#Yell at me if I clog up his tag

[ouronoodle]

I wanted to make a bit of an expressions sheet and ended up changing his outfit... again...

[synthshenanigans]

I now have an alt account where I will post random things and talk about nonsensical ideas. If that sounds interesting have a go at it: @starfall-calamity >:}

[under-the-dirt]

whispers.

HIIIII i just ate dinner #i also showered the other night which was super difficult #doing better but anyways this is a continuation of this and i might turn this into a full series who knows! the whispers series does sound cool asf. anyways, i feel drunk although the last time i drank was new year’s a few years ago (to my knowledge) but wtv

taglist: @mechmoucha @cloudyeventss

pairing: john price x fem!reader (no gendered pronouns, only like names eg. beautiful or lass)

tags: john price is so sexy, fingering, military inaccuracies, cum eating ig? john price smut, forced proximity, i can’t write accents, UNDER 13 DNI RAH

To say the next few weeks were awkward was an understatement. Every time you’d see Price around the base, you’d find yourself blushing and running off to do something else. He must’ve gotten tired of it, because the next time you were on a mission you were paired up with Price.

You guess it was a decent pairing, Gaz and Soap, You and Price. Except for the fact you could barely look at him, let alone have to share a safe house. He stood guard behind you while you worked on getting into the camera system to ensure Gaz and Soap’s safety.

“Soap, how copy?” You ask through the radio, hearing static before Soap’s smooth accent rang through.

“All good down here, same with Gaz. Splitting up now,” He replies, and you smile as you finally get into the camera systems, watching Gaz and Soap split up and go different directions.

“Alright, I’ve got a visual. Gaz, you’re going straight til’ the first right, then to the second door on the left. There will be a couple of hostiles, nothing you can’t handle,” You explain, and the static begins again before Gaz replies quickly.

“Roger that.”

“Good. Soap, you’re going straight until the second left then to the first door on the right. You should only have one man in there. Both of you radio silence unless there’s a problem, let me know when you’re there.”

“Sir yes sir,” Soap chuckles, and you watch both the men traverse the halls.

“What’s next?” Gaz asks, and your eyes widen slightly in surprise before quickly recovering.

“There should be a couple computers in there. Go to the ones in the back, plug in a USB to the 4 on the top row, and let me know once the intel has been fully downloaded. Soap, how copy?”

“Not good,” Is the brief response you get, and on the cameras you can see a group of men swiftly approaching him.

“Broom closet to your right, get in and stay quiet. Gaz, hurry up,” You tried to keep your words steady and calm, but you knew they probably picked up on the little bit of panic in them. When you saw more men marching towards Gaz, you knew you had to get them out of there. “Gaz, about 10 hostiles approaching. Take those USBs and get out of there.”

You shook your leg nervously as you watched Gaz grab the USBs and try and leave, being met with multiple hostiles. You stopped breathing entirely when you heard the gunshots, not daring to look. Price gently placed his hand on your shoulder.

“Soap, get your ass out of there!” Price yells into the radio, and you can hear the sounds of shuffling feet. It wasn’t until Price began rubbing your shoulder to assure you the men were okay did you open your eyes. They were uninjured, sure, but they were being chased by at least 20 hostiles.

You lost sight of them as they hopped onto the helicopter for exfil. There was no chance of you and Price getting on it, despite how close you were. It had already taken off.

“Shit,” You sigh. You tapped out of the cameras and walked to another room to take a breather.

A couple minutes later, price knocked on the doorway. “Good news ‘s we’re not trapped ‘ere. Bad news ‘s the base ‘s clogged up, and they can’t get a heli out ‘ere til’ tomorrow,” He says, and by his tone you can tell there’s more.

”And the worst news?”

“There’s no tea.”

“Not to quote soap, but Fuckin’ brits,” You laugh softly. “What is it?”

“There’s only one bed.”

“Oh,” You sigh, and shake your head. “I can take the floor.”

Price walks out, and you’re left to your own devices until the sun begins to set and you feel exhaustion begin to settle deep in your bones. Taking this as a sign to get ready for bed, you hop up and walk to the bedroom, where price is sitting on the bed in a t-shirt and his green cargo pants. God, that outfit made him look so good.

“‘S rude to stare, lass,” He purrs, chuckling softly.

“Oh, sorry,” You quickly look away and begin stripping your extra gear, all that which you hadn’t previously. You were now in a tank top and black cargos, and you shivered slightly. You definitely underestimated how cold it got at night here. “Is there any extra blankets?”

“Not that I can find,” He shrugs, tossing you an extra pillow. You fake it and toss it onto the floor beside the bed, curling up to preserve warmth as you close your eyes and try to fall asleep. You hear Price flick the lights off and climbs into the creaky bed. You shiver. “Cold?”

“Very.”

“C’mere, lass,” He coos, pulling the covers away from himself and inviting you into his arms. After a little hesitation, you crawl into his arms and press yourself to his chest. He wraps his arms around you, and his body heat warms you up far better than any amount of blankets could. But still, it’s terribly cold, and not even the living furnace that is John Price can warm you up fully. “Still cold?”

You nod. “It’s alright though, I can manage.”

“No.. Let me help you..” He purrs, running his hand down your side, quickly helping you realize how he means to. He sees no discomfort, so he runs his hand down to tour ass and gives the plump flesh a squeeze.

“Captain..” You sigh, melting into him and his touch, and he hums. His hands caress you gently before sleeping beneath the hem of your pants and panties. He runs a finger through your slick folds, chuckling when he feels the wetness gathered on them.

“Ah, what have we got ‘ere,” He laughs, pressing his thumb to your clit, causing you to let out a hushed moan. “Don’t keep quiet, I wanna hear ya.”

He rubs your clit gently, before pressing a single finger into your wet hole. The stretch of his large finger makes you gasp and rock forward gently, closing your eyes to soak in the pleasure. He hums in approval, gentle thrusting his finger, curling it to rub that spot inside of you that had you arching your back and moaning for more. He obliges, thrusting another thick finger into your desperate cunt.

“Ah- Captain.. God-“ You moan breathlessly, rocking your hips to meet his brutal thrusts. He returns to attacking your g-spot, causing that knot in your stomach you barely noticed to snap and send you toppling over the edge, moaning and gripping his shirt tightly. He rubs your clit gently to let you ride out your orgasm before slowly removing his fingers and sucking your juices off.

“Much better, no?” He chuckles, gently pushing away the hair stuck to your forehead with sweat. Your eyes are already closed as you regain your breath, falling asleep quickly.

The next day you pray that your guilty smile didn’t reveal last nights.. actions. But the odd look flicked at you from Mactavish told you that it hid nothing, and it was written in neon lights exactly what happened. That would be hard to explain.

that was sm fun to write and i can’t wait to see how this series progresses. i’m gonna make a masterlist, comment to be tagged in the next one! <;3 @cloudyeventss

[siampie]

Get Off the Highway || Chapter 3

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Plus Size Reader

Word Count: 2.7 k 

Warnings/tags: Enemies to lovers trope, angst, childhood trauma, eldest daughter syndrome

A/N: Alright, I hope this chapter makes sense to people. It does to me but I somehow feel as though it is convoluted. And maybe it is but I hope you love it anyway. And hopefully, it’s still believable in the Supernatural universe.

Previous Chapter || Chapter List || Next chapter

Masterlist || Join my tag list

Tag list: @marytheweefrenchie, @lyarr24, @deans-baby-momma, @just-cuz22, @c1eepypas1a,

@kr804573, @zepskies, @impalari, @urinternetmom, @sushiumex

Dividers by @cafekitsune

“Dude, what the hell was that?” Sam glared at his brother.

“The truth.” Dean shrugged. Sam just gave a deadpanned look. “Come on, Sammy. Do you seriously believe that the kid is cut out for hunting?”

“She did save your life before in that vampire nest. So, I’d say yes, she is.” Sam started after his brother. “Seriously, what’s your problem with her?”

“My problem is she doesn’t look like a hunter, Sam.” Dean fished his keys out of his pockets. “And she sure as hell doesn’t act like one.” Sam sighed and shook his head. “And who the hell doesn’t drink on a weekday? After a hunt?”

“Seriously, Dean?”

“What? That’s how most hunters celebrate after a hunt.” Dean reminded him. “What does she think? That she’s above us?”

“She never said that.”

“Yeah, well, she didn’t need to.” He climbed in the driver’s seat. Sam pushed out a sigh before getting in the car.

You slammed the door to your motel room behind you. Your throat was clogged up, tears rushed out of your eyes. You dropped on your bed and stopped the first onslaught of sobs by pressing your hands against your mouth. Your body racked with sobs, but you remained quiet. Not wanting anyone to hear. For which you berated yourself for, no one could hear you anyway because you were alone.

They weren’t tears of sadness. They were tears of frustration and anger. You did not know how else to let out those emotions. You didn’t cry out of anger all the time. But it did happen at times. Most of the time, those tears were out of frustration. Frustration at how you had failed tonight. Frustration at how you let your fears overcome you. Frustration at how mad he sounded when he yelled at you.  

You hated yelling.

“Stop being so overdramatic.” You wiped at your eyes furiously. “There is no reason for you to cry about this. Why are you like this?” You took in a shaky breath. “You’re okay. It’s okay.” Your hand rubbed at your chest, over your heart. As though, you were soothing the ache. “It’s okay. You’re okay.”

After a few minutes of repeating those words to yourself as a chant, your tears had died down. You washed your face and you did the only thing you could do. You took your focused back on the hunt. Dean Winchester was wrong. You knew what you were doing. And yes, you may have messed up but you were going to fix it. Like you always did.

The monster that attacked you was not a werewolf. Neither was it a skinwalker. It was something completely different, something you had never faced before. You opened your laptop and worked the case back from square one.

You took in consideration that the victims had all been attacked and bound before they died. Which you still didn’t understand why because that creature didn’t seem as though it needed its victim to be neutralized. It was quite powerful on its own. So, why restrained its victims?

While researching, you chased away any thoughts you may have about the Winchesters. Especially Dean. You didn’t understand why he disliked you so much. You had not done anything to him. You had remained polite and cordial when you first met. Nothing had happened that you could remember, that may have soured his opinion of you. To the point where instead of comforting you after you almost died, he snapped at you. Acting like an asshole.

“Leave this to us before you get yourself killed.” You grumbled under your breath. “Like you know better than I do. I saved your life and now, you’re talking to me like I’m a kid. What a gaping asshole!” You let out a frustrated sigh, tears pressing against your eyes. “It’s okay. He doesn’t know what he’s talking about. You’re going to prove him wrong. Make him eat his words.”

And eat his word, he would.

You stayed up all night to research for a monster that would feed on hearts, that wouldn’t be a werewolf or a skinwalker. And the only thing you came across that could fit the bill, was from Egyptian mythology. A creature that was called Ammit, the Devourer of the Dead. It fit the bill but you still had your doubts. You did not get a good look at it and it was dark out. You weren’t sure that the creature resembled the drawings that portrayed Ammit. However, it could explain why the victims needed to be restrained for Ammit to feed on them.

Ammit, also known as the Devourer of the Dead, was believed to be a demon rather than a deity. During the Judgment of Dead, the heart of the deceased was weighed against the feather of Ma’at, the goddess of truth. If the heart was weighted less than the feather, they were ruled to be pure and allowed to enter paradise. If their heart was weighted more than the feather, they were ruled to be impure and their heart would be devoured by Ammit. Leaving them without a soul and to wander in Limbo. Stuck between the world of the living and the dead. Restless in eternity.

You knew the victims were still alive when their hearts had been ripped from their chests. You just didn’t know why or who would do this? And that was what you needed to find out. So, on no sleep and a pounding headache, you knocked on the door of the first victim’s house. You wanted to know more about the victims, know more about their last days, their habits. Knowing more about them would give you more insight as to why they were killed.

The victims were around the same age and being in the same small town, that could only mean they had grown up together. It seemed that other the years they had grown apart. So, nothing was linking them to one another before their deaths. One of the victim’s friend had even mention a falling out. But did not mention anything more than that. Nevertheless, you had found a pamphlet for an exhibit at the local museum. An ancient Egyptian exhibition. Which only reinforced your belief that Ammit was the monster that killed those people.

You made a quick stop to the local café; your sleepless night was catching up to you. You were struggling to keep your eyes open and your yawning to a minimum. You needed some help to keep your eyes open for the rest of the day. Especially since you were planning to go at the ancient Egyptian exhibit.

With your much needed coffee in hand, sunglasses back on your face, you walked out of the local café. You had barely made it out when your elbow was roughly grabbed by none other than Dean Winchester. The rage you had felt towards him had dwindled through the day but seeing him now, your frustration and anger flared back up.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

You ripped your elbow from his grasp and glared at him, from behind your dark tinted glasses. “Enjoying my coffee. What does it look like I’m doing?”

“You’re still working the case.” He retorted, jaw clenched and glaring at you.

You took a sip from your cup. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“She doesn’t—” Dean let out a frustrated sigh. “Listen, Princess, we are working the case and you talking to the vics’ families ain’t making things easy for us.”  

You gave it a beat, playing with the lid of your cup. “I fail to see how this is my problem, Bucko. I mean how could I do such a thing? Clearly, you and your brother are professionals. Me talking to them shouldn’t get in the way, now, should it?” You took a step back away from them, “After all, you said it yourself, I don’t know what I’m doing.” You turned away from them and walked up to your car.

“It would be easier if we were working the case together, you know.” Sam suggested, following you. “Instead of getting in each other’s way.”

You fished out your keys. “Your brother wouldn’t agree to this.” You looked over at Dean, he was glaring at you still. “And frankly, I’d rather shoot myself in the foot than work with him. Best of luck to both of you.”

The exhibit was mostly about funerary rituals. Coincidentally, the first kill happened a few days after the exhibit had started. Meaning that the creature had come with the exhibit. Thanks to the guide, you learned that this was the first time the exhibit was put together by a young professor; Amanda Carlisle. She had gone out of town to college a few years back and made it big. She’d come back to make her hometown the first to see the exhibit she put together. Her parents were proud, and so was the whole town.  

Unfortunately, as you moved to speak to the professor in question, two giants that stood out like sore thumbs in the middle of this exhibit, were already speaking with her. You glared at Dean as he sent a smug smile your way. Clearly, he was happy that he was one step ahead of you this time. You puffed out a frustrated sigh, you would not turn this into a competition with the Winchesters. Not if you could help it. You had much more important things to do.  

Professor Carlisle was welcomed upon her return. A small-town girl that went to a prestigious college and came back successful. Plus, she was letting her home town benefit from that success of hers. Sharing the glory, so to speak. The victims were around her age too. Some may have been older of a few years but they were all around the same age. The victims and the professor had gone to school together. They might even have been friends. Except, they weren’t.

The best thing about small town was that everyone knew one another, and words got around fast. And it wouldn’t be too hard to get information from some the people, especially those who couldn’t wait to gossip. And boy, did they have a lot to tell you.

Amanda Carlisle was always a straight A student; it was no surprise for anyone that she would go far in life. But Amanda was never the popular kid. If her parents, her teachers and the rest of the town were proud of her, the other kids in her school did not exactly love her. You never quite understood the concept of bullying or why it happened. Was it jealousy or insecurity? Was it just because they didn’t like who she was or how she presented? No one really knew. However, it was clear for many people and known by the general public, they made her life a living hell.

And this was her revenge.

The shrill sound of your ringtone brutally pulled you out of your sleep. You blindly reached out for your phone on your bedside table.

“Yeah?” You answered groggily without checking the caller ID first. Your name was said on the other side of the line. “Sam? What’s going on?” You sat up, rubbing your eyes.

“I need your help.”

“And I don’t know what I’m doing.” You hissed at Sam as both of you walked to the back door of the museum.

“Seriously?” Sam turned to you.

“What? I’m allowed.” You talked back. “He gave me crap for being attacked. And now, he’s the one who got abducted. Don’t you think it’s a little ironic?”

Sam sighed. “It might be but—he wasn’t entirely wrong.”

You rounded on him, glaring. “Good luck on finding your brother—alone.”

“Okay, okay—” He stopped you from walking away. “He was wrong for yelling at you but I mean, you gotta admit that was pretty reckless on your part.”

You crossed your arms over your chest. “Yeah, well, not everyone has the luxury to have a hunting partner like you and your brother do.”

The growls of the creature reached your ears as you got closer to the office. The rattling of chains and muffled voices could be heard through the door that had been left ajar. Sam and you glanced at each other, grabbing your guns. Sam reached for the Ram’s horn in his bag, securing it. He had told you they already faced an Egyptian deity in the past, and the Ram’s horn had incapacitated the deity. With no real lore on how to stop Ammit, you went with his suggestion.

Dean was bound to a large table in the middle of the room. Ammit was held in a cage while Amanda looked at her lovingly.

“Let’s step away from the demon.” You aimed your gun at the professor. “And keep your hands where I can see them.”

Amanda turned to you slowly, wearing a smirk on her face. “I got him exactly where I want him.” She said as her eyes moved away from you over to Dean. “I know what he did to you.” Her eyes moved back to you. “He humiliated you, yelled at you. He deserves what’s coming to him.”

“Like they all did, right?” You countered.

“The poor girl tried to survive the aftermath of her humiliation but she couldn’t.” You frowned at her words. “She was too weak. She needed me. And so do you.”

With a flick of her hand, she opened the cage and unleashed Ammit. The demon pounced on you, tackling you to the ground. You fired your gun as you fell backwards. The wind got knocked out of your lungs. Ammit’s breath hit your face as you tried to push her away. Your gun had been knocked out of your hands.

