#and then the real cold started and i spent months almost unable to think for the cold which slowed me so much

[coffeeworldsasaki]

I'm understanding almost everything in this code... it's pretty advanced and I'm understanding it 😭

[llamagoddessofficial]

Can you believe I've never done Farmtale Sans before? As a certified country girl? Shocking, I know. I'll rectify this issue with my latest brainrot scenario immediately

---

“whoever this is, it better be real fuckin’ important,” the voice at the other end said, gruff and tired, heavy with a mix of annoyance and sleepiness.

Immediately, shame washed over you. The very small amount of steam you’d managed to muster up completely dissipated from your body as you imagined Sans’ disappointed and disbelieving reaction to your pathetic request.

This was a mistake.

“... H-hey. Uhm... I’m fine, I didn’t mean to call. Butt dial, hahah.” Your voice nearly cracked. “Sorry for waking you up.”

“... wait.” His voice instantly changed. “hey, don’t hang up-”

You didn’t hear the rest of what he said. You hung up, and put the phone down. Now you were right back to square one, sitting at the kitchen table in a freezing empty house at 2 in the morning. It had taken you almost half an hour to muster up the courage to call him- thirty minutes of sitting by the phone, wrapped up in your coat, shaking and holding back tears. You started plotting places you were going to sleep. Maybe if you put more wood in the kitchen stove, you could just sleep at the table until morning. 

... You inherited this place from your grandmother. It was a ‘rustic’ house that hadn’t seen human company for over a decade, in the middle of the deep countryside, cut off from almost everything. Spooky, draughty, on nights like tonight sitting in the kitchen was like sitting in a fridge. You had moved out of necessity- your landlord in the city had evicted you from your beloved apartment to jack up his prices, and you couldn’t find anywhere else to live except this middle-of-nowhere house left in your name.

You had lived in the city your whole life. You weren’t used to being in the country, not at all. The month you’d spent here had only reinforced that fact to you, over and over.

Something made a noise outside. An animal, maybe. You curled your coat tighter around you.

The only upside so far had been meeting the monsters that made up the tight-knit community you had been unceremoniously dropped into. Papyrus and Sans, especially, had been so wonderful and helpful. Sans had told you to call if you needed anything.

... Which was exactly why you didn’t have the heart to tell him why you were really calling. You didn’t want him to think any worse of you than he probably already did. A stuck-up city girl who doesn’t know what she’s doing.

You were scared.

... 

The phone rang. The sound made you jump, it felt so loud in the silence. Despite your increasing shame, and the desire to just let it ring... you picked up.

“c’mon, don’t be like that.” He sounded much softer than when he had first answered. “what’s wrong? something happen?”

“N-no.” Hearing someone else’s voice was so comforting. You felt so alone, far away from everyone. “It’s nothing.”

You obviously weren’t very convincing. “doesn’t seem like nothing. you sound terrified.”

“I’m just cold.”

“didja kill someone? do i need to come over and help hide a body?”

You couldn’t help it, that made you giggle a little.

...

It just came. You didn’t entirely know why. Probably because it was two, and you hadn’t slept since six the previous morning. Unable to help yourself, you just... burst into tears.

“hey. s’ok, you’re gonna be ok. i’m on the way.”

“N-no, no, please,” You pressed your sleeve against your eyes The shame was absolutely overwhelming. “Please don’t come,”

“too late. already outta bed, it’s serious business. you gonna tell me what’s got you all shaken up?”

You pulled your knees up to your face. Well, no hiding it now, huh? He’d heard you sobbing over the phone. Your voice crumpled under a mixture of tears, fear, immense fatigue and shame. You felt like such a baby. 

“Th-there’s a huge spider on my bed,” you finally admitted, feebly. “I-I’m... I don’t know what to do.”

“aw jeez. why didn’t you just say?”

You could suddenly barely talk through the crying. Hours of stress, all coming out in one mess. He probably thought you were pathetic.

“hey. knock knock.”

As he said that, you heard two soft knocks on your side door. You jumped up, what the hell? Was that Sans? You dropped the phone and rushed to the door to let him in, almost tripping over yourself. 

You opened the door, the air was full of the sound of wind and crickets. Sans stood in the darkness outside of the house, dressed in a thick knitted sweater, blue and white striped pyjama bottoms, big heavy boots, and a coat over the top of it all. He had the phone in one hand, and his smile widened when he saw you.

Shocked, you scrubbed at your eyes and nose again, self consciously trying to wipe off the tears and snot. He lived half an hour's drive from you. “H-how... how did you get here so fast?”

“shortcut.” He winked, those lovely emerald green eyelights glimmering in the low light. “can i come in?”

You nodded, not trusting your voice, stepping to the side. Maybe he knew roads your map apps didn't. Sans eagerly came into the light, kicking off his shoes and closing the door behind him.

“this way?” he asked. 

... You showed him to the bedroom, but cowered in the doorway. 

“I-it’s under the sheet.”

Sans didn’t even hesitate. He approached the bed and flipped back the sheet. The spider hadn’t moved since you last saw it scurry under your bedclothes, still sitting right there, with its fat hairy body and sharp legs. It was probably the biggest spider you had ever seen in your entire life. You felt a horrible chill pass over you.

“dang. he is big. look at the size of that gangly fucker.”

Having said that, Sans just... grabbed it. He picked the spider up before it could run and held it in his enclosed fist like he was scooping up a penny he had dropped on the floor. Just like that, he moved across the room and pulled back the curtain, cracked the window open, stuck his arm out, and threw the spider out into the darkness.

He closed the window again. The air felt less heavy. He even tugged the handle to make sure the window was all properly sealed up, pulling the curtains closed again.

It took him all of fifteen seconds.

“all good.” He turned to you, grinning and showing you his open palms. No spider. “successfully evicted.”

...

You started crying again. 

Sans mumbled a soft ‘aw jeez’. He didn’t hesitate to cross the room, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you into a warm hug, ignoring your babbled apologies. 

“he really spooked ya, huh?” A gentle hand smoothed over your hair. He smelled like sweet hay, hours of sunshine, and something slightly musky. “how long were you tryna drum up the courage?”

“T-two hours,” you sobbed, muffled in his sweater.

You’d expected him to laugh at you. But he didn’t. He just held you, letting you cry out all the stress that had been building up over the course of the night. You were pretty sure this was the first time you had been hugged since before you left the city.

Eventually, you calmed yourself down, reducing to just hiccups. Sans didn’t let go until you did, allowing you to pull away, but keeping a steadying hand on your arm. 

“easy, pet.” His voice was so warm and soothing. “you’re all good.”

“Fucking... I’m just such a baby.” Your sleeves were damp from all of the tear wiping you were doing. You made an unattractive sniffling sound. “You didn’t even hesitate.”

“cus i’m used to ‘em. also, i’m a skeleton, so i don’t gotta worry about being bitten. no shame in bein’ scared of the big ones.” 

Your voice was hoarse. “I’m sorry you came out all this way.”

“... did you think i’d be mad at you?” he asked, softly.

“M-mhm.”

“i really don’t mind bein’ yer bug removing hero." He patted his nonexistent bicep. "tell ya what, it makes me feel very big an’ tough.”

He had you giggling again. He always did. He seemed proud of himself- his presence was balm to your Soul right now. 

“I just... I get so scared at night.” Your cheeks were hot. “It’s so quiet, and dark. I feel like I’m the only person around for miles. I don’t know why I thought I could do this.”

"this?"

"Living out here."

“hey, i beg to differ. yer already doin’ so much better than most who move to these parts.”

You looked up at him. Why did that tiny bit of praise make your heart swell so much? You didn’t feel like you were doing ‘better’. You’d just called your nearest neighbour at 2 in the morning to come save you from a spider. “But I’m always asking for help.”

“exactly. you’re askin’. that’s the important part.” His eyelights were so warm. “that’s how we make it work, out here. we help each other.”

Goddamnit. You were gonna cry again. You just about managed to choke it down.

“... the animal noises also probably freak you out too, huh?”

“Y-yeah, hah.”

“if you don’t know what yer hearin’, it can be pretty scary.”

... You sniffled.

...

“... you’re shaking. d’ya want me to stay?”

How did he know? He always just seemed to know. You nodded, meekly. You didn’t want to be alone right now, and you knew the house would feel even colder and emptier once you’d known how it felt while you had company.

“Will Papyrus be worried?”

“he knew i was headin’ out to help ya. he’ll be fine.”

... You didn’t need to say out loud where you wanted Sans to sleep. Both of you knew.

The two of you finally took off your coats, and Sans turned off the lights. His forest-coloured eyelights were the only illumination in the room. As soon as he shuffled into bed beside you, you gratefully curled up against him, he was so calming and so warm. He reciprocated, wrapping his big arms around you, his comforting smell soothing your shot nerves. 

“... Thank you.” Your voice was almost a whisper.

“yer really warm.” he hummed. “just so you know, i’m a bit of a snorer.”

You probably should’ve been more concerned, sharing a bed in a very secluded location with a guy you barely knew. But you didn’t have the energy for it. For the first time in a long time, you were warm, didn’t feel lonely, and weren’t worried at all about bugs. 

“I don’t mind.”

... It was the best night’s sleep you’d ever had.

[running-with-kn1ves]

Too Close For Comfort

Male! Co-worker X GN! Reader

A/N: Turns out you can write so much when you have free time :0 Anyway I spent way too damn long on this so… here we are! I hope yall enjoy :’) (There are so many things wrong with this piece which is EXACTLY why you do not procrastinate, kids.)

TW: christmas/holiday themes, sour mood on the holidays, drugging, forced kissing/ touching, yandere themes, alcohol/ intoxicated characters

Synopsis: Feeling like an odd one out at your office’s christmas party, you find an overly eager co-worker to spend your time with-- who seems to prove that no company may be better than bad company.

Word Count: 3300

When most thought of the winter holidays, great cheer and comforting cold weather took priority. Whether it was staying inside from the bitter cold with a cup of warm tea, or decorating with shining lights and pine tree scents, there was always fun to be had. Even the music was jolly, no holiday song consisting of a sorrowful melody when it came to the season.

However, you unfortunately did not share the same holiday spirit as most during December. Those who had fun on Christmas or their yearly holidays usually had someone to spend it with, a person or people to keep them company from the windy chill and the loneliness of solitude. You had no such company; your family was unable to make it this year for the holidays, and you had yet to find a spouse that could enjoy the Christmas spirit with you.

You tried not to bring your disheartened attitude in with you today at work, but it was a real struggle when it came to watching your co-workers mingle with one another. You had yet to make any stable friendships since you started your job, which your huddling form in the corner showed quite obviously. 

With eggnog in your hand and an ugly sweater covering your chest, you couldn’t help but frown at the floor as you listened to the sound of jingle bells and Michael Bublé for the 100th time this month. You desperately wanted to go home, to cry to a hallmark movie and down 3 cups of hot chocolate before passing out on your couch. But your boss insisted that everyone in your office stay for the christmas party else they’ll have to stay late on new years. 

You didn’t have any particular plan for new years other than your yearly ritual of drinking your sorrows away while the clock strikes twelve, but it would be nice not to spend it in the office with a bunch of people you hardly knew. So, you stayed. You listened to the bad karaoke and watched as your co-workers got slammed on spiked eggnog.

A particular person who displayed such a description was your boss: a man in his 40s, currently ‘busting it down’ on the makeshift dancefloor to some holiday rap. 

“He’s having a bit too much fun, wouldn’t you think?” A voice said next to your ear. 

You turned to find one of your co-workers faces right next to yours, his hot breath ghosting over your ear as he grinned. You jumped at seeing him so close to you out of nowhere. 

“Sorry, I just thought you wouldn’t be able to hear me over the music.” He apologized.

The man’s flurry of bright blonde hair and fair skin seemed to appear out of nowhere, his face flushed with a slight pink that must’ve been from the cold.  

“No its alright. Klaus, right?” You asked. 

“Yeah,” He laughed and rubbed the back of his head. “I’ve actually been standing behind you for a while now.”

You raised an eyebrow at his words, not expecting his choice of words.

“I mean-- I’ve seen you around the office quite a bit, but haven’t gotten the courage to talk to you ‘til now.”

You almost flushed at the sound of that. Someone had noticed you, and was really that afraid of talking to you? You had thought no one batted an eye at you after the first day of your arrival. 

You remembered seeing Klaus around the office a few times-- he always seemed to be nearby, never doing anything important but never so visibly available that you felt confident enough to talk to him. He seemed very popular with your other co-workers, always chatting it up with someone and getting a giggle out of them. Sometimes you’d make eye contact with him, but you turned away too quickly out of embarrassment to let it linger any longer. 

“Actually I’ve been standing here for 10 minutes hoping you’d notice me.” He bashfully admitted. 

Oh. 

“What really? I’m so sorry--” You tried to apologize, feeling yourself grow hot at how oblivious you were. 

“No don’t worry. I’m just glad I’ve finally caught your attention.” He gave you a small wink, leaning in closer to make himself more hearable. 

