrunched before she finally winced and said it. 

“Lonely?” 

Lonely. 

The word hit him like a whip crack in a silent hall. 

He blinked. Coughed. And then—laughed. Wheezing, awkward laughter that felt like it belonged to someone else.  “L-Lonely?” he echoed, louder this time, as if saying it again might make it more absurd. “Me?” 

He wanted to tell her she was wrong. That he wasn’t lonely. That he had her, his brilliant, compassionate daughter, and that was enough. That he didn’t need a partner to fill a void he didn’t acknowledge. 

But the truth was quieter. 

Crueler. 

Because when he thought of his palace, the place that once rang with life and arguments and laughter, it was hollow now. Cold. Like time had congealed there, untouched. Every room seemed frozen in memory, as though merely walking through it would crack the fragile illusions he’d built to protect himself. 

And beneath all of that… there it was. 

That dull ache in his chest. The one he never spoke of. The hole Lilith had left behind when she turned away from them all to chase some misguided idea of the “greater good.” A cause that had swallowed her whole. A goodbye that had no closure. No return. 

Centuries. 

It had been centuries since he’d heard her voice. Since he’d felt truly seen by someone who understood the weight he carried. 

Lonely? 

Was he really? 

He thought about coming home after visiting the hotel—how the silence would stretch for miles. How even the crackle of firelight seemed muted. He’d even considered moving into the hotel permanently. The thought had lingered more often lately. But leaving their home behind still felt like turning his back on everything he once was. 

Turning his back…on her. 

Still… 

“Dad?” 

Charlie’s voice was gentle. Concerned. Grounding. 

He blinked back into the present, the warmth of her presence tugging him out of the depths. 

And what he said next… 

Well. 

He’d regret it. 

He’d regret it more than anything he’d said in the last three days. 

“Charlie, I… I don’t know how to tell you this, but…” 

The words hovered at the back of his throat, sticky and sharp like broken glass. His inner voice was screaming—Don’t say it. Don’t lie. Don’t dig yourself into a hole you can’t crawl out of. But then he looked at her. Really looked. 

The worry in her eyes. The gentle furrow in her brow. The way her hands fidgeted nervously, like she was holding back tears or hope or both. 

And maybe…it wasn’t fear that pushed him over the edge. 

It was pride. 

The same pride that cast him down from Heaven. The same pride that built his kingdom in fire and gold. The same pride that now whispered, Don’t let her pity you. Don’t let her see you as hollow. 

So, he smiled—tight-lipped and trembling—and said, “I’m actually… seeing someone.” 

The last two words came out in a tumble, mumbled like a confession, as if saying them quietly might make them less real. 

Charlie blinked, her lips parting slightly before stretching wide into a smile that was radiant and unguarded. It was the kind of smile that could disarm angels and make demons question their loyalties. Her whole face lit up with joy. Pure, unfiltered joy. 

He should’ve laughed. Tweaked her nose. Called “Bazinga!” and told her it was just one of his dumb old-man jokes. 

But then he saw it—the way her eyes sparkled. The genuine excitement, the hope, the relief. 

And just like that, he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t take it back. 

Not without shattering that beautiful expression. 

“I’m… seeing someone,” he repeated, rubbing the side of his arm with a sheepish motion. The words tasted wrong on his tongue, bitter and false. 

And the lie began to grow. 

He spun a story. It was painfully careful and absurdly romantic about a mysterious woman he’d met, someone unlike anyone he’d ever known. He explained he’d kept it a secret because he wasn’t sure how to bring it up, how to explain that loving someone new didn’t erase what he’d had with Lilith. 

And he meant that part. God, he meant it. He would always love Lilith. Even now, with the echo of her absence lingering in every hallway of his life. 

But he told Charlie he was happy. That he’d found someone who brought him light again. 

And the more she listened, the more she believed—the brighter her features became, until her aura shimmered like rainbows in sunlight. She gasped, hands pressed to her chest, and then threw her arms around him in a tight hug. 

“Oh, Dad! That’s wonderful! You have to bring her to the party—I need to meet her!” 

He hugged her back, guilt clawing into him like a parasite. 

And now… now here he was. 

Sitting alone in his cavernous bedroom, bathed in the cold glow of his phone, the silence around him suffocating. The walls of his room felt tighter tonight.

More judgmental. 

App after app filled his screen—swipe-based hellscapes of desperation, lust, and neon-filtered selfies. He downloaded everything he could, until finally, he found it: 

Rent-a-Girlfriend. 

The name was so ridiculous it was practically divine intervention. 

It was precisely what he was looking for. 

Except… not really. 

He’d been swiping for five hours now. Five hours. And every profile blurred together—dozens of sinners in sultry poses, dressed in next to nothing, their expressions blank or predatory. The commodification of companionship. The illusion of romance. 

All looking for a quick fuck. None looking to play the part of ‘Lucifer’s True Love.’ 

His thumb paused mid-swipe. A hollow ache settled in his chest again, curling inward like a dying star. He should tell Charlie the truth. Rip the bandage off. Confess. Face the fallout. 

But he couldn’t. 

He’d already painted this woman as perfect. Ideal. A new beginning. Charlie believed in her. She believed in him. 

He couldn’t take that back. Not without breaking her heart. Or worse—breaking her trust. 

Maybe… maybe he’d find someone. Just for the night. Bring a beautiful, convincing date to the party, smile for the pictures, sell the dream. 

And afterward? 

Afterward, he’d say they broke up. Quietly. Sadly. 

A love lost too soon. 

And maybe… This whole mess would fade into the background. 

But first… 

He needed to find a woman. 

As if Heaven itself had momentarily lifted its eternal restraining order on him—which would be shocking, considering Lucifer was fairly certain God had put him on a celestial Do Not Call list centuries ago—his phone suddenly chimed. 

A soft bell tone, bright and clear, echoed through the stillness of his dark chamber. The screen lit up, casting a pale glow across his face like moonlight filtering through a stained-glass window. 

Lucifer, sprawled on his bed in a dramatic mess of silk sheets and self-loathing, flipped onto his stomach with the grace of a fallen starfish. He squinted at the screen, his eyes still adjusting to the light. 

A notification pulsed gently at the top: 

He blinked once. 

Then twice. 

And then—pure, unfiltered chaos. 

“HOT DIGGITY DOG! HALLELUJAH!” he howled, startling the infernal crows roosting outside his window. His voice echoed through the chambers like a choir of mad angels. A manic laugh burst from his throat, giddy and frenzied, tumbling out in wild waves. 

He kicked his legs back and forth like an overgrown teenager, gripping his phone like it was a holy relic. “Finally! Finally, something in this godforsaken hellscape is going right!” 

Without wasting another moment, he summoned his notepad app with a flourish, fingers tapping feverishly as he began crafting the ultimate list. Every trait, every nuance, every detail his imaginary perfect partner might possess. 

If this app could deliver what it promised, he’d have four whole days to train this lucky lady in the sacred art of not embarrassing him. Four days to teach her about Charlie, the hotel, his favourite wine, his good side, his better side, and most importantly—how to make it look like they’d been in love for years. 

This was it. 

The lie had grown too large to abandon now. But if he could just pull this off, he wouldn’t have to face that flicker of disappointment in Charlie’s eyes. Maybe she’d never know how hollow the truth really was. 

All he had to do now was find the woman of his manufactured dreams. 

And rehearse one hell of a love story. 

You leaned in gently, pressing a soft kiss to your fake boyfriend’s cheek—a delicate gesture choreographed with practiced ease. His mother stood a few feet away, clutching a rosary like a lifeline, her eyes shining with naive relief. She believed it. She really believed it. Her precious son wasn’t gay—just shy, just particular, just… reserved. 

And that’s all it took. A single kiss. A single illusion. 

It was almost absurd—funny, in that bleak, bitter kind of way that made your chest ache more than your stomach. The mother and son were both damned, both condemned to the fire and rot of Hell, and yet… to her, the only thing that seemed to matter was that her son wasn’t gay. 

Not the endless torment. 

Not the bloodstained skies or the scent of sulphur that clung to everything like guilt. 

Not the screaming, the violence, the centuries of pain. 

No. 

In her mind, the worst possible fate wasn’t damnation. 

It was deviation. 

There was something grotesquely tragic about it. This stubborn clinging to a false sense of morality, this desperate need to preserve some imagined social order even in a realm where rules were shattered and rewritten with every scream. As long as her son was “normal” in her eyes, that was enough. That was her line in the sand. 

You watched her, the way she came over to him and held his hand a little too tightly, the way he forced a smile that barely masked his fatigue. You saw the flinches, the tension in his shoulders, the quiet sadness behind his eyes—because even here, even after everything, he still wasn’t allowed to be himself. 

And it wasn’t your place to say anything. This wasn’t your story to rewrite. You were just a performer in their little play—an actress brought in to deliver a convincing scene and exit stage left. 

Still… 

You couldn’t help but feel the sting in your chest as you showered in her compliments of how her son finally found himself a lovely girlfriend. 

You knew that some prisons weren’t made of bars. 

Some were built from expectations—and love twisted into chains. 

When the charade ended, the two of you parted like actors after a curtain call. The shrimp-like sinner, small, dainty, and practically humming with nervous energy, pulled out his phone and, with trembling fingers, transferred the agreed-upon sum to your account. 

“Thank you so much,” he said, voice fluttering like a hummingbird, delicate and sweet. “She completely fell for it!” 

You smiled warmly, the same customer-service grin you’d mastered over dozens of gigs. “It’s no problem at all! If you're happy with the service, please remember to leave a five-star review!” 

You turned to leave, already mentally checking this job off your list, but something in your chest gave a soft tug. 

A pang. 

A whisper. 

You hesitated. 

“Uhm… Carl?” you called, voice quiet, almost hesitant, as if the words themselves tiptoed past your lips. You weren’t sure if this was the right thing to say, or even your place to say it—but sometimes, when something weighed on your heart, it had to be let out. 

Carl tilted his head, those shiny black eyes wide and curious. “Hm?” 

You placed a hand gently over your chest. “I hope you and Jack can be happy one day.” 

The words hung between you, tender and sincere. 

Then, quickly, you added, “I’m sorry if I overstepped,” wincing slightly, your feet already turning to walk away, retreating before the awkwardness could bloom. 

But just as you stepped out of earshot, you caught a soft whisper carried on the wind like a secret blessing: “Thank you.” 

Your chest tightened—just a little—and you smiled to yourself. 

Another job finished. 

You pulled out your phone, ready to check out, when you noticed several missed messages buzzing in the Rent-A-Girlfriend app. At the top of your screen glowed a tiny pink envelope, sealed with a heart-shaped sticker. It shimmered faintly with golden light as you tapped it open. 

Premium Client. 

The aura of the message alone was enough to tell you one thing: whoever this was, they weren’t just rich—they were seriously desperate. 

You read the request slowly, eyebrows raising with every line. The client was looking for someone… specific. A girlfriend not for a day, not for a date—but for a long-term illusion. Someone who could fake a deep, meaningful relationship with him. Years of fake memories. Shared laughs. Old habits. The kind of familiarity you only get with time. 

He wanted a trial run first. Thirty minutes. One-on-one. 

You blinked. That wasn’t exactly standard. 

Your phone pinged again—this time a new chat invite. A private group with the other Rent-a-Girlfriend workers. You opened it curiously. 

The messages were blowing up: 

You stared at the chat in amused disbelief. Thirty girls, all saying the same thing. This Luci guy? Apparently, unbearable. 

You tilted your head, thinking. 

“Interesting,” you murmured aloud. Only thirty minutes, huh? 

Part of you knew better. The warning signs were right there. 

But then again… you’d always had a hard time turning down someone in need. 

So, you pressed the “Accept” button. 

Just thirty minutes. 

What could go wrong? 

NEXT ->

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[witchhaven]

Self

As I've observed before, not all dolls are the same. Heart, is a cute little service doll, who cleans, and sometimes cooks, making sure I'm in lovely working order. Apple is a companion doll, who's there for the other dolls, growing even close enough to Heart to form a relationship. Thread is a wind-up doll, which I'm not sure about the purpose of, but it does seem to brighten the life of the next one in question. Soul is an example of a combat doll, who's grown past its purpose, living with the others in companionship of them all, much like Apple does.

Today, a new doll approaches me. I feel its steps lift it up to my patio before it even knocks on my door. This doll certainly didn't start as a doll, as I can feel from the implication of experience on its careful footsteps. It wears a button-up shirt, tucked into a black flowing skirt, with a pair of black floral tights underneath, and a pair of glossy black shoes. Enveloping the outfit is a loose fitting flowy black jacket with a dark purple silky lining. Framed by its porcelain-white skin are a pair of similarly dark purple eyes, magnified by a pair of round glasses. In its inky black hair is a white and purple hairpin detailing a luna moth.

Its ball-jointed right hand extends as it gently and politely reaches to knock on the door, stopping as it does this. The extended hand opens as it places its palm gingerly on my front door. It stands there, feeling the wooden surface as its eyes close.

"Ah, you're much like this one, aren't you, house?" The doll smiles as a warm feeling begins to permeate my door, emanating from the doll's hand.

I allow my door to open for Self, knowing exactly the reason why it came to me. It's exactly the same as all the other dolls' reasons, the only difference being the strange nature of its existence, the perception immediately felt in its presence as it carefully continues inside. Once Self has fully entered, it crouches down to remove its shoes and leave them by my door.

It claps its hands together, bowing slightly, "Thank you for allowing its presence."

I could feel the nature of the other dolls as they entered, but Self is a mystery to me. Its presence seems to be engineered to not leave an impact behind, as it carefully and gently steps, and it seems that its mind is much the same. I expect it to make its way to the kitchen much like the other dolls, and eventually find itself in another room for it, which I've already manifested, but it actively heads in the opposite direction, opening a door into a set of bare wooden stares leading into an underground room the other dolls have left yet unopened.

The room is concrete, and once a cord is pulled at the bottom of the stairs, a lightbulb illuminates the space laid bare and empty, with nothing but a closed door on the far corner. Self approaches, gently grasping the door's handle and turning. There's little resistance aside from that of the springs in a typical doorknob, but as Self pushes, the door doesn't seem to budge. Self backs up after some pushing, and retrieves a non-distinct leather-bound black book from its jacket pocket, thumbing through the pages until it lands on a particular one, extending its right hand to the door, and chanting something under its breath.

The nature of this chant, I do not know, but I feel some energy imbue itself into the door, emanating from Self. The energy seems to attempt to rotate the door open under its own impulse, but still the door doesn't budge. Self closes the book and returns it to its jacket pocket. Its brow furrows as it still has yet to find an answer to its unasked question. Perhaps I could find said answer if it would ask, but alas, for now, I must simply wait for it to sleep, where I'll undoubtedly come to its aid, as I have all the dolls who have slept in my embrace.

For now, Self seems to resign, as it backtracks back up the steps, and paces down the hall into the kitchen. In there, it meets the other dolls, who have been sharing tea with idle conversation.

"Ah, hello. This one is Self, sorry for-" Self is interrupted by Apple.

Apple excitedly approaches Self, "A new doll! It's lovely to meet you!"

Introductions go as they tend to, as Self is served tea and properly converses with the dolls present. The conversation continues late into the night, before the new doll is guided by Cream and Sugar to its new bedroom, where it lays down on the soft bed and allows the unconscious to lead it into my embrace. I do my best to envelop it as I share a view into its emotions.

I see a witch, inexperienced, but confident in her ability. She regularly experiments with rituals involving incense and candles, recording her results into a non-distinct black leather-bound journal. In addition, she records the results of many a divination, be it from tarot cards, or a pendulum. I see her detailed drawings depicting her own processes and her notes detailing results and conditions of the rituals themselves. The occasion arrives that the witch feels the need to perform rituals for protection in a living situation she's found herself in. It of course records the conditions, the incantation, and the process, but the result seems to be ineffective. The witch's living situation only becomes more trepidatious before it ends. I watch a world come crumbling down around this witch, leaving a figure kneeling in the middle of the ruins, which I can only assume at first to be her. It's not her though, not really. The witch has gone through a transformation, whether willing or not. What's left in her place is a ball-jointed porcelain doll which once upon a time used to be a witch. Self cries amidst the wreckage of once was, forgetting about recording the result of a ritual, simply weeping and allowing itself to break, in the middle of nothing.