“SAM,” You called, your voice strained. Ammit reared back as Sam stabbed it in the back. The demon writhed in pain, falling to the ground. Dean had been freed, was now fighting off Amanda. She shoved Dean away, his back hit one of the walls. Sam aimed his gun at her, without even lifting a finger, the gun flew out of Sam’s hands. She marched onto him, furious. She grabbed the lapels of his jacket and lifted him off of the ground. You turned to the creature on the ground, she was still writhing in pain. You moved to take out the Ram’s horn from her back.

“This is all your fault.” Amanda grabbed your shoulders as you turned to face her. She was furious, enraged. “I was trying to help you.”

“Yeah, I didn’t ask for it.” And you stabbed her in the neck with the Ram’s horn. Her eyes shone with purple lights, her body suddenly and quickly decaying, turning into a mummy, before she fell to the ground. And the demon vanished into thin air.

You threw your bag in the passenger seat, Sam and Dean were standing behind you. Sam cleared his throat before he nudged his brother.

“Look—”

“Don’t bother.” You shoved your hands in your pockets. “It’s already forgiven.”

“What?” Dean scrunched up his eyebrows.

“You were going to apologize, right?”

“Apologize for what?” Dean asked back.

“Oh, I don’t know, Bucko.” You shook your head. “Maybe for yelling at me in the woods. How about that?”

“So what? You can’t handle a little yelling?”

“I can handle yelling. Doesn’t mean I have to. Especially, after I almost got killed.” You glared at him.

“Well, someone has to tell you when you’re screwing up.” Dean stepped closer to you. “And you screwed up that night.”

“For the love of Aphrodite, you think you know better than me, don’t you?”

“Oh, Princess, I know better than you.” Dean continued. “And let me tell you, you’re not—”

“Alright, enough,” Sam placed himself between you and his brother. “Seriously—” Sam put a hand on your shoulder. “Thanks for your help.”

“You’re welcome.” You smiled at the youngest Winchester. “At least, one of you is appreciative.” You turned to Dean with a smirk. “Can’t say the same for everyone.” Dean rolled his eyes, letting out a groan. “Anyway, I gotta fly. And words of advice, you should do the same.”

Sam pulled you in a quick hug, catching you by surprise. “Call if you need anything.”

“Yeah, will do.” You smiled at him as he pulled away. You sent a nod Dean’s way. “Bucko.”

“Princess.” He answered in kind.

You climbed in your truck and drove off.

“You know I gotta give it to her.” Dean started as he and his brother walked to the Impala.

“What?”

“She ain't that bad."

Previous Chapter || Chapter List || Next chapter

[deepperplexity]

Prompt 5. Grave Of Snow [A2]

Pairing: Colonel Brandon x Fem!Reader

POV: Second, Reader & Third, Brandon

Setting: The Lands Around Delaford Estate & Delaford Estate

Continuation of: Prompt 1. Chimney Soot

A/N: This was harder to write than I'd thought it would be. My own greatest death fear is drowning, no other manner of dying scares me more than that but this fic as being buried alive and it's quite a horrendous thing too - and it's Christmas time, what a super jolly way to spend it 😂 Gosh, I hope you weren't expecting Rickmas2023 to be all sweet and fluffy 🙈👍❤

On another note, we're making an ice rink in our backyard (nearly done) and I just realised this year I have no prompt for ice skating 😱 Like, sure, you can connect almost any prompt with Ice Skating but there's no dedicated prompt for it this year - feels a little weird 😂

Tags/TW’s: Buried Alive, Fear Of Being Harmed, Mentions Past Physical Hurt (hand lashing and punishment), Fear Of Losing Someone, Mentions Past/Current Fears (being buried alive) ...and good doggies doing a good job too

Abbr.: Y/N - Your Name

Word Count: 3.2k+

LINKTREE // AO3 // MASTERLIST

⩤• You •⩥

You wiped at your face, the soot still clung to your skin, leaving you looking like a bandit raccoon as the handkerchief had protected your lower face. The dusty dress lay abandoned on the floor as you pulled on the rags you’d come to Delaford in. This can’t be happening, cannot, cannot be happening! The colonel! I-, I-, oh, I’m my own ruin!

You banged open the door, and slammed it shut by cheer force while running before you even released the handle. The winding, narrow steps were a death trap in your rush to get away. You were not going to stay for a lashing, for a rough yelling, for any punishment the upstanding man deemed fit for your actions — for your lack of knowledge about the very man himself rendering you unable to treat him correctly even. You didn’t even take the time to say goodbye to Mrs Garber, or inform Cook about you leaving. You just ran out into the snowy winter land outside as the winds whipped around, tossing about that very snow. While the clouds hid the warming rays of the sun, the sky was as grey as your trembling hands.

The night had gifted the world with another few inches of snow the stable boys were helping the other servants to shovel, but the servants’ side wasn’t cleared yet so your legs plummeted into the white cold to your mid-thighs. You shivered and hissed as your dress hiked up, the long underpants you wore upon your arrival were still up in your quarters. Your rush hadn’t allowed for more than your dress, shoes, and cloak to be put on.

You clumsily forced your way through the snow, not knowing where any paths were you only focused on reaching the tree line up ahead. It was far off, but you were determined to get away before anyone could get their hands on you. His gentle eyes still lingered in your head, the sweet warmth his voice spread through you, the slight scrutiny he’d viewed you with — as if he’d been trying to see beyond the soot and covering handkerchief. You’d never felt any tingle like the one he’d made your skin warm under. What was that even? A sudden lapse of judgement? A lust, like other men throw my way when they want to take advantage?No, that thought didn’t sit right with you. His gentleness was too clear, yet you knew nothing about him and you had met people like that before. Kind, caring, sweet — on the outside. Behind closed doors, that was a different matter entirely.

You feel forward, plummeting into the snow as your foot tripped on something. You were crawling forward a second later, determined to reach the trees, to hide among them and get away from the estate you had hoped would have been your salvation through the freezing winter. Now, well, you were even worse off than before. Stupid, stupid, stupid! I shouldn’t have tried so hard! I should have just told Mrs Thatch about the clog!

You reached the trees just as the sound of hounds filled the air. A foreboding dread filled you from within as you picked up the pace and nearly ploughed your way through the snow, your foggy breath heaving out of you while the hounds' yelps and howls seemed to turn louder. You grasped the first low-hanging branch of a pine and pulled yourself forward as the imposing trees sheltered you from the biting winds, the sounds of the hounds half drowned out as you dragged and pulled yourself forward until the snow lessened, burdening the branches above rather than the ground below.

A sigh of relief escaped you as you grabbed another branch and pulled yourself forward one final time before the snow only reached your knees. The relief was felt too soon while you sought to get deeper among the trees. You stumbled forward, snagging your foot on a hidden root below, only to grab a hold of another branch. It slipped through your numbing fingers, the pine needles like cutting blades — hardened by the cold — as they sliced at your palms while you ended up in the snow with a panted breath at the impact nearly burying your face in the white cold. Then you were pummelled.

The branch had been released with such force the tree swayed, its branches being freed of the heavy snow above before the sudden springing rippled through the nearest tree. Snow came crashing down in waves and you could do nothing but shield your face as the weight forced you to lay still — burying you completely without your cry of fear penetrating the deadly mass. Lord, no, you thought as you lay immobile with only a small bubble of air around your face thanks to your raised arms.

Why his chuckle echoed in your head, why the sturdiness of his body against yours filtered through the fear, why the gentle curiosity in his eyes shimmered before your mind's eyes you couldn’t tell. The echo of silver bells, the crackling of a fire, the swirl of dancing couples in wonderful dresses and beautiful frocks seemed like a hazy fog of a dream you’d wished for all your life and were now never to experience. Not even as an attentive maid blending into the scenery without anyone taking notice. In that foggy dream, keeping the horror of your grave of snow at a distance, he stood at the very centre and his eyes — gentle and sweet — were only on you. The tingling warmth in your numb fingers and toes felt as real as the crawling chill along your back while you struggled more and more to breathe and stay conscious.

⩤• Brandon •⩥

“Samson, search!” he bellowed, his voice travelling further than needed. Your dusty handkerchief held tightly in his harsh fist, the hound’s nose just having been buried in it before the other dogs took a whiff. The hound howled, setting the other dogs off with yelps and barks as they dove into the snow, the path your body had cut through it already starting to fill with the swirling snow the harsh winds threw about.

He had never been spellbound before. The way he had seen only your eyes surrounded by black ash ought to have discouraged any sensations within his chest but, alas, the wonder your eyes were and the manner you spoke with had taken him by such surprise his heart had no chance but to pound. He’d never thought sticking his head in a chimney while talking about Santa Claus would have lurched his entire body into a warm pounding. You had spoken so sweetly, your eyes those of someone who knew hardship yet prevailed. He was enthralled with the glimmer in them the second your eyes had connected in the dark of the chimney.

The hound howled again as he stepped out of the protective walls of stone, through the servants’ door, and felt himself sink to right above his knee in the snow. Remembering the disarray of your quarters, the discarded dress, the abandoned second undergarments that should have clad your body to protect against the snow — no matter the horridly tattered state of the thin fabrics — made his stomach twist.

He was not unfamiliar with the cold, the wetness, the dampness of melted snow, and how it would cling to one’s body. He had spent far too many seasons in service of the royals not to have experienced all sorts of weather and their respective challenges. And now you were out there, exposed and frightened given the horrendous look you had offered him before running away in a poof of swirling ash dust. There had been something wrong with that look, the dread of it — and the manner you had wrung your hands before you. what harm has befallen you before? Have hands been laid atop you for such a small thing as spreading ash?

He gave chase, following the loud dogs with servants following behind him with his heart in a harsh pounding. The snow wasted no time clinging to him, seeping through his clothes not suitable for the weather in the slightest. The only thing he’d done was drape a heavy cloak around himself while Mr Barkley had fetched the hunting dogs, his beloved hound at the helm of the pack. He was grateful for having taken that extra second to at least do that as the wind was bitingly cold, nearly clawing at his cheeks while the sky above seemed to darken by the second until the snow being thrown about was so thick the clouds above were no longer visible.

“Samson! Search!” he called, the hound howling back while your trembling shoulders filled his head. Something had been done to you, someone had hurt you for something akin to what had just happened and he could not fathom anyone harming anyone over cleaning, or stumbling, or not knowing the face of a man they had never before met.

Samson howled and came bolting back toward him, Christopher felt his heart stop as the dog kept sniffing the ground at his feet, searching for a fresher scent. The trail you’d left behind was gone, he could barely see an inch before him as the snow stuck to his lashes. He pulled out the handkerchief again, beckoning Samson to take a new whiff — the hound ignored him while sniffing the ground harder, burrowing his nose below the top layer before digging his way through the snow toward the trees Christopher knew lay not far away even if he could not see them.

“Sir Brandon!” Mr Barr called behind him. “Sir! The winds are too strong!” the man called over the howling of that very phenomenon of nature. “We shall find her! Or she will perish out here!” he called back, not stopping his trudge forward despite the snow gripping him nearly to his mid-thighs by that time. I shall not lose her to this storm , he thought while leaning forward to push through the snow faster, following the small dent after Samson and the rest of the dogs. “Sir! It’s too dangerous!” Mr Barr called, but he ignored it. He had faced danger, and the storm wrapping him up was nothing compared to the horrors of his past, or the pain contained within it.

They reached the trees and the thickness of the branches kept the worst of the winds at bay, the snow on the ground lessening for each step until it barely came to his knees and he could move faster. Samson’s howl up ahead caught his attention, he’d found something. Christopher barged forward, running despite the snow and whipping branches, until he found his dogs digging at what appeared to be a mound of snow created by yielding branches.

His heart leapt toward his throat, making it difficult to breathe. Are you in there? His mind had time to wonder before he lurched into action. If you lay buried under such heavy snow, had you any air to breathe? Had you broken anything? Were you crushed? To be buried alive had been one of his greatest fears back in the East Indies, and even before that. When he was a lesser man, fighting in trenches filled with muddy water that could have easily turned into a watery grave in the madness of battle.

He dug, and dug, and dug until his skin felt as if it would slide off his icy fingers and his nails crack with the cold. That was when your fingers appeared, icy cold and unmoving. His lungs stuttered on a sharp intake of air while Samson licked the fingers quickly. He dug with all his might just as the servants appeared behind him. “Dig, men! Dig! ” he demanded with such a dark rumble he barely recognized his frantic voice himself.

A frantic moment later you were dug out from the snowy grave he would not allow to become an eternal resting place. He dragged you too forcefully into his arms, wiping away snow from your cold face, smearing the ash further — hiding your face from him behind a blotchy mess of black and grey — but he could not have cared less as he saw foggy air part from between your lips. His shoulders sank with relief before he held you up and took off his cloak by interchanging his arms. You were tightly wrapped but unresponsive as he stood with Samson by his leg, his entire body wiggling with the motion of his tail as it wagged relentlessly from having found his target.

⩤• You •⩥

You shivered, a wet rag graced your forehead in a rubbing motion while the deep sigh of a woman echoed all around you. “Stupid child, why would you run in such a manner,” Mrs Garber nearly whispered, the familiarity of her voice softening the pounding of your heart. “And from the colonel no less, foolish girl.” You couldn’t tell if your mother’s long-lost friend was angry or worried, her voice didn’t let it slip through fully.

When your eyes blinked open she was leaning over you, and you were almost too warm. “Oh, Y/n,” she said while you blinked a few more times to clear your vision. “Foolish girl, you had me so worried!” she chided, but, perhaps affectionately so. “Mary?” you asked and she sighed but nodded. “Where-, where am I?” you asked as your eyes flicked about the glorious room as you tried to move your stiff limbs. A giant canopy of thick fabric was above you, the mattress beneath was the most comfortable one you’d ever laid upon, and the covers atop you felt lush — like silk, expensive silk.

“Oh, sweet child, you’re in—” “Mrs Thatch,” came that gravelly voice which sent goosebumps along every inch of your skin while your heart picked up the pace a notch as you turned your eyes toward the slightly ajar door. “Give me an occupation, or I shall run mad,” he continued so quietly it shouldn’t have been possible for you to hear the words. But his voice travelled far, even in such a low tone appearing to be far away given the echo to it. “Colonel, sir,” that shrill voice from the grand room before said. “There is little to do but wait. She is in good care with Mrs Garber, sir.”

Your eyebrows scrunched, he sounded anxious — it didn’t suit that voice at all to have such a tone. You found yourself wishing to hear that chuckle of his again. Perhaps you had a fever and were delirious? “You have had the master so worried, Y/n. How could you do such a thing to the good man?” Mrs Garber chided quietly but you couldn’t quite grasp the words. “Now, you lay here and I shall fetch the man before he drives himself to insanity. You apologise, you hear me? He is a gentle soul, I will not have you tormenting the respectable man with your nonsense behaviour. Your mother wasn't able to run away but that does not give you the right to bolt in such a manner.” Her eyes were harsh, nearly glaringly so, as she rose and tucked the cover all the way up to your chin before smoothing out your hair in what you believed to be an attempt at making you appear more decent.

Your heart pounded harder with each step she moved toward the door. When she pushed it open you sat up, the cover pooling around your waist while the nightshirt placed on you kept you covered from your collarbones and down. “She’s awake, sir,” Mrs Garber said and, not a second later, he was in the doorway. “Miss Y/l/n,” he said without taking so much as half a step into the room itself. His voice was that of relief, his gentle eyes warm in the glow of the hearth at the opposite end of the room from where you lay in a giant bed.

You felt your cheeks heat, your fingers gripping the cover atop your legs harshly while your eyes folded from his intent viewing of you. Your heart ran amok as he stood in figure-disclosing attire with his black frock coat nearly clinging to his waist while the shiny boots adorning his feet glimmered in just as black a colour.

“Miss Y/n/l? Are you fairing?” he asked while taking a step closer, making your head jerk up. “I-, I am,” you stuttered. “Sir, I’m-, I apologies, for my behaviour,” you continued while you endeavoured to remember what had happened after you lost your grip on the branch with slicing blades for pine needles. “Not a word about it,” he said as he began moving in, toward the foot of the bed. The light of the fire encased him in a glowing halo, making his hair shimmer and the glimmer in his eyes appeared brighter as his eyes held yours.

Why is my heart running rampant? I’m-, I’m all tingly all over when he views me. Your thoughts were uncertain but your body seemed to react in a wholly new way to the grand man before you. “Are you hurt?” he asked, his voice dipping lower. You could only manage to shake your head. “You were buried in the snow,” he said after a moment. His fingers curled around the footrest of the bed, his knuckles whitening at the force used. Your breath hitched at the sight, so alike hands around a riding crop used for lashings.

Your fingers began fidgeting, your hands wringing and rubbing atop the cover. The memory of the pain was far too fresh. “Miss?” he said, snatching your attention. “Are your hands hurting?” You stiffened for a second before you let go and grabbed the cover anew while shaking your head. “Did someone lay harm upon you?” You didn’t move, didn’t say a thing, only kept your eyes on his whitening knuckles. It was a common thing, after all. Masters laid hands upon their servants as they deemed fit, and you had time and time again ended up at the mercy of such wicked, cruel men and women were either fate or a coincidence.

Your breath hitched as he suddenly pushed off the bed frame, stepping around to stand at your side in less than three long strides. You shrunk into the mattress, his imposing figure hard to take so closely — yet, it wasn’t just fear of retribution that made you do so. No, no there was something else entirely imposing about him that you fought against so as not to be drawn in. If it were his handsomeness, the memory of his sweet chuckle, or those gentle eyes that now seemed to flare with something darker you couldn’t quite say. But he warmed you in places he ought not to have been able to reach at all.