You widened your eyes at that, surprised at his forwardness-- you couldn’t remember the last time someone came onto you so obviously. Or rather, at all. You had been sort of avoiding the dating- slash- hookup scene ever since you moved for your job. 

“O-oh.” You weren’t exactly sure how to respond, taking another large gulp of your drink. 

“In fact, I thought you were looking rather lonely over here.” Klaus said, moving forward closer to you. You stepped backwards in time with his movements, afraid of getting too close to him. He didn’t seem to mind, keeping eye contact with you as he licked his lips and smiled. 

“Oh, really? Well… I’m, alright. Don’t worry about me.” You laughed awkwardly, caught completely off guard. 

He placed a hand on the wall behind you, standing beside and yet in front of you, in a non-threatening but trapping manner. Taking a sip out of his own drink, he watched as you fumbled to fill the silence he seemed so comfortable with. 

“Hey everybody! A shrill voice called. “Guess who’s under the mistletoe!”  

One of your female coworkers pointed towards you and Klaus in a drunken stupor, her dark skin flushed from the alcohol and showing mischevious excitement. 

You looked up to see a hanging green plant, ripe red berries intertwined in its leaves with a red bow holding it from the ceiling. Klaus didn’t bother looking up, continuing to stare at you as you admired the greenery. 

It wasn’t until a chant brought you out of your thoughts did you feel your stomach drop. 

“Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!” Your female coworker started, shaking her fist in time with her intoxicated slurs. She stumbled and clapped her hands, the rest of the office following suit. Your boss even chimed in, becoming the loudest with his tie tied around his forehead and his shirt unbuttoned. You hadn’t realized how unraveled the party had become until all the attention was on you. The chant got louder as more joined in, Klaus looking at you for your reaction. 

You looked back at him and to the crowd, unsure of what you should do. Klaus looked prepared, trying to appear casual yet undeniably eager. 

“Should we give the people what they want?” He asked, though you could tell what he was hoping for. 

Yet, you hardly knew him! This was your first time talking to the man, and he was your co-worker-- someone who you’d have to see day in and day out 5 days a week. The world of problems this one kiss could bring, was a risk you weren’t sure would be worth it.

Despite knowing that, you began to lean towards him. Maybe it was the eggnog or the fear of disappointing the party attendees, but you kept moving forward as he grinned a bit too excitedly. 

Immediately Klaus’s hand shot to your back, pulling you so the inside of his thigh warmed your knee. His hand on your back pressed against your sweater and gently moved to support you, the other coming up to cup your cheek. You expected the kiss to be a short peck-- enough to satisfy the drunken herd, but Klaus’s movements read romance. 

His hands were warm, likely from holding his hot drink of choice all evening. He smelled faintly of snow and hot chocolate, his breath hitting your nose as he stood over you, waiting to get closer. His fingers fell to your chin as his pointer and thumb gripped to pull your face towards his softly. You let him take the lead, holding onto his cold jacket as he pushed you up to meet his height. 

You could feel the burn of a hundred eyes on you, all staring; watching, anticipating. 

Klaus’ lips touched yours, his mouth parting just slightly for yours to fit in like a puzzle piece. He didn’t dare shove his tongue down your throat or slime you with saliva like you bet half of the drunks here would have, instead squeezing his lips around yours with a hand on the back of your head, deepening the act of affection as if he waited a millennium to give it to you. 

 Thankfully, cheering commenced from the boisterous crowd, though you couldn’t hear it from the blood rushing in your ears. Neither you or Klaus wanted to let go-- though for vastly different reasons. Hands rushed to pat you and your male counterpart on the back once you forced yourself to break away. Klaus still held onto you, moving his hands to hold your waist as the crowd trickled closer to congratulate. The music got louder, a shout of more drinks being poured gaining another cheer from the crowd.

They all shouted words of praise and excitement, some more inebriated than others, but nonetheless all happy and excited with a holiday glow in their eyes and cheeks. 

Once the drinks were poured and called to be given out, the attention on you and Klaus was gone. The crowd moved away, diminishing all to go back to partying and their own groups of familiarity. Though Klaus still hadn’t let go of you. You looked at him, awkwardly shuffling backward as he let go reluctantly. 

The music had somehow gotten louder, though the attention was now pulled back to your tipsy boss making decisions he’d surely regret in the morning, and everyone else focusing back on their own groups. You felt out of place again-- though now with a partner instead of alone. You weren’t sure if that as any better though, since now it was two all alone rather than one. 

“Do you want to go somewhere more quiet?” Klaus asked, leaning once again uncomfortably close to your face. “Somewhere with less, you know, people?” He put a hand to the small of your back, hoping to gently push your decision.

“That’d be great.” You sighed with a smile, glad to be escaping in some way, even if it meant spending time with an awkward acquaintance. 

Klaus grabbed your hand with his, bringing a comforting warmth to your chilled fingers. He slid by the twinkling christmas tree, pushing past people with an urgency that would’ve concerned you if you weren’t so eager to leave yourself. You almost tripped over the small presents meant for white elephant underneath the tree if you hadn’t watched your step, trying to move carefully as Klaus lifted your hand to make it easier.

“Thanks,” You said, though you doubted it could be heard over the loud chatter and high note from Mariah Carey on the radio.

 You realized Klaus had been leading you back towards your desks, into a small hallway that only held your bosses office and a small janitor’s closet. People still paraded around the office everywhere you went, a few couples making out in their cubicles with the only light source coming from strung up christmas lights on the walls. You squinted your eyes, unable to see in the dark except for Klaus’ shoes in front of you. 

You bumped into his back as he suddenly stopped in front of the closet, letting out a small ‘oomph’ into his thick jacket. 

“Sorry..” You mumbled, though he only seemed to let out a small, teasing laugh. 

Opening the door, he led you into the closet. You gulped, thinking this was a strange place to gain privacy. You thought perhaps the two of you would go outside, or maybe head back to one of your cubicles, even if it wasn’t the best way to be alone. Yet, you still followed him into the closet, hoping maybe you could take a breather without hearing incessant jovial laughing or wet drunken kisses from your co-workers who couldn’t keep themselves off each other. Hoping in, Klaus shut the door with a ‘click.’

There was no light in the closet, and no switch to turn on even a hanging light bulb.

“Well, here we are.” You said, hoping to lighten the thick air. 

“Yes.” Klaus said, his body in front of you though you couldn’t see it. You shuffled around, trying to get comfortable despite unknown items at your feet and on the shelves next to you. You stood in silence, soaking up the fact that there was no distractions to remind you of your loneliness. And, well, you weren’t alone. Atleast, not right now. 

Klaus’ breathing got heavier, loud enough to fill the silence of the closet. 

“I can’t believe…. We’re alone together.” He exhales. 

“Yeah….?” You say, unsure of what he means. 

Though the hands on your shoulders seem to put forth his meaning more clearly. 

“I thought we’d never be able to get away from them.” He chuckles, pressing his chest against yours this time, pulling you into a hug. “Though, I didn’t think the mistletoe would go that smoothly.” 

Klaus rubbed your back with a sensuality you didn’t expect, humming into your ear as he embraced you moreso than co-workers-- or even friends should. 

“I can’t say I expected you to kiss me so easily..”

He let go of the unreciprocated hug to cup your face with his soft hands. 

“So, does this mean you have feelings for me…. too?”

“W-what?” You back away from his hands into the supply shelf. “Klaus, uh,” You chuckle for a moment, trying to come up with an answer. “We’ve only talked once, and that was 5 minutes ago!” 

You tried to keep your tone light, giving a small laugh to hide your nervousness.

“But our kiss,” He argued. “Our kiss. Didn’t you feel something from that?”

He huffed and brought his hands down to your shoulders. 

“Not only that--didn’t you feel any sparks when we made eye contact last tuesday? When you brushed by me in the break room? Come on.” He spoke as if it was the most obvious thing in the world, shaking your shoulders and pressing the toe of his shoe against yours. 

“I’m sorry, I don’t even remember that--” You tried to find his eyes in the dark, but could only make out vague shapes of his face. “I thought that kiss was just-- peer pressure.” 

Klaus went silent. His hands limp against your shoulders, the male hung his head in defeat. 

“....Nothing? You haven’t… noticed me at all?” He sounded pitiful, voice cracking ever so slightly. “And our kiss, was just an act to you?” 

Klaus bit his lip to stop himself from letting out a sob, his worst fears commencing together to build a crushing momentum. 

“I’m sorry… I didn’t know, it meant that much to you. I don’t know you that well, so I really don’t have any room to say I share the same feelings.” You sighed, patting his hands sympathetically. 

Well, that was certainly a turn of events from what you expected. 

Yet, Klaus perked up at hearing you.

“But that doesn’t entirely rule out the possibility, right? You could still… find yourself falling for me-- potentially.”

“Klaus, I don’t really think--” 

“It’s possible, with enough time, with enough-- convincing.” He interrupted. 

You were about to refute his rationalization, trying to let him down gently. That was until the feeling of familiar lips crashing onto yours came, devouring you faster than the first kiss had. Klaus shoved you against the supply shelf, forcing your head back with his as his nose bumped into yours. Tight lips wrapped around your mouth as the man desperately tried to convince you. 

“Klauth--!” You tried to muffle out, feeling your struggling hands forcefully pushed against the shelf.

“No--! Just let me--” He huffed between kisses. “Give me the chance to convince you--! I’m worth it!-- I promise--” 

Thumps could be heard outside the closet, cleaning and old office supplies falling off the shelves as the two of you danced in a struggling fashion. 

You let out a series of noises against his mouth, mostly poor attempts at trying to tell him to stop, to get off of you, all of which were futile compared to how overpowering Klaus’s desperation was. He was determined, and there was little that could stop him. 

Though with a rightly timed shove and a bite of his lip, you managed to push the man into the door. It let out an echoing clatter, Klaus being unable to catch himself beforehand. 

“What is the matter with you!” You managed to huff out, balling your fists up. 

Klaus ignores your upset expression, wiping his lips. 

“I’m really not a bad guy, you know. I don’t use things like chloroform or handcuffs.” Your heart dropped, panic beginning to set in. “I didn’t even really plan on bringing this with me tonight…. It was just a precaution. So I hope, you won’t think different of me.” Klaus frowned, coming closer to you with heavy footsteps.

“What are you even on about!” You tried to back away, about to tell him to stop once more. The more he came closer, the more worried you became. Clearly, there was something wrong with him on a level that you couldn’t understand, and you weren’t waiting to find out what it was. 

But before you could react, a pinching feeling was running down your thigh. Something stabbed into your leg, unwavering as Klaus’ hand covered it. His other arm moved up to shove against your mouth, your teeth biting into his arm as you tried to struggle away. He spun around, pushing you against the closet door as you tried to frantically get free. Klaus thumbed the end of the syringe, making sure the entirety of the sedative entered your system. Once he felt it hit the bottom, Klaus pulled the needle out of your leg and threw the syringe to the floor. He used the rest of his weight to keep you steady and silent. 

You tried to scream against his arm once you realized what he had done. You didn’t know what he had just injected you with, but it certainly was not something benign. Your arms tried to flail but could only wiggle within Klaus’s grasp as he held them down. 

Only a mere few seconds passed before you felt something strange occur within you, a limpness in your limbs beginning as your eyelids lowered. It was small at first-- just a nagging tiredness in your body. But it soon grew to a point that you could no longer counsciously comprehend, your mind flatlining.

“You’re so much work,” Klaus said with a struggled laugh, trying to keep you down while brushing a stray hair away from your slowly relaxing face. “But worth it. I promise, I’ll prove myself to you. I’ll make you beg for me.” 

You could feel your spit drool down your chin from Klaus’ sleeve, your attempts at biting and removing his arm leaving you a mess. It didn’t take long for the tranquilizer to work its effects, your eyes having gone hazy and body nearly falling to the floor. If it wasn’t for Klaus’s reaction time you would’ve slammed against the door, which would’ve been preferable when it came to Klaus’s intentions. Instead, he caught you with his arms, fighting to keep you upwards. 

“You’ll be convinced before new years, sweetheart.” Klaus planted a small kiss to the side of your mouth, cleaning the drool from your face. “Merry Christmas, my little present.”

[chouettecrivaine]

BREAKING THE DAWN - an OC introduction template link - @youngmrclaus lark art cred qilan belongs to @yuechicake lark exists in the @shepherds-of-haven universe!

Lark has gone through a ton of lore upheavals and additions, so I decided a reintroduction was in order! and also this template was beautiful so i had to use it :3c I also wanted to see how her backstory diverted from the canon story with her soulmate Qilan thrown into the mix!

(Having trouble reading? This post is transcribed beneath the cut!)

LARK VAN LAAST

CALL SIGN - dawnbreaker

AGE / SEASON - mid 20s / winter

GENDER / PRN - female / she / her

SEXUALITY - bisexual

TRAINING - self-taught

OCCUPATION - commander

RACE - hunter-mage

"

They are singing all around you

With heavy shovels holding earth

You're being buried to your neck...