I envelop Self, as I do my best to reach arms around it, and pick it up into a cradle position. I manifest my mouth near its left ear and attempt to whisper to it.

My attempt is met with success, "It's okay... You don't need to hurt anymore..."

[mist1e]

THE SECOND MONTH OF SPRING

𝓜𝓪𝓱𝓲𝓽𝓸 & 𝓡𝓮𝓪𝓭𝓮𝓻

Can human and yōkai share one heart? That's not for me to know. But I do love a good tale.

Tags: Comfort No Hurt, Drabble, No Smut, Soft Mahito

☙ 𝓡𝓮𝓪𝓭 𝓸𝓷 𝓐𝓞3 ❧ ☙ 3052 words ❧

The warm rays of the afternoon sun seeped through the young foliage, dripping down the tree trunks like molten honey. Glints of light scattered along the paths like golden coins, flickering over the glittering facets of granite chips. Nature celebrated its awakening, lavishing people with its treasures: the aquamarine purity of the endless sky, the pearly velvet of sakura petals, the emerald needles of fresh grass chiming in the breeze.

Despite the beauty, Mikamine Park [1]  was nearly empty. A handful of passersby strolled the paths, their laughter sparkling in the sunlight, carried aloft by the warm midday wind.

You tilted your face toward the light and closed your eyes. Unlike summer’s scorching heat, the spring sun only grazed your cheeks and nose with silken fingers, a gentle reunion after winter’s long absence. The cat curled in your lap shared your mood wholeheartedly. He stretched and twisted, presenting his fluffy belly to your hand. Smiling at his effortless mastery of leisure, you ran your fingers through his warm fur, watching them disappear into the thick, plush grey-blue strands. He responded with a contented rumble — his version of a purr. The fact that he didn’t know how to purr properly was endearingly amusing.

“Grandma, look! A kitty cat!”

A little girl in a puff-sleeved pink dress wrenched free from her hunched, gray-haired grandmother and bounded toward your bench. She halted just a step away, staring at the cat sprawled across your thighs.

The old lady shuffled closer, squinting blindly.

“Oh, how marvellous!” she exclaimed with a smile. Her voice creaked like a rocking chair, warm as baked apples. “He won't run away, will he?”

“No, he's tame.”

The cat’s eyes narrowed at your words, his muzzle twisting into an expression of aristocratic disdain. He yawned, then fixed his gaze on the girl. She stood frozen, a wax doll with unblinking black-brown eyes. Her stare was detached, devoid of childish curiosity — unnervingly hollow. You watched her, puzzled. The sunny idyll in your mind fractured with a resounding crack.

Without breaking eye contact with the cat, the girl reached toward him with a small, chubby hand. His claws dug into your knees.

Sensing his tension and driven by the sudden, inexplicable anxiety flaring in your chest, you held up a hand, stopping the girl with a polite gesture.

“Careful — he doesn’t like to be petted. He might scratch you.”

The girl flashed a sharp look at you. Her cold, intense eyes glistened like the backs of two black beetles, stirring an unease deep in your chest. Her grandmother smiled and laid a knotted, parchment-skinned hand on the girl’s shoulder.

“I’m sorry. She just adores kitties. Right, Akane-chan?” The old woman’s voice softened further, syrupy with patience. “Not all animals are trusting, dear. There are evil people in this world — ones who hurt the weak, or those they don’t understand. Some creatures have met such people. Now they’re wary.”

You hesitated, your hand drifting unconsciously to the cat’s head. He sat unnervingly still, ears pricked as if parsing every word. Your thumb stroked the short fur of his forehead, pausing at the base of his warm ear.

The old woman turned to you again.

“He’s lucky to have you. He's been through a lot,” she murmured, nodding at the scars striping his muzzle. “If a cat like that opens its heart to a human, it must have chosen you for a reason. When a soul, human or not, follows you through the storms of life, it is no accident. The gods have tied your threads of fate together.”

Her eyes, watery from old age, lingered on the cat. He held her gaze with a poise that was too human for an animal — patient and understanding, as if curiously waiting for her to continue. The woman’s wrinkled face stilled, her cheer melting into something ancient. The expression of carefree good-naturedness evaporated, and her faded eyes became thoughtful and bottomless, like ice over dark water.

“Kinme ginme, [2]” she whispered. “Could it be that a bakeneko [3]  loves you? If so, if you are protected by the yōkai, [4]  you will be spared any misfortune. But remember, yōkai’s love is fierce. It doesn't fade with time, nor does it forgive betrayal. Not even in death.”

The seriousness of her frail voice made you freeze. Then — just as suddenly — the intensity shattered. The wrinkles around the old woman's eyes came alive again, her lips curling into a harmless smile. The mysterious icy brooding disappeared without a trace, and before you once again stood an ordinary hearty old woman.

“The moon and sun. Water and fire. Shadow and light. Itai dōshin [5]… Can human and yōkai share one heart? That's not for me to know. But I do love a good tale.”

She took the girl’s hand and gave a gentle tug.

“Oh, look at me! I talked your ear off. Let's go, Akane-chan.”

After a few steps down the path, the woman turned back and offered you a slight bow, a cryptic smile lingering on her benevolent face.

Soon, their figures melted into the distance.

“Interesting old lady.”

The quiet, melodious voice pulled your attention away from the distant point where the park path melted into the horizon.

“Yes,” you agreed, smiling as you patted the cat's head. His ears flattened in that funny way they always did when you ruffled his fur. “She figured you out, huh?”

“Many people can sense cursed energy,” the cat drawled thoughtfully, though the twitching tip of his tail gave away his slight irritation. “That woman sees and knows much — but she's wrong about one thing.”

“What's that?”

“The girl doesn't like cats at all.”

Your eyes drifted back to the distance again, to the empty path where the strange black-eyed girl and her grandmother had disappeared.

A sudden gust of wind rippled through the trees lining the walkway. Branches heavy with tufts of velvet flowers swayed drunkenly, sending rose-pearl petals spiraling upward in streams of warm air. Like a flock of restless butterflies, they shimmered in the sunlight before fluttering back to earth, coating the path in a silken carpet of pink.

You sighed and hugged the cat protectively, cuddling him tighter.

“I didn't like how she looked at you,” you admitted. “I didn't want her touching you at all.”

“What a touching concern! I can take care of myself, you know,” the cat grinned, stretching luxuriously before draping one soft paw around your arm. You felt the faintest prick of claws. “But you're right. She has a rather unusual soul.”

“How so?”

The cat didn't answer immediately. How do you put into words something as convoluted, as bizarre, as intricately woven as the human soul? It seemed pointless, like trying to explain colours to someone born blind. But he loved searching for these metaphors, loved finding images that could mirror the visions only he could see. Most of all, he loved the way your eyes widened when he painted them for you.

“It's harsh and lifeless,” he said at last, his quiet voice taking on that urgent, agitated tone it always did when he spoke about the things that fascinated him. “Imagine an abandoned hive — a frail crypt full of dead wasps, with a hole torn right through its centre, as if someone had smashed it with a stick. Except it is gnawed from the inside, as if something had eaten its way out. The edges of the hole are ragged — tattered shreds of withered honeycomb. They quiver like some monstrous maw, sucking in air. And inside…” His tail lashed once. “Inside, in its bottomless womb, there's nothing but suffocating murk.”

He paused, then added softly, almost to himself:

“I wonder what she keeps in that darkness.”

Despite the spring warmth, icy goosebumps crept up your spine. You suddenly felt the urge to scrub your hands raw, as if you'd plunged them into that rotten hive — as if crumbling fragments of dead honeycomb clung to your fingers like decayed parchment.

“I have no idea, and I don't want to know,” you said sharply, shaking your head as if to dislodge the girl's beetle-black eyes and the grotesque vision of her soul. Exhaling slowly, you asked, quieter now, “Do you think she harms animals?”

“I don't think, I know.”

“Why?”

“Because she's a human.”

You understood him better than you wished to. The bitter taste flooding your mouth—the same one that rose whenever you remembered your own scars. The hundreds of little stab wounds pockmarking your soul. But admitting he was right meant accepting the world as it was: filthy, cruel, irredeemable. And you… You still weren't strong enough to live in a world like that without illusions.

“Not all people are animal abusers,” you muttered darkly.

“Not all. But all people are human.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but the cat leapt from your lap, arching his back in a stretch. His whiskers twitched adorably, eyes squeezing shut in feline bliss. When he turned to face you, his expression had soured.

“Let's go deeper into the park,” he grumbled. “Away from prying eyes. Staying a cat for too long makes my skin itch.”

He landed soundlessly on the petal-strewn path, tail held high like a plume of smoke, and began padding forward with liquid grace. Smiling, you followed.

“Mahito, you make a very good cat,” you teased, catching up to him. “Maybe you really are a bakeneko.”

“Keep talking, and I'll transform you into a worm.”

The two of you walked on — a human and a cursed spirit masquerading as a cat — beneath a canopy of sakura branches that hung like cirrus clouds of cream and pink peach. Between the riot of flowers, the occasional unopened bud glowed like a ruby, waiting to erupt at the first warm gust. Everything around you breathed with the light, powdery sweetness of blossoming. Even the silence between your footsteps hummed with that floral whisper. You inhaled deeply, letting spring saturate your lungs. Sunlight filtered through the lacework of leaves, painting shifting gold patterns on your shoulders and the cat's fluffy back. Every few steps, his tail brushed your leg, leaving little ticklish traces of warmth on your skin.

Passersby grew scarcer as you strayed from the park's heart, their curious glances lingering on your odd pairing. Then, guided by some inscrutable instinct, Mahito veered off the path. You followed him through grass that sighed underfoot, past the curved tree trunks. After a couple of minutes, he stopped.

“That's it. No one here.”

You sank to the ground, leaning your back against the gnarled trunk of an ancient sakura tree, your eyes locked on Mahito. To some, his transformations might seem grotesque — even disgusting — but you were endlessly fascinated by the liquid grace of his body. There was something mesmerizing about watching him playfully command form and substance, reshaping himself with a magician's effortless flair.

The cat arched his back and rose onto his hind legs. His claws extended, gleaming briefly before retracting into pink pads that elongated into slender, graceful fingers. Tendons crunched quietly as paws reshaped into hands. Smoke-like fur rippled, stiffened, then dissolved into pale skin as shadows coiled around him. The darkness twisted and flowed, wrapping his form: a black shawl draped over his shoulders, while rustling satin trousers materialized around his long legs. His patterned muzzle stretched, flattening into a face framed by cascading gray-blue strands that shimmered in the sunlight as they spilled down his back. The scars crisscrossing his cheeks and forehead deepened, blooming into vivid crimson. His curved tail coiled into a ring before retracting as if yanked by an invisible string. Last were his eyes — one storm-cloud gray, the other sky-blue — as the slit pupils rounded, becoming ordinary human. Almost human.

A gasp escaped your lips. Only then did you realize you'd been holding your breath, utterly spellbound by the impossible metamorphosis.

Mahito scratched his scalp impatiently, tousling his hair.

“I'm all itchy!” he whined, flopping onto the grass beside you with the petulance of a spoiled child who had been denied an ice-cream, which was awfully cute. Without ceremony, he dropped his head into your lap, pouting up at you through his lashes. “Scratch me now,” he demanded, closing his eyes.

You grinned, threading your fingers through the silk of his hair that pooled across your knees. Your nails traced light paths over his scalp, and the weight of his head pressed warm and comforting against your thighs. Mahito emitted a satisfied hum — infinitely better than his attempted purrs in feline form. His hair slipped through your fingers like quick, cool streams.

Behind you, the tree's rough bark scraped faintly through your shirt. The leaves rustled overhead, and through their shivering whisper, golden sunlight streamed in, scattering shimmering glints across the grass. The wind ruffled the petals, tossing them into the air, only for them to drift down reluctantly, clinging sleepily to the sharp tips of the grass blades.

“Mahito?”

“Hmm?” He cracked one eye open, lazy as a sun-drunk cat.

“Why don't you ever tell me what my soul is like?”

A sigh escaped him, barely audible. Your soul… He saw it as clearly as your eyes — the dark amber that froze a cautious hope. As clearly as the timid arch of your brows, the charming wrinkle they pressed above the bridge of your nose. Like the curve of your lips, whose subtle shifts had taught him to read the words you never spoke aloud.

Oh, he could tell you volumes about your soul.

He could say it resembled an old teacup — its once-cheerful pattern of wildflowers now faded against porcelain sides. Abandoned, it still retained the warmth from the last sip of summer herb tea, long since drunk. Countless cracks webbed across its white surface. It had been broken many, many times. Here and there he saw unhealed chips exposing porous edges dulled by time. Somewhere a small piece was missing, a shard lost forever. But every fracture glowed with the golden sap of lacquer tree that flowed along the jagged lines like liquid sunshine. He could spend hours tracing those magnificent scars with his fingers. They were beautiful, like all things that shouldn't have survived — yet somehow did.

He could try to describe its iridescence — shifting from blue to purple, to red, to yellow, to green and back to blue, as if someone spilled oil into a puddle left on the wet asphalt after a rainstorm. Colours bled into one another, cutting patterns with razor-edged clarity, transforming with every swing of your mood. You were azure in surprise, peachy in laughter, emerald bordering on jade in contemplation. But Mahito's favourite hue was the rarest of all: dirty pomegranate. Dark, nearly black bubbles swelled and burst like plague buboes, splattering blood-red across the other shades. When he touched those spots, he heard you crying. Old tears, long dried and forgotten, yet their echo still resonated through your soul — a ghostly wail that no longer remembered its origin, lingering only as a phantom ache.

He could reveal its most intimate core — a heavy bud on a fragile suede stem, swaying helplessly in the wind, straining for sunlight or rain. When Mahito first touched your soul, he’d been certain the slender stalk would snap under the slightest pressure. Yet instead of recoiling, it reached for him. He felt a prick. Then another. And another. What he had mistaken for a curious weed was in fact a thorned flower, its spikes digging greedily into his emptiness. Enthralled, he collected those thorns like jewels, embedding them in his flesh. Poisonous shoots took root in his burning veins, turning his blood thick and heavy, like honey laced with arsenic. Your tenderness was a toxin he couldn't purge now without tearing his body in half. Every touch left kiss-shaped burns; he studied them with admiration and wore them with pride. Your love flooded his throat like a thick mass of black water — dense, suffocating, saline. He thrashed, choking on its weight. The worst part? He adored drowning in it.

He could have told you about your soul. But how would you understand? You were only human.

“Look,” Mahito squinted, raising a hand to point skyward, “see that cloud?”

“What cloud?” You twisted to follow his gaze. “The blotchy one?”

“No, to the left. The one like a jumping llama.” He tsked impatiently, nudging you lightly with his elbow. “There's the ear — you can't see the other one — and there's the snout, reaching up. See?”

Tilting your head sideways, you squinted, trying to see the jumping llama in the fluffy marshmallow of shapeless clouds.

“Well…” you hedged. “There is something to it…”

“That's your soul. It's like this cloud.”

“Mahito!..”

You swatted his hand and furrowed your eyebrows in annoyance. Mahito laughed — bright as a glass bell — then, impulsively, braced on one elbow and pressed his lips to yours.

You froze in surprise. Time stuttered, and the floral spring air around you thickened like syrup. Sakura petals danced like pink snowflakes, forgetting gravity as they swirled in place, hesitant to fall. Velvet warmth spilled through your chest, liquefying your limbs with each heartbeat until you sagged against him, surrendering. Eyes closed, you drowned in that kiss as if in a dream.

After a small eternity, your lips parted, but he didn't pull away. His breath burned warm against your skin, his mocking face so close his nose nearly brushed yours. Mahito arched an eyebrow as he studied your expression — the peachy blush spreading across your cheeks betraying you completely.

“You won't escape my questions that easily, you know,” you mumbled, flustered.