“No matter,” he said quietly, a mere drawl of a whisper. “You are safe here, miss. No harm will befall you within my estate.” “S-sir?” you squeaked out, confused at his sweet words spoken in such a harsh tone. “Are you not to punish me?” you continued with a tremble to your voice that had far more to do with the warmth he spread within you than the question you’d just asked. His eyes flared before his entire face softened. “No, my sweet. No punishment shall ever befall you for breathing life into my heart with those eyes of yours.”

…To Be Continued…

LINKTREE // AO3 // MASTERLIST

A/N: Ugh, theses two... Gosh, I do love it when emotions are instant and soulmate-like 😩👏 And another cliffhanger it is - are we excited to see where this goes? 👀😘

I'm working as hard as I can to make sure I'm as early as possible posting and I'm going to start working on tomorrow's prompt right away, I have a little extra time today (aka I'm taking the time today 'cus I need it 😂) so perhaps I'll start working on Thursday's prompt too - tomorrow we're getting back to Turpin again anyway! 🥰👏

Q: If you had to choose between only listening to Christmas music and no other music or only watching Christmas movies and no other movies through all of December - what would you choose? 👀 A: I'd say I'd choose Christmas music - but, I love it and almost exclusively listen to Christmas music through November and December anyway 😂 Only watching Christmas movies would be harder 🙈

TAGLIST: @mamawolfsmith87 @snowblossomreads @ladykardasi @a-queen-and-her-throne @eternal-silvertongued-prince @lyrixsnape @imwithyoutiltheendofthelinebucky @lizlil @snapefiction @darkthought15 @monstreviolet @flowerdementia @marvelschriss @once-upon-an-imagine @ravennight14 @caseydoodles98 @grimmyhild @monster-energies @myobscureimaginarium @snowblossomreads @eternal-silvertongued-prince @cherryglossie @setsuna-meiou31 @helena211 @a-queen-and-her-throne @justsaturn0 @turvi @imwithyoutiltheendofthelinebucky @sunnylikesfrogs @mamawolfsmith16 @dianilaws @sassanoe @snapesrn @bernadette-peters12 @sammy-13 @smartowl999 @castleofthorns @serenanight87 @sunset90 @daddythanatos

Want to be tagged? 💚 You can tag yourself HERE! Or tell me and I’ll gladly tag you! 😍

[Dec:2023]

[eris-snow]

𝐓𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐀 𝐁𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐤

Tags: bakugou x gn!reader, fluff, comfort, crying, swearing (as usual)

Been feeling a little inferior to those around me lately. It's something I'm sure we can all relate to, so I hope this brings comfort to those who feel like they're never good enough. Katsuki Bakugou is surprisingly good as a comfort character.

Today was just not your day. You've had these days. The ones when you would feel like you were about to cave inward. The days that you feel your strong front collapse because of the stress and pressure you exert on yourself.

Today isn't any different. Everyone in your class is constantly testing the limits, sky-rocketing past boundaries, while you...well, you...

You're just learning how to grow and improve. U.A. is a school where you need to aim for the top if you don't want to be left behind. Because of this, you feel like you're slipping further and further behind in class.

Momo is good at academics. Shoto is good at combat. Everyone is improving while you're trying so hard not to seem like a failure.

You're not bad, per se. But just seeing your classmates overcome their own boundaries and overtake you sow seeds of deep insecurity in your heart.

Today, was the day something finally snaps.

Bakugou comes over to help you study, armed with assessment books and dons thinned-rimmed glasses that make him look more intelligent and more mature. He still yells, mind you.

Every time you get a question wrong, he screams his head off while pointing out where you went wrong. He waits for you to solve the problem, and if you get it wrong again, the cycle continues. Rinse and repeat.

It got to the point when you were on the brink of tears, drawing a shaky breath as Bakugou eyeballed you write your equations with a quivering hand. You knew you'd asked for his help, even mentally fortressed yourself to focus on what you can do to improve, but...

"Dumbass, come on! This problem's fucking easy, an idiot like you can handle it!" Bakugou barks.

It's a final nudge over the delicately crafted wall that blocks out your emotions. A droplet of sorrow weasels its way past your defences, and your dam breaks.

Tears of helplessness flood your eyes as they splatter on your paper, your shaky hand pausing as you attempt to control these overwhelming feelings of inferiority gushing out.

Bakugou's still here, he can see everything, you scream at yourself...but your tears can't stop flowing. You just sit there, frozen, with tears streaming down your face and a trembling hand clutching your pencil so hard it could break.

Bakugou practically reels at the sight of you crying.

"I-I'm so sorry, Bakugou, I just," You sniffled, nose getting clogged up. "It's just...I-give me a minute," Grabbing a couple of tissues, you hastily blow your nose, trying to salvage the scrapes of dignity you have left.

"W-We can continue now, I just-" You try to clear your voice, or at least stable it to some degree. "That was just-"

"Fuck work, Y/n," He states bluntly, noticeably calling you by your first name. He tosses the book off your desk, slams his glasses on it and spins your chair to face him. "What, in the name of everloving hell is going on? Nah, don't shake that pretty little head of yours. Don't you lie to me," He snarls, words softening. "You're going through shit and you're clearly struggling, so What. Is. It."

A new round of tears hit your eyes as you choke back a sob. "I just-" Your voice is barely coherent now. Your watery eyes meet his, and it makes your breath hitch.

Bakugou's eyes were glowing with genuine care. Under those piercing, vermilion-red eyes, you can see his raw intentions laid bare.

He cares.

The words spill from your mouth as you babble, forcing yourself to admit the things you've wanted to hide, deny or avoid this entire term.

How you spent the entire lesson on Mathematics just barely grasping the teacher's words.

How hard you've been working.

How everything you do or try still makes it seem your improvement rate is put on the lowest setting of a slow-moving conveyor belt.

And Bakugou just...listens. He sits there patiently with an attentive gaze, each word you say making his eyes gaze softer and softer until it reeks of empathy for you.

He lets you explain how you feel, and doesn't say a word as you stuff your face with tissues and strewn them on the ground.

"You done?" He asks gruffly when you stop talking, making you nod your head vigorously at him. His eyes narrow on you, "Good,"

In a flash, he stands up and grabs you, pulling you into his embrace as he wraps his warm, comforting arms around you.

"Now listen here, Y/n," He says, voice hushed but holding conviction. "I'll say this once and I'll say it until it gets into that thick skull of yours. You have no right to work yourself down that hard. I don't care what words you're branding yourself as inside that blasted mind of yours, but you are not a failure."

He takes a deep breath and continues. "You are fucking incredible no matter how stupid you think you are, and you're already working even harder than most extras in our level. So can you please stop hurting my Y/n and realise how amazing you really are?"

Your breath catches.

My Y/n.

You must be going deaf or something. There's no way in a million years that he'd call you that.

"Bakugou-"

"Say it."

"I-I-" You bury your head into his shoulder, stumbling over the embarrassingly confident words he described you with. "I'm not a failure," Your voice wobbles. Bakugou raises an eyebrow. "And?"

"I'm fucking incredible." You say, heat rushing to your cheeks.

You both pull away as you wipe your tears away. Bakugou cracks a satisfied grin. "Good. Now screw this shit, we're getting a tub of ice cream in here. You need a goddamn break."

He doesn't fix your problems magically overnight. But that caramel ice cream is a sinful treat as Bakugou makes you take a nap right after the tub is finished.

It's the best sleep you've had in months.

--

When Kirishima hears about this the next day, he is adamently shocked that the both of you can so boldly claim that you're still "just friends".

Katsuki Bakugou is truly, a fucking idiot.

[atlas-likes-writing]

Death in the Family

Characters: Jason Todd/Red Hood, Dick Grayson/Nightwing, Bruce Wayne/Batman

Summary: The world is falling. Dick and Jason are trapped under the rubble of a now-destroyed building. It takes everything to escape.

Word Count: 2325

Tags: Angst, whump, gore, graphic depictions of injuries, death/deaths in the past, swearing (but nobody actually gives a shit about that), mentions of explosions, angst with a sad ending.

Authors Note: Is the pacing goofy? Yes. Do I care? No. I will be paying in advance for everyone's therapy bills regardless. This fic was inspired by the movie "Fall" on Netflix! Let me know if you want me to tag you in my fics!

Masterlist | AO3

@qcomicsy

It’s as if the world is falling. Everything feels so heavy. An uncomfortable weight lies on his chest. Moving doesn’t help. It instead makes it worse. A disgusting feeling of wetness coats the side of his face. Is it sweat? Tears? He can’t tell. His body is heavy. His eyelids are heavy. Maybe he should just stay there. Slip into sleep again. Maybe then that weighted feeling will leave him. 

“-Bird!” 

A tiny voice sounds out in the dim. That’s peculiar. What’s the importance of a bird right now? He’ll figure that out when he wakes up. He’s too tired to care right now. 

“Jaybird!” 

The voice is clearer now. Louder, but not to the point of deafness. Loud in the way your parents are loud when they yell at you from downstairs to tell you that dinner is ready. It’s distant. Muffled. Like someone has put earmuffs over his ears. 

“For goodness' sake, Jason! Wake up!” 

That’s what got his eyes to snap open. When he does, he’s met with almost pitch black. His arms are pinned to the ground beneath him by sharp stones. No, not stones. Boulders. His left arm has clearly snapped at the force of them falling on top of him. The dull throb that emanates from the now useless limb is soon to crescendo, but for now that’s all it is; a dull throb. It’s now Jason realises that the uncomfortable weight isn’t just the feeling of impending doom as he originally thought. It’s a slab of concrete. Thick and jagged and it’s digging into his torso, surely leaving bruises in its wake. 

He begins to panic when the dust begins to settle on his eyelids. How long had he been down there? He shifts around, attempting to move any of the debris that fell on him. Immediate regret shoots through him; as does a sharp, blinding pain in his leg. He cries out. The sound of it is gravelly and clogged as if something is stuck in his esophagus. The dust around him coats everything. His skin, his helmet (which he now realises is broken), his tattered costume; everything. It sticks to the interior of his throat and makes speech scratchy. 

“Nightwing?” he calls out to the darkness, “What happened? Dick? Are you there?” 

“I’m here, Jason. Had me worried for a second there,” the voice of his brother breaks through the cracks between the rock. Relief floods through the younger man. 

“Oh, thank the gods,” he responds. “Where are you? Are you injured?” 

“I’m fine, Jaybird. Only a couple scratches. You’re the priority right now. Keep talking to me, okay? Do you remember what happened?” 

What did happen? The vigilante ignores the pounding in his head in an attempt to recall the happenings of the past thirty minutes. His mind is filled with the images of a battle with the Joker. Jason broke down at the sight of him, and his distraction resulted in the C4 at the base of the high-rise building to explode, falling directly on top of them as a result. The two men are lucky to be alive. It’s a miracle Dick scraped away with only a few bruises and scratches. 

Yeah, Dick is apparently far luckier than Jason right now. 

“The fucking Joker,” Jason spits. “I’m going to kill him.” 

“Let’s focus on getting out of here first, eh? We don’t know if the rest of the family are trapped under here as well.” 

Dick’s defusal works. Jason breathes in deeply to calm his nerves. His eyesight begins to adjust to the darkness, and he can make out his surroundings more clearly. 

“Right. Yeah. You’re right. Where are you? I can’t see you anywhere.” 

“I’m next to you, Jason. Through this gap in the rock,” Dick replies. At his words, Jason tilts his head as far as his predicament will allow him (which, predictably, is not very far), and the eyes of his brother shine out in the dim between two large rocks that separate them. They’re bright and unmoving and make Jason relax a little. They always seem to have that effect. The constancy of them always ooze safety and competence no matter the situation. He’s Nightwing. His gaze can make even Batman feel safe. All it takes is a meaningful look and Jason feels calmer almost immediately. 

The younger man moves his head back to its original position, looking up at the debris instead of to the side. He closes his eyes, before throwing his head back onto the ground in frustration. 

“Fuck! This is my fault,” he exclaims. 

“We both know that’s bullshit,” Dick replies. Jason fights the urge to tut at him mockingly for his colourful language. “That man beat you to half-to-death and then caused the building you were in to explode. Nobody is blaming you for acting the way you did. This is not your fault. Stop blaming yoursel-" 

“People could be dead, Dick.” 

That shuts him up. 

The two brothers lie there in silence for a while before Jason speaks up again. 

“We should be dead, Dick.” 

“How come?” 

“What are the chances of us making it this far? You’ve been a vigilante since you were what, eight? You’ve been in the game almost as long as Bruce, and yet here you are.” 

Dick remains quiet. Jason continues. 

“Me? I did die. Quite horrifically, might I add. Yet here I am.” Jason opens his eyes and turns back to his brother. “Why am I not dead?” 

“Because it wasn’t your time.” 

“Then when is my time?” 

“Not right now, if you’re wondering.” 

Now it’s Jason’s turn to be silent. 

“You have your whole life ahead of you,” Dick states, “Now is not the time for you to talk like you want to give up.” 

“I’m legally classified as dead, Dick. There is a gravestone in the gardens of the Manor with my name on it. I’m already halfway there.” 

“And? You’re alive right now, right? Is that not excuse to keep on living?” 

Jason sighs, a heavy exhaustion settling like bricks on his body. 

“Fuck you, man.” 

“What for?” 

“For being right.” 

Dick’s eyes remain trained him, steady and still. It’s almost unsettling. The older of the two speaks up, this time with humour in his voice. 

“I’m always right,” he says, a smile evident in his voice despite the fact that Jason can’t see the lower portion of his face. The younger brother chuckles, the sound scratchy and harsh. 

“Now that’s bullshit.” 

The silence that follows is comfortable despite their surroundings. Jason closes his eyes, a faint smile on his face. He could fall asleep here and be perfectly content with it. A heaviness presses on his eyes as he begins to drift off.  

“Jason! Don’t close your eyes.” For the second time in the span of about five minutes, his eyes snap open in shock. They flutter for a moment, and he lets out a disgruntled groan. 

“I’m tired, Dick. I want to sleep.” 

“I know you want to, kiddo, but I need you to stay awake for me, okay? Bruce will never forgive himself if you end up dead.”  

Jason scoffs. “Fuck that. He’d get over it as soon as the funeral’s over.” 

“Yeah right,” Dick replies. “You didn’t see how he treated himself after the first time. He nearly destroyed himself.” 

“Let’s put the emphasis on nearly, hm?” he spits into the darkness. “If I was in his position, I would have torn the world apart if he had-” 

“Bruce isn’t you, Jason!” 

“What. And you are, Golden Boy?” 

“That’s not what I meant, and you know it.” 

“What did you mean then?” 

An audible sigh is heard from the other side of the boulder but the older of the two brothers otherwise stays silent. Jason closes his eyes again, this time out of regret. 

“Shit. Look, Dick. I’m sorry. We shouldn’t waste oxygen arguing.” 

“You’re right. We shouldn’t. I’m sorry.” 

It’s at this point when an audible drip of something falls onto the rocks behind Jason’s head. His eyebrows knit into a frown at the sound. What was that? Is there water above them? If so, maybe they could use it to find which way is up so they can escape. 

Another drip, this time closer to his head. He can’t see the droplet of whatever it is falling from the ceiling of debris. Is it coming from the side? He turns his head away from Dick to look for the source. In the dim, he can make out a puddle of something next to his head. He squints his eyes, and he sees that it’s red. 

Oh.

Red. Crimson. It’s blood. 

His blood. 

He’s bleeding. 

The thing coating the side of his face isn’t sweat or tears. It’s his own blood. 

Oh God. 

Was the space he was trapped in always this claustrophobic? 

Was this smell of death always present? 

His chest is tight. His throat is closing. The pounding in his head heightens. 

A short way above him, he can hear his family. They’re shouting for him. They’re shifting rubble and debris. They’re trying to reach him. They’re shouting for Dick. Dick is shouting back. 

They can’t hear him. 

“Jason! Shout! Let them hear you!” 

He does so. He shouts. He screams. He yells. He yells for Bruce. He yells for Tim. He yells for Steph. He yells for anyone who might be there to save him. 

“Red Hood? Is that you?” He hears his father’s voice. 

“Bruce!” Jason replies. “It’s me! Help me!” 

“Keep shouting, Jaylad. We’ll find you!” 

He continues to yell for his father. His voice quickly growing hoarse from the dust that sticks to his windpipe. Beside him, Dick urges him to keep going. 

“Keep shouting, Jason! Keep it up! Don’t stop!” 

It’s only when light spears through the rubble and debris is pulled away that he stops. Tears stream down his face as the now unsettled dust falls on top of him all at once. He squints as his eyes try to adjust to the newfound light. The boulders pinning his broken arms are lifted and the slab of concrete is removed from his ribs. Strong arms lift him up and out of the pit he was in moments before. Bruce was always able to lift him as if he weighed nothing. Now is apparently no different. He’s picked up and cradled by his father like a child as he’s taken away from the hell that trapped him. He hunts for his family amongst the destroyed remains of the building that fell on top of them. He sees Tim. Damian. Steph. Duke. Cass. Carrie. Harper. Kate. Everyone. They’re all there. They’re all safe. 

But they’re missing someone. 

“Dick! You left Dick!” Jason’s voice cracks. Bruce gazes at Jason, the eyes behind the cowl seem sad. Defeated. It’s an unnatural look on the man. The Dark Knight shouldn’t look defeated. 