Being buried quite alive now

The Antlers, Epilogue

"

HEIGHT - 5'5 (165cm)

COMPLEXION - very fair

DETAILS - scattered freckles (all year)

HAIR COLOR - navy blue (white streak on her right side)

EYE COLOR - stormy gray

EXTRAS - wire rimmed glasses (when not on duty)

Lark wears her straight, shoulder-length hair in a milkmaid braid style to keep it out of her face. If she’s really in a pinch, she’ll put it in a bun, but she rarely lets anyone see her with her hair down unless there’s an emergency in the middle of the night.

Her skin is pale enough that she almost looks bloodless, though she can easily blush. She has freckles dotting her entire body, even during the winter months when there isn’t much sun.

She carries two swords; her main, typical broadsword and a smaller xiphos style sword for closer combat and emergency situations. She is a psionic mage with an affinity for bewitchments and enchantments.

-

POS. TRAITS - sweet , patient , loyal / NEU. TRAITS - quiet , gloomy , clever / NEG. TRAITS - wily , self-sacrificing , hesitant

ALIGNMENT - neutral good

TEMPER - gentle

LIKES - birds, needlework, cold weather

DISLIKES - lies, raucous taverns, plans for the future

GOALS - To rid the world of the demons that lurk in the shadows, purging the land of all the parasites that bleed the life from those foolish enough to get close - even if she believes herself to be such a parasite, too.

After spending so much time alone and watching tragedy befall those around her, Lark eventually withdrew into herself and stopped making efforts to form strong bonds with others. She remained polite and helpful, but also cold and detached. She is a pack animal at heart, though, and dreads how easily her icy defenses can be melted.

Lark has developed a bit of a silver tongue and is an expert liar, but she can not stand when others try to fool her in a non-survival situation. She is frequently underestimated and assumed childish for her kindness and goodwill, which often erases her struggles and her capabilities. She can smell a lie from a mile away and cuts those people off before they can start - she’s much less fragile than others think.

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AESTHETIC - spirit animal / AESTHETIC - element / AESTHETIC - flower / AESTHETIC - weather / AESTHETIC - texture

BACKSTORY

Lark spent most of her time in Maj running errands for the villagers who couldn't leave their work and taking lessons with each of them in the hopes of becoming a well-rounded leader one day. Her favorite skills are embroidery and the musical instrument taught to her by the village grump. She also takes care of her father’s chickens and hands the eggs out every morning. The village is dusty and far from well-off, but the people are kind and know how to celebrate their harvest, whether it be meager or bountiful.

After the destruction of Maj, she fled, unable to take the sorrow and guilt. She had no real direction, hoping instead for some mercy and perhaps a guiding hand. Instead, she was lured into servitude by a cruel Norm merchant. He ran a shop peddling antiques and oddities and blamed the various Diminished indebted to him for the failing business. He was prone to anger and wasn't afraid to punish them in ways that endangered their lives. Shortly after Lark arrived, she experienced the “mysterious disappearance” of one Diminished who dared to disobey. Another Diminished, a Wilds mage named Damiane, took Lark under her wing and became a sort of mother figure for her. Years ago, Damiane had taken a loan from the merchant to get medical care for her child, who unfortunately ultimately passed away. She stayed in his care to pay off her debt and bc she doesn't have any more family to go back to. Through her tutelage, Lark learns that she has an affinity for birds and begins to communicate with them.

Lark is eventually told to frame two twin Diminished wind mages, Calder and Inia, for stealing from the store, thus trapping them under the merchant's thumb. Inia is immediately suspicious of Lark’s involvement in the scheme, but Calder treats her gently. He is the one who teaches her to put her hair up in milkmaid braids. However, the twins don't take orders or instructions easily, and when the brother eventually gets sick, the merchant refuses to provide medical care for him as punishment. After Calder passes, his sister eventually enacts her revenge by setting the shop (and apartment upstairs) on fire. Lark barely escapes after Damiane pushes her into the street at the last second, trapping herself inside.

Lark ran from town and made a living by settling for a short while and selling embroidery and outfit repairs. Eventually she hid away in a large town and took up a guard position in front of a jewelry store. Working with her was a ket mage named Airell. He had the same stoic attitude as is typical of most with Ket blood, but he warmed up to her and agreed to teach her how to properly use a sword. As such, her swordsmanship is a combination of basic Ket techniques and an unrefined defense of a rural girl. The owner of the store was nice enough to Lark and Airell, but his son was a problem child. Airell eventually learned that the son planned to rob the store and frame the Diminished guards in a ploy to cash in on his father. Knowing the owner would never forgive them for harming his son to stop the crime but would also believe if his son said they robbed the store, Airell gave Lark false orders to wait at the town gate for a shipment while he apprehends the son. Airell is detained as a result of trying to stop the heist, and the son managed to frame him for part of the crime. The owner fired Lark, knowing she was close to Airell and no longer trusting her.

She then took up mercenary work, protecting merchants and traveling caravans. Finally, she has withdrawn inside of herself, keeping to herself as most employers want and parting upon reaching the caravan’s destination. On one of these missions, she met a mage named Qilan. This mage was private, just as she was, but Lark could tell that they had a similar story. For the first time since her thirteenth birthday, Lark felt content and at ease - though she didn’t dare speak these feelings out loud. She and Qilan share a brief relationship until they part ways…but they eventually meet again when they are both contracted to protect Prihine on the way to her wedding.

Lark doesn’t have much of a chance to reconnect with Qilan, but the same draw between them is there. When a demon breaks into the wedding, Lark is inexplicably pulled to reach out and grab Qilan’s hand as they both say a Word of Power, successfully saving both Prihine and Caine as they stop the demon. That is how they learn (partially, at least) that they are soulmates, and that their shared Words are stronger when they are cast in tandem.

[extasiswings]

Ohhh 70 (“After everything we’ve been through, you still don’t think that I love you?”) OR 93 (“You’re more than that.”) for the prompt thing, whichever you prefer! I always adore your writing, thank you so much for sharing it with us ☺️

OR? No, both. And thank you, you're very sweet. On ao3 here.

Most of the time, Buck feels like there’s no one in the world who understands Eddie as well as he does. Most of the time. Because there are still some other times when he’s completely in the dark.

And sure, okay, it makes sense on some level because they all have their blind spots—of course he’s going to have a few where Eddie is concerned as well—but they never fail to catch him by surprise.

A month after Eddie comes home from the hospital, Buck is having coffee with Carla while Eddie’s at a physical therapy appointment and he offhandedly says—

“Not sure why I never see Ana. You would think Eddie being shot would make her want to be around more, not less—”

“Buck,” Carla interrupts, a strange look passing over her face. “Honey...Eddie broke up with her three weeks ago.”

That stops Buck short, makes him feel like he’s missed a step on the stairs.

“What?” His mouth is dry. He swallows. “He—why?”

Carla picks up her cup and takes a long sip, as if she needs the extra seconds to figure out what to say, and Buck backtracks.

“No, forget it, that’s—it’s not my business,” he says. It’s not. Even if it feels a little like it should be, even if he doesn’t understand why Eddie would tell Carla and not him, even if he’s Eddie’s best friend—

Buck knows that Eddie’s a private person. He knows that sometimes Eddie keeps things close to his chest while he’s thinking them through. Eddie hadn’t said a word about Shannon until she walked into the station and aired their business for all of them to hear. He barely talked about Ana in the first place. He changed his will and sat on that information for a year—

Buck’s not upset it’s just—it feels—

The thing is.

The thing is…He’s not oblivious. He knows how he feels about Eddie. How he’s felt for at least the past two years. Like he can’t breathe, can’t speak, can’t look at him without feeling like he’s screaming with it, bleeding love all over, unable to stop it dripping from every pore. Exposed and pathetically obvious, and the whole time Eddie has just—said nothing. Ignored it, Buck assumes, because he can’t not have noticed, can’t not have seen.

And maybe sometimes Buck has wondered if Eddie wasn’t ignoring it. If he felt the same and just couldn’t say it. Because he was grieving and wasn’t ready—

But then he was. He was ready. And he chose Ana Flores.

That was the end of it. That was supposed to be the end of it. Because Buck’s not a masochist, he knows he hangs onto things for too long, but he’s been working on knowing when to let go.

Except—except Eddie got shot. Eddie got shot and Buck sat on a hospital bed and stared as Eddie said no one will ever fight for my son as hard as you and you act like you’re expendable…but you’re not and the words felt…heavy. The air, weighted. And Eddie couldn’t look at him and Buck could swear that he was trying to say—

Buck knows he shouldn’t be. But there’s a part of him that’s angry. That wants to pace and run and clasp Eddie’s face between his hands and ask really? Now? Because—because Eddie got shot. Eddie got shot and Buck barely survived it, thought if Eddie died, he would have died with him, was more terrified than he’s ever been in his life. But he did survive. And he moved on. He kissed Taylor. He closed the door.

So Eddie’s not allowed to make big declarations that he could have made a year ago and then break up with his girlfriend when Buck is finally trying—

Okay, maybe he’s a little upset.

The rest of him though—most of him, really—knows he doesn’t have any right to be angry. Which is why most of him is just…tired. Tired and terrified and still so in love.

Buck thinks maybe Eddie was right all those months ago. The universe doesn’t scream. It just laughs. At him.

“Buck?” Carla’s gaze is soft. Steady.

Buck clears his throat. Drains the last dregs of his coffee. He tries not to feel like he’s swallowed glass.

“Did I tell you I’m seeing someone?” He asks, forcing a smile. “She’s a reporter. She was—she was at Eddie’s homecoming actually, maybe you met her. It’s still pretty new, but we’ve been friends for a while. Going pretty well so far.”

Something flickers in Carla’s eyes, but she takes a breath and smiles.

“That’s great, Buckaroo,” she replies. “I’m happy for you.”

He’s trying. He’s really trying.

He doesn’t ask Eddie about the breakup.

*

Recovery is slow.

Buck doesn’t really like thinking about it as recovery because Eddie’s the one who got shot. Eddie’s the one who was in a sling and in physical therapy and had to spend months waiting to be well enough to get cleared to go back to work.

Eddie’s the one who got shot. The one whose blood flooded the street. The one who spent days unconscious in the hospital. The one who almost died.

Eddie’s the only one who has anything to recover from.

Dr. Copeland doesn’t agree. Buck mentions that he’s having trouble sleeping, that his chest gets tight if he goes too long without seeing Eddie and Christopher, that he can’t breathe sometimes when he’s on shift and Eddie’s out of sight.

She refers him out to a trauma specialist. He tries to argue that it’s not his trauma, but she just looks at him for a long moment.

“When you say you can’t sleep, is it insomnia? Or do you have nightmares that wake you up?”

Buck bites his lip and looks down at his hands. When he blinks, they’re streaked with red. When he blinks again, they’re clean. He curls his fingers into fists to prevent them from shaking.

“A little of both,” he admits.

“And when it’s nightmares, what are they about?”

“…blood.” Eddie’s blood in the street, on his hands, splashed across his face, on his tongue—

She hums.

“Evan,” she says quietly. “It’s okay. It’s not a weakness to admit that you need help. And just because you weren’t shot yourself doesn’t mean you didn’t experience something traumatic. You’re allowed to seek treatment.”

Buck swallows. “I feel like…I should be better by now,” he admits. “Better than this. Shouldn’t it be easier?”

“Recovery is a process,” Dr. Copeland replies. “A journey. And it doesn’t always move in a straight line. There’s no timetable.”

Recovery. He makes a face.

But, he goes to see the specialist. He’s not sure how much it helps.

Blood splashing across his face, water running red, skin scrubbed raw—

Buck sits up gasping, cold sweat beading across his brow. Taylor is sound asleep on the other side of the bed, the distance between them a chasm he doesn’t know how to cross. He doesn’t know if he wants to even if he did.

He shivers. Grabs his phone. Quietly descends the steps of the loft to settle on the couch.

“Buck. Hey.” Eddie’s voice is gravelly and soft from sleep. Buck winces.

“Sorry,” he says. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“I don’t mind,” Eddie replies. “You know I don’t mind.”

Eddie pauses. “What was it tonight?”

Buck exhales shakily. “Your heart stopped in the truck before we could get to the hospital. I couldn’t get it to start again. I know it didn’t happen that way, but I still—”

“It’s okay,” Eddie says. “I’m okay. That—it wasn’t real.”

“Yeah.” It felt real though. Buck can still feel ribs cracking under phantom compressions, the slick of blood on his hands. He can taste Eddie’s blood in his mouth.

“What do you need?”

Buck stretches out and closes his eyes, the phone pressed hard to his ear.

You. Just you. Always you.

“Can you—” His throat clicks. “Can you just talk? It doesn’t matter about what, I just—”

I need to hear your voice. I need to hear you alive.

“Christopher picked a project for the science fair,” Eddie says. “You have to promise to act surprised when he tells you though. He’s really excited.”

“Oh yeah? I can do that. What is it?”