“Of course not,” he grinned, settling back into your lap. “Remember what old woman said? You’re under a yōkai’s protection. Until death!” His voice dropped to a playful growl. “And mark me — I'm a vindictive bakeneko. Run away from me, and I'll hunt you down and torture you even in the afterlife.”

To emphasize his point, he contorted his face into a mock-menacing glare: eyebrows knotted threateningly, nose wrinkled, lips pursed in exaggerated sternness. The act crumbled when you laughed, throwing your head back. His face broke into a sly grin, and soon his laughter — boyishly tinkling — twined with yours, spilling carefree into the warm, honeyed air.

It was the second month of spring. The whole summer still waited ahead.

────────────────────────

[1] Mikamine Park — 三神峯公園 — A park in Sendai City where you can admire hundreds of cherry blossom trees in full bloom during April. [2] Kinme Ginme — 金目銀目 — Literally "gold eye, silver eye," a term used for cats (and sometimes characters) with one yellow and one blue eye. Refers to heterochromia, or "odd eyes." [3] Bakeneko — 化け猫 — A shapeshifting yōkai that takes the form of a cat and possesses magical abilities. [4] Yōkai — 妖怪 — Supernatural beings in Japanese folklore, encompassing a vast variety of creatures and spirits. [5] Itai Dōshin — 異体同心 — "Different bodies, one mind." A phrase symbolizing harmony in diversity: even if people appear different, their hearts and goals can be united.

[project-sekai-facts]

The cards from the Where is ♡? set contain multiple references to previous Mafuyu event card sets. By far the most obvious reference is the mask that originally appeared as part of her Masquerade Doll costume / Captive Masquerade trained 4* card (right). The mask reappears in Mafuyu's My True Feelings card (left), although it has now been broken in half, alluding to her dropping her metaphorical mask in front of her mother.

Another obvious similarity is the strings in both cards. Mafuyu's Captive Masquerade card originates from her first event, Captive Marionette, in which she subconsciously associates herself with a marionette doll she sees in an exhibit, causing her to have a panic attack. She sees herself in the marionette doll because of how her mother treats her like a puppet - every aspect of her life is controlled by her mother pulling the strings. Her My True Feelings card originates from the Saying Goodbye to My Masked Self event, in which she finally stands up to her mother and ultimately runs away, hence why she is shown cutting the strings in the art.

While hard to tell, it seems as though the background in the My True Feelings card may be based on or even be the same location as the cards from the Ball of the Marionettes set. It's easiest to tell by comparing the background to the windows and pillars from Miku's trained Severed Threads 4* card.

Kanade's trained Embracing Your Trembling Back With Kindness 4* card features ivy covering most of the objects in the card, including the strings. This appears to be a reference to the cards from the Nursing my ES set, the set from Mafuyu's previous unit event, Guiding a Lost Child to What Lies Beyond. In this event, the N25 story began to focus on Mrs Asahina's influence over Mafuyu's life, and the ivy growing over everything may be representative of this. There appears to be some ivy on the objects in Mafuyu's My True Feelings card, but it is hard to tell for certain because the background is out of focus.

Kanade, Ena and Mizuki's cards from the Where is ♡? set feature a crystal heart-shaped apple object. This is a reference to the cards from the Snow White in Oblivion set, which featured a smaller version of this item as a charm on all the costumes. Mafuyu's card from this set is also notable for featuring the first physical appearance of Mrs. Asahina (albeit with her face obscured on both the trained and untrained version of the card). The event this set originates from, Mirage of Lights, was referenced in Saying Goodbye to My Masked Self.

Finally, all of the cards from the Where is ♡? set feature furniture scattered around. This was also a common feature in the Ball of the Marionettes set. While the items of furniture in the latter set are rather generic fancy chairs and such, the objects in the Where is ♡? set appear to be mainly household items and pretty standard furniture, likely alluding to how Mafuyu feels trapped and overwhelmed by her home life.

[quinnydoll]

a little announcement while you're passing through

heya, this doll has noticed that lately it's getting a LOT of notes, on reblogs and original posts alike. it doesn't wanna drag this on too too long, but it would really appreciate if you'd consider supporting it if you're able.

of course, anyone enjoying its content doesn't have an obligation to support it in any way more than simply enjoying its content, and if you're already in a bad situation, you should prioritize your own safety, but that goes without saying. that said, not all methods of supporting this doll involve monetary actions

that said, this doll's in a bad situation itself. it's recently run out of HRT, and doesn't have the income or current funds to buy more. it is disabled, so employment is a challenge. even with that in mind, nowhere around it is hiring, it checked.

first off, it would like to call out the main thing it does that you can actually help it gain an income without even necessarily spending any money, as long as you're cool with sitting through ads. it streams on Twitch! it's a vtuber/variety streamer, and we have a lot of fun on stream. if that's your kinda thing, you can click here to visit its Twitch channel. all views and follows are appreciated, and if you like its content enough and can afford it, it super appreciates subs!

if you're willing to take a little bit more direct action to helping it out, there's always its StreamElements tip page! this is a relatively secure way you can just throw money at it if you feel so inclined. if you do, click here

it's also willing to do pixel arts and stuff, which we can discuss in DMs if you're willing to message it for that, it's also done stream overlays before, and aside from a pending project which the client is still making decisions on, its queue is pretty empty at the moment!

finally, it would like to direct your view to something that it's been doing which hasn't really been offering it any monetary gain, but it's offered a lot of personal satisfaction and it's actually really enjoyed writing: The Dolls' House! this is a writing project that the Empty Spaces community seems to be loving, and the more it sees individuals react to, the more it's actually somewhat confident in its own writing ability. if you wanna read at your own leisure, you can just click here, but this one will also put an official order of chapters down below: Chapter 1: Heart Chapter 2: Apple Chapter 3: Cream and Sugar Chapter 4: Heart's Proposal Chapter 5: Two Of A Kind Chapter 6: Soul Chapter 7: Stargazing Chapter 8: Thread Chapter 9: Tea Party Chapter 10: Self Chapter 11: The Dreams of Soul Chapter 12: Delivery Class S-260-7

this chapter list may be updated later on, as The Dolls' House is still an ongoing story, and the first arc is only just now on its 3rd act as of Chapter 10

[luxmoogle]

Different Anon, but to the one who gushed about Poison Apple and said the lore seemed intimidating: well, it's a little convoluted thanks to the retcons and twists but it's honestly more of a fandom joke to be angry or confused over what's going on.

It's also hilarious to explain this stuff to nonfans as they stare in growing horror as you explain the matryoshka dolls that are Sora's Heart and to a lesser degree Riku's Heart.

Personally I think the main problem is the lack of suspension of belief these days. There's been a growing trend of needing to dissect everything to atoms and all of it to match perfectly, when often the creators themselves don't even remember all the details, but it doesn't matter that much in fantasy if the tone and core structure of said fantasy is intact.

The core themes stay the same, the red thread is intact.

[reijisteacup]

Can you do a day in the life of Ichigo and Azusa in their little cottagecore life 😊 it can either be angst or wholesome

AWEE SO CUTEEE LOVE <33

=================================================================================================

The sky is pale when Ichigo stirs — not quite blue, not quite grey, the kind of morning that feels like cotton stretched over old wounds. She opens her eyes to the sound of the wind brushing against the curtains, the scent of dew on moss and the faintest iron tinge that never quite leaves Azusa’s skin. He’s already awake, seated beside her on their futon, tracing the stitching on the patchwork blanket with quiet reverence — as if he’s memorizing the seams of their fragile peace. “You were… making sounds again,” he says softly, not accusing, just acknowledging. Ichigo nods slowly, wiping her eyes. Her dreams still cling to her ribs like wet fabric — ghosts in ruffles, screams under lullabies. She doesn't need to tell him what she saw. He already knows. He offers her his hand, palm scarred and trembling slightly, and she takes it. Their fingers lock — not perfectly, but permanently.

Downstairs, the cottage is warm. Light filters through dried herbs hanging in bundles near the window — lavender, mugwort, rosemary. A kettle hisses gently, already prepared. Azusa must have risen early again. He stands barefoot on the cool wooden floor, humming tunelessly as he slices apples for breakfast. “I thought… if we made something sweet, it might chase away… the dark.” Ichigo watches him carefully arrange the slices into a quiet spiral on a chipped ceramic plate. She loves the way he treats everything — food, her, himself — with fragile seriousness, as if it might all fall apart if he breathes too hard. They eat slowly at the kitchen table, surrounded by vines, mismatched teacups, and the purring of a stray cat that’s decided they belong to her. Azusa watches Ichigo closely when she lifts her tea. He always does — not possessively, but protectively. As if waiting for the moment the cup becomes too heavy, or her hands begin to shake. Sometimes she does the same for him.

By midday, they’re in the garden. Ichigo wears a wide hat with a pink ribbon, kneeling in the soil with dirt-streaked gloves. Azusa is beside her, sleeves rolled up, thorns pricking his arms where he reaches too deep. He doesn’t flinch. He never does. “You could wear the gloves, Azusa.” “…But then I couldn’t… feel it. The sting means… I’m here.” They plant sweet peas, black dahlias, moonflowers. Azusa says the night-blooming ones remind him of her — something soft that only survives in the dark. Ichigo presses her muddy fingers to his cheek. “And you’re like a bleeding heart. You open too wide. But it’s beautiful.” He looks down, smiling faintly. His lashes flutter. She sees the pink of his joints, and for a moment, she swears he looks more porcelain than flesh. Like a doll who’s learned how to live.

Later, they walk to the river. They collect smooth stones, fallen feathers, little bones. Azusa clasps a pale butterfly in his hands and whispers to it before letting it go. He never asks her to forget what they’ve been through. He never asks her to pretend. He only asks: “Do you still want… to stay?” And every time, Ichigo says: “Yes. With you.” At night, they fall asleep to the sound of the wind chimes outside. Azusa wraps his arms around her loosely, careful not to squeeze too hard. His lips are by her ear when he says it, like a ritual: “If you wake up screaming… I’ll still be here.” And she replies: “If you disappear, I’ll find you again.” Outside, the stars blink over the cottage like old wounds healed with gold thread. They are broken things, stitched back together with moss and wildflowers and blood — but they are still here.

And that is enough.

[imasloid]

SHINY COLORS FASHION ANALYSIS: Kiriko Yukoku (幽谷霧子)

"It's not that I have an injury, but... the reason I'm wearing these bandages is… a secret."

This is a project analyzing and taking a look at the fashion design and application in the multimedia series, The IDOLM@STER: Shiny Colors. This section is about the mysterious and soft-spoken bandaged girl of the series, Kiriko Yukoku! If you want to jump to a specific section, go here!

(This is a reprint of my thread on Twitter. I put it on Tumblr for easier reading and for archiving purposes. Enjoy!)

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INTRODUCTION

“Kiriko is a silver-haired girl who exudes a mysterious atmosphere, most notable by her ephemeral nature and being wrapped in bandages. Soft-spoken but kind-hearted. She is very empathetic, sensitive, and interacts with the world around her in a very peculiar way. ”

---

Profile

Age: 17

Birthday: September 23rd

Height: 160 cm

Weight: 51 kg

Blood Type: AB

Hometown: Fukushima

Hobbies: Collecting cute things, handcrafts, blood donation

Special Skills: Wrapping bandages beautifully, stepping silently, peeling apples

CV: Yuina Mizuki

---

Before starting the analysis, I would suggest if you haven’t already, read her W.I.N.G. (introductory) commu (through the broswer game's English patch or on YouTube). If you don’t play the game, I would listen to her image song and read the lyrics to get a better sense of her character.

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STYLE BREAKDOWN

Kiriko’s fashion style takes great influence from girly-kei fashion, a feminine style that emphasizes cuteness. However, Kiriko turns it into her own by making it more casual, desaturated, and minimalistic, fitting her mysterious, dollish, ghost-like first impression.

Before going into fashion influences, Kiriko has doll-like qualities that aren’t clothing-related that synergize well with her simple design like porcelain skin & light, natural makeup. The attributes listed here combine with her dolly clothing to make her look like a mannequin.

Girly-kei fashion is the main influence on Kiriko’s style, following a common silhouette and typical elements of the style, like ribbons, lace, and heeled dress shoes. She makes it her own by dressing the style down as well as simplifying the outfit composition and silhouette.

Many of Kiriko’s coords take common elements from other girly-kei subtypes leading to a versatile but reined-in wardrobe. Though the style inspirations are varied, a consistent silhouette and repeated bijou elements like ribbons, frills, and ruffles unite her looks.

Another prominent influence on Kiriko’s style is “classical,” an adult, elegant fashion inspired by film actresses of the 1940s-1970s. It comprises of layering basics and a balance of both bold and natural colors, bringing out Kiriko’s mysterious elegance in a less dollish way.

Preppy influence in Kiriko’s wardrobe is easily seen in the her early outfits and forms her usual silhouette & outfit composition that’s seen as the foundation of many of her outfits. Though it really defines her early wardrobe, the influence is more subtle in her later outfits.

Her bandages are a huge part of her identity & how she presents herself. Kiriko doesn’t wear them for fashion reasons or having a fragile body, but they act as a “good luck charm” for her extreme anxiety. It also ties back to her dollish demeanor and how she lives at a hospital.

Kiriko’s image color is an icy light blue, perhaps relating to her mental fragility and her use of bandages. It’s a very dreamy and ephemeral color and synergizes with her doll-like lightness and girly elegance.

Kiriko’s color palette comprises primarily of dull & light neutrals used as a foundation for most of her outfits. This palette often either colors the whole outfit or takes a back seat to a secondary palette of vibrant cool tones and grays.

-----

STYLE ANALYSIS

Kiriko auditioned at the production to be an idol to “boost her self-confidence” and improve her timid nature. When Producer asks her about her bandages, she lies and said she “bumped into something.” Kiriko says putting them on makes her feel at peace.

Kiriko’s name in kanji (幽谷霧子) contains the character “幽 (yu)” commonly attributed with the word for ghost “幽霊 (yuurei)” and the character “霧 (kiri)” meaning “fog” or “mist.” As such, Kiriko is most known for her fragile and ephemeral appearance.

As touched on in the last section, Kiriko has many qualities that make her feel like a living doll. This sentiment is shared by the other members of L’antica, often complimenting her and how just looking at Kiriko makes them feel “at peace.”

Many of her earlier outfits had her outfits in the same silhouette, like a fashion mannequin, with a collared top and flared above-the-knee-length skirt. Before major development, she was characterized with this dollish silhouette in the beginning.

Also mentioned in the previous section, Kiriko is a huge worrywart: constantly anxious about other’s physical and emotional states and very sensitive to how others interact with her. She tends to bite her tongue and finds it hard to speak freely to others.

Her extreme anxiety isn’t limited to just people, but also real-life events and even inanimate objects’ feelings. As stated before, her bandages are a “talisman” Kiriko uses to calm herself down and “protect” her before she gets “injured” by her pangs of unease.

The frequency and size of her bandages have a direct relation to how much her anxieties are hindering her, bigger size & higher frequency relating to a weaker mental state. Kiriko wore them constantly, but as her character got developed she started relying on them less & less.

She only wears her forehead bandage and sometimes even doesn’t wear any at all in her most recent cards, showing her growth in how she interacts with her anxiety. To add, Kiriko has never been “ashamed” of her bandages either and considers them a part of her identity.

Her bandages also relate to her medical background with both of her parents being doctors, living in hospital dormitory housing, having a hobby of donating blood, and often volunteering at said hospital. Her main color palette of whites/light grays also relate to this.

Kiriko is also very smart to where her career advisor encouraged her to become a medical professional. She is a methodical person with a sharp memory; her preppy influences in her fashion also call back to this as well.

Another trait about Kiriko is her “ephemeral” and “fantastical” aura like that of a fairy-tale character. Some things she does are personify inanimate objects, have vivid daydreams that tend to bleed into reality, and having a very surreal sense of humor.

Though she has notable anxiety, Kiriko’s personality is simple, positive, and tends to see the good in the world and in others (which is why she worries so much about everything). She is easily awestruck and has a high sense of wonder for the world.