“I’m sorry Jason,” Bruce soothes. He sounds broken. Why does he sound broken? 

“What? No. Can you not find him? He’s there! He was right next to me!” he exclaims. Jason looks over Bruce’s shoulder to see his family gathered around the hole he was pulled out of. Steph is crying into Tim’s shoulder, his hand rubbing her back in an attempt to calm her. Damian is on one knee; the blade of his katana is stuck into the ground in front of him with his head lowered as if in prayer. Kate puts a comforting hand on his shoulder. What are they doing? Can they not find him? Jason feels like a child. Helpless and ignored. 

As he continues watching, he sees a flash of black and red fly into the pit. There’s silence for a moment before he sees Connor Kent bring the limp body of Dick Grayson out of the rubble. From where Jason is, he can see the teary eyes of the Kryptonian and his heart sinks to the ground.  

He doesn’t want to look down from Connor’s face. He doesn’t want to see the truth of it. He saw Dick in the rubble moments ago. He was alive! He was well! He only had a few scratches. He said it himself! He- 

“-was dead on impact.” 

His eyes are open, but the usual shine is gone. They’re glassy and dead. 

What? 

No. 

That- 

That doesn’t make sense. 

“But he was talking to me! I heard him speak!” Jason exclaims. Bruce shakes his head. 

“No, you didn’t,” he states, voice uncharacteristically quiet. 

“You’re gaslighting me? Really?” 

“He didn’t talk to you, Jason. I promise you that.” 

Jason looks down from his brother’s eyes, unbelieving. He knows what he heard. Dick was speaking to him as clearly as his father does now. He was speaking right into his ear, for heaven’s sake! He looks at Dick’s mouth as if to disprove his father’s words. 

Or rather, where Dick’s mouth should be. 

His jaw is gone. Probably smashed by a rock on impact. The hinge hangs uselessly on Connor’s arm. It’s grim and ugly. Jason can’t look away despite himself. 

“They say that,” Bruce begins, “sometimes, when someone is in a life-or-death scenario, their brain hallucinates a loved one as an act of self-preservation.” 

The puzzle pieces are locking into place. The fact that Dick’s voice is what woke him up in the first place is making sense now. The fact that Jason never saw the lower portion of his face is making sense now. The smell of death wasn't coming from him. The unblinking, still eyes wasn’t a knowing gaze, he was fucking dead and Jason didn’t realise. He was stuck in a hole with the corpse of his older brother, and he didn't fucking know. But Dick saved Bruce from having two dead sons that day. 

Even in death, Dick Grayson is always there to keep you safe. I suppose he is luckier in that respect.

--

Should I do a part 2 to this?

Reblogs appreciated!

Masterlist

[sarahowritesostucky]

📖"The Taste of You"

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Bucky Barnes

Word Count: 6113

Tags: Fresh AU, dark rom-com, dark!Bucky, pre-serum Steve, kidnapping, cannibalism, yandere/basement wife, meet cute-ish, gay sex n' stuff, ignoring of sexual boundaries, dub-con bordering on non-con, (mostly humorous) gore, (mostly humorous) body horror

Summary: Steve is so tired of the meat market that modern dating has become. Just when he's deleted all the apps and given up on ever finding Mr. Right, he meets the perfect guy at the grocery store.

A dark, cute, funny, fucked up, and very tasty love story.

It's a Fresh AU. "If you can't handle the cannibalism, get out of the kitchen" ... or something like that

11. Marinate

Wait! I haven't read a previous chapter. Story Masterlist

Steve:

Steve wakes up to a racket. “Mmph.” He sits up from his mattress, the thin blanket draped over his knees, two knobbly points where he rests his elbows as he rubs the crust from his eyes. As he wakes fully, he begins to make more sense of what’s making the racket.

“Help Meee! Somebodee!!! Heeelp! Please!!”

He groans and plops his face into the cradle of his criss-crossed arms. Right. Last night was Date Night.

“Hello?!!! Can anybody hear me?!!!

Bucky had walked by carrying her. Steve’d barely gotten a glimpse of a limp neck and a mass of dangling brown hair before they were out of sight and he heard the low, rolling drag of one of the other cell’s door being opened, then closed. Bucky had come over with their nightly Old Fashioneds to drink together, still wearing his nice date clothes. It’d been hard for Steve to reconcile his base attraction to the man, while also knowing the reason why he was dressed up like that in the first place.

Bucky had been glad to see him. He’d kissed him, and Steve had smelled ladies’ perfume on his shirt. Bucky slid down the wall and talked about how he was so pooped, how he was so glad that now he could just take it easy and spend more time at the house with Steve. He talked as if he’d just gotten through a regular day’s work instead of a diabolical kidnapping scheme. “Ugh,” he’d groaned, running a hand through his hair as he picked the cherry out of his glass. “Now I can relax.”

Erica Buccanetti was in the basement.

Currently, the woman down the hall—Erica—keeps yelling and yelling and yelling, and eventually Steve can’t take it anymore. “Hey!” he calls out. Shut up, he wants to say, but doesn’t. Because it’d be mean.

The screaming stops for the briefest second, and then the woman screams even louder and more desperately, tears clogging her voice. “Hello?! Ohmygod! Please, please you have to help me!! This guy! He—he chained me to the floor!! He kidnapped me!”

Steve looks down at his own wrist. “Yup,” he mutters. But he hasn’t yelled it so she doesn’t hear him. She just keeps screaming and crying for Steve to help her.

Bucky had warned him that it would probably go this way.

“I don’t even tell them what they’re here for until the first wave of screaming stops. It’s best to just let ‘em cry it out for those first couple of hours. Once we have The Talk, they usually freak out again for anywhere between an hour and a day, then it’s just how fast they move through the five stages of grief.”

Steve’s go no clue what the five stages of grief are, but figures freaking-the-fuck-out might be one of them. Over in her cell, Erica screams and pleads so much that Steve can’t even get a word in edgewise to tell her that he’s being held prisoner, too. “Please I’ll do anything!” she yells, voice echoey. Anything!! Please! You have to help me!!

It sounds like she’s several cells down from the one Steve’s in. The basement walls are all concrete and stone and sound tends to carry out in the spiraled hallway. Especially since the doors to their cells aren’t solid. “I can’t help you!” Steve calls out. “We’re in the same boat!” Really, they’re not, but he doesn’t need to tell her that now. She’d never stop screaming if he did. Bucky’s the freak who kidnapped her, why should Steve be the one who has to break the bad news that he also plans on eating her?

“What??! How long have you been here?!”

Steve sighs and lies back down on his mattress. “I dunno! Less than a month!” He’s lying. He knows exactly how long it's been. He only knows because of Bucky’s visits, because of his meals and when they come. If it weren’t for those, Steve wouldn’t have a clue what time of day it even was. He’s got a little tally going on the side of the toilet-sink, classic prisoner style. He puts a scratch in the metal with the links of his chain, one for each breakfast Bucky serves him. But yesterday he’d almost forgotten to do the tally. He’d forgotten until it was bedtime, and for some reason that really bothered him. He’d scratched that day’s tally in with extra vigor.

Now, he reaches over to grab his most recent book. He finds the page he left off on.

“You know James?!” Erica yells. “Did he—did he take you too?! Why?! What’s he want with us?!!”

It hurts Steve, to hear her use the name James, to be reminded that Steve himself was duped just the same as everybody else. He’d called Bucky James, up until a few weeks ago. Steve shouts, “Yep!” not wanting her to know that he goes by Bucky, for some reason. Steve flips a page in his book, wonders if Bucky eventually tells all his prisoners his nickname. He hopes not. Why does he hope that?

“What does he want?! Oh, god, is he … is he gonna rape me?!”

Steve groans and lets his forehead thunk down to the page. “No!” he tells her. He can hear her moving around over in her room, grunting with effort, the chain rattling as she tries to free herself. She starts sobbing after a while, screams some more, then goes back to the sobbing. She doesn’t try to communicate with Steve any further, and Steve is actually kind of glad.

She’s been quiet for a few hours, and Steve is pretty sure she’s fallen asleep. He’s made his way through most of Anna Karenina by the time Bucky appears.

“Morning,” he says, friendly, setting down the breakfast tray that he’s brought Steve. It’s blueberry pancakes today and Steve’s stomach actually grumbles as he takes the tray. He spreads the butter and pours the syrup, cuts into the fluffy pancakes. Bucky makes the best fucking pancakes Steve’s ever had. “How was it?” Bucky asks, tipping his head towards the cell door. “With her here?”

Steve glares at him. “Awful. Screaming and crying. Woke me up.”

Bucky makes an apologetic face. “It’ll get better. It’s about ten a.m. now. I’ll go in and have The Talk with her once she wakes back up.”

“Ugh.” Steve figures there’s going to be a lot more screaming in his future. “Why’d you design the rooms this way?” he asks, genuinely curious. “Why’d you make it so that we can—” he cuts himself off as he realizes that he’s including himself in Bucky’s victim pool. He swallows thickly, and rephrases, “Why’d you make it so that they can talk to each other?”

Bucky shrugs. “Having each other to talk to calms them down, gives ‘em something to do. Plus, I think it makes the rooms feel nicer and less threatening, to have the sliding doors. Less claustrophobic.”

Steve’s eyes drag over to the wooden slats of the cell door. Leave it to Bucky to design an aesthetically pleasing dungeon. “Have you ever had somebody escape?”

“No.” Bucky’s eyes narrow. “Why? You making plans?”

Steve snorts and spears another bite of pancake onto his fork. “Come on Buck. No.” Steve’s a realist. He knows that if he escapes (when he scolds himself, when he escapes), it’ll have to be from upstairs. “I just wondered.”

Bucky watches him carefully for a long minute, like he’s sizing him up. “One girl,” he says quietly, coming down to sit next to Steve. He steals a bite of pancake, eating it thoughtfully. “One girl almost got out, once. She was one of those mutants, like you hear about on the news, you know? Only I didn’t know it.” He licks the syrup from his fingertips. “I mean it’s not like they’re common, especially now the government’s got that serum to fix ‘em. What are the chances, right?”

Steve’s eyebrows raise. “What, like she could walk through walls or something?”

“She definitely would’ve escaped if that were it.” Bucky scoffs. “Naw. Turns out she could freeze things. The roofies kept her from it at first I guess, but then they wore off and she got to work. First she burst the pipes, tried to flood herself out. I turned the water off, confused as fuck how it’d happened, cause it was the middle of summer. I left her in here while I tried to get a plumber in, tried to fix things. Meanwhile, she was down here freezing the bedroom door.” He points at said door. “Froze the wood brittle and busted through like it was made’a toothpicks.”

Steve’s gaze slides over to the slatted panels of the door. It’s like a chic, mid-century modern version of a prison cell’s barred doors. Steve’s chain doesn’t extend far enough to let him go over there and test it, but from the looks and sounds of things it’s solid hardwood, with an electronic locking mechanism anchored deep inside the concrete wall. Unless he’s got a superpower he’s yet to discover, there’s no way he’d be able to break the thing open.

The fact that the door is so transparent, slatted instead of solid, is almost like a taunt in his opinion. Freedom: so close yet so far away.

“But I got her under control before she could cause any real damage. Knocked her out, got a hold of the serum to fix her. Now I keep an emergency kit of the stuff in the OR.” Bucky sighs like it’s a disappointing memory. “Had to punish her of course.”

Steve blinks, disturbed by the thought of what it would be like to almost escape such a horrible fate, only to get dragged back again. He swallows thickly. “What’d you do? Cut off her legs?”

“Hands,” Bucky says. He holds up his own, wriggling his fingers in the air. “That’s how she did the freezing thing. With her hands. It was just a freak chance that she turned out to be like that. I’ve never had any other trouble with product.”

Steve glares at him for using that term again. “And what did she do, to deserve to get eaten?”

“You know I actually don’t remember.” Bucky says thoughtfully. “Something heinous, I’m sure. Usually involving kids.” He must see the distaste on Steve’s face because he leans closer to him, scowling. “Hey. I don’t ever take innocents.”

“Yeah, you’ve said that.”

“It’s true. I’d have to look at my records to know what her story was. They all start blending together after a while.”

“You keep records?” Steve scowls, suddenly not very hungry for his pancakes anymore. He pushes the tray back in Bucky’s general direction. “Done.”

Bucky frowns at his obvious discontent. “You sure do have a lot of questions all of a sudden,” he says. “You want to know about how my business runs?”

“Maybe.” Steve holds his nose up in the air, stubborn. “Maybe I’m curious.”

“Curious,” Bucky echoes, watching him closely. He’s suspicious, but there’s something underneath of that suspicion, something interested about Steve being interested. Steve has intrigued him.

“Hello?! Are you still there?! Hello!!! Guy?! Mister?! Are you still there?!”

Both Bucky and Steve sigh at the renewed yelling. Erica’s awake again. Steve watches as Bucky hefts himself to his feet and heads to the door, looking for all the world like he’s simply off to do a business presentation that he’s been dreading. “Wish me luck,” he says, sliding the door open and closed again.

Steve stares at where he left, feeling apathetic and really mixed up about it. “Good luck,” he mutters.

Bucky:

For some reason, Bucky just doesn’t get as much enjoyment out of it as usual. He doesn’t even fix himself a drink to watch her come to. By the time he’s downstairs the next morning, Steve’s already interacted with her. Of course Bucky knew that might happen. But he figures shielding Steve from the realities of his business won’t do either of them any favors. It is what it is.

Erica does the whole shiver-gasp-hyperventilate-scream-cry-scream-cry thing, which Bucky waits out with an admirable amount of patience. “Erica, Honey,” he says when he thinks he’s finally got a chance. “Are you ready to listen to me? I’d like to talk to you but you’re making it very hard.” She sniffles and refuses to look at him, curled up in the corner by her mattress.

What is it about women and corners? Bucky thinks. He can get to them just as easily there as anywhere else. You’d think they’d figure that out. With no response forthcoming from Erica, he takes a deep breath and tells her, “So like I said, it's what I do for work. People pay me a lot of money for it. And I understand it’s a lot to come to terms with. You’ll be thinking about escaping, and killing me, all that. But besides all that, I don’t want you to worry. You’re going to be fed well here—no meat, so we don’t even have to get into that. I give my girls pain meds whenever they need them, so you should never be in anything more than minimal discomfort.”

She peeks out from the messy splay of her brown hair at that, her eyes all puffy and red-rimmed. “... Minimal discomfort,” she breathes. “Are you fucking serious?”

Bucky hums, displeased. “It’s better than the alternative, Sweetheart.” He claps his hands and gets to his feet. “And hey, think about it: you’re religious, right? Catholic?”

Her eyes widen, shocked that he knows this. It’s cute, Bucky thinks, how none of them ever suspect the stalking. “How do you know that?” she whispers.

He shakes his head at her and he heads for the door. “I just brought it up because I was gonna suggest that, if you believe in God and heaven and hell and all that, you might try to look at your time here as a sort of penance. For what you did to your brother.” At the door he looks back at her and sees her shocked eyes and parted lips. “Yeah,” he simpers. “Just think: God might even let you into heaven once I’m through with you. You just have to be sorry enough.”

He walks out and slides the door shut. She doesn’t start crying and screaming again until he’s halfway to the stairs.

Steve:

After a week of Erica, Steve is running out of patience. According to Bucky—who fancies himself an amateur psychologist—she’s in the ‘Bargaining Stage’, whatever the hell that means. For Steve it means talking constantly and needling him for answers.

“Steve! Are you awake?!

“Steve! We have to think of a plan!!”

“Has he eaten you yet?!”

“Is James gay or straight?! We could try and seduce him! Bite his dick off!”

“Where are you from?! What do you do?! What’s your family like? Do you think they’re looking for us yet?!”

Steve barely glances at the lunch tray Bucky brings him that day. “Please,” he begs, tossing aside his copy of Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance without saving his spot. “Please let me come upstairs for a little bit.” He’s not even thinking of escaping, is the sad thing. He just needs a break.

“She a talker?” Bucky asks wryly.

“She only stops when you come down,” Steve grits, feeling bad for feeling this way towards his fellow captive. But he can’t help it. She’s relentless, seems to think that if they really put their minds to it, the two of them can find a way to bust out of there. Steve tells her the story that Bucky told him of the mutant woman, tells her how Bucky wooed him and brought him there. For a day or two, he really does try. He talks.

But he doesn’t tell her about how Bucky isn’t planning on eating him. He doesn’t tell her how he’s apparently not on the menu like she is, how he's not going to die, how Bucky is convinced that he and Steve are going to be together. He tells himself he does this out of compassion for Erica, so that she can feel solidarity with him and not lose hope or whatever. But really, he just doesn’t want her to know about his special memories, the private things he knows about Bucky, the things Steve has with him that she never will. He wants to keep that to himself. He’s not sure why exactly, but he does.

He doesn’t tell her that Bucky goes by ‘Bucky’ and not James.

He also doesn’t want to lump himself in with her. Because as bad as Steve feels for her situation, Bucky still told him about what she did to her brother. And it really does help Steve from feeling too much sympathy for her. It’s funny, but he always kind of assumed it was all men who did those awful things. But Bucky shows him the paperwork. He shows him the proof. So when Erica whines and laughs and cries, high as a kite on her pain meds, upset about the fact that Bucky chopped her leg off, Steve doesn’t feel as bad or as horrified as he knows he should. He just keeps telling her to try to go to sleep. The more she sleeps, the less he has to deal with her.