“Well…”

Buck falls asleep again with Eddie’s voice in his ear and he doesn’t dream again. Taylor wakes him on the couch in the morning, an odd look on her face—he doesn’t know how to explain that it’s not her fault. She just can’t help him. Perhaps she never could.

Buck thinks maybe there’s still a part of her that wants him to chase her. But he’s in no condition to chase anyone, even if he wanted to. It takes enough out of him to hold himself together. And to fight against what seems more and more inevitable.

So. Maybe he should stop fighting it.

He sighs and scrubs a hand over his face as he sits up.

“I think we should probably talk,” he says quietly.

Taylor tucks a strand of hair behind her ear and sinks down onto the couch next to him.

“I think we should.”

It ends as quickly as it began.

*

Christmas takes him by surprise. It’s not that Buck doesn’t notice the fall slipping away—a Halloween shift, a Veteran’s Day that has Eddie a little quieter, a little shakier, than usual, and Thanksgiving lasts practically a whole week with all the leftovers that end up in the station—but somehow it doesn’t fully register until he looks up at the calendar in the middle of December and sees a smiling Christmas tree sticker on a date ten days out. They’re not working, so the only question is where he’s going to end up, if anywhere. Although, he supposes even that’s not really a question.

He knows where he’ll end up.

Five days before Christmas, a last-minute tree has been wrangled into the Diaz house and Buck is fighting with a tangled set of lights while Eddie pulls out wrapping paper and ribbons and retrieves the hidden stash of gifts for Christopher from his closet. Christopher himself is fast asleep in his room, worn out from the day of running around, and without the extra person to focus on Buck takes a moment and lets himself just...watch Eddie. Sitting on the floor in low light with his legs stretched out, surrounded by ornaments and boxes and stray clippings and a small pile of somewhat lumpy, clumsily wrapped gifts, his lower lip caught between his teeth as he focuses on trying to figure out the right way to fold the wrapping paper—

There’s a stray piece of tinsel in his hair and a laugh catches in Buck’s throat, even as the rest of him aches with a sudden, fierce urge to brush it away.

He aches. Because this—this is what he wants. Eddie and Christopher and going around town to finish the Christmas shopping, picking out a tree and decorating it as a family, coming home to this day after day after day and knowing it’s where he’s supposed to be—

Eddie got shot. Eddie got shot and it was the worst moment of Buck’s life. He thinks sometimes that he would rather have his leg crushed under a thousand ladder trucks than risk going through that again, but—but running away didn’t make him stop loving Eddie. Dating Taylor didn’t make him stop loving Eddie. Time hasn’t made him feel anything less, if anything it’s just cemented things.

So...so if Eddie is going to have the power to hurt him that badly regardless of whether Buck admits it out loud, if the risk of loss is going to be there anyway...shouldn’t he at least get to have everything? All the good parts?

Don’t they deserve the chance to be happy?

“Buck?” Eddie’s brow is furrowed in concern. “You okay?”

Buck opens his mouth, intending to reassure him, but what comes out is—

“Are you in love with me?” Eddie freezes and Buck resists the urge to panic and take it back.

“Because—” Buck clears his throat. “Because sometimes I think you might be, and—”

“Yes.” It’s quiet, barely a breath, but that single word hangs in the air. Buck’s heart races.

“You could have told me,” he replies. “Why—why didn’t you just—?”

Eddie looks away and Buck catches a familiar look flickering across his face. Doubt, shame, fear—everything that he himself has felt—

Oh.

Blind spots.

He never considered that Eddie might be just as afraid of rejection as he is. He never considered that what’s been so painfully obvious to him, might not have been to Eddie himself.

Buck gets up from the couch, stepping carefully around the mess on the floor until he can kneel down next to Eddie. Eddie, whose jaw is tight, shoulders tense, like he’s waiting for a blow.

“After everything we’ve been through...you still don’t know that I love you?” Buck asks quietly.

Eddie sucks in a startled breath, turning back to look at him, his gaze searching. Buck holds it steadily and waits. It’s not the first time he’s walked out on a limb. But it is the first time he’s had someone else out there with him.

If it cracks this time, they’ll fall together.

“I didn’t think—” Eddie’s eyes close briefly as he clears his throat. “I didn’t think I was enough.”

“You are,” Buck replies. “You’re more than—Eddie—”

“We have a life,” he says when he can get his thoughts in line. “We built a life. Together. Even if we didn’t say that was what we were doing, it’s what we did. So, maybe—maybe we can try being a little more honest about what we want while we’re living it? I don’t—I don’t want to waste anymore time.”

Eddie looks down—then, he reaches out slowly for Buck’s hand, his fingers finding the spaces between Buck’s and slotting in.

Buck squeezes gently. Eddie squeezes back.

“Okay,” Eddie agrees. “Let’s try that.”

Buck does pluck the tinsel from Eddie’s hair, but when he tosses it away, his hand comes right back, fingers sliding into the strands to keep Eddie still. Eddie’s eyes are dark in the dim light, but his lips curve faintly up as Buck leans in.

Kissing him feels like coming home.

[hansensgirl]

don’t feed it, it will come back.

summary. | “Don’t let me in with no intention of keeping me. Jesus Christ — don’t be kind to me. Honey, love, darling... Don’t feed me, I will come back.”

warnings. | Non/Dubcon, dark themes, drugging, sex pollen, stalking, obsession, lying, manipulation, angst, smut, fluff, Master kink, praise, degrading, dumbification, unprotected sex, blood, choking, possessive behaviour, creampie kink, stomach bulge kink, cat and mouse chase, fingering, slapping, corruption kink, yandere, grooming, kind of DDLG themes, collars, age gap, facefucking, mentions of bullying, scary stuff, anxiety, mourning, mentions of death, virginity loss, overstimulation, kidnapping, and more. +18, DARK!FIC. MORE WARNINGS AT THE BOTTOM!!

word count. | 10,601.

pairings. | Dark!Bucky Barnes x Innocent!Reader, Sam Wilson x Innocent!Reader.

a/n. | happy halloween!! i’ve changed up many things because why not. thank you so much for 5.1k!! thank you sm @barnesjamcs and @mypoisonedvine for beta-ing, ilysm!

You’re stuck. You’re stuck in that moment where you’re asleep, yet awake at the same time. Time is distorted and you can hear your grandmother faintly humming the ‘Monster Mash’ from down the hall. Childhood memories flood your mind and you blink back the tears that come up. Your eyes are bleary and you can’t tell if the thing in the corner of your room is a chair or a demon. The former seems more reasonable, but the horror stories that the people down the street used to taunt you with believe otherwise. “Sweetheart? Are you awake? You’ve slept in an extra half hour, that’s unlike you.” Your sweet grandmother croons from the other side of the door. You let out a smile and slowly get up with a sigh. “I’m awake, Nana! I guess I’m just extra tired from when I walked yesterday.” You reason, still sad that the bullies destroyed your bicycle that your grandma gave you when you turned twenty — just a mere few months ago. You don’t have the heart nor the courage to tell her, and you don’t think you ever will.

“I hope that darned Johnson gives you your bicycle back! I got a new basket, handwoven by yours truly… You can put your little treats and books in there and ride your bike all over town!” She admits, unable to hold back her secret. Your heart breaks, even more, hating that her basket will have to go towards pens and pencils that she had bought you. They won’t be able to hold your groceries or her fabrics that Mrs. Rogers would save for her. You get up from your bed and revel in the warmth that your llama pyjamas provide. You slip on some old slippers that Natasha’s mother gifted you — even though Natasha loathes you for some reason. And so does Anthony, Steve, Wanda, Thor (named after the Norse God), Clint, T’Challa, Okoye, Vis, Carol, Steven, and Loki (again, named after the Norse God). Sam (you call him Sammie, which always earns you an eye roll), Rhodey, Peter, Shuri and Pietro don’t really mind you, but they’re also not your friends. Except for Sam, who’s known you since you realized brownies are even more amazing when you add a bit of coffee to them.  

They’re all older than you and you’d think they’d be around your age, but no. All are around 10 or 18 years older than you and it’s safe to say that they definitely won’t be maturing until they’ve got their pension plans secured. You giggle at the thought and smile to yourself as you remember that Sam wanted to show you some new flowers but you know it’s code for you to bring him some scones and let him rant about how he can’t wait until he makes enough money to leave town. If he leaves town then you’ll be lonely… The thought sends you spiralling and your heart drops to your stomach at the revelation. You gulp nervously and push it out of your mind. You reluctantly walk down the hallway and you’re greeted with the lovely scent of pancakes and pumpkin spice. Your mouth waters at the smell and a fresh wave of autumn-themed nostalgia hits you. Your feet parted against the wooden floors that you’ve spent ages mopping. She’s already cut the pancakes up and you can’t suppress the child-like giggle that bubbles in the air.

Cheap, silver forks that you had gotten for $2 per pack are set on the table. You can remember that sale like it’s your last name and date of birth. Summer clearance, a real jackpot to say the least. You scored quite a lot of things and you feel the almost two months old embarrassment from when you had to make two trips from the store to your home to bring everything back. You sit down but you don’t dig in yet, no. You watch your poor grandmother dance around the kitchen and it’s not the dance that one would immediately think of, not at all. She frantically moves around the kitchen and occasionally takes a peek out of the window. “Nana… Can you sit down and eat with me? Please? Just- just like old times…” You beg quietly, your voice nothing more than a whisper. She turns around and looks at you before nodding her head, and you give her a meek smile. You both dig into your delectable breakfasts and the only things that you can hear are birds chirping and forks scraping at the plate. 

It’s tense. Awkwardness ready to burst at the seams yet it never seems to happen. Syrup covers your plate and you have the greatest urge to lap it all up like a kitten. “I… I remember when your mom used to do that… Always had to scold her, but she’d never learn.” Nana laughs to herself. She sounds tired, so fucking tired. You let out a dismal chuckle, breathy and full of air. You hold your hair back and indulge in an old childhood habit. Sweetness explodes in your mouth even though the syrup was slightly watered down. You pull away and sadness once again fills the air. “I can’t wait for you to become a…” The word is at the tip of her tongue but her old mind erases it. “Writer...” You fill in for her, before picking up your dishes. The walk to the kitchen isn’t far, only about three steps that you already have forgotten. She follows behind you, placing her dishes atop of yours. “Go sit down, Nana… I’ll show you a new piece I wrote!” You bargain, and she lets out a squeal. A victory, at last. Truth be told, you don’t want to show her your latest piece. 

It’s sad and dismal, no happiness wavering from it and it’s a pitiful rendition of “hope.” You wash the dishes with care, passing your soapy hands over the ceramic gently. “I hear we’re getting a new neighbour, I can’t wait to meet them…” Your grandma speaks up, catching your attention. New neighbour… You grip the dishes tighter at the mention of a new neighbour. You scrub the syrup away from the plates and forks a bit harder, too. You finish off washing all the dishes and stack them away in the old wooden cupboards. “You bake him something… I’ll knit him something too! You know these brisk winds, always so brutal.” She croons, before running off as quickly as her old limbs can take her. You smile at the enthusiasm she radiates and notice a container sitting on the old burner stove. It’s covered in a dingy cloth  — a makeshift one to be exact. A piece of extra cloth that couldn’t turn into anything more than a rag. You smile and walk back to your room to get ready for another autumn day that’ll be filled with sadness.

You don’t have many clothes to choose from, unlike most of the town-folk. You don’t have the privilege to go out of town and to the nearest snob-infested city just for a small sweater that’s going to be thrown away after two weeks. No, instead you buy your grandmother fabric from Mrs. Rogers and she makes you something that you’ll always end up loving. It takes you a mere two minutes to choose a huge cable knit that goes down to your knees (you had begged her to do it and even bought her a month's worth of yarn). You’re careful to dodge your grandmother, knowing that she’ll start tearing up because you look just like your mother. You can’t have that happen, not today at least. With a meal for Sam ready in your hands and a book, you’re off wandering to his home. You wave at the little kids across the street that are busy hanging up Halloween decorations and smile to yourself. You try to remember the entirety of Lana Del Rey’s cover of the infamous “Season Of The Witch” and your memory doesn’t completely fail you.

Sure, your voice can’t compare to hers but that’s not what matters. The ‘for sale’ sign that was in front of your neighbours’ house is now gone, and there’s not even a ‘sold’ sign. Hopefully, they’re nice… You think to yourself, before speed-walking to Sam’s townhouse. Your feet pitter-patter against the concrete and they carry you as fast as they can go. “Sam! Sammie!” You cry out, running to him as fast as you can. You slam into him and hug him tightly as if you haven’t seen him in years. He lets out a groan just to tease you, earning him a huff of annoyance from yourself. “How are you?” You ask, pulling away from the warm comfort of his body. You look up at him and watch as he rambles on about the stress he’s getting all thanks to those bratty adult-children. “I can’t wait to leave this town…” He sighs exasperatedly, rubbing his forehead. Your frown and try to push away the impending goodbye. You hand him the meal and his eyes light up. “Eat up, Sammie! Can’t have the smartest man in town going hungry!” You cheer, watching as he shovels pieces of syrup-covered pancakes into his mouth.