Her fashion really suits that side of her personality well with lots of hazy, muted colors, soft fabrics, light textures, bijou detailing, and flowy and oversized clothing pieces. It makes the viewer feel like they’re also in one of her daydreams.

Kiriko’s fashion evolution is subtle, but you can see how her style influences change in the beginning, middle, and end as her character develops. Though her fashion changes, her dollish, plush, mysterious, and dreamy aura stays intact.

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This is it for Kiriko Yukoku!

If you liked this thread, check out my Twitter and give me a tip on Ko-Fi so I can do more things like this with other idol series! Thanks for reading <3

Next section: Houkago Climax Girls

[newmusicradionetwork]

After topping South African charts with his infectious single ‘Opposites’, singer-songwriter Ross Learmonth has unveiled an equally charismatic music video—bringing the song’s spirited contradictions to life in vivid, topsy-turvy fashion. Blending heart-on-sleeve storytelling with anthemic pop-rock flair, Ross Learmonth’s sound sits comfortably alongside artists like Hozier, Harry Styles, Imagine Dragons, Jeremy Loops, and Matthew Mole—balancing raw emotional weight with vibrant hooks and layered production. His solo work has already earned widespread acclaim across South African media, with singles ‘Honey’, ‘Because of You’, and ‘Opposites’ all charting on some of the country’s biggest radio stations and landing major Apple Music playlists. His signature sound—anchored in powerful vocals and thoughtful lyrics—is driven by a rich pallet of instrumentation, including guitar, piano, synths, drums, and bass, offering a dynamic yet grounded listening experience that resonates across borders. This music video finds Learmonth navigating the whims of love inside South Africa’s real-life Upside Down House in Hartbeespoort. It’s a striking and symbolic setting that mirrors the lyrical theme: that sometimes, the people who challenge us most are also the ones who bring us the most growth. “The song was loosely inspired by my parents’ relationship—and my own,” Ross explains. “It’s about the idea that opposites can attract and create something unexpectedly beautiful.” The visuals cleverly invert gravity, with Ross cooking breakfast on the ceiling, brushing his teeth sideways, and being literally turned on his head by romance. The quirky concept leans into the playful tone of the track, but there’s a deeper thread too—one that acknowledges the chaos, vulnerability, and unexpected harmony that often come with real relationships. With a busy year already under way—sharing stages with Mafikizolo, opening for The Goo Goo Dolls, and appearing at RMB Starlight Classics—Ross is showing no signs of slowing down. Whether you’re a fan from his Prime Circle days or discovering him anew through his solo catalogue, ‘Opposites’ is a bold, bright reminder of Ross Learmonth’s unique perspective—and his ability to make you feel it, upside-down or otherwise. Follow Ross Learmonth:🌐 Website📷 Instagram🎵 Spotify Photo by Tegan Smith Read the full article

[kamalkantgarg]

Cute & Creepy: Chibi and Horror Anime Embroidery Ideas

Anime embroidery has captured the hearts of both fans and crafters, blending creativity with pop culture. Among the most beloved categories are chibi (cute, small) and horror-themed anime designs. The contrast of adorable expressions and chilling aesthetics creates a unique craft space for embroidery lovers. Whether you're a beginner or a seasoned stitcher, exploring both ends of this spectrum can elevate your embroidery game.

From anime designs by hand to anime designs machine-stitched on your favorite garments, this blog dives into the vibrant and spooky world of anime embroidery. We’ll guide you through anime designs patterns, suggest ideas for T-shirts, anime designs for handkerchief, dresses, and even suits. So grab your thread and hoop—it's time to stitch some emotion into your art.

1. Chibi Cuties: Small Designs with Big Personality

Chibi anime characters are known for their oversized heads, sparkling eyes, and adorable demeanor. They make perfect anime designs simple enough for beginners but cute enough for experts to appreciate.

Popular Chibi Embroidery Ideas:

Naruto in a chibi fox costume

Chibi Sailor Moon with embroidered sparkles

My Hero Academia characters in mini versions

Chibi Demon Slayer heroes with expressive faces

Where to Embroider These Designs:

Use chibi anime designs on shirt pockets or jacket sleeves

Stitch chibi anime designs for handkerchief sets for gifting

Decorate tote bags or hats with chibi expressions

These designs work especially well in a hoop. For those starting out, anime designs hoop projects can help build confidence and showcase your finished art beautifully. Whether done by hand or machine, chibi embroidery is a great entry point to anime-themed stitching.

2. Horror Aesthetics: When Anime Gets Chilling

Love the dark side? Horror anime like Tokyo Ghoul, Another, and Parasyte offer thrilling anime designs pattern ideas. These can include blood splatters, eerie eyes, or symbols like cursed seals and masks.

Creepy Embroidery Themes:

Ghoul eyes with red pupils from Tokyo Ghoul

Bleeding mouth from Another

Stitching horror motifs with anime designs chain stitch

Possessed doll patterns and haunted symbols

These anime designs for T-shirts are bold statements—perfect for fans who appreciate edgy fashion. Use black thread on white shirts for dramatic contrast, or try glow-in-the-dark thread for an eerie effect. Combine these anime designs blouse elements with gothic accessories for a Halloween-ready outfit.

Bonus Idea: Horror anime anime designs border stitched on jacket cuffs or hoodie hems offer a subtle but chilling detail.

3. Mixing Styles: Chibi Meets Horror

The fusion of cute and creepy opens doors for more creative anime designs patterns. Imagine a chibi version of a horror character—still spooky, but with an adorable twist. These are ideal for people who want to stand out with one-of-a-kind embroidery.

Example Mashups:

Chibi Sadako (from The Ring) crawling out of a cute TV

Mini Ryuk (from Death Note) holding an apple with sparkles

Adorable Chainsaw Man stitched with hearts and glittery chains

Creative Stitch Techniques:

Use satin stitch for cute faces and backstitch for horror elements

Try anime designs chain stitch to add texture to horror details

Hoop art using contrast—light pink thread on black fabric

These hybrid anime designs on shirt or jackets are conversation starters and great for Instagram-worthy embroidery pictures. Play with colors and expressions to balance the tone between terrifying and charming.

4. Fashion with a Stitch: Anime Designs on Clothing

Anime embroidery isn’t just an art—it’s a fashion statement. Applying anime designs for T-shirts, anime designs suit, and even anime designs blouse brings fan art into your everyday wardrobe.

Ideas for Clothing Projects:

Chibi characters on oversized sweatshirts

Horror symbols on denim jeans or jackets

Anime designs on shirt collars, sleeves, or hems

Add anime designs flowers around characters for a stylish twist

Elegant anime designs peacock elements for fusion wear

Pro Tip: Use iron-on stabilizers for stretch fabrics. And if you're a beginner, choose anime designs simple like a small chibi face or flower motif to avoid puckering.

Want something extra? Pair your embroidered top with matching patches on bags, hats, or shoes for a full anime-inspired outfit.

5. Home Decor Goes Otaku: Anime Designs for Interiors

Why should clothes have all the fun? Turn your space into an anime haven with embroidery in decor. Hoop art, cushion covers, curtains, and even framed wall pieces can bring your favorite fandoms to life.

Top Ideas for Decor Projects:

Chibi anime designs hoop portraits for wall decor

Anime designs pictures stitched on throw pillow covers

Use horror themes for spooky Halloween-themed wall art

Add anime designs border to cushion edges

Embroidered table mats featuring anime designs peacock or flowers for elegance

DIY Tips:

Choose canvas or linen fabric for better structure

Go for anime designs machine embroidery for large-scale projects

Use multicolor threads for dynamic shading and effects

If you're a handmade business enthusiast, these anime designs by hand make fantastic gift items. From cute to creepy, anime embroidery can breathe life into every corner of your home.

6. Accessories & Mini Projects: Big Style in Small Packages

Small accessories let you showcase your favorite characters without committing to large-scale pieces. Try anime designs for handkerchief, pouches, keychains, and even face masks.

Accessory Embroidery Projects:

Tiny chibi faces for earrings or brooches

Horror anime eyes embroidered on coin purses

Anime designs suit lapel pins for subtle geek chic

Anime designs chain stitch initials or motifs for bags

Great Patterns to Try:

Mini floral anime designs flowers around chibi characters

Anime designs pattern for hearts, stars, or masks

Stitch anime designs blouse necklines with tiny motifs

These are excellent for beginners who want quick wins and perfect for gifting. Add them to bookmarks, phone cases, or even hand towels—tiny stitches, huge impact.

Conclusion: Stitch Your Fandom with Style

From anime designs on shirt to full horror-themed home decor, the blend of cute chibi and creepy horror anime embroidery gives you limitless creative freedom. Whether you use a hoop, your hands, or a machine, each stitch tells a story of passion and fandom.

With so many anime designs pictures and inspirations available online, it’s easy to find a pattern that suits your skill level and style. Want a peacock pattern with a chibi twist? Or a simple border with a Chainsaw Man cameo? Anything is possible when anime meets embroidery.

So grab your floss, sketch out your favorite anime designs patterns, and let your needle do the storytelling. Whether cute, creepy, or a bit of both—you’re stitching a masterpiece that’s truly yours.

[antihibikase-archive]

last supper.

It’s a scene that repeats in your dreams ever since that fateful day where you lost your heart.

The dreams were fleeting, always disappearing before your very eyes as you made your choice between the red apple and the tattered doll on the table.

 A red ribbon is wrapped around your neck, with each passing second suffocating you the longer you tried to stall.

The doppelganger before you insists on the apple. He always does.

Your choice is the same every night. You follow what he tells you, unquestioning and afraid, and your dream ends the moment you bite down into the fruit.

Tonight, however, the air is heavy and the ribbon around your neck is tighter.

Momentarily, your hand hovers over the fruit, and he eggs you on.

He’s caught off guard when your hand shifts to the doll instead, damp and dirtied, cold and unloved. 

Its fabric is coarse and its colors have faded. The small head of hair made from torn yarn feels dry and rough, and one of the button eyes have long since disappeared.

“Why?” 

His tone isn’t angry. 

It never was.

It was always gentle and full of unconditional love, and you knew deep down that he only wants what he thought was best for you.

But in the end, he wasn’t you, and you weren’t him.

This was your choice.

“It has no heartbeat,” Your voice is small, like you were a child again. “But it doesn’t mean it’s undeserving of love.”

Your doppelganger sounds like he’s about to cry, taking the apple into his palms and pressing it close to your chest. “Please, I beg you. If this is the only way that you’ll get to live a normal life again, then-”

“I can’t go back to how things used to be,” Though you seek the truth, you know you’re not one to remain rooted in the past. “And I can’t reclaim what I’ve lost. But all I can do for myself now is to accept it, right?”

You hold the doll closer to yourself.

If you take the apple now, eating it until only the core remains, there was no guarantee that you would be the one who would wake up in the morning. 

He means well. 

He always has.

But he doesn’t push further when he hears your resolve.

He glances at the red apple in his palms as it melts into an inky blank goo, spilling onto the marble floors of the dining hall. 

The ribbon on your neck tightens, but even as tears form in the corners of your eyes, you have no regrets.

“It’s always better to die as yourself, huh?” He chuckles bitterly, pressing his hands together in a praying position. “Then I’ll support you as I’ve always had. It’s been nice spending time with you, Slater.”

“Cheren,” You say as your eyes close, drawing your final breath. “My name is Cheren.” 

The thread tightens and tightens, and your vision goes black as you fall into the floor and sink into the growing puddle, where The Heart starts to chant a prayer for you.

[sweeterthanthis]

I’ve Got You

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Warnings: Explicit sexual content, mentions of alcohol, tooth rotting fluff, a sprinkling of angst, unprotected sex, oral f/receiving. 18+.

Word Count: 3k+

A/N: Thanks to @msmarvelwrites for looking over this for me, helping me tweak it and freaking out over it just as much as I did. And to @ozarkthedog for reading it through when I could no longer do words because I’d been staring at it for so long. You’re both awesome.

GIFS not mine. Credit to whoever made them. Found on Google. This was originally a Kinktober submission, but the fluff waaay overtook the kink so here we are.

“C’mon Bucky, its Halloween! You have to dress up, I don’t make the rules.” She pleaded, bouncing up and down on the spot a little for dramatic effect. “Really, I don’t. Tony said you have to. You know what his parties are like.” 

He cringed, remembering the fuss his Ma used to make every October 31st.

“It’s Halloween James, and we will take our joy where we can find it.” She used to say.

He gulped down the sting in the back of his throat, shaking his head from side to side as if to rid himself of the bittersweet nostalgia.

“Look, here this is perfect.” She beamed, holding out the packaged costume for him to take.

“You’re kidding, right?” Bucky huffed, cocking an eyebrow at her. She shook her head side to side gleefully, fingers clasped together in excitement.

“Please, it’ll go perfectly with mine. Do this for me Bucky, please?”

How could he say no to those doe eyes? The way she stuck out her bottom lip for effect had his heart clenching in his chest. Fuck, he adored her. Adored the way she knew just how to wrap him round her little finger, just like that.

Bucky wondered if she had any idea how besotted he was, how long he’d been pushing down his feelings in fear of not being good enough. No, it wasn’t a fear. It was a fact. She was precious, and pure – something he could never bring himself to tarnish.  

“That’s playing dirty, doll. You know I can’t say no to those puppy eyes. What are you dressing up as, anyways?”

“It’s Halloween Bucky,” she scoffed, “it’s the one day of the year I can dress like a slutty schoolgirl and nobody bats an eye. Wanna help me make the Jell-O shots?”

“Bucky? Hello, earth to Bucky?”

He couldn’t speak, eyes gaze locked onto her bare midriff, raking down over the tiny little red, pleated skirt that sat mid-thigh. His lips parted, but no words slipped out. The knee-high socks adorning her legs had his cock twitching beneath his own costume.

Bucky didn’t know what he’d been expecting, but it certainly wasn’t that. She looked sexy as hell, and he’d never wanted a girl more.

“What?” He croaked.

Her hands perched on her hips, cleavage peeking out over the low neckline of the scrap of cotton material covering her chest.

“I said, thank you! For wearing the costume, I mean. You look awesome.” 

There was a little hitch in her tone, not that he noticed. He had no idea how she felt, and she held no desire to tell him. What would the worlds deadliest assassin want with Tony Stark’s admin clerk? 

“Well, I mean you didn’t really leave me much choice doll. Remind me why I look like my third grade teacher again?” 

She couldn’t help but giggle, taking in the sight of him dressed as a school master from the 1930′s. Long, black robes covered his solid form, but it did nothing to deter her from wondering what he might be wearing underneath. The thought of her favourite black Henley stretched across those beautiful muscles made her thighs clench.

Ruffling his hair, thick tousles threading through her fingertips, she shoved down her love sick thoughts, hooking her arm through his and leading him towards the table in the corner, gently pushing their way through the gathering crowd.

“You ever bobbed for apples, Bucky?” 

He looked at her then, the widest smile plastered across his face. 

“Oh doll, I’m about to kick that pretty ass.” 

His eyes widened at the sound of the words falling from his lips, unable to engage his brain before his mouth kicked in first. She simply turned her head, the softest smile gracing her glossy lips as she spoke. 

“You think my ass is pretty, Sir?”

She spotted the blood rushing to his stubbled cheeks, the way he shuffled uncomfortably next to her, his eyes locking onto the luxurious carpet beneath his feet  --  a little flutter of hope rising in her belly that maybe, just maybe, her affections weren’t entirely one sided. 

“Bucky, I was just kidding.” She soothed, her thumb brushing against his forearm just so. “Come on, you’re so sure you can kick my ass. Put your money where your mouth is.” 

He didn’t kick her ass at all. Quite the opposite in fact. He was too enamored by the sight of her playful demeanor, by how carefree she seemed to be. The way her face lit up each and every time her eyes met his. 

And that fucking outfit, it had him on edge the entire night. The way that skirt would hitch up just a little each time she moved, the curve of her ass visible beneath the hemline as it rode up. He was transfixed. 