By now she’s been tapered down a bit on the meds, so she’s back to being her usual chatty self. She thinks the two of them are bosom buddies. Come to find out, she’s a really vapid and annoying sort of person. She tells him about her dead-end job that she could give a rat's ass about, and Steve thinks that it just fucking figures she'd be a DMV employee, of all things.

“I need a break,” he repeats to Bucky with pleading eyes. “Please.” 

I want to spend time with someone I actually like. 

He has thoughts like that all the time, but of course he never says them. He doesn’t like Bucky, he just … gets along with him really well. Or at least he used to, before all this happened.

“Well …” Bucky hedges, looking like he’s really considering it.

Steve’s heart leaps. “I’ll be good,” he promises, talking quietly even though it’s really not necessary. He knows Erica can’t make out their words right now, just like Steve can’t hear Bucky talking to her at a normal decibel over in her cell. But the sound of the electronic locks at the top of the basement stairs is always clear as a bell, and both Steve and Erica know what it means when they hear that familiar ‘beep’, those familiar footsteps coming down. Steve is sure it strikes far more terror into her than it does him. Especially since the surgery happened.

Bucky took her leg. Steve asks him about it when he’s guided upstairs and into the bathroom. He’s being allowed to come up for a shower, but then it’s back downstairs. He’s disappointed at the limitation, but doesn’t complain. Baby steps. “So, did you eat her?” he asks, trying to use the conversation to distract himself from the way that Bucky watches him undress. There’s nothing Steve can do about it. He needs to shower at some point. He stinks.

“No,” Bucky tells him. “She’s just for Carlo, remember?”

“Mm.” Steve gets the water running and glances nervously back at Bucky. “I don’t want you to come in with me,” he says, trying to firm up his voice into something that Bucky will respect. “I just want to get clean, please.”

Bucky inclines his head as if to say, 'Go right ahead'.

Steve steps into the shower, and oh, it feels like heaven after not washing for so long. He checks once more to make sure that Bucky isn’t coming in after him, then closes his eyes and leans into the spray. Bucky’s voice sounds from the other side of the glass door. “There’s a safety razor in there. You can use it. But if you try to slit your wrists or something stupid like that, all you’re gonna achieve is a shit ton of discomfort.”

Steve looks around and spots the razor. He picks it up, blinking at it. He knows Bucky isn’t going to leave him alone in the bathroom long enough to do anything with it. Not that Steve’s plan involves self harm. It doesn’t. It involves Bucky harm. “Thanks,” he mutters, and proceeds to try and shave his face without the aid of a mirror. He’s pretty successful, only nicking himself once or twice along his jawline.

“Thank you,” he says again, figuring that a little more mild behavior can’t hurt his game. “For letting me shower up here.”

“You’re welcome, Honey. Your new room has a shower in it.” It’s finished, Bucky’s told him. Just needs a few ‘personal touches’, whatever that means. “And there’s a solid door. You won’t have to listen to all the crying and screaming anymore.”

Steve nods, a silent laugh bubbling up in his chest at the hilariousness of how awful those words are: ‘you won’t have to listen to the crying and screaming anymore’. Jesus Christ. How awful is it that Steve is laughing at that? Or that all he can think about is how soon he’ll be able to get a full night’s sleep, read a whole chapter, take a long shit, without interruption. He loses his temporary mirth and opens his eyes with his head ducked under the spray, the water sluicing off his hair and down his nose, his lips. What is he becoming? “Why did you tell me your name was James?” he asks quietly.

“Hm?” Bucky didn’t hear, and Steve repeats himself. Bucky steps closer to the shower door, the shadow of his body visible.

“If you weren’t planning on taking me or … or selling my meat, then why not introduce yourself as Bucky?” Steve looks over and sees the blurred form of him through the steam and the dimpled shower glass, his hand up against the door, palm flat. “Why’d you have to do that?” he asks, so quietly that he’s surprised he gets an answer at all.

“Habit,” Bucky says, and he sounds regretful. “I was stalking Eileen at the time, so I was in work mode. I wasn’t expecting to meet you. It’s … it’s hard to let anyone close.” His voice has gone quiet now, too. Soft and serious. Steve feels like he’s holding his breath as Bucky tells him through the glass, “You just get used to separating yourself into these … these different pieces. And you keep ‘em that way. Nobody sees all of you.”

“... That sounds lonely.”

“It is. But you form habits. I’m sorry.”

Steve looks back down at the shower floor, at his feet, his toes. He knows how lucky he is not to have lost anything yet. He’s still not sure he even trusts that Bucky won’t take something, eventually. “I didn’t tell her,” he says. “Your name. ‘Bucky’. I didn’t want her to know it.” He shakes his head at himself, mutters, “S’stupid.”

“No, it’s not.” Bucky opens the shower door and Steve jumps in place, jerking back a little. But Bucky’s still clothed and he doesn’t try to come into the shower. He just reaches in and takes Steve’s hand and gives it a squeeze. His shirt sleeve gets soaked in the process, but he doesn’t seem to care. He’s looking right at Steve. “It’s not stupid at all, honey,” he says, eyes tender. “You’re not like them. Not at all.”

“What am I like?” Steve whispers.

Bucky smiles softly. “You’re Steve. You’re my boyfriend. My lover. Hopefully, one day, my partner.” Steve gapes at him and Bucky just gives his hand another squeeze, then retreats. The shower door separates them once again, and Steve is left to stand there, shaking under the water for a while as he has an existential crisis. He thinks about possible ways to murder Bucky for at least ten minutes straight. Unfortunately, pummeling him to death with the body wash doesn’t pass muster. The little cheap safety razor not much better. Bucky will notice if he tries to sneak it.

“You turned into a prune in there yet?” Bucky teases.

Steve shakes himself out of it and proceeds to wash his hair.

Bucky:

He plans out the perfect day for them, and by the time he’s given Erica her breakfast and is able to bring Steve up from the basement, he’s very excited. It’s just over seventy degrees outside that day and the sun is shining. It streams in through the kitchen’s skylights while the coffee machine percolates away. Bucky is in a fantastic mood.

He gives Steve a big good morning kiss, thumbing over his smooth-shaven jaw. The little cuts from yesterday are all gone, and he resolves to have a safety mirror installed in Steve's new bathroom downstairs. "Sleep any better?" he asks. Steve mumbles something vaguely affirmative and Bucky beams, because in only a few days he's planning on surprising Steve with his new room. “So, I’ve got the perfect day planned for us,” he proclaims as he holds the barstool out for Steve. Steve climbs up and Bucky secures his left cuff to the link that’s embedded in the quartz countertop. He’s installed them in all sorts of handy locations upstairs, since Steve’s been there.

Because baby steps.

He pushes Steve’s stool back in and goes over to start whipping up their breakfast. “French omelets,” he proclaims proudly. “Toast, bacon, other-bacon, and fresh squeezed orange juice.” Steve, of course, sneers at the ‘other-bacon’. Bucky ignores it. “What do you like in your omelets?” he asks him cheerfully.

“Onions, cheese, mushrooms, spinach,” Steve lists off, carefully eyeing all the things that Bucky pulls from the fridge. “I’d say ham if you had it, but …”

“I’ve got it.” Bucky produces a ham steak, still in its grocery store packaging, and that seems to satisfy Steve. He starts chopping up different things, humming as he goes along.

“Why’re you so chipper?” Steve asks, reaching for his glass of juice.

“You have to ask?” Bucky grins across the counter at him, but the grin fades a little as he takes in Steve’s expression. Bucky puts down his knife and rounds the island, coming up beside Steve and cupping his jaw. “Hey,” he says tenderly. “I’m happy, because I’ve got my fella up here with me. I get to spend the day with you.” He kisses him lightly. “You have any idea how much I’ve missed that?” Steve shivers under his hands, but at least he doesn’t pull away. Bucky hums knowingly and pecks another kiss to his mouth before going back to the cutting board. “So since you said you were curious, I thought I’d show you around the property today.” He peeks up at Steve, sees him sitting there observantly. “Show you how things run. If you want.”

Bucky knows it’s risky, that it might provoke a negative reaction from Steve. Maybe even cause a setback of sorts. But in the long run he thinks it’s a good move. The more open and honest he can be with Steve, the more Steve can come to terms with everything. Because after all, that’s the dream, isn’t it? Full, true intimacy. No games or projections, no thin, exhausting veneer of who he knows he’s supposed to be for that specific person. Just him and someone who knows all of him, and accepts him, and stays.

Bucky grabs a handful of mushrooms and gives them a quick chop. He starts cracking eggs. “You can ask me questions, you know,” he says coaxingly, checking on Steve’s expression. “If you want. I’ll answer honestly.”

Steve frowns thoughtfully. “Mmm, I dunno.” He sits there for another few moments, and Bucky starts to think that he won’t take him up on the offer, but then, “Was the China story true? About the village?”

Bucky pauses. Steve looks genuinely curious, so he tells him, “Yeah. Yeah it was. Only, I knew what I was being served. I’d picked up the barest bit of Mandarin while I was there, and I heard them whispering.”

“And you ate it anyway?”

He nods, watching Steve carefully. “And I ate it anyway.” Steve looks back down. He doesn’t look happy with that answer, but he doesn’t look hateful or disgusted either, which makes Bucky’s heart lift hopefully.

“When did you start doing it. On your own?”

He takes a deep breath, wary of upsetting Steve but knowing that this is something they have to get past. “I was in med school, still.”

“Cadavers?”

He laughs. “You have thought this out.” When Steve just shrugs and sips his orange juice, Bucky clarifies, “Cadavers are embalmed. You can’t eat them. But, sometimes we’d get a severed limb in the ER. You know, something that couldn’t be reattached.” He tips his head permissively as he swirls the eggs to a fine scramble. “... and, sometimes I was the one in charge of disposing of the pieces.”

“Ew.”

He smirks and flicks the burner on. Steve’s ‘Ews’ don’t have as much vitriol to them as they used to. It gives Bucky hope. “Yeah. So I had a few more opportunities to try it. And of course I researched it. Found out it wasn’t harmful.”

“Except for the brains,” Steve supplies dully, and Bucky points the spatula at him with a grin.

“Hey! You’re learning!” He pours the eggs into the pan and they sizzle and pop against the heated Teflon. He sprinkles in the ingredients for Steve’s omelet, stuffs a pinch of shredded cheese in his mouth, and chews. “Yeah, so, I knew this guy in tech, right? And he had access to some stuff. Dark web stuff. That’s where I found an entire community of people who do this. Come to find out, it’s been a thing since like, forever, and then ... I don’t know,” he shrugs emphatically and flips the edge of the omelet inwards. “There’s like this whole subculture that’s formed around it. People started showing interest in me when they found out I was a surgeon. I made friends, figured out that I could get rich off it—hell of a lot richer than doing butt lifts and boob jobs—and I just … started slow. Treated as a hobby, before I went professional with it.” Steve snorts, but it’s not mean, and it makes Bucky grin in turn. He finishes up Steve’s omelet and slides it out of the pan, points to one of the two plates of cooling bacon that are resting on paper towels. “That’s the vegetarian pile, if you couldn’t tell.”

They look almost identical. But Bucky has only ever lied to Steve once, and this isn’t it. Steve only hesitates with his fingers over the bacon for a second, then he’s taking two strips for himself. Bucky bites his lip and wonders if Steve would even try a bite of the other bacon …

“What’s ‘slow’?” Steve asks, crunching through his slice of bacon.

Bucky watches it covetously. Seeing Steve put that much trust in him is such a huge thrill. “What?” he asks distractedly.

“You said you started ‘slow’.”

“Oh.” He tears his eyes away from Steve’s grease-smeared lips. “Um, well I didn’t have this place.” He gestures around the kitchen. “Just my condo in the city back then, so I had to go one at a time. And it was wasteful, because I had to harvest the whole body all at once. Nobody pays the same rates for frozen meat. They want fresh.” He frowns at the memory, pouring more eggs into the pan. “Back then I’d rent a place, a cabin or something. Come upstate for a long weekend. I'd do the work, clean up, freeze whatever wasn’t bought right off the bat. Just had to learn my way around it, find a process that worked for me.” He peeks up at Steve to check on him, but the guy is very studiously consuming his omelet. “I was doing three, maybe four girls a year? Eh, I dunno. Something like that.”

Steve shakes his head. “‘Doing’. Christ.”

“You know what I mean.” Bucky plates his own food and pulls out the stool next to Steve’s. “The dark web has a lot more than cannibals on it, Honey. You can find a lot of good targets. Pedos and stuff.” Steve finally looks up at him and Bucky gives him a nod, satisfied. “Yeah, exactly. For a while I really tried to push the man-meat on clients, just because they were so much easier to track down, and there were so many of them, with their kiddie porn and shit. But the clients wanted women.”

“Gotta please the customer,” Steve mumbles. “So you were a mobile serial killer, and now you’re a stationary one.”

“Don’t call me that,” Bucky says, a little sharper than he intends to. That gets him another solid moment of eye contact with Steve. “I’m not a serial killer. They kill for psychological reasons. They need the thrill. I don’t. I’m just running a business.”

“Sure.”

“You know I wouldn’t even kill them if it was possible. I’d take a leg and set them loose, if I could.” Bucky grabs a piece of ‘other-bacon’ and crunches down on it. “I’m a butcher, but I do it humanely. You should see the fucks these people were buying from before. Before I came on the scene.”

Steve looks at him with wide eyes, says, “Wha?” around a mouthful of egg. Bucky hums darkly.

“Yeah. I chatted with a few online. And I’ve met one in person. Gotta research the competition when you’re setting up a business plan, after all.” He sneers as he remembers the losers he’d found. “They were serial killers. Rapists, sadists. Did all kinds of horrible shit to their victims. Then if there was anything salvageable, that’s what they hocked.” Bucky sees the horror and disgust in Steve’s eyes again and he nods. “It was easy to drive them out of business. All that fear and stress? It's not good for the meat. My product tastes better."

"Product," Steve repeats dully.

"Right. So who would pay for scraps when they could get a gourmet meal with all the fixings instead?”

“Oh,” Steve says, and he pokes at his omelet instead of eating it. “Yeah.”

Bucky swipes another piece of other-bacon. “It wasn’t just not having the house. I also worked full time at a private practice. But I gave that up after the first five years. Had the house built, moved to full time. Now I can handle more like twelve, fifteen girls a year if I rotate consistently. Last year I was a workaholic and did over twenty. I made bank, but it was nuts. I’m never doing that again.”

Steve goes still next to him and Bucky senses the tension. He looks over. “What?”

Steve scoffs a little and shakes his head. “Nothing, I’m just stupid is all. I actually thought you had a job. The practice you talked about. I still thought it was real.” He stabs another bite of his omelet up and shoves it in his mouth. “You don’t practice medicine.”

For some reason, that wounds Bucky’s pride. He looks back down at his plate, hurt. “Yeah, not really,” he murmurs. Just what he does with the girls, but he supposes that doesn’t really count. He does miss it sometimes. Just the social aspects of it mostly. It’s very isolating, what he does alone. He sighs and eats his food.

After Breakfast, he gives Steve time to get dressed for a walk. He smiles when Steve emerges from his room in a new outfit. “That’s one you haven’t worn yet.”

Steve shrugs. “I was saving it.”

Bucky bites his tongue to keep from saying anything, privately tickled that Steve was saving a date outfit. Mostly, Steve’s been wearing the men’s extra small sweatpants and generic tee shirts that Bucky supplies him with, but today he’s chosen to wear something of his own. It’s just an Aerosmith tee shirt with a jean button up thrown over it, but Steve looks good no matter what he wears. At least in Bucky’s opinion. “Here.” he hands over Steve’s boots. They lace up, so Bucky hasn’t allowed him to keep them in his room. “You need a belt?”

“I’m good," Steve murmurs.

Bucky grins and claps his hands together. “Okay then. On with the tour!”

They walk the edge of the property. It’s the trail that Bucky jogs most mornings, and he tells Steve that. “This is big,” is what Steve has to say. “You have a lot of land.”

Bucky puts a hand on his shoulder and pulls him in for a hug. “Hey,” he says softly, speaking into Steve’s hair. “I know you’re thinking about ways to run away right now.”

Steve tenses in his arms, but he doesn’t deny it. Bucky kisses the top of his head. “It’ll get better,” he promises. “It will. Just gotta give it time.”

Steve avoids looking at him after that. They finish their loop of the property at the barn. Bucky decides not to take Steve inside, but he explains what he does there. Steve seems to take it pretty well, in Bucky's opinion.

“So once they’re dead, you chop ‘em up in there.”

Bucky inhales deeply through his nose and lets it out in a controlled sigh. “‘Chop’ isn’t the word I would use. I’m a trained surgeon, Honey. I treat their bodies with respect.”

“I think they’d disagree.”

“I harvest almost everything in the OR. Then, yes, the torso or other large remaining cuts get sectioned in here.”

Steve doesn’t seem to like hearing the word ‘Torso’, Bucky notices, and he makes a mental note not to use it around him. “There’s a dumbwaiter here too,” he tells him. “It leads to a separate freezer, which connects to the basement via another hallway.” Bucky can see the cogs turning in Steve’s head as he takes this information in. Steve is planning out every possible escape route he might be able to utilize, in the near future.

Bucky isn’t worried. Steve will come around. He just has to get them through that ‘near future’ without incident.

With the tour concluded, they return to the house and he locks Steve’s wrist at a spot by the couch. There’s a cord so that he’s got enough slack to move around the general area. Bucky gives him the remote control and Steve holds it in his hands like it’s a treasured object. “I can …” he seems to falter, which is adorable to Bucky. “I can watch whatever I want?” he asks meekly.