You lead him to his porch and you sit him down in the swing chair he repaired all by himself. “So… When you leave town, where are you going to go?” You question him, looking down at the ground instead of at him. Through a full mouth, he manages to speak still. ”New York, I have some family up there and many opportunities too!” He exclaims, careful to not spit at you. You let out a giggle at his enthusiasm and you can’t lie and say that you’re not excited for him to start up the life he’s always dreamed of since you were both wee things. “But… But you won’t forget me, right?” You hesitantly ask, fiddling with your cold fingers. Selfish… You’re being selfish… You know you’re being selfish but the question slips out before you can even register the words in your troubled mind. You don’t look up at him and you’re ready to retract it along with litanies of “I'm sorry, please forgive me!” “Never, Dollie, never.” He sighs, the sound settling deep in his bones. He looks at you with sincerity and reassurance — comfort in his eyes that you’ll always be weak for. 

You stare at each other for a bit, a tension building in the bitter cold air that’s just ready to snap. You can swear and say that his eyes travel down to your lips — almost as if he’s ready to kiss you. You lean in as well, because why not? Until he abruptly pulls away and apologizes to you. You watch as he heads inside to wash his hands and you sob on the inside. Oh, how you wanted to kiss the syrup off his lips until yours grew numb. You curse yourself with darned words that your mother would’ve been unhappy with. The rest of the day is awkward — not that it usually isn’t. You follow him around like a lost puppy and admire him from the short distance that is between the two of you. You can’t handle the silence- well, heavy sighs and grumbles. He occasionally spares you a few glances that you hang onto for dear life. “Uhm, Sammie? Is everything alright?” You ask him, after spending minutes to find it in you to speak up after a few hours. 

He sets down the screwdriver in his hand that he has been gripping for hours now. He takes his glasses off and you hold back the frown that threatens to drag your lips down. He pulls you into an abrupt hug, and usually, you’d be filled with glee. But… but the way he holds you is different. His arms that surround you are tighter than usual, and the way his chest rises and falls is irregular. “W- What’s wrong, Sammie? Talk to me, please.” You desperately whisper to him. The winds of autumn are loud, but they don’t have the power to silence you. “‘M… I’m leaving tomorrow morning…” He admits. Suddenly, the world stops spinning on its axis and your heart isn’t beating anymore. You swear that you could die just then and take him down with you, but the Reaper is ready for you yet. You look up at him and his eyes mirror yours. Glassy with tears that are ready to fall. “A- Already?” You ask incredulously. He nods and smooths one of his coarse hands over your head.

 You let out a shaky breath and your throat tightens up. A sob is stuck and it’s painful, but you can’t let it out. Nodding your head, a sad smile stretches across your face. “So… New York, huh?” You joke with him, but he doesn’t smile. “Don’t do this, dove.” He warns — no, he begs. You’ve never heard him beg, but you hope that he never ends up doing it again. “Send letters, please… And take care of yourself too. I can’t wait to see you make it big, Sammie.” You say as you blink your tears away. You try to pull away from the hug but he pulls you back into his strong arms. You look down to the wooden floor and he presses a kiss to the crown of your head. He lets it linger for a few moments and then pulls away from you. You’re no longer in his arms and you no longer feel comforted. Suddenly, though, it’s as if gravity pulls him down to you and his lips are against yours. You can recall the way your Mother would lovingly kiss your Father and how you used to blanch at the sight. But now you understand it all. Your lips stay locked for a few more seconds until he pulls away.

Sam places his forehead against yours and you’re glad because you know you’ll end up with a pain in your neck by tomorrow morning. “I don’t want to go and leave you, dove.” He expresses wholeheartedly, a pang of sadness in his voice that’s usually all bright and cheery. “You have to. Go for me, go for the sake of yourself… Please.” You plead to him. You can easily be selfish and beg him to stay, but you know how much New York means to him. “I’ll drop you home, one last time?” He proposes, linking your arm with his. You nod and let out a breathy chuckle — fake happiness staining your face. You play the act all too well, but Sam knows you better than yourself. He unlocks his arm and pushes you in front of him, hugging you from behind and continuing to walk. He hums an old 50’s tune that you can’t place your finger on. You want him to walk slower; to take shorter strides. The neighbourhood is dark, even though it’s only 7:32. “You’ll write to me, right?” You ask, breaking the silence. It seems that it’s your job, and you don’t mind.

“Of course, I’ll write to you until you can get a phone.” He chuckles in your ear. You laugh with him, knowing how he loves to tease you. “And you’ll visit too?” You question, shivering as a gust of wind blows by. “Are you kidding me? That’s a no brainer, dove.” He says as he squeezes his arms a bit tighter. You revel in the feeling and savour it for however long he’ll be gone. If it was possible, you’d lock the feeling in a jar and store it away forever. You never knew that the walk from his to yours was that quick. You stand outside of your home and turn around, still in Sam’s arms. “You’ll wake me up in the morning, won’t you? Just so that I can say goodbye properly, please.” You ask him, even though you’re practically teetering on the begging side. “Of course, Dovey.” He smiles down at you, and you mirror him. Tears glaze over your eyes and they glisten in the pitch-black darkness of the October night. 

He kisses your forehead and whispers a soft “good night” against your cold skin. You’re not sure if it’s the chilliness or the sadness in his voice that sends shivers throughout your body, but you try to ignore the feeling. You don’t want to go inside, no. You want to spend the whole night with him, doing the things that you both love such as baking and reading poetry. “Go get some rest, dove, I’ll see you in the morning.” He smiles, before starting to back away from you. You nod and turn to walk inside your small home, not even noticing that your grandmother was pacing inside the kitchen. You kept looking back at Sam, just like in those romance movies that you found in the attic when you were 12. He looks at you too, as he slowly inches away from the front of your home. You unlock the door and fall into your grandmother’s arms, letting your sobs reverberate around the room and your tears stream down your face.

You don’t remember falling asleep, and you certainly don’t remember changing your sweater to your llama pyjamas. You wake up and your bloodshot eyes immediately fly to your digital clock. 8:07. You shoot up from your bed and throw your sheets off of your body. The cold harshly welcomes you but you don’t care; you’re not here to stay. You run out of your room and slip on the first pair of shoes you can find, “darn it,” you groan under your breath and your foot doesn’t successfully slide into the shoe. You dart out the door after fumbling with the lock, before running down the street. The lights on the sidewalk are still on, even though it was bright. Your lungs are burning and against their will, you keep on running. “Sam!” You yell, spotting his car parked on the road. You continue to run and start to cry too. Your face and hands are numb from the cold weather. “Sam! Stop!” You yell even louder, feeling as though you’re in a dream.

As much and as quick your feet carry you, you’re still so far from him. He starts up the car and begins to drive away slowly; almost as if he’s purposely stalling for you. You miss the uneven sidewalk that has always been the cause for most of your scars that littered your legs. You fall to the ground and luckily your hands stop you from knocking your head into the concrete. You look up and let out a piercing sob that makes the pigeons fly away. You watch as Sam drives off, leaving you behind without even saying one final goodbye. Your tears fall onto the ground and are immediately soaked up. You can hear your grandmother calling your name through your cries and the distant sound of his car driving away. You’re sure that you look insane, but you don’t care. The love of your life is gone, and he’s not coming back for now.

You stay cooped up in your room for days on end. Occasionally, you help your grandmother out, but you don’t speak much. You stay in your pyjamas, switching between the llama ones and the sloth ones. You’ve convinced yourself that maybe Sam leaving is for the best. Your sadness still dwells, but you’re happy that he’s pursuing his dreams regardless of anything. “I’m so happy you’re feeling better, sweetheart. But if you ever need to talk, I’m always here for you.” Nana tells you, and you give her a sad smile. “Thank you, Nana.” You gently speak, tightening the lid on the jam jar. You give her the plate you prepared and take a seat at the table. “I heard that our new neighbour is coming today, I’m planning on knitting them a sweater and baking something.” She recounts, and you sigh playfully. She lets out a breathy chuckle and you think about your neighbour. Are they a man, or a woman? Are they nice, or rude? Are they like Sam? You ask yourself, but quickly push the third question out of your mind.

“Can I bake them cookies?” You ask her, before digging into your toast. “Of course! Maybe do macadamia ones? And regular ol’ chocolate.” She gleefully adds, the crinkles in her eyes deepening as she smiles widely. She clasps her hands together and lets out a noise of excitement. You watch her with a smile of your own, and you feel grounded. You slowly eat your food and stare out into space, letting your mind wander to the farthest places. You think back to your joyful times with Sam. Each memory makes you miss him more and more, but you keep on telling yourself that he’s in a better place. He’s happy, and that’s all you care for. You eat your food slowly until you realize that it’s half past nine. Shoveling the rest of it into your mouth, you stumble over to the sink and wash your plate as quickly as possible.

“What’s got you in such a rush?” Nana asks, adjusting one of the many sweaters she wears. “The store! It’ll take me awhile to get there, and I really want to avoid running into any of them.” You explain, changing your tone just so that she knows who you’re insinuating at. “Oh… Go on, sweetheart, dress warm!” She ushers you, grabbing your coat for you whilst you run back to your room to change into a sweater. Before, you couldn’t even bear to look at Sam’s favourite sweater of yours; but now you’ve realized that it’s best to face the music. Maroon had always been his favourite colour, and you remembered the joy on his face when you wore your maroon sweater. You smile in front of the mirror, pleased with your appearance. You grab your coat and slide your shoes on, before yelling goodbye to your Nana.

You hum some random Halloween tune under your breath and slowly walk down the street. Your eyes are trained on your hands as you fiddle with them. Suddenly, you crash into a slightly soft yet hard wall. You whine in pain, still weak as ever, something that Sam would playfully mock you about. “You should watch where you’re going, little one.” A husky voice warns playfully. You furrow your brows -- one of your many little traits that was left in your Mother’s will for you. “I’m so sorry, Sir! I didn’t mean t- to bump into you, I swear.” Litanies of apologies spill from your mouth and you don’t even look up at your victim. “Don’t worry, little one... Hopefully you’ve learned your lesson.” He lets out a breathy chuckle as he stares you down. Your eyes move from your hands to the house next to you, and you notice the abundant amount of luggage.

Embarrassment engulfs you in a tight grip and you groan softly. “You must be my sweet neighbour, hm?” He teases just like Sam would. You shyly nod and squeeze your hands together as you begin to become nervous. You hesitatingly look up at him, and your breath is taken away. You’re sure that he’s God’s favourite, because no regular man is as beautiful as he is. “Uh, yeah! Nice to meet you…” You introduce yourself and give him your name, reveling in the way it rolls off his tongue and falls past his lips. You nod your head and smile at him, your trip to the store long forgotten. “I’m James, James Buchanan Barnes.” He smirks. His accent… His accent is different. A Brooklyn drawl mixed with a few European accents. “Oh sweetheart! I thought you left!” Nana calls out, startling you and slightly annoying James.

“I uh… I bumped into our new neighbour!” You exclaim to her, stepping away from him so that she can wrap her arms around his large form. She does exactly that, and the large man — James — reciprocates. She pulls away after a few fleeting seconds and sighs, staring up at him. You watch him with wonderment and tune out your grandmother’s sweet voice. Dressed in all black, long hair, a five o’ clock shadow and a beautiful face. You find yourself in some sort of trance, eyes raking him up and down with no shame. His do the same, except he’s more careful and sly about it. “Thank you for your welcome, maybe we could get to know each other better?” He offers, raising his eyebrows and both you and your grandma. You both eagerly agree, excited to learn more about your new, elusive neighbour. “Sweetheart, how about you take our neighbour, James, with you to the store? Give him a little tour?” She proposes. “If it’s not too much trouble, I’d love to.” James entices.

“I… Of course!”

You and Bucky — James, but he insists on you calling him Bucky — walk slowly to the store. Every now and then, the wind picks up and sends shivers throughout your body. The cold doesn’t faze him, he tells you. “I actually prefer autumn, fall, whatever you kids call it these days, over anything else.” He jokes around, making you bubble out in giggles. He smiles down at you and watches you with careful eyes. “Shy? Your laugh is very cute, little one.” Your eyes nearly fall out of their sockets as he praises you. “Uh, yeah, uhm, thank you so much…” You gleam and preen under his gaze, and Bucky is already in love with the sight. “Hobbies?” He questions, shooting a glare at those that even dare to glance at the two of you. “Writing and baking! But mostly writing, what about you?” You ask, shoving your cold hands into your pockets.

“Hmm, I’m not sure. It depends… Perhaps watching...” He ponders out loud. “Like bird watching?” You press, looking up at him for a bit. His eyes lock with yours and you can’t seem to look away. “You’ll see, little dove.” He reassures you, still staring back at you. You shyly look away and keep quiet for the rest of the walk. A faint smile is on your face and you’re not sure why he’s the cause of it. You let it fall and keep your shy resolve. “Is that the store?” He asks you after a minute or two of silence. You nod and don’t utter a word, scared that you’ll end up rambling to him. You bit your lip as you try to hold in your glee as you notice that the supermarket has already been decked out with Halloween decorations. “Do you celebrate Halloween?” Bucky questions, grabbing a cart for the two of you. “Mhm, favourite holiday ever. I love everything about it! You?” You try to keep your reply short, but when it’s about your favourite holiday you just can’t resist.