He watched her as she laughed with Wanda about the costumes. Apparently, Steve wasn’t amused that the only thing left in the costume store was a fluffy bunny outfit. That didn’t mean everyone else didn’t take great pleasure in ribbing him over it. 

He watched while she danced with her friends, his colleagues, watched as little rivulets of sweat dripped down between the valley of her breasts, the way that cute little tie bobbed back and forth as she swung her hips from side to side. And all the while he noticed that her eyes remained trained on him, little looks here and there, soft smiles thrown his way. It made his heart ache. 

Bucky sloped away, swiping a bottle of whiskey before retiring to his room. He couldn’t help but laugh as he swigged at it, knowing full well the contents inside were going have little to no effect. Pulling the costume robes over his head and tossing them to one side, he sank down on his couch -- staring at nothing, and wondering why the hell he couldn’t just make a damn move. 

What’s the worst that could happen? 

No, he didn’t even want to think about that. Because there was plenty. Plenty of reasons for him to stay the hell away from her. He cared about her, way too much to allow himself to be the cause of any pain.

And there would always be pain. 

“Bucky?” 

Her little head poking around the door had his heart rate increasing instantly, tie dangling from her fingertips, tottering across the hard floor towards him in her heels; ready to catch her if she fell over her own feet. 

“You took your costume off, spoil sport.” She pouted, throwing herself down on the couch next to him, instantly kicking off her heels and rubbing her insteps. 

“Yeah, parties aren’t really my thing anymore doll. You looked like you were enjoying yourself though.” 

“Oh I was, but then Thor broke out the Asgardian mead and I decided it was time to get the hell outta dodge. You know what happened last time...”

He chuckled at that, remembering the first and only time she’d been brave enough to try and keep up with the rest of them. Remembered the way he carried her to bed, tucking her in tenderly and the way his lips lingered on her forehead just a little too long.

“You’ve been doing that a lot lately, you know.” His eyes flickered up to meet hers then, his brow furrowed in mild confusion. “Staring into space, away with the fairies as my mom used to say. Is everything okay?”

“Everything’s fine, doll.” He smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “So, uh, I gotta say if the girls at school dressed like that when I was a kid, I might have put in a little more effort.” 

The sound of her laughter rang in his ears, his breath hitching in his throat as she threw her head back in amusement.

She was angelic. 

“James Barnes, you liar.” His name rolling off her tongue only served to ignite the flame already burning deep within him. It was so natural coming from her pretty mouth, yet so rare to hear it these days. “Do you think it’s weird that I call you James sometimes?” 

“No, no not at all.” He took a swig from the bottle in his hand then, setting it down by his feet and leaning back into the cushions. “I like it when you call me that. You’re the only one who does.” 

“Well, now I just feel special.” You are special. So fucking special. Out of nowhere, she giggled. “You said I had a pretty ass.”

Bucky groaned, rubbing his palm across his forehead and through his short, chocolate strands. “You’re never gonna let me live that down, huh?” 

“No, I’m damn well not Sergeant. You know how many girls there are out there that’d break a piece off you?” 

He couldn’t help but detect the blatant bitterness dripping from her tone, eyebrow cocking in curiosity as he watched her sit up on her knees next to him.

His gaze travelled to her cleavage instinctively, watching her tits bounce while she adjusted herself. 

“Your ass ain’t the only thing that’s pretty, doll.” 

The atmosphere in the room changed suddenly, as if a switch had been flipped, her smile subsiding and her nostrils flaring as she sucked in a breath through her nose. If he could have kicked himself, he would have. He didn’t even know why he’d said it. 

She could sense his inner turmoil, her hand reaching out to rest on his thigh. She was so close. It would be so easy just to reach out and touch her. 

“What else is pretty about me?” She breathed, her sweet, warm breath fanning against his cheek.  Her fingernails raked across his denim clad thigh, squeezing as if to hold on for balance. 

The silence was deafening, his heartbeat pounding in his ears as he fought between humor and the terrifying truth. 

“Everything, doll. Fucking everything.” 

He heard her sharp intake of breath, felt her trembling next to him, but as his hand curled around the nape of her neck, everything but the desire to kiss her ceased to exist. 

She molded into him perfectly, her breasts pressed up against his side as he slipped his tongue between her soft lips. The sweet mewl that echoed from her mouth drove him crazy, his flesh hand gripping her bare waist while his metal digits snatched at the hair at the nape of her neck. 

He couldn’t remember a time he’d been so content kissing someone, if he’d ever. Her lips moved against his, her tiny fingers gripping his black Henley for dear life, almost as if she was afraid to let go. 

Bucky felt her nipples pebble against his torso, a lusty groan vibrating in his throat at how responsive she was. The way her tight little body just seemed to fit him. 

Her teeth nipped at his bottom lip, earning a smile against her open mouth. Her eyes were blown wide, tendrils of hair falling around her face. He couldn’t help but pull away and appreciate the sight before him, vibranium palm cupping her cheek -- the cold chill causing her shiver just a touch. 

Bucky panicked, just for a second, the insecurities swirling inside of him as he moved to pull the foreign extension of himself away from her precious face. Her hand curled around it before he got the chance, the apple of her cheek nuzzling against the cold metal and a graceful smile upon her smudged lips. 

“Fuck, you’re beautiful.” He whispered, his cobalt eyes tracing every inch of her face -- as if to seal it within the confines of his mind for eternity. 

“Not as beautiful as you, James Buchanan Barnes.” 

She was in his lap then, knees either side of him and her fingertips dipping beneath the hemline of his shirt, open mouth breathing heavily against his and noses pressed together. As close as could be. 

Bucky raised his arms above his head, her hands automatically dragging the material up over his torso, and tossing it to the side. Sitting back on his knees, she marveled at him, her palms gliding up over his surprisingly soft muscles, fingertips dancing up his chest. 

“Does it ever hurt?” She whispered, her voice full of sadness and her index finger softly tracing where flesh merged into metal. The shine in her eyes made his chest tighten, his own hand resting on hers as his lips feathered against her chin. 

“Sometimes, doll. Now and then.” 

He kissed her again, untying the knot to her cropped blouse, his cock throbbing at the sight of her perfect breasts. He couldn’t bare it, he had to touch her, to taste her. His hands gripped her shoulder blades, hot mouth encasing the peaked buds one after the other. She wound her hips against him then, his cock throbbing painfully beneath the confines of his jeans. 

“James...” she sighed, head lulling back while his mouth left wet kisses down her sternum and across her stomach. 

He stood, firm hands gripping the undersides of her thighs as her legs instinctively locked around his waist. 

Bucky stilled, her damp core pressed against his abdomen, his eyes asking the question that his mouth couldn’t. One arm curled around his neck, the other cupping his cheek, she smiled. 

“Take me to bed, Punk.” 

Capturing her lips with a breathy chuckle, the joy radiating from her and filling him with a feeling of exhilaration so strong, it frightened him a little. 

His lips never left hers as he carried her to the bed, laying her down gently on top of the comforter and taking a moment to appreciate her, taking her in from the top of her head to the tips of her toes. 

She held her hand out to him then, a picture of serenity and aching to feel his weight on top of her.

He took it, peppering soft kisses on her palm, kneeling at the end of the bed and working every bit of her cotton covered calf with his lips. 

Bucky’s eyes met hers as she propped herself up on her elbows, unable to tear her eyes away from him while he pulled her knee high socks down over her legs, lips pressing to the insides of her knees one after the other. He nudged her little red skirt up over her stomach, material draped around her waist.

“Lay back and let me make you feel good, doll.” 

She shuddered at that, his voice low and husky as it vibrated against her inner thigh; his breath warming her sodden core. His fingers hooked beneath the waistband of her plain, white panties, dragging them down over her thighs. The breath left his lungs at the sight of her glistening pussy in the low light of the room.

“So fucking beautiful.” 

His palms splayed out against her inner thighs, he spread her open -- every last bit of her precious flesh on display for him. Blowing a soft breath of air against her clit, she trembled, fingers gripping at the sheets either side of her. 

He couldn’t help but inhale her scent, nose pressed up against her clit while his tongue slipped out to taste her. 

Her back arched up off the bed, his tongue dipping through her plump folds teasingly, flickering lightly across her swollen clit while she writhed at his touch.

“God, please...” she knew not what she was begging for, only that she needed more. More of him. More of everything.

Winding her hips down to meet his mouth, his flesh fingers slipping inside her just enough to have her whimpering, he sucked at her clit; her body jerking as her first orgasm tore through her chest.

“Oh fuck, please Bucky, I need you.”

He lapped up the evidence of her climax, chin glistening and lips swollen. And as she looked down at him, her fingernails scraping against his scalp lazily, she couldn’t help but think that he’d never looked more beautiful.

“Fuck me, James.”

She watched as he stood, his bicep flexing while he rid himself of the rest of his clothes. Her eyes widened at the sight of his big, thick cock bobbing in the air, hard and visibly throbbing.

Bucky gave her no time to think herself into a frenzy, climbing between her legs and settling his elbows either side of her head.

“Do you have any idea how incredible you are?” He breathed, almost disbelieving of the fact that she was there — in his bed, in his heart. “I...”

“I know.” She smiled, cutting him off and threading her fingers through the short hairs at the nape of his neck. “Me too. I just need to feel you.”

His mouth found hers again, the tip of him seated between her pussy lips, nudging slowly into her core.

Inch by inch, he stretched her — the tightness almost too much to bear. She fit him like a glove, and it felt like home.

A heavy sob escaped her lips when he bottomed out, the torturous burn giving way to immeasurable pleasure as she shook beneath him.

“So tight, doll. So fucking tight.”

His cock dragged against her fluttering walls, clenching him each time he retreated as if to keep him there forever.

“Bucky...” she sighed, rolling her hips to meet his firm thrusts, her breasts bouncing each time flesh met flesh.

He kissed every inch of her he could reach, his teeth nipping at her collarbone, tongue laving at her throat while he fucked her. The salty taste of perspiration on her skin was suddenly a taste he couldn’t get enough of. Everything about her was addictive.

Bucky hooked her leg around his hip, grinding his pelvis down onto hers and hitting spots inside her that she didn’t know existed.

Stars danced behind her eyelids as she felt the coil in her belly tighten, skin on skin, her heart battering against his own at the intensity of the passion sparking between them.

“I bet you look beautiful when you cum,” he breathed, his lips pressed against the shell of her ear, “show me, doll.”

His pace quickened then, the cool sensation of metal swirling around her clit, leaving her on the edge of euphoria.

“Cum for me, I’ve got you.” He hit from a new angle then, her body convulsing a little from the foreign pressure in her abdomen. “I’ve always got you.”

It was magic. Truly. An ethereal wave washing over her entire body, spilling from her cunt and soaking him with her pleasure. Desperate mewls fell from her lips, his final thrusts prolonging the incredible high.

“Cum inside me, James. Please. Need to feel you, all of you.”

He did, head thrown back in overwhelming ecstasy, the most primal of sounds rumbling in his chest. He’d never felt a release like it, he just knew that this was pivotal, a feeling that this was everything.

Nobody would ever, or could ever, make him feel like that again. Only her. Just her.

Her walls were soaked in white hot ropes of his seed within seconds.

He found himself overcome, consumed by an emotion that was so strange, so foreign, he couldn’t help but bury his head in the crook of her neck for comfort. A strangled sob rang out in the air, her fingers tracing light circles on his back to soothe him. He was fragile beyond words, unable to hold his nerve and remain stoic.

Not with her. Never again.

Bucky couldn’t bring himself to move, wanting to stay connected to her like that forever. Soft kisses peppered across his jawline, tongue collecting a droplet of sweat from the hollow of his throat, lips whispering silent prayers against his dewy, flushed skin.

“I love you, James Barnes. I love you.”

[witchhaven]

Thread

I've found that among dolls, there are many different manifestations of their existence. Some dolls are as if made to be shown off, some are made for service, and some, like Soul, are even made for combat. This isn't to say that dolls are incapable of actions beyond their purpose. For example, the aforementioned combat doll seems to be nothing but caring and kind to me, and that seems to extend to the other dolls to a more limited degree. I didn't see it before, but after having grown closer with it, I notice it doing things for the other dolls, such as using its height to retrieve items out of reach of the smaller dolls in the house, or using its heightened strength to help them with yard work.

Of all the types of dolls I've seen now, none are quite the same, and the same applies to another doll to come to my door today. A somewhat frail looking wind-up doll, with a porcelain shell, and a cracked face. It's in largely plain clothing, which definitely differs from the other dolls, aside from maybe Soul. It seems to climb the steps just fine, but I can tell that it has some trouble. Thread is its name.

Luckily for Thread, Cream, Sugar, and Apple are able to see it struggling to make it to the door, to which they help it get to, and guide it to my kitchen, where it's given its first cup of my tea.

"M-my key... please..." Thread ekes out with burdened and slow speech.

Apple rushes behind Thread, gripping its key and trying its hardest to turn it clockwise. The mechanism is very stiff, so it takes a while for the doll to be able to overcome the threshold of force needed, but lo and behold, slowly but surely, there's a clockwise rotation, and a slow, but very audible...

click

click

click

Apple's effort has been thankfully rewarded with life seemingly turned back into Thread, as it's able to normally manipulate its body's functions. It takes a deep sip of the tea, finally looking satisfied with it.

Its speech is in more typical intonation as it looks at Apple, "Thank you... If I'm not wound regularly, my perception of time slows down immensely."

"Are you okay? Does your face hurt?" Apple looks at Thread with concern.

Thread feels its cheek with its free hand, "Oh, this? It happened years ago now, I hadn't been wound in several days, and wasn't used to my perception slowing down. I stumbled, and I fell. My face landed on a concrete step." All the other dolls look incredibly concerned, while Thread's demeanor remains nonchalant. Thread attempts to diffuse the situation by smiling softly, and taking another sip of tea. It's now when Heart and Soul enter the room, seeing Thread for the first time.

"You must be the doll which the house intended the new room for. Your room's upstairs, near mine!" Soul addresses Thread without hesitation.

Heart momentarily looks with concern at the cracks in Thread's face, but opts to be more polite, "Is the tea to your liking?" "It's good, yes." Thread nods at Heart.

I don't believe I've seen all the dolls gathered in one place for any given amount of time within my walls before. It feels somewhat momentous to have them all standing in my kitchen, and seemingly to greet the new doll. I feel happy with them spending time together, even if it is under particularly concerned circumstances.

Sugar looks perplexed as it looks up at Soul, "Wait, what do you mean, the house intended the new room for a new doll?"

"Don't you feel it too? This house isn't just materials, but a presence. It means for us to be here, we didn't just end up here." Soul places a hand on the doorframe of my kitchen, and I feel myself reflexively embrace, not that the doorframe geometrically changes at all.

Apple closes its eyes for a moment, seeming to feel for me emotionally, "I feel it! You're right, Soul!"

"This one would like to feel it too..." Heart places a hand on my doorframe below Soul's, to which I respond in kind to the way I did the other doll.

Heart's face lights up as it feels my intention, "The house knows we're here, and wants us here!"

Cream and Sugar look at the stove, which to my own intention, always has tea ready for the dolls. The realization that this has been my conscious decision dawns on them. None of the other dolls are ever actually making the tea, it's just there for them.

"My name is Thread, by the way." The wind-up doll introduces itself to the group.

An excited cacophony of introductions and conversation erupts through the kitchen, filling me with the sweet sounds of excited dolls talking with each other. The warm, jovial sounds eventually settle down to a comfortable silence. After a while, Soul guides Thread to its new room, as the rest of the dolls also settle into their rooms for the night.

As usual, Soul climbs through one of the attic windows to sit on my roof and gaze at the stars. A long time passes in silence before Thread climbs out the still open window, now once again struggling as its key turns slowly, signifying the unwinding of its main spring.

Soul watches as Thread clambers over the ledge, catching itself on the shingles of my roof, "Shouldn't you be resting?" "I... don't need to sleep. I'm spring... powered." Thread says under burden to keep up pace.

Soul looks back up at the stars, "Hm, I don't need sleep either. I do wonder why the other dolls do, it's nice to not be alone."

"I do need to be regularly wound. Or... my perception of time... my... ability to perceive at the speed things happen..." Thread trails off.