Bucky smiles. “Yeah, Honey. Go ahead. I’ll be working in the kitchen.”

Steve:

By the time it’s late morning, Steve’s already mentally exhausted.

Bucky’s ‘tour’ hadn’t been graphic or anything. Hell, mostly they’d just walked around the grassy path that runs along the tree line of the surrounding forest. But Bucky had detailed his harvesting process, his mail order service, his history with the whole, morbid affair.

And then there’d been the butchery barn.

That’s what Steve’s calling it in his head, since Bucky’s so god awful insistent that he’s a butcher and not a serial killer. "Bucky the Butcher." It even sounds like the perfect name for a prolific serial killer. Steve would laugh at him about it, but he’s pretty sure that would make Bucky get mad and stick him back in his cell, so he doesn’t laugh. He doesn’t even argue. He just nods along to the information Bucky gives him, memorizing the parts that might one day help him out of this hellhole.

It’s kind of hard to remember it’s a hellhole, though, when he’s being treated so nicely. Especially when it’s by the man who was his lover before, the man whom Steve had trusted and liked (a lot. What does that say about him?), the man with whom he’d formed an emotional bond so quickly. Steve hates it, but it’s still there, coloring their every interaction.

The basement isn’t so bad, he thinks. At least when he’s down there, he remembers what he is: a prisoner. Not a boyfriend and certainly not the ‘partner’ that Bucky had described wanting. Steve knows though, he knows his best chance at survival lies in convincing Bucky that he can be the absolute best ‘partner’ ever. Steve thinks he can pretend well enough, maybe even for long enough.

He’s just worried about how much of himself he’s going to lose along the way.

Story Masterlist

Masterlist

💖To be added to any of my tag lists, please use This form (it's easy!)

🍵Consider tipping your friendly neighborhood starving artist smut author!

✍🏻Commissions: reach out via Tumblr DM or contact here

Tag List (vertical, sorry. The links don't all work in pg format)

@scottishrosefury

@not-that-syndrigast

@lolitsbuckybarnes

@kathy-2005

@stuckysgal

@thenewmissescullen

@sapphirebarnes

@Yoruse

@autumnrose40

@alexakeyloveloki

@gretasimp

@kandismom

@ivoryangel1290

@mrs-rogers-barnes1

@iloveshawnieboi

@m0k0k0

@sousydive

@sapphirebarnes

@kandis-mom

@juicyfruit-22

@bloodrosefuryao3

@laylamikaelsonbarnes

@leighta

@drfellow

@era

@smlmsworld

@mrsstuckyboo

@banneriscarried

@saltyllamakidwombat

[muniimyg]

 24 | shit

series m.list

note: you guys all knew this was coming right? ... the end is near... please forgive me for the upcoming slight angst/frustering times to come lol </3 we must go through them for the sweetest ending ever !!! i rlly said: UPDATE UPDATE UPDAYSYEJSJ. i’ll be closing the taglist by next ch ,, so this is your last chance to be added! thank you guys for reading,, i hope you enj this ch as much as i enj writing it 🤣 it was def a ✨moment ✨

💭 fave spicy line? BAUHWAHAUAA

💭 fave type of yoongi in this fic?

warnings: smut !! yoongi fingers oc ,, squirts ,, baby dirty talk & almost fucking :)

taglist request: send a request with the title of this fic “your universe” // please DO NOT comment here or on the masterlist . it gets confusing and i prefer answering and tagging through asks !!!

taglist: @yukiehyukie @tarahardcore @bbsantc @jeonqkooks-main @whoa-jo @ellesalazar @exhibitachol @pamzn @floweryjeons @boraength @4ksj @joonsjuice @taegijns @avtrns @taegix94 @bloopkook @jihopesjoint @firesighgirl @vantxx95 @damn-u-min-yoongi @yoongukie-ff @hopeworldjimin @thisisaburnphone @pb-n-juju @xjiminsthighsx @miss-rainy-days @percyjacksonlovesannabethchase @whitefoxgirl @slutforheeseung @lovelytaes-blog​

The party tonight is packed with so many bodies and faces you could care less about. 

All you care about it Yoongi.

You’ve only been here 40 minutes before him yet it feels like 40 minutes too long.

It started off innocent. 

It was just you laughing along to their jokes and genuinely sharing about your life.. Then you felt the buzz of alcohol kick in and suddenly someone’s body was pushing onto yours. You blink and find Yoongi shoving someone to the wall and yelling in his face. Everyone begins to crowd around and cheer as you slip your way in between the two and beg Yoongi to take a step back. 

His furious eyes soften when you say, “Yoongi, I’m here. You wouldn’t hurt me, right?”

No. 

Of course, he wouldn’t. 

Yoongi drops his fists and uncurls them. You gesture at him to take deep breaths with you.. Even tipsy, you were still such a preschool teacher. It warmed his heart but also angers it. How could you be so patient even in times like these? Times where a warning shove and spiteful words should be exchanged for the sake of your respect. 

He doesn’t know what to do. He breathes in from his nose and sharply exhales in a pissed-off manner. “He deserves this.”

“You don’t,” you promise him. It’s painfully true. Yoongi doesn’t deserve to go through such angry emotions that clog up his relationship with you. Contrary, you don’t deserve to feel this uncomfortable between the two. “... I don’t deserve this.”

It’s then that Yoongi realizes how many eyes are on you three. How childish and immature everything has quickly become. You aren’t even his girlfriend and you already have him acting as if he’d kill for you… Which, let’s be clear; he would. 

“Take a breather,” you beg him before swiftly turning away to check up on the guy he pushed. 

Before you can say anything else or even check on Yoongi; he’s already halfway gone upstairs. You huff and turn to the guy whose name you can’t even remember. 

“Look at what you did,” you mutter to the guy who is still trying to catch his breath. “You made my boyfriend upset.”

By the time Yoongi finds himself in the bathroom, he locks the door and sighs heavily. His head is spinning, not knowing if he’s in the wrong or in the right. He doesn’t know what he’s doing anymore. If it’s not about you or for you—what is he doing? These days, it’s all about you. 

Everything aches. 

His heart, his head, and his knuckles all ache. His knuckles are a little red already but there are no cuts. Opening and closing his hands, he rolls his wrists to check on them. They feel a little tight but he’ll get over it. 

Yoongi leans towards the sink, turns on the tap, and splashes his face with the running cold water. It refreshes him instantly and calms his boiling blood. Turning the tap off, he lifts his head and stares at himself in the mirror. 

How did he get here?

Just a few months ago, you were the one chasing him. You were the one flooding his phone with random updates and thoughts. You were the one showing up to his practices. You were ignoring the swimmers and now—now you’re all they can look at. Now you entertain them and it hurts because you’re allowed to. 

You’re not his.

You don’t even flirt with them! Yoongi knows you well enough and is confident that you could never do such a thing to him… It’s just the fact that it’s not you that he can’t trust; it’s them. It’s their impulsive thoughts and greediness that Yoongi is well aware of. Why? Because he has a dick too. 

Because he likes you too.

Because maybe, deep down, Yoongi knows he’s just like them. 

Just as Yoongi begins to dig into his thoughts more, they are interrupted by the sound of your aggressive knocking. 

“Aki, it’s me,” your frail voice calls out for him. “Let me in, please..”

And just like that, Yoongi folds. 

He takes a step towards the door but hesitates as his hand wraps around the door knob. Yoongi wonders if this is the best state for you to see him in right now. He’s so confused and consumed in his own feelings—could he see yours? Could he consider yours? Could he be yours?

He wonders for a minute. 

You, on the other side, bite your tongue and hope he’ll let you in. 

Just as you’re about to knock again, the door swings open and you feel him grab onto your wrist and pull you inside. You yelp at the quick movement. You’ve sobered up by now, fully aware of the tension and happenings. You weren’t that tipsy anyway.

“Why’d you storm off like that?”

“You told me to leave,” he snickers.

It’s partly his fault. He listened too quickly to you. Usually, he’d stay. He’s not the type to leave a fight he starts. 

You shake your head to oppose his comment. “I asked you to take a breather.”

Yoongi shrugs. “Same shit… Why’d you follow me?”

“You left me.”

His shoulders drop and his eyebrows knit together in concern. He didn’t realize he left you with the same guys he was fighting off your body. 

Idiot. 

He’s such an idiot!

“Are you okay?” you ask him, quickly noticing the irritated look on his face. 

He’s leaning against the wall, just staring at you. You’re against the sink, tilting your head at him. You’ve never seen Yoongi look this… Small? He looks so unsure. He looks so needy and just so… You don’t know. This is the first time Yoongi has ever looked at you like this. 

This is the first time Yoongi looks at you like he needs you. 

He moves closer to you. You straighten your posture and secretly inhale his scent. Nothing beats being close to him. You wish it could be like this all the time. How every part of him takes over you and just becomes a part of you… You wish this could last forever. 

“I hate that shit,” he begins, voice already so fragile. You look into his eyes, chasing them for some sign of calm. Instead, all you see is a blurry chaos. In his eyes, you see so much desperation, devastation, and disappointment. It makes your stomach turn and you aren’t sure if it’s in a good or bad way. “I hate that they feel entitled to you. I hate myself sometimes because I feel entitled to you. I hate—”

“I’m yours,” you blurt, cupping his cheeks and pulling him close. “You’re allowed to feel entitled to me. I get it. I feel entitled to you too.”

He rolls his eyes, unable to stop his pettiness from arising. “Whatever. Shouldn’t you be with your boyfriend?” Yoongi remarks the swimmers downstairs. God, when will they ever leave you alone?

“I’m pretty sure I am with him,” you tease.

Yoongi blushes and fails to hide it. “... Okay.”

“Okay?”

Biting his lip, he pulls away from you. “H-how do you do that? How do you piss me off and then pull me back in the moment you open your annoying mouth and say the dumbest shit—”

“You’re clearly upset,” you interrupt him. You hop on top of the sink counter and cross your arms. Offering him a sympathetic look, you ask, “do you want to regulate your emotions? Are you in the green zone, blue zone, yellow—”

“I’m not a child, ___.”

You laugh at him. “Then stop acting like one!”

“I am not your preschool student. I’m a fucking pissed-off boyfriend—”

“Mhmm?” you catch him in the heat of the moment. “What was that?”

Yoongi pauses and clears his throat. Did he just say that? Fuck. He hates that he has to correct himself. “... Eventually your boyfriend.”

“Mhmm.”

“Mhmm?” Yoongi glares at you. All this tension for you to be fucking around with him like this? Two can play this game. 

Yoongi then comes back to you. Closing in on you, you spread your legs for him to fit in between. He snakes his arms around you, making you arch your back. Tonight, you’re wearing one of his favourite skirts. It’s a white pleaded one and it makes you look so angelic. He’s always wanted to do this. He’s always wanted to shove himself up your pretty little skirt and ruin you. 

Thank god for your annoying little mouth. 

It gives him an in.

He leans in, resting his forehead against yours. You breathe heavily, taking in his scent once again. Before you know it, you feel his hands travel to your thighs and his index fingers twirl the thin fabric of your flimsy skirt. 

“You’re mine?” Yoongi asks you, “prove it to me.”

You nod, eyes locking with his. Shifting to get more comfortable, you let him scrunch up your skirt to your stomach. Helping him, you put your hand over his and hold your own skirt up. Yoongi smirks at your obedience and tilts his head cockily. 

You aren’t sure if it’s the slight buzz or the fact that your absolutely throbbing waiting for him to do something... But you give in. How could you not?

“Good girl,” he whimpers before dipping low to kiss your lips. 

Your lips melt onto his so easily. 

Just as sweet as the first, Yoongi takes his time sucking on your tongue and dragging the kiss intensity. It’s so wet and lewd, you practically feel his boner breaking through his jeans. As he kisses you, his lips travel down to your neck and your collarbone. Throwing your head back, you lift your other hand and place it on top of his bulge. 

“Fuck,” Yoongi struggles to keep it together. He sucks on your neck, letting your soft moans encourage him to leave a big hickey. He loves the way your hands rub him and how small they feel against him. Soon, your hands travel under his shirt and then around his arms. 

When he’s done leaving a mark, you hiss at the touch of his thumb rubbing against your panty. You two quickly exchange looks before you bite your lip and nod at him slowly. He takes this sign and finds the hem of your underwear to pull them down not even a second later. Scrunching your underwear in his hands, he places them beside you. 

You let him push on your stomach for a moment, causing you to lean against the mirror. In this position, he gets a clearer view of your pussy. Yet, he doesn’t look at it just yet. Instead, he tugs on the hem of your shirt. 

“Take it off,” he commands you. You shake your head teasingly. “Why not?”

“You didn’t say please.”

“You’re fucking insane,” Yoongi cries. “I hate you.”

You giggle in response. “I’m waiting—”

“Please let me see your tits, ace.”

You shrug. “Why?”

Yoongi’s shoulders drop, unamused by your behaviour. He huffs, “hey, how long do you think I have before my dick explodes?” 

Laughing, you playfully shove him. He sticks his tongue out at you and pulls away. You frown as he pushes your legs together and turns his back on you. About to leave, he suddenly gets hit on the head with your bra. 

Did you just fling your bra at him? 

Turning around, he’s greeted by your bare breast. You pout and pat your lap. “Come back. I’ll be good, aki.”

Yoongi nods, eyes closed with a tired expression. “Fine.”

You gasp at his reaction but quickly forget the negative feeling as he cups your breast with his veiny hands. Spreading your legs again, he takes his place in between them. There, he buries his face into your boobs and licks them. 

You moan. 

“Argh, g-get on with it,” you whine.

Yoongi blinks. “Say please.”

You’re dumbfounded and Yoongi feels awfully prideful. 

“I’m waiting.”

“P-please,” you choke, reaching for him. He lets you touch him. “I’ll be good.”

Yoongi takes your word for it. 

You two pick it up from where you left off. He bows his head and then spits on your pussy. Your breath hitches, feeling his saliva run down your folds. Yoongi wastes no time, dragging his thumb to massage his spit in. 

The bathroom is filled with heavy breath exchanges as he begins to stick his fingers inside you. There’s no warning and you can’t lie; it felt a little discomforting in the beginning. His fingers at long and thick, ultimately making you need a little time to adjust to the stretch and burn. Once you get used to it, it’s completely pleasurable. 

It feels so good—so rewarding. 

He knows exactly what he’s doing too.. Watching every little reaction from you and feeding off his skill of being a quick learner. He notices what you like best and how squeezing your breasts every so often adds to your experience. 

Circulating inside you, he pumps them in and out. His speed is exactly what it needs to be at the moment. Meanwhile, his ego continues to skyrocket from your whimpering and gasps. Yoongi curls his fingers inside you and looks up to watch your facial expression. Your eyes roll back and flutter to fixate on his lips. Your eyebrows furrow in concentration; completely getting lost in the sensualness.

Yoongi fingers you deep and fast. It gets more and more intense and before you know it, you’re uttering his name. “Y-Yoongiii,” you sob. “I’m g-gonna—nghh!”

He pulls out his fingers when he feels your walls tighten. Instantly, he slaps your pussy and sneaks in a few rubs against your clit. Before you know it, you wince at the sudden relief of release. 

You squirt. 

Yoongi takes so much pride in this. He moans, leaning against your forehead again and watching your stomach twitch. Followed by that, your breasts bounce from the overdrive. Your lips have become puffy from all the kissing and lip-biting. There’s so much sweat between you two and he can’t help but love how sticky everything feels. 

He pauses, letting you catch your breath. After a moment of silence, you sit up and pull him towards you. Without exchanging words, you unbutton and unzip his pants. His boxers cover his length and it makes you so much more hungry and desperate. 

As you peel off his boxers, Yoongi breathes; “do you really want me to fuck you in a bathroom?”

You blink at him. 

“W-what? Why not?”

He shrugs, watching you take his dick out. You pump him and run your thumb across his angry tip. Yoongi’s body shivers and he can’t help but mutter your name. 

“Fuck, ___.” 

You smile, loving the way he reacts to your touch. Even if you feel a little exhausted from your turn; you couldn’t miss this. You refuse to. 

He moves close to you and stretches your folds. Then, he places himself in between them and shares one final look with you before he brushes his dick up and down your entrance. 

“Don’t tease,” you beg. “You’ve done that enough today.”

He chuckles at your desperation and feels his heart clench. “Whatever you want, ace. You have it. You have me. I’m yours.”

With that, you reach up to kiss him. As you two kiss, and just as he’s about to push himself, knocks abruptly interfere. 

You two turn to the door and watch the door knob shake. Yoongi pulls away, tucking himself back in. You reach to your side and put on your underwear and bra. Fixing yourselves up, you two sigh at the sound of Jimin’s voice on the other side. 

“Yoongi, you fucked up one of our swimmer’s shoulders! He can’t compete at our next meet! I hope ___ blue balls you, you bitch! I won’t let you two fuck because of this!”

After that, Jimin continues to yell and knock on the door. Yoongi groans, hating his friend more than ever. Looking back at you, he watches you compose yourself. You fix your hair, adjust your clothes, and catch your breath. 

He offers his hand and helps you off the sink counter. Your legs still feel a little weak, so you stumble. Yoongi catches you before you can fall and holds you tight. You thank him for helping you and clear your throat to break the awkwardness. 

“You sober now?” Yoongi’s voice is dry. He feels a little parched and imagines you feel the same.

“... Y-yeah,” you nod, snapping back to reality. “Thanks f-for that. W-we should head out… Jimin probably wants to talk to you anyway, so I’ll head out first—”

Yoongi catches your arm and holds you still. “No goodbye kiss?”