He agrees with you, and you’re happy that he isn’t a scrooge about Halloween. You lead him through the aisles and pick up what you need, and want. Bucky pushes the cart for you and makes sure you don’t wander out of his sight. The Halloween and autumn display catches your eye and your heart fills with a type of glee that only holidays can bring. You want to pick up everything — from the Halloween cookie cutters to the small decorations that would look lovely sprinkled around your home. You don’t even hear Bucky behind you because you’re too caught up in deciding what you want. Bucky watches you with careful eyes, trying to figure out what’s going through your head. “You should get one of everything, maybe a few little ghosts, three pumpkins,” he suggests to you, “it’s Halloween, you’re not allowed to only get one thing.”

You giggle and shake your head, even though he’s right in your mind. “I wish I could, but I need to spend my money on needs and not wants.” You sadly admit, wishing that you had the type of money the other’s in town have. You walk away from the display and you don’t give it another look, before heading to the freezers for your eggs and milk. Bucky frowns deeply and watches as you slowly walk away. He picks up almost everything that’s on the display and throws it into the cart. He could never see a frown on your face ever again, knowing that his heart would break into two. He trails behind you slowly, forced to make his usually long strides shorter just for you. You turn around to place the milk and eggs in the cart and a heart gasp leaves your mouth. You look up at him in shock, which then turns into your usual confusion.

“Uh- Are you getting those?” Your voice is no more than a mere whisper, and Bucky is lucky that he can hear you. “Nope, for you.” He pops the ‘p’ and then smirks at you. You’re flabbergasted. Shock and confusion still reside in your mind and you can’t find it in you to object to him. “I’m paying for it, little dove.” He reassures you, his voice turning from gravelly and deep to soft and calm. You smile brightly at him and without thinking, you engulf him in a hug. He revels in your touch and pulls you closer to his warm body. Bucky rests his chin on your head and dips his nose down to your hair, inhaling your scent before you could pull away. You stare up at him and smile widely, letting out a squeal of happiness. “Thank you so much! Oh my- How do I repay you? That’s so much money, is there anything I can do for you?” You ramble, straining your neck to look up at him.

“Hmm… I would love to be your friend, and maybe I could come for dinner every now and then?” He ponders aloud and you immediately agree. You couldn't wait to go home and tell your grandmother, knowing that she would be the happiest woman on Earth. You both go through the aisles again and he keeps on encouraging you to pick up the things that you lay your eyes on. The cart is filled and your heart is fluttering with gratefulness. Everytime he shoots a look your way, you send one right back at him. His eyes are the colour of the sea, beautiful and bright yet dark and mysterious. Yours, on the other hand, are soft and innocent. Both are just as beautiful, though. “Once again, thank you so much, Mr. Barnes.” You say, smiling at him. He carries all of your bags and you hold a small, painted pumpkin to your chest.

“Don’t worry, little dove. Oh, and call me anything but Mr. Barnes, formalities haven’t been my thing as of now.” He speaks with eloquence and such grace that makes you think he’s from another century. You giggle before speaking, “you speak like you’re from another century…” You joke, before giggling again. Bucky’s jaw hardens and his stare goes from adoring to menacing. You stop laughing when you don’t hear him joining you with his own rupture. Swallowing thickly, you look ahead to the horizon. It has already gotten a bit cloudy, but you don’t mind. You’re careful to not trip on your own feet, wanting to avoid embarrassing yourself for the second time. “Sorry about the joke, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable…” You apologize after around five minutes of silence. You chew on the slightly dry skin on your bottom lip as you wait for him to speak.

“It’s okay, little dove.” He smiles, not even letting it drop. You look down at your ghost-painted pumpkin and smile, before giving it a kiss. Bucky snorts, making you pout at him. “Hey!” You cry out it faux offence. He only laughs harder, before biting his lip. The sight of you pouting at him sends blood rushing down south, but you’re oblivious to what you’re doing. The rest of the walk home is filled with jokes and questions about each other. During another moment of silence, you realize that you haven’t thought of Sam since this morning. You feel guilty at first, knowing that it’s wrong to forget about him so quickly. Shame eats you up like it’s starved until your mind convinces you otherwise. Sam would be so happy that you didn’t dwell on him leaving, he’d be so proud of you. You promise yourself that you won’t be sad, but you also won’t forget him. Ever.

“Do you have any other friends?” Bucky asks you as you both turn a corner. He remains closer to the road, whereas you're on the inside. “I had one, but he left to go pursue his dreams in New York.” You sadly explain to him, and he lets out an “oh.” You turn again, but this time you’ve reached your home. Your grandmother can be seen dancing around the kitchen, flour in her grey hair and an apron on top of her fuzzy sweater. “I can take them in now.” You tell Bucky, stretching your arms out to him. He lets out a breathy chuckle, what seems to be one of his many habits, and walks towards your home. You’re in shock once again, before realizing that you haven’t moved. You run behind him and frown as you see that the door was unlocked the entire time.

“Nana! Did you leave the door unlocked again?” You ask her and you hug the smaller woman. “Oh, I probably forgot to unlock it… ‘m sorry, sweetheart.” She apologizes against your forehead that she just covered in kisses. You can’t blame her, honestly. Slowly but surely, her old age had started to catch up to her. “Uhm, Mr. Barnes bought all this stuff for us, Nana! Can he stay for dinner? As a thank you?” You excitedly ask her, and she mimics your happiness with a smile that’s similar to yours.. “Of course! Thank you so much, Mr. Barnes.” She gratefully expresses and ushers Bucky further into your home. You take your shoes and jacket off and he does the same, wishing that you could shed more than that. “It’s nothing, and please, call me Bucky or James.” He assures in his Brooklyn-European drawl. He watches you with careful eyes and doesn’t tear his gaze away from you.

Dinner is lively. It’s more lively than it’s ever been since you were seven years of age. You’re all laughing, smiling and happy. Even though it’s only 5 in the evening, it’s still dark. “Where are you from, James?” Nana asks him, and he gulps thickly. “Romania, actually. But I grew up in Brooklyn.” He recounts to you, and then shoves some pasta into his mouth. The flavour of spicy marinara fills his mouth along with yours as well. Through a full mouth, he still speaks. “This is amazing!” He exclaims, covering his mouth with the utmost politeness. Your Nana thanks him and you nod in agreement. The rest of the evening is filled with compliments and questions, but also with wandering eyes and strong gazes. Six o’ clock hits, and 7, 8 and 9 does too. “Well, I should go retire now, thank you for the lovely welcome.” He sighs deeply, almost as though he is regretful. You say good night to him before running off to your room.

Bucky closes his door behind him and hastily shed his clothing off of himself. Underneath his dark black jeans is his hard cock. Dripping with pre-cum from it’s raging red tip, he throbs with want and need. He’s not sure if he should take care of it or not, but as soon as he thinks of you all plausibility flies out the window. He rushes up to his room, dark red walls and ominous lighting are all a blur to him. His room is even darker. The only bright things in it are the many photos of you that line his bedside tables and walls. He walks up to the window and pulls the purple curtains to the side. He watches you cuddle with your stuffed animals — your innocence only making him harder. His cock hangs heavily and he still has the urge to jerk off. “No, I have to be patient.” He tells himself, pulling his boxers back up. “Just one more fucking day until you’re all mine, little dove.”

You wake up earlier than you usually do. Rousing from sleep with a smile on your face, you find yourself in the same clothing from yesterday. You frown and walk into the bathroom for a quick shower. The water is as cold as the winter, and you have no choice but to bear it. Even though your teeth chatter, you tough it out as much as you can. Today… Today is Halloween. You jump with glee and joy for your favourite holiday. You don’t even bother making your bed because the decorations waiting for you are far more enticing. “Nana! I’m going to decorate the house!” You yell to hear, earning a loud “ok” from her in return. You grab your two step ladder that Shuri gave you when you were 15 and you sigh with delight. In just a mere two hours, you’re able to turn your home into the perfect Halloween.

Your stomach continues to growl, but you choose to ignore it. You play old Halloween classics in the background that you found in your father’s DVD and cassette collection. Nostalgia hits you like a truck and you recount all the memories of your childhood. You sniffle a bit as Coraline’s voice rambles on from behind you. Rubbing away the tears that threaten to spill, you continue to place fake pumpkins around the living room. You occasionally get distracted from the movies that play in the background, dragging you away from your tasks. The doorbell suddenly rings, sending a sharp shrill piercing through your calmness. You keep a hand on your heart as it beats through your chest. You rush to the door and quickly unlock it, just to see Bucky in all his great glory.

“Bucky! Hi!” You greet him, moving out of the way so that he could come in. “You’re up awfully early.” He notes, choosing to stay outside. You nod and smile at him, before remembering your manners. “Oh! Happy Halloween!” You tell him, holding out a ghost cookie for him to take. He takes it and devours it like he’s a starved man. “Happy Halloween to you too, little dove. I see you’re decorating. Is that what’s got you up so early?” He asks you, drinking in your form. Nothing else but an overly large cable knit sweater… Fucking beautiful. “Yep! Are you going to decorate?” You ask him in return, leaning on the doorframe. You notice that he’s holding a tray of desserts that make your mouth water. “No, not really. But I am baking, can you try this for me? I don’t really trust myself.” He smirks, handing the tray to you.

You gladly take it and your stomach rumbles loudly, embarrassing you. Bucky laughs but you shy away, turning your face away from him. You take a cookie from his tray and devour it because you are starved. “C- Can I have them all? They’re so amazing, Bucky!” You exclaim, nearly drooling at the amazing taste. “Go ahead, little dove.” He ushers with a wicked smirk that you pay no mind to. You shovel cookies into your mouth like no tomorrow. He watches you, tilting his head and palming himself through his jeans. His half-hard cock slightly bulges through the material, but you can’t see it. You hand him back his tray that’s covered in crumbs and a few sprinkles. Bucky stretches his hand out towards your face and grabs your chin gently. He uses his thumb to wipe the crumbs and slight drool off of your mouth. His thumb dances over your lips and you look at him with such doe eyes that he can feel himself get harder.

“Be sure to come trick or treating at my house, little dove, I have something special to give you.” He says, before smiling at you and walking away. You watch him and feel yourself start to smile brightly. You haven’t felt this way about anyone, not even Sam. Bucky… Bucky is different. He holds this elusiveness that keeps you hooked like he’s a drug. You feel your heart fluttering and butterflies flying, even though you’ve only known Bucky for almost two days. “Was that James, sweetheart?” Nana asks, just waking up. You turn around and nod, remembering the way he let you have all his cookies without even hesitating a bit. “Can I trick or treat-ing tonight? Please Nana! I’ll be safe, I promise.” You beg her, folding your hands together in a plea. “Of course, sweetheart. Just stay safe, okay? I don’t want anything bad happening to you.” She agrees, making you squeal. “Of course, Nana!”

Your stomach cramps up, but it isn’t too painful. Something… Something sticky and slick pours out of your cunt and you don’t know what it is. You don’t want to miss out on your trick or treat-ing, so you choose to keep quiet. You walk with your thighs clenched together; the only way the pain will relieve itself. You say a quick goodbye to Nana and exhale heavily as soon as you get outside. Your makeshift cat ears rest on your head perfectly and you try to keep your smile from faltering. An older choker your mom had from the 90’s is wrapped around your neck and even has a bell on it. You slowly walk to Bucky’s house, which has a single pumpkin on the doorstep and nothing more. You hold a pumpkin basket in your hands and admire the way kids run from one house to the next on their own missions. You turn back to Bucky’s house and raise your fist up to the door, but an extremely painful cramp stops you.

You double over and try to keep in a cry of pain. The door suddenly opens and Bucky looks down at you in pain. “Oh little dove, is everything okay? Do you want to come in? Here- Let me help you.” He rambles as he grabs a hold of you. He leads you into his home and you don’t even look around to admire it. You fall to the floor and sob in pain, begging for help. “Shhh, be quiet, hey, no tears now… I’m here to help.” He lifts you up with ease and reassures you at the same time. Bucky gently sets you onto his couch and takes your jacket off of you. You drop your pumpkin bucket and realize that your palms are overly sweaty. “Wh- What’s happening to me, Bucky? It hurts so b- bad!” You cry out, falling onto your back and pulling your legs up to your chest for comfort.

Bucky cooes and you and pulls you up to him. He cradles you to his chest and shushes you. Your sobs echo throughout his living room and your tears soak into his sweater. You look up at him and he flashes you a smile, fangs sparkling and sharp. You gasp through your sobs before realizing that he dressed up as a vampire for Halloween. Bucky runs his hands up and down your body, caressing you gently. He pulls the headband out of your hair and plays with the bell on your collar. His left hand — which was covered in a glove — trails it’s way between your thighs. You’re soaked, leggings damp and sticky and so are your thighs. He pulls your pants down, and you’re too out of it to even realize what’s going on. He lifts you up slightly to untangle your pants from your feet and you take the opportunity to look around his house. Through your bleary eyesight, you can see pictures of someone scattered along the crimson red walls.