Soul sighs, "...Slows down, more and more."

"And so... the more I unwind... the faster everything around me moves... hours... days... weeks... up until years... move by in the blink of an eye. Decades, even..." Thread looks up at the stars.

Its perception is slowing down again, as the movement of the stars becomes more and more perceptible, faster. The sounds of the crickets chirping in the distance becomes more and more frequent as the individual chirps become less and less decipherable. Before long, anything Soul might be saying becomes imperceptible as the stars almost appear to actively fly away, until-

click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click

The stars slow to an imperceptible crawl once again as the sound of the crickets chirping fades back into comprehensibility. Soul is turning Thread's key, nearly effortlessly compared to the amount of strain it took for Apple to put in less than a quarter rotation. Thread feels its key rotate multiple times, until a decisive heavier click sounds.

Soul takes its hands off of the key, "Whenever you need wound again, please tell me." "Thank you, I'm not strong enough to wind the key myself... I'm sorry I can't really offer you anything in return..." Thread leans up against Soul's side.

Soul puts an arm around Thread, "You've already offered me company though the nights. The house may be aware of us, but it isn't exactly conversational."

"I would love to offer that to you!" Thread leans in more.

Soul flashes Thread a smile, "Then, you've given me back more than enough, Thread."

The two stay sitting on my roof, watching the stars until they give way to a sunrise, slowly lighting them up as they relax together.

This is the latest installment in an ongoing series called The Dolls' House. You might benefit more from reading the chapters sequentially rather than just reading this most recent installment. Click here to read the first chapter!

[mouthfulloftoothpasterry]

A day with the Rowlands

Summary: The Styles family spends the evening with the Rowland family and announces something big!

Warnings/ disclaimer: it’s a new year for them! So it’s spring all over again just a different year :)

“Hello!” Mitch cheers walking into Harry and Y/n’s dimly lit cottage, the smell of a warm strawberry bread zipping through the air and into his nose. Harry peeks out from the corner of the kitchen, turning down the Fleet wood mac that was blasting through the old brown record player he had gotten from his dad when he first moved out. “Hello!” he sings back, greeting the family while he dries his hands on a cartoon frog printed tea towel.

Asher waddles over to Harry greeting him with a big smile on his face, showing off his small baby teeth. “Hi uncle H!” Asher exclaims before distracting himself with his best friend, Violet. Harry chuckles, brushing his hand over the back of the boy's head, moving aside to go greet his parents and baby sister. Y/n continues to work on the strawberry bread, saying ‘Hi’  to Asher and letting him hop up on the step stool that Violet was just on, asking her a couple of questions about what she was doing.

Sarah walks over, holding her six month old baby girl, Opal, in a black babybjorn strapped across her chest, the little girl bouncing her arms up and down. “Hi!” she smiles, Y/n turning around to greet the mother and her baby. The girls chat, Y/n cooing at Opal while they talk. “Okay, let’s head outside!” Harry announces, grabbing the snack trays they had just prepared and leading the way to the back door of the cottage that he for some reason always forgets to oil up.

The parents settle into the white patio furniture sitting close to the duck pod, sitting around and drinking wine while their little ones play together.

“How are the kids?” Mitch asks, sitting with his lanky legs crossed while he holds a stemmed wine glass between his fingers. Harry glances over at his wife, seeing if she wants to answer Mitch’s simmering question. “They are good, we just started homeschooling Violet and she’s actually enjoying it.” Harry slowly draws patterns on his wife’s thigh while he talks, giving her a gentle love pat while they can’t be cuddled and as mushy as they usually are.

“Oh, you decided to home school her?” Sarah pulls her attention to the adult conversation after watching the kiddies to make sure they didn’t wander off too close to the pond and take a dip.

Harry and Y/n nod, Y/n resting her hand over her husbands and giving it a squeeze. “Yeah, Violet has been loving it. She sings her ABC’s all over the house, and baby shark too. We have also been trying to teach her to write her name.” y/n explains, setting her wine glass (that is just filled with apple juice) down while she glances back at the four babies playing together.

The other set of parents smile, Sarah resting a hand over her chest in an awe-ing way. “She’s just adorable.” Mitch says, eating some of the strawberry bread that y/n and Violet had just freshly baked together. Harry and Y/n thank Mitch, the conversation going blank while they all zone in on their children, watching as they play together. Violet hands Asher a red bouncy ball, she was playing with them individually but they are a part of a mini ball pit, her and her brother love playing in that together. They all play together while their parents observe them, the little ones closer to their parents while they roll around in the well taken care of grass, getting grass stains on their onesies.

Violet toddles over to the table the adults were all sat at, standing on her little toes and peeking over the table. She slides her little hand over the snack tray sneakily and takes a good chunk of the strawberry bread, turning quickly, but her mumma is quicker. Y/n wraps an arm around the girl, pulling her back close to the group. “What are you doing with that big piece of bread, missy?” Y/n ask her daughter. Violet instantly puts on a sweet smile, “I’m sharing, mumma!” she says, the cheeky smiling remaining on her face while she speaks in her toddler gibberish. Y/n nods giving Violet the okay to walk back to her friends, who are actually more like family.

They get back to talking, their attention not the best at times from the four kids and the well over a dozen animals living in the backyard. Sarah and Y/n share recipes while Harry and Mitch talk about the animals and work. Mitch and Sarah work at a flower shop. It's actually their very own, they bought the building a couple years ago and started their own business up in the town. Harry visits as often as he can and always ends up buying a big bouquet for Y/n. They always design the most beautiful bundles of flowers.

“Getting a lot of business right now?” Mitch nods at Harry's words, pulling the red wine from his lips, the crimson liquid leaving a stain on his thin lips.

He rests a beat before he answers, swallowing down the wine. “Yeah, it's spring time now so people are buying flowers a lot more. Never like February though.” Mitch always rambles on about how Sarah and his flowers are such a hot commodity during February since valentine's day is just around the corner and people like to ‘wow’ their partners all month long. “Yeah,” Harry hums, closing his eyes, relaxing and listening to the wind brush the trees around, the leaves rustling together and branches hitting each other.

They decided it’s time for a proper snack break, (they had planned a late lunch together) so they put the kiddies playing to a stop, telling them it’s time to eat and properly hydrate.

Their parents serve them, sticking some fruit and some pinwheels on their plate made with vegan meat. They started getting it not too long ago and it’s a good way of tricking their kids into thinking they are eating real meat, even though they haven’t actually even meat before.

Y/n feeds Forest a bottle while they all eat, he's started to hold the bottle himself so she can actually eat with everyone.

They eat in silence for a while, their toddlers babbling while they eat, training fruit with each other because Violet likes strawberries more than pineapple and Asher likes pineapple more than strawberries. They sit around and eat a bit more, waiting for the sun to go down so they can start their bonfire and roast some marshmallows for the s’mores they planned to make.

**

The sun has finally gone down, the temperature has dropped making both family's wrap up in the quilts Harry brought out, violet of course helping him by lugging the end of one.

They are sitting around a campfire, cuddled up in some wooden folding chair that Harry had picked up at a vintage furniture store a couple of months ago. The two family’s roast marshmallows, the crackle of the fire getting louder and louder.

Asher and Violet sit together, in the same wooden chair, bundled under one of Violet's favorites quilts, their daddy’s sitting on their side of them. “Here, baby honey” Harry says, blowing on the small s’more he had made violet. She smiles big, taking it between her chubby hands, blowing on it like her daddy had before her so she wouldn’t burn her heart shaped lips. She watches the way Asher looks at her chocolate and marshmallow treat, furrowing her eyebrows.

“Make Ash s’mores!” She says, leaning over to talk to her “uncle” Mitch. The group laughs, Mitch nodding and poking the marshmallow with a stick to start roasting the marshmallow for his boy. After he roasted the marshmallow he assembled the s’more, giving it to the little boy.

Y/n glances at Harry, making eye contact with her husband for a split second before she looks back at the snapping fire, giving him the hint that she wants to tell their closest friends about baby number three. Harry nods at her, clearing his throat. He drums on his thighs awkwardly now that he has the group's attention. He smiles softly, pushing his circle lenses up his nose, “Um, we have a small announcement, right, doll?” Harry asks, looking at his wife lovingly.

Y/n nods anxiously, smiling back at her husband.

“What’s up, H?” Sarah asks, Opal balanced on the top of her thighs. “Well, we're having baby number three.” Sarah and Mitch gasp, their kiddies remaining unfazed by the announcement since they are too young to understand pregnancy. Mitch and Sarah look at each other, their hands clutched over their mouths while they smile brightly. “You’re pregnant?!” Sarah shouts, standing up and maneuvering around the fire to give the now mother of three a warm hug.

Y/n nods excitedly with a big smile, hugging Sarah from the side since she’s carrying Opal on her hip.

“Congrats man!” Mitch says, giving Harry a big hug and a couple of pats on the back. Harry bashfully thanks his best friend, letting Mitch break the hug before he sits back down. “So three kids now? Is this the last Styles baby?” Harry shrugs at Mitch's questions, rubbing his eyes, trying to wipe off the big grin that spreads up to his eyes.

“Maybe, we never know” Y/n answers for him, Harry threading their hands together. The couple across from them smiles, happy for their friends.

Y/n and Harry couldn’t be more excited for the third Styles baby. Ever since Harry and Y/n found out about their sprout they have been talking about it non stop. They have talked about the possibility of having another little violet or having another Forest, they both came to the conclusion that they do not care. They want all their babies to be happy and healthy, they don’t care about it being a boy or a girl. They have been discussing thoughts about a nursery for their newest sprout, deciding that they would just have the little one sleep in their room so they all feel safer.

They have never been happier.

Mitch dusts off his hands, sighing. “Well I guess it’s time for us to head home. Thanks for having us over. It was great to see the five of you” Mitch teases, taking the last sip of his wine and smiling as his eyes darting down to y/n’s belly. The adults laugh, standing up to give each other a goodbye hug, saying their goodbyes to one another.

Harry leads them to the door, the kids trailing behind all of them. “Thanks for coming. I’ll see you soon, mate.” Harry says, waving bye to the Rowland family while he grasps the inside of the door. They let out a chorus of “Byes!” Before they all buckle into the car, Harry closes the door while the other family rolls out of their family and through the gate.

“Well, let’s get you monsters to bed.”

Hiii!! Thank you for reading! I’m sorry this is so messy but the third styles baby is official!! they are growing and soon enough will be here!! you guys have been so supportive and amazing with everything, i cant put it into words. Thank you all so much. <3<3 I’m gonna start a tag list (i only have one person so far) so let me know if you wanna be on it please!! you can send in a ask or just dm, whatever!!<3 Thank you again!!

tag list: @iaalien

[whimsywispsblog]

Fault in Our Stars

Warning: PTSD, references to childhood abuse and trauma, sexual trauma and depression.

Inspired by: @vukis2

Lips quivering. Tears trailing. Body shaking from the cold and fear. Eyes widened- alarmed and frightened.

Running into the dark forest was definitely a bad idea. But what was Donna to do other than run? Run for her dear life? Run away somewhere- somewhere away from the lands infested with blood-sucking vampiric creatures that feasted on her family's blood, leaving her the youngest and the damaged for last.

Damaged. Ruined. In every sense. In every way, a woman is not to be ruined.

The hazy light of the gloomy skies shaded by the canopies of the tall and twisted brown trees lit the dark path ahead. Each step was taken carefully as the rustling of the carpet of dried leaves, and twigs below Donna's feet gave a crisp crackle, each sound making the girl turn back while tightly squeezing the arm of her ragged doll, Angie. And the sounds of the high-pitched giggles turned into ear-piercing shrieks. In the dark forests, vile creatures lurk in every corner, staggering and tottering in the shadows hunting their doomed prey. A forest lore, narrated by every village person. Or was it a forewarning left to the villagers by the unfortunate quarries who could never return to see another sunrise?

Most never knew which, but that day, Donna realised that it was the latter.

The dark forests always played with its victims' minds: most never escaped from its evil clutches, and the ones that did, they were driven to insanity by never-ending nightmares of its devilish creatures. There was no escape.

Donna stopped as she heard sudden footsteps approaching. They were fast, very fast.

'Run.' 'Run.' 'Run.' She kept commanding her body, but her legs shook and felt heavy, making the girl fall on her knees. The girl refused to turn back, and she closed her eyes. The wind was strong, pushing her backwards as if tempting her to open her eyes and see what stood behind her.

And then, the sounds of the ravens squawking, but in human tongue filled the languid air of the forests. Their crows were so frightening, so horrifying that they made poor Donna's flesh bleed and cut.

//"She the woman who made the Devil destroy the paradise for a kiss,"//

"I did not fall. I did not fall." The girl repeated the sentence over and over again, clutching Angie close to her breasts. The ravens flew around her, its sharp beaks piercing through her tender skin, its shrill squeaks hurting her sensitive ears, the pitch getting louder and louder until it started ringing in her ears. They started ripping her hair from her scalp and skinning her thighs, relishing in her decaying flesh.

The girl then let out a loud scream.

"HE PUSHED ME!"

//"No one questions the Devil, whore!"//

And with that, it was back to the eerie tranquillity of the forests.

Eyes watching. Ears listening. Tongues wetting. Stomachs growling.

She was tired. Scared. But determined to escape from the forests' demons. But would she?

Donna shook her head sideways, swallowing all her doubts. She was going to escape and start her life anew, somewhere far, far away. In lands where she was not damaged. Not cursed. But welcomed with open hearts and warm smiles. And with that, she pushed herself up, not letting her mind succumb to the dark pits of self-doubt.

The frigid air bit into the girl's tender skin through her ripped clothes and burnt her lungs while numbing her nose. The girl hugged herself, trying to keep the cold away. Lips pale, eyes swollen, hair covered in icicles, and her body covered in dried blood and mud. It seemed like the path went on forever, and the sky-kissing mountains were just an illusion.

The earthy smell after the first rainfall that loomed over the dark lands slowly faded away as a more metallic smell with burnt char took over—burning flesh. Someone or something was close.

Donna chanted words of Orison to her creator- for protection. For courage. For salvation. And if the Gods chose to cut her thread of fate, then so be it. She was ready to welcome the torment of hell that awaited her. Somewhere away from the abhorrent lands that she walked on. Was walking on. Her trembling hands tightly clasped on Angie's neck while her steps became slower and more cautious.

The girl found a rock big enough to hide behind as the smell got stronger and sounds of inhuman growls got louder. She didn't want to see them as she shut her eyes tightly, her prayers chanted at a frantic pace bobbing her head back and forth. Until. A human voice caught her attention- a voice which she regretted listening to.

"Take the fat one. That's all you will get for the night," A bunch of snarls poured out from all directions until the person finally screamed, "SHUT UP! Go find more food somewhere else!"

The sound of soft whimpers made Donna peek from behind the rock. In a wooden cage were 6 small-sized men, looking down at the creatures in fear. They were the dwarfs. On the ground was a giant dwarf that shouted for mercy, as his limbs were torn from all sides and his body ripped with the splatter of blood and his insides. Donna held back her urge to gasp, biting her tongue so hard that she felt the taste of blood in her mouth.

"Oi fish freak!" Donna's attention shifted from the mutilated remnants of the corpse to that of a man, tall and sturdy with messy, greasy grey hair covered by a hat. He wore a long brown coat that swayed with his every movement. He had a gigantic hammer in his hand, one that made the girl tremble in fear. Not only could this man control a horde of dangerous human-eating monsters, but he was also burly, judging by the size of the metallic hammer.

"Hey, moron! Yeah, you! Come here ya quim!" A blob-like grotesque creature stumbled towards the man. It looked so ugly and ghastly that Donna felt the contents of her stomach rise to her throat.

"Fry these midgets and send them to Miranda." The fish-creature bowed its entire body as if nodding to the man. The man with the hammer turned away, facing the rock as a slight smirk appeared on his face, and that scared Donna. Did he see her?