Your eyes widen. 

After all of that, he still wants to pull this kind of bullshit? You can’t help but feel it to be endearing though. Giving in, you quickly kiss him on the lips, unlock the door, and push past Jimin. 

Jimin glares at Yoongi and shoves him. “Bro, you fucked up one of the sperms shoulders! I fucking hate you—”

Yoongi stands in the bathroom, watching you leave. He can’t hear anything Jimin has to say and honestly? It doesn’t matter to him right now. All that matters is you.. 

Yoongi doesn’t even know where you’re going, but he is sure to follow soon enough.

There’s no easy way to describe how he feels about you. How intensely he yearns for your attention or how much it aches to be yours for a moment and then left in the dust the next. 

It bothers him so much to watch you walk away… It’s a sight he can’t seem to swallow. Instead of fighting what he thinks this is; Yoongi gives in to the very thought that has been running through his mind since the very first moment you stepped into his life.

“I think I love her.” Yoongi confides to Jimin.

“No shit...” Jimin responds, sighing in defeat as he lets Yoongi slip through the door and follow you into the crowd.

[luna-andra]

The Shadows Return | Simon 'Ghost' Riley x OC | Retired AU | Is It Really You?*

Summary: A little 🍃 Andra stargazing with Ghost

Word Count: ~1.8k

If you're new to this story, you can read Chapter 1 here. Filler chapters are marked with an * sign.

Content: accidental high (hehe), fluff, wee little lore drop

Author's note: This one is a itty bitty filler chapter that the little writing goblin in my brain told me to create at like 2a 🥴 enjoy and stay tuned cuz next chapter is gonna be beefy!

ALSO I made a little playlist of the songs they were listening to if anyone cares 😂

https://youtube.com/playlist?list=PLsvQwF6FNtSzXEjTpFX6zxpH2nsdbuN0G&si=cfNPy4NgRSjRIx9T

“It’s in my glove box!” Johnny hollered from under the kitchen sink as Andra stomped through the living room.

“I heard you!” she yelled back, earning her some disgruntled Scottish noises. She was in a sour mood from Johnny helping himself to her last sparkling water. Usually, it wouldn’t be a big deal, she’s told the boys to take anything they want all the time, but she specifically told Johnny ‘not the Bubbly.’

He took the Bubbly.

Karma made its way back to him when he decided to tag along with Ghost to come help with her clogged sink. He was stuck with having to do the job considering Ghost’s wide shoulders kept him from being able to fit underneath the tight space. Drink the one thing off limits? Enjoy the clogged sink.

Receipts and an empty protein shaker fell out as soon as she opened the passenger door to his truck. “Pinche basura…” Andra picked up the shaker and chucked it back in and shoved the receipts in her pocket to toss when she went back inside. The glove box wasn’t any better, but she managed to find the adjustable wrench he needed.

A plastic bag with an array of colorful gummy bears sat in the cupholder of the center console, and it caught her eye. She fisted a handful of the candy with a snicker before closing his truck up with the wrench in hand. Johnny won’t miss a few gummies, she thought.

She popped a few in her mouth as she strolled in, her nose and mouth scrunched at the taste. Sugar free, gross. “Here,” she kicked his boot to catch his attention.

Johnny reached a hand out and took it from her without breaking focus.

Her other hand reached into the receipt-full pocket and threw them in the bin. “You gotta clean out your truck, an avalanche of trash fell out when I opened the door.”

“You offerin’?” Johnny scoffed. “I’m a wee bit busy fixin’ yer sink.”

Andra snorted. “If Ghost can keep his truck clean, so can you.”

“Pissin’ blight, the two of you…” Johnny growled as he struggled to loosen up the pipe.

She continued chewing on another gummy, regretting that she took so many. “I know, it’s a pain in the neck sharing parental responsibilities with Ghost at your grown age.” Her face grimaced at the taste of the gummies once more. “These gummies are ass.”

Johnny grunted as metal clinked on metal, followed by the sound of water hitting the bottom of a bucket. “Which ones?”

Andra swallowed the last bitter gummy she had. “I got them from your truck.”

“You what – agh, shite!” He cursed as he bumped his head while trying to pull himself up from under the sink. “How many did you have?”

Her shoulders shrugged. “Five or six, maybe?”

“Ghost is gonna skin me.”

-----

Ghost couldn’t leave Johnny alone to handle a clogged sink for more than an hour without getting a message talking about ‘It’s not my fault’. Luckily, he was already on his way back with takeaway and a fresh new six pack of that water Andra likes.

He was relieved to see the house wasn’t flooded, but found the front door open with just the mesh, screen frame keeping the bugs out. His hands were full with the bags, so he used his index finger to pull the screen door open and found Andra laying on the couch, staring up at the ceiling with an open bag of crisps laying on her stomach.

Ghost set down the plastic bags on the coffee table and stepped up to the edge of the couch. “You alright, doll?”

A wide smile spread across her face. “I can’t feel my face, and I see Gilbert Gottfried on the ceiling.”

Johnny rushed to the living room, a guilty look in his sapphire eyes. “Before you wallop me –”

“What happened?” Ghost demanded.

“Andra mistook my edibles for normal gummy bears and helped herself.” He slowly flinched away with every word he said.

A giggle came from the woman that barely took up the length of the couch. “Had to collect the Andra tax for stealin’ my water.” Her southern lilt came out for a moment.

“Christ alive, Johnny.” Ghost oughta grab him by the collar of his shirt and kick him in the ass, leaving him out on the front porch. He was more concerned with Andra to follow up on his promise. Ghost helped her sit upright, taking one hand and supporting her back with the other and set the crisps on the table behind him. “Look at me, sweetheart.” His mitt-sized hands cradled her face between one another.

Her pupils were blown out dilated, the honey brown eclipsed by the void. She giggled once more, her lids barely staying open. “Thump-thump, thump-thump, thump-thump.”

Ghost scrunched his eyebrows in confusion. “What’s that about?”

“My heart beating faster when you hold me like that.” He couldn’t help himself from grinning at that, and he pulled his hands away from her. “I can feel my nose throbbing.”

“I thought you said you can’t feel your face.” He retorted.

Her smile dropped as her cheeks turned pink. “Then it’s not my nose throbbing.”

“Screamin’ Jesus.” Johnny groaned. “I’ll go unpack the takeaway –”

Ghost shot him a daggered glare when Johnny reached for the plastic bag holding the food. “Keep your recreational substances out of sight next time.”

Johnny disappeared to the kitchen, mumbling something under his breath about how she shouldn’t be taking things that aren’t hers.

Rich coming from him.

“I’ll crack you open one of those waters and bring you your food.” Ghost pushed himself up onto his feet. “You feel like eating?”

Andra slumped against the couch, her lower lip tutted out for a pout. “Can we eat here? I don’t want to get up.”

“Of course.”

-----

With Andra still high as a kite after a few hours, Ghost made sure to check her pulse every now and then to make sure it wasn’t too elevated. He smacked Johnny upside the head when he told Ghost what dose of THC was in each candy.

Andra didn’t seem like the kind of person to eat edibles every now and then, or even ever. He was impressed with how she handled the effects. He expected her to panic at some point in the evening, but the worst she ever did was separate the ingredients in her shrimp fried rice and ate them all separate.

“Why are you even taking edibles, Johnny?” Ghost asked as he grabbed a water bottle from the fridge.

Johnny answered as he continued to wipe up the kitchen floor. “Helps me sleep, and sometimes I just wannae enjoy the high.”

It wasn’t Ghost’s thing, alcohol was hardly a substance he would have once in a blue moon. That was a different story a couple of years ago, but he decided to call the weekend drinks quits after getting into yelling matches with Johnny a few too many times. And then stopped drinking by himself at home after Price’s detox treatment.

“Where’s the Spotify app?” Andra said out loud in the living room. Ghost found her scrolling through the apps on the large screen in her hand.

Ghost leaned against the doorway. “That’s my phone, doll.”

“Thaaat makes sense.” She made no effort to give back the phone that didn’t belong to her. He could see her downloading Spotify and logging in with her own credentials, and he had no reservations about her being on his device.

Andra stood up from the couch and made her way out the front door. “Come look at the sky with me, I wanna see the stars.”

Ghost stuffed his water bottle in one of the pockets on his cargo pants and went to retrieve a blanket from the hallway closet. He met Andra outside where she was already laying supine on the bed of his truck, leaving the rear gate hung open.

“Let me put this down.” He offered.

Andra sat up and scooted herself to the edge of the trunk while Ghost wrung out the king size blanket and laid it over the hard bed of the truck. She returned to her spot and Ghost followed in suit, lying beside her with his arms behind his head. The temps were dropping, but Andra was unbothered by the chilly air. Ghost enjoyed this kind of weather, cold without a trace of humidity.

“I’m gonna head out now.” Johnny announced as he opened the door to his truck. “The sink is good to go.”

“Thank youuu.” Andra beamed. “Drive safe.”

Johnny’s tires crunched on gravel until it was out of earshot, leaving Andra and Ghost laying beneath the evening sky.

Music was playing at a tolerable volume from his phone on top of the metal toolbox above their heads, coexisting with the sound of chirping insects off in the distance. The sky blushed pink and orange hues off on the horizon; it wouldn’t be long before the sky went dark.

“When I first moved out here,” Andra started, “I would come out here and lay under the stars. Out here, I can see so much more than when I was in the city. I’ve traveled out of the city every now and then when I lived in the states, but it was never like this.”

Ghost hummed in agreement. He’s spent countless nights sleeping under the stars, nights where he could see even more than now. It felt like he was looking at galaxies, so vibrant it was as if he could reach out to caress the constellation’s translucent veils.

Andra turned her head to Ghost, and he glanced in her direction. “Tell me a story.”

He rolled his lips as he thought of one. “When I was out in Urzikstan in 2019, I had gotten lost with my squad in the sand dunes one night. One of the locals a few days prior to this told us not to follow the north star if we ever got lost, the desert played tricks on its victims and send them in circles until dehydration or the steep temperature drop would take them.

“The local told us ‘Follow the Andromeda constellation, she won’t betray you’. She didn’t, and we found our way back with the rest of our company.”

Ghost was about to point up to the sky when Andra beat him to it, aiming directly to where the formation of stars that comprised the Andromeda. “That’s the constellation I was named after,” she giggled to herself, “That’s so wild.”

Ghost lifted his head and looked at her.

“My dad named me Andromeda, and my youngest brother Orion. He was kind of into space stuff if you couldn’t tell.”

Ghost chuffed. “You don’t say." The warmth of her hand was electrifying, but he didn’t pull away. She just let her hand rest over his, each digit laying over his. Ghost returned his gaze to the twinkling stars of Andromeda. His fingers interlaced with hers, holding a piece of his own constellation that brought him here in this moment.

taglist: @fried-papad @onomatobooyah

[wavernot4love]

wanted 2 make a post about some positive things that happened at iDKHOW Buffalo last night, because there certainly was good in there, for everyone involved, and i want to highlight/talk about that stuff!

i make these posts a lot for shows, mostly for myself so i don't forget, but others seem 2 enjoy them too, and i don't think last night's show should be any exception.

- first of all, OPENING BAND in the crowd!!! something i have never heard of dallon doing for that one before, and all things considered, i fully see why he chose to do it here as it fit the clear vibe of just wanting to be close with and sort of revel in the connection with the crowd - and the ability of that to make everything better.

there were no flamboyant theatrics like with visitation, just all of us singing together (it was also just anthony playing onstage), and homie stayed out with us for a long time - most of the song. i was also right up there which was nice.

(i'm just gonna put a keep reading thingy here you can click so this doesn't clog tags/folks' dash due to being long)

was just super sentimental. dallon even brought the "gives me.... and ____ a purpose" thing back, mentioning/gesturing towards anthony, & also the thing where when we're all doing the last "band" he like, leans back and yells it with his hands around his mouth. just kinda got me & made me smile since he didn't do either of those things on saturday, and i always do them out of habit when singing the song because of past shows.

definitely the best moment of the night & the embodiment of everything i love about idkhow. he truly made the best out of everything.

i didn't film all of it, & also my camera angles are bad since i didn't want to shove my phone in dallon (or anyone's) face. this is the only video i really feel comfortable posting from last night since it just felt like everything was alright in that moment, 100%. not that i took many in the first place for that reason, but you get the idea.

- dallon strutting around with a pride flag from someone for half a song!! let me tell you, bro was showing that thing OFF. sadly i just had my film camera in hand in the moment so i just grabbed maybe five shots on that aka i don't have em yet, but i'll have em eventually, and it sure did happen, and it was great. did see a few posts in idkhow's tagged on instagram if ya wanna peep.

- back to what i said in regards to opening band about making a rough situation more positive, dallon brought up this exact point (even moreso than usual, including just on saturday in rochester) earlier in the show while talking about a letter - he went really in depth about turning negative stuff into something beautiful. and was talking about how when he wrote the song, he could only hear what we were doing now (you know the parts, in the chorus) in his head, and now he gets to actually experience it, and so he never stops playing this song even 20 years after he wrote it. i love dallon's love for a letter, man, and hope he never does stop.

- downside has truly become one of my favorite live songs. holy moly dude it had even the otherwise seemingly casual fans going wild, possibly even more than rochester actually. that is a song to freakin JUMP to if there ever was one!!!

- did mention this in my post from last night, but a while after the show (there were only maybe a dozen of us around at this point), on his way out to the bus, dallon kind of smiled & waved at us/said thank you, first to the larger group closer to the venue and then to the few of us a bit further down, too.

can't really word it right, but just the fact that despite seeming quite down, still, bro took care to make sure we all felt appreciated/not ignored was sweet. i think maybe he could tell we were concerned, i don't know, dude, all i do know is there's a lot of kindness in that dude's eyes.

had honestly never really interacted with dallon all these years prior to these shows (besides theatrical visitation crowd stuff), so i hadn't fully realized until these past few days - really given me a different perspective i hadn't fully caught onto before amidst the dramatic aspects of idkhow/dallon & their shows, i guess.

point is, dallon's a kind dude. be good to him. just wanted to say that.

- and finally, last night was my eighth (!) idkhow show, & what's crazy is i have never traveled more than an hour & a half for one all this time. i can't say that goes for any other band, and that fact doesn't go lost on me. western ny loves and shows up for idkhow, & idkhow loves and shows up for western ny always. <3

i just have so much love for all this, dude. i miss the shows already.

this project & dallon's music & the live shows have all been in my life for so long. both of these shows have been special in some way or another, last night being a reminder of how powerful everything idkhow has going is to the point of being able to make something good out of, well, whatever might be going on.

truly hope to catch another show back around here sometime soon. please get out 2 a gig if you can - chances are, like me and everyone i've encountered, really, at their shows, you'll never want to stop going, either, if you do. :p

[alexisomnias]

— HOW I LOSE YOU. . .

Riddle is forced to watch you die over and over to an overblot

tags - potential spoilers , inspired off of game functions , reader is gender-neutral , angst with no comfort

"please finish this for me." you choke out, voice low and silent. With that moment, he swears everything stops. Everything no matter the shape or color blurred as his eyes burned. "don't let this be a waste."

        You don't realize, every single thing goes to waste the second you leave his life, the development he went through, you helping him work through his trauma and getting him in a better shape then before, all of it goes to waste. Suddenly he can't stop his tears.

He wants to beg, cry, yell, scream. Do it all enough that the world would want to give you back, pity him because surely if enough tears are shed he'll have nothing left to give.

He realizes a difference after a blink, his tears are suddenly dried, his throat no longer clogged uncomfortably. His head no longer pounding with salty tears. He felt as if it never happened, despite the regrowing ache in his chest and stomach.

That is when he realizes, Leona is still there as Leona. Not as the blot monster that Riddle himself became not too long ago, barely over a month. The Kingscholar is dripping newfound ink, and Riddle comes to the conclusion that he's back at the beginning of the fight, back before he lost you.

        Everyone else looked, reacted, and moved the exact same way as before. No changes made at all, he was the odd one out from the rest. The only one out of everyone there who's eyes frantically searched, and who's heart rapidly beat. Its all for different reasons though, this time his panic wasn't from his unique magic proving to be useless, or the familiarity of the black substance dripping down Leona.

Riddle no longer could hear anything, all words meshing in together as if he was the one in the planet with his own language, once his eyes landed on you his breath hitched.

You're alive, you're alive, you're alive, you're alive, you're alive, you're alive, you're alive, you're alive, you're alive, you're alive..!

        Riddle is unable to cross over to you, no longer able to reach you and touch your skin with his hands. Unable to ensure your skin is warm and alive, unlike the one he just held which was cold and dead. His brain didn't rack for answers like it usually did, in fact it was extremely the opposite. Riddle Rosehearts, became purely just a riddle he's unable to solve in seconds. And he gave up before even learning what it said because he saw you. You were alive and that's all that matters to him. Not the answer, or the way to find it.

        Then once again in a matter of minutes (—or was it an hour..?), he wasn't careful enough. He knew everything that was going to happen, in fact Riddle himself literally lived it, and helped finish the fight. Finding the weakpoints and everything. Yet he just fell short, as if he was levelled severely under everyone else in the fight, like the most useless card in a game. He suddenly was no queen, no tyrant or anything. Because without a head, you can't see, speak, or do anything that is worth fear, other then that. A simple appearance affected the horror.

And for a second dreaded time, he called out for his loved one. "this a dream?! right [name]!?" he asked urgently, holding you close to him as the sounds of paramedics arrived. Your body, covered in sand he would mistake for your own ashes as he sobbed. One may think a sand castle for you both could be built as the sand became stuck to your skin, alongside your cracked bones and dried and dead skin.