You squint and try to figure out why the pictures look so fucking familiar. Bucky stands back up and blocks your view. His hands travel up to the bottom of your black sweater and he rips it into two instead of pulling it over your head. You furrow your eyebrows as you feel a sudden gust of coldness taking over your body. “W- What?” You rub your head in confusion and realize that you’re naked. “Shh, it’s okay little dove. Your Master will take care of you now…” He reassures you again, but he only makes you more confused. “Aw my dumb little baby doesn’t know what’s going on?” He mocks, before lightly slapping your face. Drool leaks out from the corner of your mouth and your eyes are glazed over. “You see, dove… You were made for me! I’ve spent centuries searching for the perfect little dove for myself, and there you were. You know, I know every little thing about you? I’ve been watching you for years, baby.” He explains, and you furrow your eyebrows.

He opens his mouth to speak and continues to tell you every little thing he has done. “All these pictures are all of you. You’re so beautiful, baby. Sam never had to leave, but he was in the way of everything. Too bad he tried to come back, now he’s at the bottom of Lake Erie. Oh and those bullies? The people that thought it was okay to make my little dove feel like shit? They’re dead too, it’s not like they magically disappeared. And since you’re so out of it, I might as well tell you. I’m a vampire.” Bucky bluntly monologues, leaving you in shock and horror. You feel the urge to throw up, but you also want to scream and cry your heart out. You feel your chest tighten and you gasp for breath. “Shh it’s okay, little dove.” He whispers in your ear, before nibbling on the skin. “Are- Are you-” You try to ask him a question, but the pain is so bad that you can’t speak properly.

He nods his head and presses a few kisses on your face. You grumble and pull away in disgust, before trying to pull away from Bucky. “Aw that’s fine, I love it when my prey has a bit of fight.” He chuckles, before pushing you away from your body. “I’m going to give you five seconds, and you’re going to try to run away. I’m going to catch you, okay little dove?” He explains, and he doesn’t even give you time to agree. “Five,” he shouts, making you jump. You try your hardest to ignore your pain and focus on escaping. You know the door isn’t a possibility, so you dash down the hallway. “Four!” He calls out in a sing-song voice. You cringe and turn on your right, going up the dark stairs. “Three! Two! One!” He yells out, before running after you. You run into a room and shut the door behind you, before realizing that your inner thighs were glistening and sticky.

You reach down to your thighs and run your finger through the slickness that drips down. You’re too distracted by it to notice that Bucky was nearing you. Suddenly, the door bursts open and you're falling onto the floor. Bucky quickly pounces on top of you and rips your bra into two. You cry out but you know that nobody will be able to hear you. “Fuck, I can’t wait to ruin you, turn you into my personal dumb little slut.” He spits, pushing your legs apart. He tears your underwear off of you and you sob loudly. Bucky smashes his lips against yours, dominating you in the kiss even though you can barely register it. He runs his thick fingers through your sopping wet folds. Your clit is swollen and sensitive and you’re leaking like no tomorrow. He rubs your clit slowly, enjoying the way you write wildly underneath him.

He shoves his tongue into your mouth and his left hand comes up to wrap itself around your throat. He squeezes the sides and you let out a throaty moan. You don’t know what any of the things you’re feeling are. He presses harder on your clit and pressure builds up in your lower abdomen. White hot flames burn inside of you with passion. Suddenly, Bucky pushes a finger into your tight, wet hole. He feels around and chuckles wickedly when he finds your special spot. You see blurry stars in your vision. “That’s my good little dove, taking her Master’s fingers so well.” He praises against your lips, before kissing you fervently. He quickly thrusts it in and out of you, watching as you go through at least fifty different emotions. Tingles erupt throughout your entire body, and you whimper against Bucky’s mouth.

His finger continues to massage against your g-spot and you cry out in pleasure. “W- What’s happening, Bucky?” You ask him in confusion and bewilderment. “Don’t think, little dove, just feel.” He shuts you up quickly and suddenly the pressure that was building up explodes. Your jaw slacks and drool leaks out of your mouth as your cunt constricts around his finger. “Look at you, going all stupid with my finger in your pretty little cunt. I bet you won’t be able to handle my big fat cock in your pussy, ruining you over and over.” He growls, grinding his hard cock against your thigh. He continues to fuck you with his finger, despite your protests and pleads for him to stop. The feeling is too much for you to handle, but that doesn’t stop him. He pulls his finger out of your cunt and the pains immediately return.

He sucks your arousal off of his finger and moans at the sweet taste. Suddenly, he gets off of you and picks you up easily. You’re still in your collar, much to Bucky’s enjoyment. “Why are you crying? Hm? I’m helping you out, little dove. This isn’t wrong or anything, okay? I would never do anything wrong, and I’m quite hurt that you think I’m a bad person.” He whispers, shaking you in his grip. “I…” You don't know what to say. He knows what’s right and what’s wrong… you don’t. “I’m just helping you out, little dove. Because you’re mine, and I love you. This is love, okay? Anything else is just bullshit.” His whisper turns into a ferocious growl, scaring you. He throws you onto his large bed and puts you on your knees. Bucky strips himself quickly, eager to feel you wrapped around his cock.

“Say ‘ah’ little dove.” He smirks, and your jaw hesitatingly slacks open. He pushes his boxers down and his leaking cock bounces up. Truly, he is big. Long and thick, a phenomenon. He grabs the base and gives himself a few strokes, rubbing the pre-cum that leaks from his tip onto your tongue. He moans softly and suddenly pushes into your mouth. Bucky’s cock hits the back of your throat and you gag loudly. Bucky shoves your head down his cock until your nose meets his pubic hair. He keeps you there for a few seconds, enjoying the way you struggle around his cock. Your gags resonate in the room and your tongue laves against the bottom of his cock. Thick veins throb and pulsate against your wet muscle. The manly, musky taste of him fills your mouth and you’re in love with it.

He growls loudly and slowly moves your head up and down for you. Your bell jingles with each movement and he fucks your face relentlessly. Your gags fill the room and fresh tears stream down your face. You try your hardest to breathe slowly, but Bucky’s cock makes it difficult for you. His swollen, heavy balls slap against your spit-soaked chin and he thrusts in and out of your mouth. He moans loudly and the need to cum grows. You struggle to breathe and easily remember all those nights of panic attacks. You hit against his thigh gently, looking up at him so that he can let you breathe. Black dots decorate your vision and you can see Bucky smiling down at you before moaning loudly. He suddenly pulls you away from his cock and trails of saliva follow. You gasp for air as though you were just drawing. Or you were thirteen and having a panic attack in the hospital as you watch the doctors cover your mother’s head with a sheet.

After a few seconds, Bucky shoves you back onto his cock and you let him. “Shit, such a good fucking girl. Look so beautiful with your face stuffed full with my cock, so good.” He praises, making you preen under him. You grab onto his thighs for support and let yourself be limp under his touch, fully trusting him. Your short nails leave crescent shaped scars that make Bucky hiss. Bucky uses your mouth like a fleshlight, chasing his orgasm without stopping. He moans loudly and you can feel more slickness leaking out of you. It comes in ten-fold but you know that he’ll take care of you. You just know it, deep down in your innocent heart. “Oh, fuck!” He shouts loudly, his metal arm whirring wildly. “Fuck, ‘m going to cum.” He moans, thrusting even harder. You feel yourself losing air, and you wonder if you’re going to pass out. Soon, Bucky pushes your head down and his hips still.

Hot, thick ropes of cum shoots from his tip and he fills your mouth up with no shame or regret. It’s so much, too much. His cum overflows and leaks from your mouth and you’re left with no choice but to swallow it all. Bucky pulls his hard cock out of your mouth and smiles at you. There’s still some left on the corners of your mouth, and a thin sheen of his covers his cock. “You looked so fucking slutty with my cock down your throat, little dove. I know you liked it.” He smiles down at you, before pressing a chaste kiss on your forehead. Bucky once again picks you up, but this time he throws you at the mountain of pillows. He climbs on top of you and kisses you passionately. You try to mimic what he’s doing, but you soon give up. He chuckles against your mouth and pushes your legs against your chest. Bucky grabs the base of his cock and he settles between your legs. Your sticky thighs touch his and he pulls away from your mouth.

“You want your Master’s cock, don’t you little dove? You’re drooling for it, and so is your cunt.” He husks, making you whimper. He slaps the tip against your clit and you jolt from the sensitivity. He rubs his cockhead through your soaking folds and teases your sopping hole. “Y- Yes, Master…” You sheepishly admit, not even knowing what either of you are saying. He curses under his breath and drops his head into the crook of your neck. He bares his teeth with a not-so quiet hiss and drags his fangs against that spot on your neck. He’s careful to avoid your collar, knowing that his sharp teeth can easily destroy the cheap lace of it. “O târfa atât de bună, atât de bună pentru stăpânul ei.” The European langue falls from his mouth beautifully and you have no idea as to what he’s saying.

Bucky feels you getting wetter as he speaks, your cunt giving away how much of a slut you are for him. The throbbing veins of his cock pulsate against your needy pussy, much like how they were throbbing in your mouth. Your wetness mixes with the extra cum and saliva that stained his cock from before. You’re a complete mess. Cunt dripping, drool leaking and you're panting like a wanton bitch in heat. Bucky moves his head up to your ear, lciking the shell of it. “O să te iau iar și iar, o să te fac o mizerie stupidă pe scula mea. Poate și degetele și gura mea, te voi umple iar și iar. Ți-ar plăcea asta, nu-i așa? Porumbelul meu... Atât de nevinovat. Abia aștept să te văd plin cu sperma mea, o să-ți distrug păsărica.” He groans in your ear, watching you become needier and needier with each fleeting moment.

“You want my cock? Beg for it, beg for it little dove. Let the whole neighbourhood hear how much of a cockslut you are.” He commands loudly, pulling his face away to see you burn up. You don’t know what to say, so you choose to remain silent. You look up at him, his eyes dark and blown out. They no longer carry that comforting look that you trust. “Aw, does my little dove need some help? That’s okay, I’m here to take care of you. You gotta repeat after me, okay? It’s okay if you hesitate or stutter, but don’t go purposefully messing it up.” He explains, before slapping you lightly. Your bell jingles and Bucky chuckles along with it. “Say that you want your Master’s cock so bad- that you need it. And beg for it too.” He elucidates, and you let out a little ‘oh.’ “I… I want you c- cock so bad, Master! I need it, please give it to me! I’ll do anything, just please give me your c- cock… Please, Master? I’ll be so good!” You plead, taking both you and Bucky by surprise.

He gets even harder than he already is and he can swear he could cum on the spot right there and then. “Fuck, little dove, you’re already my little slut and I haven’t even fucked you yet.” He remarks, before slapping the fat tip of his cock on your swollen button. One. Two. Three. You yelp and whine each time, before begging him again. “P- Please, Master…” You mewl, throwing your head back. Bucky growls at the sight of your pretty neck, all sweaty and ready for him to sink his fangs into. Suddenly, he pushes into your tight, wet cunt. His thick cock painfully stretches you out, but all he feels is pleasure. Your pain soon turns into euphoria and you feel full… A little too full. “Ngh… Master...” You whine in pain. Bucky fills you up to the brim and it’s almost like he’s never going to bottom out.

The sounds leaving your mouth make it hard for him to control himself. He wraps his metal hand around your neck and looks down to where you’re connected. Through your stomach, you could see his cock bulging through. The sight has him ready to pound you into oblivion. Bucky begins to snap his hips back and forth, hammering into you at an inhumane pace. Your mouth falls slack and your eyes roll back into your head. Your hands search to hold something for support, but you can’t find anything. “La naiba, ești atât de strâmt, porumbel mic.” He growls under his breath and you moan loudly. The sound is lewd and pornographic. Loud, wet squelching noises reverberate each time his cock drags against your sensitive walls.

“Uită-te la tine, atât de drăguță cu scula mea mare care ți-o trage. Îți distrug păsărica inocentă.” he moans, fucking you even faster. Wetness coats his cock and you’re moaning litanies of “Master” over and over. His balls slap against your ass and Bucky pounds into you relentlessly. The light from the moon shines brightly and you look like a beauty under him. Bucky squeezes the sides of your throat even harder and your tits bounce with every harsh thrust of his cock. His other hand, the flesh one, moves to your swollen and sensitive clit. He begins to rub your pearl with slow, hard ministrations. You clench around Bucky’s cock and can feel that weird fire inside you burning up again. “M- Master! That- That thing… It’s happening!” You cry out, feeling the veins of his cock throb against your walls.