Donna pulled herself behind the rock as she breathed in heavily, hoping that he hadn't seen her. She felt something warm and wet on her shoulder, and she slowly looked up. To her horror, one of those creatures stood behind her, looking at her famished. The girl let out a loud scream, pulling Angie close to her chest. But before the creature could put its sharp rotten nails on her, its head was smashed by something, making its blood splash all over her. The girl, who was still in shock, stared at the creature's headless remains, her body trembling like a leaf and her heartbeat thudding loudly.

Suddenly, her hair was grabbed, and she was picked up like a rag doll. Her eyes stayed fixated on the mushy brown ground, but a gloved hand grabbed her face and forced her to look at the person. It was the man with a hammer.

"Mhmm...Young blood," He said, observing the girl's face. His eyes landed on her ruby-red necklace. "Scarlet, eh." The man dropped Donna, and she landed with a soft grunt. He bent down to her level, watching her closely. The girl was about to beg for grace. The sounds of painful screams made her turn towards the horrific scene. The dwarfs were set on fire, all of them hurdling close to each other, screaming into each other's bodies as if sharing their pain and death.

The man in front of her grabbed her face and made him look at her again, pulling out something from his coat. An apple. Delightfully red. He brought the fruit closer to the girl's lips. Without wasting another second, Donna grabbed the apple from his hand and bit into its scrumptious flesh, greedily and ravenously. Without chewing properly, she bit into more and more until she choked a few pieces out.

The man watched the girl eat in dark amusement. A raven perched on his shoulder, crowing in his ears, making him grimace.

"Yeah yeah, it's poisoned." He said, shooing the raven away. The girl was just halfway through her apple, but she felt dizzy and sick. It was as if the world was spinning at such a fast pace, and she felt as if she was losing control of her body. The man effortlessly put the girl on his shoulder and walked away while magically getting his hammer to fly right into his hands.

...

Donna's eyes fluttered open to the sound of people talking and the muffled mewls of a younger person, probably a girl. She felt hot, and an unusual but familiar pain tingled throughout her body, pulsating through each nerve excruciatingly. The girl tried to move her wrists, but there was something tight and sharp clamped around her wrists, restraining any movement.

Angie...Angie wasn't there in her hands. Donna bolted up, alarmed and terrified. The room she was in was quite cold, dark and damp, like the inside of a cave. It was dimly lit by the lamps on the walls. In front of her stood a woman with raven feathers unfurled behind her. To her right was the hammer-man, telling the woman about something. Between them was another chained girl with platinum blonde hair, bloodied, bruised and naked. Probably a survivor. Or a prey.

The lady with the raven feathers grabbed the blonde girl's face and lifted her up, her feet away from the ground.

"Young Rose...Fresh virgin blood," The woman mused with a slight grin, squeezing the girl, Rose's face. The woman brought her closer, taking a deep whiff of the girl's neck. "She smells delicious. Girls! Come here!" The woman shouted, and out of the shadows glided three women, giggling and jumping with their faces covered in blood. As they walked, a swarm of flies surrounded them and, out of their sleeves, fell off maggots- wet and slimy.

The raven woman threw Rose in their direction, and the poor girl fell with a loud thud. "Her blood, please." The woman ordered the three girls.

"Of course, Mother Miranda!" The girls giggled and laughed, taking Rose and throwing her to a bed of needles and kept pushing her deeper into the sharp metal, impaling the helpless girl's body. The cave echoed with the laughter of the insect-witches and the weak cries of dying Rose.

Donna watched the scene in horror and started crawling backwards until her back hit the wall.  The raven lady, Mother Miranda, turned her attention to Donna, looking at her with steely darkened eyes. The woman disappeared into a murder of crows and suddenly appeared in front of the girl and kneeled down to her eye level. Her pale and cold fingers grabbed the girl's jaw and pulled her forward, observing her closely.

"What is your name, child?"

"D-Donna", The girl stuttered, shaking uncontrollably. "Donna Beneviento."

"Ah, House Beneviento! My daughters and their spawns recently ravaged their Village and families," Mother Miranda chimed, looking at the three insect-witches who kept stabbing Rose's mutilated corpse with their large metallic nails. "Young Rose was from there."

"W-Why d-do you kill?" Mother Miranda smiled at the girl as she pushed the stray strands of her hair behind her ear.

"Human fear and blood keep us alive." The woman traced her fingers across Donna's cheekbones. "We were damned by the Old Gods, the ones who were in favour of your wretched kind."

"Y-you are all m-monsters!" Donna choked out, pushing herself away from the woman's touch. Mother Miranda grabbed a fistful of the girl's hair and pulled her close, biting the girl's neck. Donna let out a piercing scream, trying to pull herself away from the woman.

"Ah, that's a first. You're not Virgin blood. Unchaste!" Miranda raised an eyebrow and looked at the girl in disgust.

//"Stained and the tarnished scent of the vile harlot"//

A tiny scar near the girl's left eye caught Miranda's attention. The woman roughly pushed her hair away and looked at Donna's blistered scar in revulsion. "And she is a cripple."

"Not a virtuous Doll, eh?" The hammer man chimed, looking at Donna in amusement, but once his eye landed on her scar, his smile dropped.

Doll...Doll...Angie! Donna gasped and looked up at the hammer man in distress. "Angie! Where is Angie, my doll?!"

"Burning." Mother Miranda replied with an indifferent expression.

"W-What? N-no! NO!" Donna screamed and shouted, trying to push herself upon Miranda, but the woman was strong. Without much effort, she slapped Donna, making the girl break down into a whimpering mess.

Angie. The only remnant of her innocence now burnt away in the heat.

"This one's of no use to me."

"But she smells so delightful!" Said one of the insect witches, sniffing her around and licking the blood of the wound where Miranda had bitten her.

"Indeed she is, child. But your Mother won't be pleased with any of you drinking impure blood," Miranda spat, looking at Donna in contempt. Donna looked down, ashamed and embarrassed at the way they kept taunting her. Just like how she was harassed in her Village for something that wasn't even her fault...

'I did not fall...I did not fall...'

"Alright then, she can be a nice play-thing for the Lycans." The hammer man said, putting his hammer on the ground and resting his weight on it.

"Fine then, Heisenberg. The girl's fate is in your hands." Mother Miranda got up, glaring at the girl.

His name is...Heisenberg? Familiar name.

The man nodded, grabbed the girl's chain. He pulled the chain sharply with a slight grunt, making the girl stumble and dragged her across the sharp stony ground. Donna let out soft mewls of pain.

"Quit your whining!" He said as he dragged her slower this time, making every inch of her skin throb, red and wet.

-

Sounds of metal grinding metal stirred the girl from her disturbed slumber. She wasn't sure how she slept off. She was still shackled in chains, but instead of being seated in front of a Cult family, she sat alone in a chamber, cold. And wet.

"Ah, you're up!" A loud, boisterous sound made the girl flinch lightly. She slowly tilted her head up to look at the person.

Heisenberg. Smirking and eyes glinting with mischief. He held out a water jug to the girl. Although she desperately needed it to quench her thirst and wet her dried mouth, after the poisoned apple, she was afraid.

"Relax, there's nothing in the water," Heisenberg rolled his eyes in annoyance. The girl hesitated to take the glass from him, which caused the man to groan in frustration and sipped a little of the water. "See? I am alive. It's normal water,"

Donna quickly grabbed the jug from him with trembling hands and drank the water, messily and shakily, the water running down her neck. She drank in so fast that the poor girl choked on water, coughing up some of it.

Heisenberg chuckled, sliding a plate of stale bread and some bright coloured fruit. The girl didn't wait for another second and quickly devoured the food down, juice of the squished fruit staining her skin and clothes. Heisenberg observed the girl quietly with a neutral expression. Pulling out a cigarette, he lit it up, smoking in a direction away from the girl's face.

"W-Why a-are y-you not killing m-me?" Donna's soft stutters pulled the man out of his thoughts. He rubbed his eyes as he contemplated her question, letting out a soft yawn.

"Didn't you hear what I told Miranda?" Donna nodded her head sideways, making the man sigh. "A play-thing for the beasts."

"W-Will they...k-kill me?"

"That depends." Heisenberg shrugged, walking away from the room. "Oh, and the chains will stay. " He said, closing the door behind him.

Donna pulled her legs close to her chest, tears trailing down her eyes. Her skin was bruised and bloodied, her clothes tattered, she stank, she was starved, she was tortured, and she was ruined. Too much for a lifetime.

The sound of the crow of a raven made the girl lookup. 'How did that bird get in?' The girl thought, looking at the bird baffled. The raven had red eyes and looked at the girl menacingly. It let out one more shrill crow and dove straight towards her, its sharp beak pointing at her. Donna curled into her legs and let out a whimper, too tired to scream. But the attack never happened. Instead, a laugh- malicious and vulgar- emerged. Donna looked up, and there stood the Hag.

//Broken disgusting whore! Shame on you!//

Donna didn't fight back. She stayed quiet, thinking of her time at home, back in the Village. The Hag continued with her taunts and screams, her ravens poking the girl's delicate flesh, but the girl was too tired, too lost. Too broken.

"I know," Donna whispered, fresh hot tears trailing down her cheek as she remembered the night, back in the Village, when she got the Stigma of the Fallen Maiden- The whore.

Bodies sticking together with sweat. A heavy weight on her chest crushing the delicate flesh of her breasts. Hair yanked and tugged with a few strands ripped off. Teeth biting deep into her skin, blood flowing out of it. An unbearable pain as she felt herself lose her chastity and virtue...No longer virginal and innocent. She was marked and claimed by another man.

//You are no graceful deer like a faithful virtuous maiden! You intoxicate them with your ardour! You vile demon!//

"I know," Donna whispered again, her eyes heavy and burning and swollen. She cried no more. She couldn't. There was nothing to cry for. She was forever going to be this- a whore.

"Oi Hag! Get the fuck outta here! Go teach your lessons about virtues and morality to those Demitrescu girls." It was Heisenberg. The Hag turned back at the man and laughed loudly and sharply, making both Donna and Heisenberg wince in pain. The older woman burst into raven feathers, disappearing from the room.  Heisenberg turned his attention towards Donna. He took a few steps towards her until he was close enough.

"I know what happened that night," He said, looking dead into Donna's shocked eyes. How did he know? The man sat down, placing his hammer by his side and taking his hat off, running his hand through his hair.

"H-how did y-you know?" Donna asked, looking up to the man.

"Tales like these spread fast through the Village and beyond." He shrugged. Donna nodded, her eyes glued to the cold ground, observing its cracks and crevices.  "You don't remember me do you?" Donna looked at the man. The name Heisenberg did ring a bell for her. But she couldn't recall from where. "Ya remember the name, Karl?"

Karl...Karl...Heisenberg...

Karl Heisenberg! Heisenberg's son!

Donna nodded her head lightly, old memories of their time together as children returning to her. It was him.

The only child in the Village who was never afraid of her or treated her differently. Every time they were together, Karl's father would forcefully pull him away, shouting and screaming and hitting him for playing with the Spawn of Demon. But that never stopped Karl from going back to her.

Until.

They turned 16. She was a woman, and he was a man. She grew beautiful, and he grew taller.

She couldn't remember much, except one night during the Village's ritual: Young women who bled for the first time.

It was in the outskirts of the woods. Young Karl and Young Donna. Sitting by the rock. Moonlight dancing on their youthful flustered faces. Karl's gentle hand on her cheek, pulling her closer. And closer. And closer. Lips just touching. So soft.

"You disgusting boy!" And after that, all she remembered was being pushed away by Karl's father, her head hitting the ground sharply. And Karl's faint cries, "Donna!"

"W-Where d-did you go after that day?" Donna asked, her hands deeply buried into the fabric of her clothes.

"Father sent me away to another Village, to live with my uncle. Cruel man- known to straighten up Wild Things. But I just ran away." He shrugged.  There was a silence between the pair. But this was a comfortable one—just the sounds of their breathing, with the gentle whistle of the winds outside.

"Why here?"

"Mhmm?" Heisenberg peered at Donna, rubbing his scruff. "Ah well, like you, that useless Hag caught me. But things are fine here. I get a roof on my head, food and clothes. No whores though," He snickered but immediately stopped seeing Donna flinch at the word. "If you want to survive here, don't let that hag get to you."

"Do you have any advice on how I'll survive you?" The girl asked.

"Huh. Why do ya ask?"

"You say I am a play-thing for the Lycans. You said they might eat me."

"Ah, that. Yes, the Lycans do enjoy the company. They're just dogs." He said nonchalantly, waving his hand.

"But I don't want to stay here."

"Unfortunately, Donna, for people like you and me who are called 'wild' and 'vile', this is the only place that we get close to home." Donna looked away, feeling fresh hot tears prickling in her eyes.

"There's no 'we', Karl," The girl snapped. Karl hid his surprise at her sudden change of demeanour behind an irritated scowl. "I am everything you're not. I am not a vile whore-"

"GODDAMIT DONNA", Karl stood up, throwing away his hammer in frustration, breaking something nearby. "How long, how fucking long are you gonna keep crying about that bullshit?! It happened. You were fucked, whether you like it or not. Going around telling everyone that you aren't a whore won't change anything-"

"I know," Donna whispered, shivering from cold and fear. "Believe me, I know." The woman looked up to Karl, staring deep into his eyes. "But that doesn't make me a whore. That doesn't make me vile."

"Then you fucking accept the circumstances. It is written in our fates." Heisenberg sighed.

Donna stared at Heisenberg, pained by the helplessness that radiated off him, as the memory played in her mind.

Fate...

"Karl, your father won't let me be with you. Forget being near you. Your reputation will be tarnished because of me. The Village thinks I am cursed," Said a 15-year-old Donna. It was nighttime during one of their many midnight trysts in the woods. When the Villagers were fast asleep, and no one tried to hurt the couple.

"To hell with the Villagers and my father. They can say whatever the fuck they want, but I will have this life my way, and I will take you with me." Donna smiled softly, feeling her heart fluttering at her lover's determination and adamance to want a life with her despite all the difficulties they would face.

"But what if this is how things have to be? What if it is just...written in our stars?"

"Well then, fuck the stars. It's our lives. No one has a say in it. You choose your path and if that makes you happy, then fuck everything else. You choose your fate," He said, planting a soft peck on her cheek.

"You told me that day, we choose our fate, Karl," Heisenberg grunted, running a hand through his hair in frustration.

"Yea. I fucking did. Now, where has it got us both, hm?"

Donna stood up from her place shakily and limped towards Karl until she could feel the tug of her shackles. She was close enough. She raised a hand towards the man's face, but before she could touch him, his hand shot up and grasped hers.

"Don't", He growled, his ocean-blue eyes piercing into hers, trying to intimidate her.

"Please," She whispered, wriggling her hands a little, making the man drop his hand, letting the woman touch his face.

Donna slowly traced his scars. A story behind every one of them. Some she knew, some she did not. Karl didn't flinch as she kept caressing his rough skin with her softer, bruised fingers. He just looked at her as if searching in her for the old Donna he knew. The old Donna would dream with him about a beautiful future they would never have. He found her.

But to Donna, she never saw her old Karl. The one who dared to dream despite their doomed circumstances. He was now a broken man. A hopeless man who had seen and been through enough. A man who forgot what it was to experience bliss.

"I don't know if I will ever get to live this life with you, the way we dreamed. But...If there is still some life in you, I'd like that." Donna said, pulling her hand slowly trailing to Karl's chest, feeling the soft, slow thud of his heartbeat. With a wave of his hand, Donna's shackles broke. Karl slowly encircled his arms around her waist, gently but firmly and pulled her closer. With a hand cupping her cheek, he looked at her.

"I would have loved that. But look at me now. I am one of them." He said, his hand lingering on a cut on her cheek that she got because of him when he dragged her towards the factory. "But you. You can live on. A better life."

"I could have, but that better life that I wanted," Donna paused, breathing in as she felt her words being swallowed. "I wanted it with you."

"But I can't give that to you, Donna."

"Then give it to me here. Right here." Donna said, inching closer to Karl, feeling his hot breath on her cold damped skin. Karl pulled her close and rested his head on her forehead, closing his eyes and feeling the warmth and comfort he got from her.