"Riddle... please win..." you said, sounding tired. He didn't understand, they did win. "I’m so tired." you croaked alongside him as you leaned into his stomach. Rosehearts thought he was the victim to King's Roar in this current moment. The king knocking the Queen off the chessboard and down to the ground. Falling far, and far below until the players cannot find the game piece. Dried up like a forever desert.

He's so lost without you.

He's back. Back again from an hour or so ago. Same reactions, same people, same stupid ink that dripped down the Kingscholar's crown into his eyes.

        Riddle didn't want to be back here of all places, he wanted you to live. He wanted to hold you before everything happened. He can't keep watching you die, he can't. He can't do this, he needs this to end. Before the fight even begins he's ready to sob, an imaginary knife stabbing into his chest and up into his throat. His heart aching, ignorant to all around. His honor and the gravity of the situation that his heart and emotions betray. It wasn't about him, he's not in danger. He knew, at this point he felt like the most useless person here, his studies about everything all for naught, you’re slipping from his grasp once again. He knows its coming and he can't handle it again.

Riddle doesn't realize the fight already started, his body on autopilot as his mind wholes himself up in his room. He gets memories from his study time with his mother. Stuck in his room, blinds shut from the outside world. The subject of his study was you this time. Leona's going to kill you again, and he, the useless boy who does nothing but get angry and throw tantrums that trouble others, will have to watch because he can never do anything right.

[akiwitch]

Find the Word!

Tagged by @maddstermind thank you so much I love these!

I'll tag @kimurasato @abalonetea @foxys-fantasy-tales @your-absent-father @maddstermind (you said you wanted to be tagged back!) and @mauvelilywilliams (no pressure!)

Your words are: grim, silence, web, moon, and lies

Using Ghost Punch 3 for this since I've been slowly editing it and I know it won't let me down

gone

She knew it was a dream. She still wore her flannel pajama bottoms and over-sized t-shirt. Frost coated grass speared up into her socks. The cold bit at her. She wrapped her arms around herself and shivered. The moon was gone, the purple sky ablaze with stars.

please

“Maybe I need to nap more,” she told Finnias as she stirred potatoes and carrots together with an onion. “Then I’ll have more dreams, right?” And she wouldn’t have to think about anything. “Sure,” Finnias said. “Please pretend to be supportive, for my sake.” Shay checked the recipe and pulled the celery out of the fridge. “I don’t think I will,” he said.

blame

“It’s okay,” Max said, pouring a line of salt in front of the door. “But I-“ “Let’s just get in Nick’s van before we start throwing blame around.” Max took her hand and led her to the van, still idling halfway up the curb. “You’re freezing.” She couldn’t argue with that. “Is Finnias okay?” Finnias was already on his feet, adjusting a sleeve that would be perfectly buttoned forever. “He’s fine,” Shay said. “Good.” Max opened the passenger’s side door for her and assisted her inside like she was a lady being led into a horse drawn carriage.

burn

“I’m not going to kill anyone.” The very thought made bile burn in the back of her throat. “Oh, you will,” Archibald said. “You will, and you’ll have a very good reason, every time. And maybe eventually not very good reasons. Like I said, it’s in your nature.” “I don’t believe you.”  Archibald ignored her. “Not that you needed to kill anyone to have a ghost under your thumb. Because you’re special, aren’t you, Shay?”

heart

Her yelling fell on deaf ears. She tried to get around him to grab the jar of salt in the kitchen, but icy cold fingers grabbed at her arms and clothes. She slapped at them, but they held firm. She twisted to punch, but missed and they dragged her to the ground, slamming her shoulder into the cold wood floor. Finnias tried to haul her up but there were too many, swarming over her. She struggled, fear clogging up her lungs and squeezing around her heart with a grip icier than the ghosts.

That was so fun, great words!

[soggy-bread-crumbs]

self indulgent comfort hawks/self-insert.

tags: depiction of mental health and self-harm, first person pov.

I like red on my skin.

It’s been a fascination since high school, almost graduating and being pushed into the real world to become an almost-adult. The dread of it filled my head constantly, anxious and alone in this big world, and the internal dread spread outwards, developing something just as worse.

A constant itch, to accompany the constant dread. It just never goes away, and it will continue to haunt me for the rest of my life; a tiny voice right in the back of my head, lurking in the shadows, constantly pushed back further, but manages to resurface every now and then. 

It was something of a release in the beginning, a form of punishment as to how I felt towards myself. It was bright, it was pretty. It was painful, it was well-deserved. It was grounding when I felt like I was drifting away. 

No matter what I do, it all comes back in a full circle, and I often feel myself digging my nails through the sleeves of my sweater, feeling it drag along my skin through the fabric; something, anything to feel like I’m not in a dream. 

“Hey.”

A gentle hand overlaps mine, a small grasp ever so slightly, but it was enough to pull me back.

Oh, right. I was watching TV with him. 

“…You’ll ruin your sweater, y’know? Isn’t this your favorite one?” He keeps a light-hearted tone, as if I wasn’t just caught red-handed. 

I don’t say anything. I can’t say anything. My throat clogs up with shame and guilt. It was one thing to do it when alone, but while with him? Is he going to be disappointed, having to have this talk again?

The argument of the two characters in the show was the only thing in the air. What was said, I couldn’t tell, but there was yelling and pleading. Is this some sort of foreshadowing, I laughed in my head; life got me again. Or maybe, it was just me.  

“…You know, if you like it so much,” he started, breaking the silence between us, staring intently on the remnants peeking out of my sleeve. “Then, let’s do this instead.”

I looked up at the sound of feathers rustling, and two came out of the abundance of red plumes on his back. I felt the hem of my sleeve being pulled up slowly, revealing my wrist, and I watched as the two feathers landed softly on the skin, circling around my wrist, making itself into a bracelet and perfectly hiding the scars. 

“I don’t know about you,” he looked down at his handiwork, his thumb grazing the bristles, and I felt it tickling my skin. “But I think this red suits you best.”

I stare at it in silence. This red was different. It was gentle, it was soft, it was light. 

Does it really? A question that lingered on the tip of my tongue, silenced by the small kiss on the back of my hand and a tug to bring me closer to him. 

Even if I thought otherwise, knowing him, he’ll make this red suit me no matter what. 

[xkittypunkerx]

SCREAM - A Beautiful Lie

Chapter Summary and Gang Members: Punk and his gang realize that AJ Lee has returned and begin to make their plans.

Gang Members

2009 Heel CM Punk

SOA Season 1 Jax Teller

James Keenan aka Corey Graves

The Shield Seth Rollins

Jimmy Jacobs

Chapter two

-April Mendez-

Within the next week or so, any stranger would think that we've been living here for years. We installed an amazing improved stereo system, flat screen TV, and a few other needed appliances and such. I guess you could say that our parents really love us.

I groggily opened my eyes to the smell of bacon and eggs flowing through the house. Kofi must be over here showing off his secret culinary skills. I stretched as I got out of bed, and made my way down to the kitchen. "Well look who finally decided to get up," Kaitlyn laughed as she swallowed a forkful of hash browns.

I rolled my eyes, "C'mon, I didn't sleep in that late!"

I noticed that both Kaitlyn and Kofi were staring at the oven clock and suppressing laughter, so I followed their stare and saw that I had slept in until 10 AM! I was supposed to be at an illustration intern meeting in exactly 30 minutes...

"Shit!" I cursed as I ran down the hall to my room and quickly changed into a black and grey pinstriped business suit, straightened my hair, and applied just a slight amount of makeup, enough to look like myself but not so "scary."

I rushed to the kitchen again, noting I only had 10 minutes left. Good thing that this event was on campus, otherwise I'd be mega screwed.

"Ok, I should be back around one, so you guys can go to lunch without me if you want. Um...don't forget to clean up. Peace out!" I yelled as I ran out the door to the truck.

If I wasn't in such a rush, I could've had just enough time to laugh at myself. Seriously, I just sounded like their mother! All humor aside, I pressed the pedal to the metal and pulled into the parking lot mere seconds before the meeting was about to begin.

When I walked in, it turned out that they were still distributing name tags. And much to my surprise, people were still stumbling in after me. Sometimes I honestly believe I worry way too much.

The meeting itself was a great success. I ended up meeting some pretty cool people, some of which I had common classes with this semester, got brochures for internships, and even received a couple of compliments on the drawings I've gathered thus far for my portfolio. Anyone near me could tell that I was excessively ecstatic as I practically skipped back to the truck. At this rate, tonight would definitely be a party night.

I drove home to find two very strange things: it smelled like shit and Kaitlyn had left a note. I plugged my nose in suspicious disgust as I crept into the bathroom to see if I could figure out the source of the massive stench.

I groaned as I looked at the chunk of nastiness resting at the bottom of the toilet. The water was raised unnaturally high, and something told me this thing was clogged. My suspicions were confirmed after four flushes, and no success. No matter how many times I tried to flush afterward, it didn't go up or down...now that's really gross. That note better explain what's going on here.

The note was written on the back of some receipt and resting on the corner of the counter.

It read:

AJ, I'm leaving to go look for a job. Kofi said he'll stay here a little longer, but he'll probably be gone before you get back home.

Love, Kait the Great

I rolled my eyes after reading her signature, but then realized that it must've been Kofi who was the one responsible for the clogged toilet, though it doesn't really seem like something he would do...

I groaned as I pulled the phone book out from under the kitchen desk and looked for a plumber. I dreaded the thought of some gross fat man coming here while I'm helpless and alone - talk about paranoia. Remember: keep the past where it belongs.

I forced myself to dial the number and sat on the couch waiting for him to arrive.

-Jax Teller-

"Is anyone else ready to go look for new prey? I need someone to fuck with," I asked in a bored tone as I skimmed through some text messages in my cell.

All of the guys agreed in their own way as we chugged our liquor besides, as if it were water. At this point in our world, liquor was almost necessary to keep the entertainment and creativity flowing.

As I lounged back in the leather recliner, a random memory suddenly entered my mind, causing some beer to slip past my lips as I began laughing. "What's so funny, man?" James asked, eyeing me strangely.

"Do you guys remember April Mendez, from like 3 or 4 years ago? Damn, I would just love to go hunt her down and finally finish off our first project," I suggested.

Punk had a thoughtful look on his face, as if he was reliving memories, before he finally ended up cheering for the idea. He should be the one to support the idea the most, considering the fact that AJ Lee was his girlfriend at the time.

"You know, that would probably be way better than any of the kills we've done lately. It would be challenging to find her, but damn would it be worth it."

Seth stood up and walked over to the computer nearby. He was always the pro when it came to stalking people. "Don't worry, I'm on it!" he announced with a confidence-filled grin.

He quickly typed April Mendez's name in some weird college database and you'd never believe it, but we found her. It would seem that AJ Lee must have forgotten all about us, because she was stupid enough to return to the neighborhood for her college education.

It's a shame she has no idea what she's in for. And I can promise you that she will greatly regret the day she ever decided to return to Chicago. We each exchanged pleased looks as we gathered around the kitchen table, shoving all the fast food wrappers and bloody utensils out of the way so we could plan properly.

The following morning, Punk, Seth, and I decided to go gather some dirt on AJ Lee, find out where she lives, and create a reason for us to return to her new home later tonight. AJ Lee attended a rather prestigious college located right in the heart of Chicago. It was a sprawling campus, with several residential locations.

Of course, since AJ was so much classier than the other freshman, she's living in the gated community of condos. Luckily, the community was along the edges of the campus, right near a thick forest

Seth drove the van off the main road and down the bumpy, grassy hill to the right. If our calculations were correct, then we should be close to her condo...number 233 A. Once we saw the black rod iron fence, we decided to jump it and try our luck.

"Hers is just a couple feet down the street," Punk noted as we walked slowly down the sidewalk.

I decided to go ahead of the other two slightly, just to get a sneak peak inside the house. As it turns out, it would seem we weren't alone. A girl and a guy were both sitting at the kitchen table, chatting. Looks like all we can do is sit and wait until these little inconveniences disappear.

"Hmm, maybe we could snag that chick as an encore or something?" Seth suggested, nodding toward the black and blond-haired girl.

"That could work...or we could just use them against AJ somehow. I don't really give a shit what we do with them, I just want this to be the best work we've ever done," Punk said.

I nodded, "Don't worry, man. We'll use all our tricks on this one!"

We waited in the bushes until we were sure that both people left the condo. Then, we picked the back door lock and made our way inside. Seth whistled and said, "Check out this place!"

I made my way further into the condo, walking down the short hallway until I ran into two closed doors. "Which one do you think is hers?"

Punk shrugged and kicked both doors open with just enough force to get the job done, yet keep the doors' hinges intact. One room was green and the other was black and white. "This one's definitely her room," he confirmed as he stepped into the green room. Oh that's right, green was her favorite color.

She had tons of band posters plastered across the walls, a HIM comforter on the bed, and framed pictures of her with those two other people along the shelves attached to her desk. Punk stared hard at the photos, his eyes holding a hint of resentment.

He shook his head and placed a hand over his heart and said with a tone of false pain, "She doesn't even have a picture of her and me together! I'm devastated." I humored him with a laugh as I scanned the rest of the room, memorizing every bit of it for our return tonight.

"Hey guys we don't know when the bitch is gonna be back so we better work fast," Seth pointed out, leaning casually against the white door frame.

I got up off her bed and found my way down to the basement to mess with the electric system. And just for a little bit of entertainment, Seth decided to run over to the bathroom and take a massive dump to give me a reason to return as a plumber before the real fun begins.

Before we left, Punk changed the locks around so that we had easy access to the condo tonight, regardless of whether or not little defenseless AJ thinks that the door is locked.

"How'd it go?" James asked, briefly glancing up from his Sports Illustrated magazine.

"It's perfect! We've got the whole house rigged for our benefit and Teller's is gonna head back over there in a couple hours just to fuck with her," Punk exclaimed, reaching into the fridge for an ice cold water bottle. "Also, she doesn't live alone. A girl and guy were there earlier today, so we have a couple toys to use on the side."

"The guy actually lives across the street, but the girl does in fact live with AJ. I think we should take her too for a little extra fun for the rest of us," Seth added, showing off his stalker skills once again.

"I agree with Seth. Do you think you two can keep this chick out of the house until we give you a call confirming AJ Lee's capture?" I asked James and Jimmy.

"Her name is Kaitlyn," Seth interjected.

James smirked, "Sounds hot. Besides, Teller, you know we're the best at stalking, distracting, and capturing!"

I assumed that AJ had to be back home by now, so I drove over to this plumbing place downtown that we had a special connection with. Clearly, we've pulled this particular maneuver before.

Before entering the building, I changed into the navy blue jumpsuit and pulled the hat down low over my forehead. I nodded curtly at the young guy working at the front of the counter.

"Tell... Teller, what are you doing here?" he asked, just barely above a whisper.

I stared at him intently, savoring the fear in his eyes. "Relax kid there's nothing to worry about. I'm actually doing the job this time. No bloodshed involved."

He knew all too well that in most cases I used this cover up to sneak inside homes and steal the beautiful women inside. Technically, I wasn't really lying. AJ would stay safe and sound while I fix her toilet. I wouldn't be using a disguise to take her away tonight.

Ten minutes after my arrival, the phone rang shrilly through the tiny building. "I've got this one," I said reaching excitedly for the phone, clearing my throat to sound professional. "Hello, J T Plumbing. What can I plumb for ya?"

"Um, yeah, my toilet won't flush and, well, someone...you know...emptied a little too much and it won't budge. Do you think you can come out here and fix it?" she asked timidly.

I smiled as the tone of disgust in her voice reached my ears. "Sure, thing darling, that's our job. Can ya give me an address please?"

She told me the address and even gave me the code to get past the gate. I told her I'd be there momentarily and hung up the phone. I loaded a few things into the van and headed back over to the campus.

I arrived at her place a few minutes later and had to silence a laugh as I rang the doorbell and waited to see her filthy little face. The hardest part of this whole thing would be pretending to be nice to her, but it would all be worth it in the end.

I formed a perfectly fake, business-like smile on my face once she opened the door. Her eyes widened momentarily and she hesitated to speak after first seeing me. I knew she didn't recognize me... probably assumed I'd be fat and creepy...even though I didn't think all men of this profession were like that.

But then again, I'm not really a plumber.

In the next Chapter: The Gang Kidnaps AJ Lee

[blupengu]

Okay I gotta yell my virche reactions into the void here, but I won’t clog up the actual tag… this is just for me 😂

I just finished the common route last night and have a couple thoughts, just in case of spoilers I’ll put it under a read more

First off. THE BOURREAU POSE?? HELLO HI LUCAS??? It’s like they didn’t even try to hide it bruh!!! I think he also shares that pose where he’s grabbing his neck with Scien, just mirrored, and I have no idea if it means anything or they’re reusing assets or I’m going crazy?? And also I saw one trigger warning for his route was gaslighting and LMAOOOOO it’s already starting oh my god. “Haha no I’m delicate thank you for taking in the groceries,” “wow Mathis good job throwing that knife that was so impressive!” This bitch is so sus 👀 I LOVE HIM, the saint germain-vibes are insane thanks to him having the same VA it’s driving me crazy

MATHIS DRIVING??? FAST AND FURIOUS??? King shit, that whole scene killed me

I am already a bit of an Ankou simp too, why did they draw him bending over like that in his promo art though

And Adolphe and Scien please button up your shirts sweeties, you’re gonna catch a cold