"Get some rest. By tomorrow, you will be better." Karl said, pulling away from her. Donna held his hands tight, afraid to let him go. Afraid to lose him again.

"W-What do you mean?" Karl slowly loosened her grip on his hands and smiled at her softly. Picking up his hat and hammer, he walked out of the room, shutting it from outside. Donna sat down, confused and dejected. Lying down on the cold floor, the girl shut her eyes tightly and sobbed, her wails and whimpers slowly lulling her to sleep.

-

It was as if the ground below her was shaking. She didn't know what it was. Donna jerked awake as she felt a sudden push from below. The girl gasped, looking around. It wasn't the room where Karl had kept her. It was...smaller and more cramped and...moving?

"Ah, Lady Beneviento! You are awake!" A jovial and cheery voice pulled Donna's attention. It was a man, friendly and big.

"W-Who are you, and where am I?"

"I am the Duke, a humble merchant, and you are in my carriage. Lord Heisenberg asked me to take you to the other side of the forest."

"Karl? Karl, where is he?!" Donna asked, looking around frantically.

"He couldn't make it," Duke said apologetically. "He wants you to take that little box. That should help you earn a living, not luxurious, but enough to survive," Donna looked to her right and there it was, the box. She opened it, and inside was Karl's chain that he wore every day, some coins and some ornaments. And a small doll that resembled Angie. But prettier and newer.

"What happened back there?"

"Lady Miranda caught him trying to escape. Ah, it looks like we're here!"

"Duke. Can I go back?"

"I'd suggest you not. He wants you to stay alive, my Lady. Best you honour his wishes. Do this for him" Donna looked at the chain, tracing the engravings on it. The girl looked into the box and saw a small note in it.

Thank you for setting me free. I hope to see you in another life where we will be together, just like we dreamt.

The girl pulled the note to her chest, feeling a strange pain in her body. She felt heavy. She felt like she was breaking apart. She felt as if she couldn't breathe. Duke looked at the girl sadly. He couldn't help her, and he wasn't sure how to.

"Thank you," Donna muttered, stepping out of the carriage with the box in her hand. Ahead she saw a little Village. A chance for a new life, but one without Karl. How could she live without him?

'Best you honour his wishes. Do this for him.'

"Okay, Karl." Donna sniffed, a bittersweet smile on her face, as she walked towards the Village, her hand tightly clutching the chain. As she approached, a man, probably the gatekeeper, stopped her.

"Who are you, and state your purpose."

"Donna. Donna Heisenberg. I seek refuge in your Village. Mine was destroyed by monsters." The gatekeeper nodded and took a moment to observe her ragged state, his eyes softening as he noticed her bruises and blood.

"Alright, follow me. You can speak to his Majesty." Donna nodded, smiling softly.

A new life. A better life. For Karl.

In the woods, near the factory lay Karl Heisenberg, bloodied and stabbed on the ground. He held a glove tightly in his hand. Donna's glove. The one he pulled from her when his father forcefully separated him from Donna. Rubbing his thumb across the soft material of the glove, Karl smiled, looking up to the heavens, his vision fading away slowly.

"Thank you, Donna."

[rivers-rambles21]

The one where Bucky comes home

Part 13 of The one where Bucky has a cute neigbour series!

Pairing: Bucky Barnes X Reader (f)

Summary | Reader and Bucky become friends after he saves her from  a creep in their apartment building. Each chapter explores a different point in their friendship - very slow burn!

Warnings | 18+ only !!Smut!!!

Chapter 13 | Chapter 12 | Chapter 11 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 1 | Masterlist

I’ll be continuing this fic for a few more chapters before starting on my Mafia/Mob Enemies to Lovers Bucky X Reader fic! Thank you for all the notes :) x

Everyone you knew had seen the video of John Walker killing an unarmed man in Latvia. It shook you to your core as you recalled your brief meeting with the former soldier outside the police precinct and wondered just how fucked up the mission had gone for him to commit such a crime. You'd caught a brief glance of Bucky and Sam in the video you had watched and had been worried they were somehow involved in the altercation but those concerns were swiftly shut down when you got a text from Bucky letting you know they were okay and he was returning to Brooklyn. 

You'd not spoken to one another on the phone since your last call and hadn't really texted either apart from his brief text so you had no real idea of when his flight would be arriving. 

After a quick visit to the grocery store you made it back to your apartment with the intention of cooking a meal ready for when Bucky would arrive home. You let yourself in, not having locked the door on the way out, knowing you wouldn’t be gone for long. Throwing your purse on the side table, you began unpacking your items, humming to yourself as you did. 

“Hi doll” You screamed in shock, your hand going to your chest as you spun on the spot, dropping the apples you were holding. 

“BU-! You almost gave me a heart attack!!” Your heart practically beat out of your chest as adrenaline ran through your veins; your voice shrieking with the shock. 

He smirked at you as he leant against the couch arm, his jacket discarded and arms bare as they stretched across his chest.

“C’mere” Opening his arms he flashed you his boyish smile, laying on the full Bucky charm as he did. 

Without hesitation you ran towards him and leapt into his arms, not thinking twice as you wrapped your arms around him, pressing your face into his neck with joy. 

You remained like this for a few moments, both wrapped up in each other as Bucky held you close to his chest. He enjoyed the feeling of you pressing up against him before you slowly pulled back from him, faces impossibly close as your eyes dropped down to his lips, just as he did the same. 

Neither of you could say who moved first but within a second your lips were upon one another, desperately fighting for dominance over the other. Bucky won as his right hand found the back of your neck, holding you against him as his other hand grasped the back of your shirt, resting just above your ass. 

You kept your arms wrapped around his neck as the kiss deepened, both caught up in the moment and intensity. 

A moment of realisation suddenly hit Bucky and his soft lips left yours, a gasp escaping your mouth. His eyes sought yours, as his hand moved from your neck to your cheek, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip. “Doll” His lips quirked into a small smile as his eyes bored into yours. “You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting to do that” 

“Oh I have an idea” You murmured back, your eyes setting back on his lips before kissing him again. Your fingers threaded into his hair, pulling on it slightly which earnt you a groan from the soldier. The sound dampened your already wet panties, your cunt throbbing with need as you started to guide you both towards your bedroom. 

Bucky’s lips moved from yours and started trailing kisses along your jaw before reaching your neck, greedily nipping and sucking as he did. 

“Bedroom” You gasped as he bit on a particularly sensitive area, fingers finding his hair again as you tugged at it desperately. Your other hand snuck down to his jeans and pulled at his belt, urging him into the direction of your room. You felt your legs hit the back of your bed before you fell backwards, pulling Bucky on top of you. 

His lips left your neck as he rested his weight on his metal arm, hovering above you as his crotched pressed against your clothed core. His bulge felt heavy as you anticipated what laid beneath, your cunt throbbing with need. 

Your hands made quick work of his belt before your fingers descended on his jeans, fiddling with the buttons. 

“Hold on a second doll… I want to take my time with you.” He whispered, kissing your nose as he did. Moving back onto his knees he glanced down at you, eyes raking your body before slowly sliding his hands up your waist and grasping your tshirt; guiding it up your stomach. His head bent down as his lips descended once again on your bare skin, his lips dragging up your torso as he eventually reached your bra. “I’m sorry” he grunted as you raised your head, wondering what on earth he was talking about before you heard a rip as your shirt was pulled apart along with your bra. Your breasts sprung free and Bucky delved in like a man possessed as his tongue flicked your left nipple, his right hand pulling on the other.

“Oh god” you panted, your fingers tugging on his hair, pressing him against your chest as your pussy throbbed. 

Bucky was in heaven, with every suck and flick he earnt a moan from you beneath him. His cock somehow grew even harder with each noise that left your sweet lips. Despite wanting nothing more than to sink into your wet cunt and pound you into oblivion he wanted to pull an orgasm from you before giving into his desires. Settling for thrusting his groin against the bed he squeezed your breasts before moving his lips further down your body, eager to have a taste of your sweet nectar. 

“Bucky - you- you- you don’t have to” Your fingers tugged on his hair, trying to lift his head away from your body.

His head suddenly shot up, his eyes reaching yours as he raised an eyebrow, almost mockingly before popping the button on your jeans. He hastily pulled them off your legs, throwing them over his shoulder. Yanking your legs, he pulled you towards the edge of the bed as he knelt down, tugging them over his shoulders. “Fuck doll, you’re soaked.” His thumb brushed over your damp panties, teasing your core with every gentle stroke. His eyes were transfixed on your clothed cunt, his tongue licking his lower lip in anticipation.

“Bucky please” you whined, desperate for some friction. 

Feeling generous, Bucky complied with your wish and gave your panties the same courtesy he gave your top before throwing them over his shoulder to join your jeans. 

“Bucky!” You protested, leaning up on your elbows to shoot him a glare. However, every thought suddenly left your mind as he licked a stripe from your dripping hole to your clit. 

Your hips thrusted upwards as he began his assault on your soaked pussy, alternating between dipping his tongue into your aching hole and flicking and sucking on your clit. You threw your head back as pure bliss overcame you, your back arching as your cunt fluttered around nothing.

 Bucky’s metal hand suddenly pressed down on your stomach to keep you in place, the cool metal providing some form of relief as he continued his ministrations on your core, pulling moan after moan from you. 

“I need-I-I-” You panted as you tried to keep control of your legs which had started to clamp around his neck.

“I know doll, I know” He cooed as he thrusted a finger inside your cunt, almost cumming in his pants as he felt your soaked walls flutter around it; sucking it in further. 

“Oh fuck” You panted, grabbing hold of your own breasts, pulling and plucking on your nipples to help pull you over the edge sooner. 

“Ah ah ah” He tutted as he swatted your hands away. “Eyes on me” 

You were too blissed out as your eyes were screwed shut, overcome by the feeling of Bucky's finger stroking your walls to hear what he said. 

A light slap to your thigh and a curl of his finger caused your eyes to shoot open before his lips descended on yours, his tongue pushing into your mouth as you tasted yourself on him. A second finger slipped inside as his lips left yours, curling against your most sensitive spot. 

“Eyes on me” His voice came out rough as he fought down the urge to thrust harder against the bed, seeking friction. 

You nodded your head, unable to form a single word as another sinful moan left your lips, only growing in volume as he returned his mouth to your dripping core; your eyes never leaving his piercing blue ones. Your first orgasm was nearing fast as you felt your coil tighten, your legs shaking uncontrollably. 

“Come for me doll” He mumbled against your clit before sucking hard and pumping his fingers into you, almost erratically. 

Your body did as commanded and you tingled all the way from your head to your toes as your orgasm overcame you. You rode wave after wave as Bucky continued thrusting his fingers, gently slowing down as he carried you through your high. Your eyes had closed on instinct but Bucky didn’t mind, he was utterly transfixed with how wrecked you looked. He wanted to make you this way time and time again. He was a man obsessed. 

“Fuck” You muttered as you felt your soul return to your body, your legs going limp. 

You opened your eyes just in time to watch as Bucky slipped his fingers out from you and popped them into his mouth, licking your juices clean. It was the single most erotic thing you’d ever witnessed. Heat flooded your chest as you squirmed on the bed, eager for further relief. 

“You did so well doll” He praised as he slowly crawled his way back up your body, rolling your nipple between his fingers as he did, his eyes transfixed on your chest. 

Taking advantage of the distraction, your legs circled his waist and you pushed your body weight to the side, rolling him onto his back with your soaked cunt pressed against his jean clad crotch. 

“Off” You ordered, tugging on his shirt before returning back to his jeans, pulling them down his strong legs along with his boxers as Bucky removed his top. 

You gulped as you took in the sight of his engorged cock, the head dark and angry, precome leaking down it. 

Sensing your nervousness Bucky sat upright, his feet planted on the floor as he sat on the edge of your bed; pulling you close to his chest. Your legs slotted either side of his as his hands caressed your thighs, slowly making their way up to your ass, squeezing your cheeks as they did.

“We don’t have to” He murmured, nuzzling his face into your neck, kissing every inch he could get his lips on. 

“I want to” You gasped in response, your head tilting back to give him more access as he made his way down your chest. “It’s just been a while” 

“I’ll be gentle” He had every intention, he really did but when you lifted your hips and slowly sank down his length, your tight cunt squeezing and sucking him in, he nearly lost it. 

“Y/n” he groaned, sweat forming on his brow as he used every ounce of will power he had not to thrust up into you. 

A whimper left your lips as you finally took his entire length, his cock bottoming out deep within you. The pain was undeniable, although he’d gotten you as ready as you could’ve been, the stretch wasn’t something his fingers could prepare you for. You felt as though you were being split open as you took inch after inch of him. 

But, the pain soon dissolved and turned into pleasure as you felt an uncontrollable need to move - to feel the drag of his thick cock rub against your velvet walls, hitting the spot you’d been able to reach only a handful of times before. 

Slowly, you lifted your body, gasping as you felt his cock twitch inside of you; never before had you felt so full. “Bucky!” Your fingers threaded through his dark locks, pulling tightly as you sunk back down, the pain that was there before suddenly gone and replaced with wave after wave of bliss. 

“Doll” He choked, his fingers digging into your ass as he remained still beneath you. Unwilling to move until you’d given him the all clear. God, it had been so long since he’d felt a woman wrapped around him, but he was positive no one had ever felt as good as you did.

“Please, please!” You begged, not quite sure what you were asking for as you continued to bounce on his cock. Taking charge Bucky’s metal hand moved from your ass and gripped your chin as he pulled your face towards his. Lips smashed together as his tongue invaded your mouth, pulling yet another moan from you. 

His hips started to lift, meeting you thrust for thrust as his flesh hand cradled your back, keeping you close to his chest. 

Your lips left his to catch your breath just as his cock dragged along a particularly sensitive spot. A high pitched moan left your lips before you began chanting his name, his fingers having found your bud between your legs, the coldness of the metal adding to the intensity. 

Bucky’s grunts beneath you only brought you closer and closer to the edge once again, his brows furrowed as his eyes flitted between your face, chest and where you were both joined. 

“Come for me pretty girl” He breathed, his hips rutting against you harder than before, the sinful sound of your bodies slapping together filling the room as your juices dripped down his cock. 

A yelp left your lips as stars erupted behind your eyes, your soul nearly left your body as Bucky fucked you through the aftershocks, speeding up as he felt his release near the instant your juices drowned his cock. 

He couldn’t hold back any more and his thrusts became erratic before he groaned upon release, his hot cum squirting up into you, coating your insides. 

It took a few moments for both of you to catch your breaths, your chests crushed together as you came back to earth. His cock softening inside you brought you back to reality and your legs suddenly became very uncomfortable in their position, aching from riding the man beneath you. 

Sensing your discomfort, Bucky tucked his hands beneath your thighs and gently lifted you off him before turning you on your side, propping you up on his lap. 

The evidence of your activities made itself known as it trickled out of you and onto his thighs. The realisation suddenly dawning on Bucky. “Shit Y/n, I didn’t think” he panicked, his hands clawing at his hair as his mind ran a thousand miles per hour. 

He’d certainly thought about what a future with you would look like, how you’d look carrying his children, mothering your offspring and a selfish part of him wanted his seed to take. 

However, he knew it was wrong, something this huge should’ve been a joint decision, but he’d been too caught up in the moment, too wrapped up in the feeling of being wanted by you.

“Hey, hey” you cooed as you gently stroked his cheek, thumb rubbing over his stubble. “It’s okay, I’m on the pill. As adorable as it would be, there won’t be any mini Bucky’s running around causing chaos any time soon” You tried your best to reassure him and peppered his nose and cheeks with light kisses as you did. “I’ll be right back.”

On unsteady legs, you rose from his lap and headed into the bathroom. After relieving yourself you took a moment to stare back at your reflection. You truly looked a mess, your hair was sticking up in all sorts of directions and your neck was littered with light bruises from where Bucky’s lips had assaulted your skin. A giggle left your lips as you left the room, high on the happiness that bubbled in your chest.

Tag list: @iamtheonewhocares @indigo123789 @xpurpleglitter

It’s been a while since I’ve written smut so any feedback would be greatly appreciated!