Tears fall from your eyes and Bucky coles at you. “Poor little dove, can’t handle your Master’s big, fat cock.” He husks, staring at your stomach as he can so is cock driving in and out of your tight pussy. “Master!” You cry out abruptly, your back arching off of his soft bed. Your pussy convulses around his big cock, milking him for all his worth as you cum. You gush all over him, cum dripping all over your pussy and his cock. You continue to clench around him, hugging him tightly as he continues to fuck you. Bucky stops rubbing your overwrought clit and pressing down on the bulge of his cock. “Look, little dove. Look at how good your Master is filling you up, deep in your tight pussy.” he growls, making you look down. You moan even louder at the sight of his cock bulging through your stomach. “C’mon, beg for your Master to fill you up.” He demands, fucking you even harder. Through your moans and sobs, you manage to speak.

“Pl- Please fill me up, Master. Please, I ne- need it so- so badly…” You beg, before cumming again. You squeeze Bucky’s cock even tighter and soak his cock with your sticky cum. Bucky snarls like a ferocious animal as he feels you milk his cock for his cum. “F- la naiba, rahat, am de gând să cum. O să te umplu, porumbelul. Fill you up to the brim with my cock, watch it leak out of this pretty pussy ‘a yours.” He groans, his thrusts becoming more and more sloppy. “Give me one more, little dove. I know you’re sensitive, but you can do it, cum on my cock.” He growls, and on command, you come undone around him. Bucky sinks his teeth into your neck, making you cry out in agony. His hips still and his balls tighten up as he cums. Thick, hot, white streaks and ribbons of cum paint your walls and you both moan at the feeling. He keeps his cock locked inside you and laps up the crimson liquid that spills from your neck.

You can feel him getting even harder inside you and you moan loudly. Bucky lazily kisses you with his blood soaked mouth. You whimper as you can taste the metallic flavour of it on your tongue, but he only cooes at you like you’re a little baby. “Bu- Master? Am- Am I going to turn into a vampire?” You frightfully ask him once you’ve calmed down. “No, but you are mine. You always have and you always will be mine.” He smirks, rubbing his nose against yours. Your pains haven’t completely dissipated, and Bucky knows that. Feeling his cum spill around his cock, leaking out of you, he chuckles like usual. “Can I go back home, please?” You beg him, thinking about your poor grandmother. He shakes his head and his jaw clenches with anger. “You’re not leaving me, little dove. No matter what.” He reassures, starting to slowly thrust into you. You moan softly and close your eyes, letting sleep take you over.

“I love you, little dove. You’re mine, and there’s no way you’re escaping me.”

WARNINGS. | Dark!Vampire!Bucky, feeding, murder.

[darklylucid]

Lester’s Scars

Lester Sinclair headcanon - Lester has a series of wicked-looking scars on his back from an ‘incident’ that he’d…rather not talk about…

Shortly after being hired by the County as a roadkill collector, Lester caught the worst flu of his life off one of his co-workers at the end of his mandatory one month training course.

Understandably terrified over the prospect of losing his first real job over what he assumed was a ‘simple cold‘, Lester adamantly refused to take time off and resolutely ‘powered through’ his illness, determined to show his new boss how dependable and hardworking he was.

Despite suffering from debilitating body aches and continually shivering from a severe chill, Lester stubbornly continued to ignore his body’s clear warning signs until he was in a dangerous state of near collapse.

The final blow came when he attempted to pull the carcass of a young black bear sow off the flatbed of his pickup truck after exhausting himself getting it up there in the first place.

Already weakened from dangerously low blood sugar after being unable to keep anything down for days and all but delirious from a high fever, all Lester remembers is losing his grip, staggering backwards towards ‘The Pit’ and a vague recollection of Bo running towards him from the house.

Everything that happened in-between is a complete blank.

As it turns out, Lester had fallen into his own roadkill pit and cut himself up something awful on the shattered bones of the rotting, putrescent carcasses of the animals he’d only recently started adding to it.

He’d somehow managed to drag himself out of the pit and drive himself into Ambrose where Bo caught sight of him through the living room window as he staggered towards the family home, absolutely covered head to toe in blood and gore.

Lester has no memory of Bo’s fear-induced, profanity-laced tirade as he was half-carried into the house, dragged up the stairs, carefully lowered into the bathtub and hosed off so Bo could see what his ’baby brother’ had done to himself.

He doesn’t remember being carefully lifted out of the bathtub and carried to his childhood bedroom where Vincent sewed him up with needle and thread or when his back was slathered with the antibiotic cream that Bo had hastily scavenged from the surrounding abandoned houses.

Lester has very little memory of the week that followed when Bo and Vincent got sick themselves while nursing him back to health or the sleepless nights Bo spent at his bedside making sure he didn’t take a turn for the worse.

The first Lester remembers when the fever broke is Bo, exhausted and bleary-eyed, grinning at him from the small armchair beside the bed right before he laid into him with an absolutely scathing lecture on how he almost killed himself over being so “GODDAMN STUBBORN!” about not asking for help when he so clearly needed it.

Then Vincent, who could clearly hear his twin’s blistering rant as he came through the tunnel under the house to check up on his little brother, strode into the room.

He shushed Bo with a finger to his twin’s lips, gave Lester a relieved hug, checked his back to make sure his stitching was holding nicely and then promptly cuffed him on the back of the head, flipped him off and signed to Bo as he stomped out of the room,

“I believe you were telling him how ’GODDAMN STUBBORN’ he was? I don’t think he heard you the first time, brother.”

To this day, Lester’s got quite an impressive collection of scars on his back he’s rather self-conscious about. If anyone happens to see them, he’s got a number of stories he cycles through to explain them that generally revolve around some self-sacrificing act of bravery, but his brothers will gleefully set the story straight if you ask them how Lester got em’.

[whimsicallyreading]

For Day 29 of Rowaelin Month

“A song fic-“

The song- “Always Been You” by Quinn XCII

CW- Mentions of miscarriage and divorce

"I can't believe you right now."

Rowan looks at his wife in frustration. She's sitting at the end of their bed, staring listlessly at the wall. The skirt of the red dress she's wearing is wrinkled, and his heart aches when he notices the mascara marks on her cheeks.

"Aelin," Rowan tries again to reach for her, but she leans away from his grasp.

"No, Rowan. I'm done."

Rowan takes a long swing from the beer in front of him. The time on his phone alerts him that he's spent most of the evening sulking at his bar.

The guys had invited him to dinner, but Rowan hadn't felt like going in light of his current situation. Instead, choosing to meander to the shady little pub they'd passed by coming from the airport.

His lawyer had sent him numerous emails. Documents to sign, agreements to approve, and papers he needed to read through before sending them to the judge.

Divorce was a pain, and Aelin wasn't making it easy.

"Hey, bud. I thought I might find you here." Fenrys slides onto the barstool next to his.

Rowan sighs and rubs the lines forming on his forehead. "Well, I thought it was obvious I didn't want company."

"Too bad. Drinking alone isn't a good look on you." Fenrys raises a hand and motions for another round of beers. "How are things going with ya know?"

"Shitty. She's never paid a dime of rent on that apartment, but she wants the lease signed into her name and for me to front the first four months of rent." Rowan cracks a peanut between his finger. He has no intent to eat the growing pile in front of him. He just craved the satisfaction of breaking something.

"Well, have you talked to her about that?" Fenrys frowns in sympathy, knowing how equally attached both parties were to the little rental.

Rowan laughs mirthlessly. "No, she said that it was better if our conversations were mediated. I always knew Aelin was catty, but she's acting like such a-"

"Don't." Fenrys gives Rowan a severe look. "I know you are upset, but don't start saying shit you'll regret."

Rowan pauses and reluctantly nods his agreement. It's the alcohol talking. He knew the problems that had festered his marriage were predominantly his responsibility.

He takes a deep breath, but a heaviness seems to keep the air from reaching his lungs fully. The weight was slowly becoming too familiar, starting the day Aelin had presented him with the papers.

Rowan wishes he'd done more. Wishes he'd paid more attention and seen the signs of Aelin's unhappiness.

The day Aelin had broken down in their bedroom had been a cold wake-up call but by then? It was already too late.

"You missed our anniversary Rowan." Aelin shouts and pulls her heels off angrily.

Rowan picks up a shoe and tries to hand it back to her. "I know. I'm sorry. It's not too late, though. We can still go out? There's still time to salvage-"

Aelin turns away from him and seems to fold in on herself. Rowan wants to reach out. He wants to hold her, but something dark is building in the air.

"I don't want your leftovers, Rowan," Aelin whispers. "That's all I get anymore—your leftover time. Your leftover attention. Whatever leftover resentment you bring home from work."

"Aelin-" he tries to cut off her depressive spiral, but she's not finished.

"You used to call me during the day." Aelin's voice cracks, and he realizes she's crying. "Every day, you would call me on your break. Now you don't even call when you leave town."

"Baby, just listen to me." He puts his hands on her shoulders, but Aelin breaks his grasp to turn around and look at him.

"Is there someone else?" Her eyes are wide and vulnerable. So unlike his regular Aelin."

"What?" His brain is struggling even to formulate a reply. Rowan's lack of response only causes Aelin to worry more.

Something in her cracks. There's a quiver to her lips, and her face drains of color. "Oh. Oh no."

"Aelin. I swear there is no one else." Rowan finally says, but it's too late.

"Is," Aelin presses the heels of her hands against her eyes. "Is it because I lost the baby?" She sucks in a hiccupping breath. "You've always wanted kids. So did I, but my fucking body doesn't work."

Aelin closes her eyes, and Rowan knows she's speaking more to herself than him, but her words gut him just the same. "My body doesn't work right. I keep giving us false hopes and wasting money on pregnancy tests. Of course, you would look for a woman who can give you what you want."

He's surprised by the sudden flare of anger in him. "Don't put words in my mouth. That will never be your fault."

They'd known right from the start their journey to parenthood would be a long one. Aelin had a family history of complicated fertility. It had seemed so trivial when they got married. Yet even knowing there could be issues, nothing quite prepared them for the pain of a miscarriage.

Aelin sniffles, unable to force back her grief, "But you resent me. Don't you?"

Rowan doesn't reply.

"It's rough," Rowan admits out loud. "I let a lot get left unsaid. I was hurt and pushed her away. Now she won't even speak to me without a lawyer present."

Fenrys nods, "It's all probably for the best. Once this is over, you guys can put this drama behind you."

"I wish it were that easy," Rowan knocks back the rest of his beer. He grimaces at the drink. It's not taking hold quickly enough.

Fenrys raises an eyebrow. "You both will be able to shut the book on this chapter of your lives and move on? Considering how bloody you two have been fighting, it sounds ideal."

They sit in silence. Fenrys takes the peanut basket away from Rowan and picks at the shells. The bartender comes by, and disgruntledly eyes Rowan's pile of crumbs as he orders a whiskey neat.

Fen was like his little brother, but Rowan found it hard to admit his real problem to him aloud. "I still love her."

The basket goes flying over the side of the counter, and Fenrys chokes on his beer. "What?"

Rowan can't look him in the eye, "We lost a baby. It was early. Aelin didn't want to tell everyone. Three years we tried to get pregnant, and finally, a test comes back positive. She was so happy."

"Shit," Fenrys says quietly. "I'm so sorry."

"It was there, and then it was gone. I thought Aelin was fine. She cried for a week, but then it was like a switch flipped, and she was back to normal." Rowan clenches a napkin in his fist. "I was devastated. It hurt like hell, but I didn't want to send her back into a depression." Rowan shakes his head at how stupid he'd been. "So I put some distance between us. I didn't want her to think I was upset with her."

"I didn't feel better," Rowan sips the whiskey, relishing the warmth. "It made me mad that she got over it so quickly, and I couldn't. I didn't realize that I was growing that space between us. I didn't understand how much guilt she harbored and that she tried to be strong for me. Not until she broke."

"We fought. I said all the wrong things. Aelin couldn't take it anymore, she left, and I didn't stop her." Rowan leans his head on his hands and elbows against the counter. "She's the love of my life, and I watched her walk out the door."

Fenrys sucks in a breath and sighs. "You are my best friend, and I mean this in the most loving way possible. Why the hell are you here?"

"What?" Rowan looks at Fenrys annoyed face.

"Get out of here. Go. I'll tell the boss you have ebola or some shit." Fenrys fishes his wallet out and throws cash on the bar. "I'll even cover the tab. Just leave. Now."

"What? I don't understand?"

Fenrys looks at Rowan like he's stupid. "No offense, but you are about as interesting as a brick wall. The fact you caught a girl like Aelin is astonishing. If you love her, are you honestly going to let her go on being miserable?"

"She's not miserable," Rowan scoffs.

Fenrys laughs bitterly. "You forget I'm pals with Aedion too? Aelin winds up at his house almost every evening crying her eyes out. You two are still hopelessly in love. You're just dumb and badly in need of a good conversation."

"Aelin is upset?" A sense of disbelief washes over him.

"Yes! She misses you, but she's under the impression you are off sleeping around." His face saddens. "I told Aedion you weren't. He knows I go on all of these trips with you. Aelin's just upset you're gone and needs to believe in something that can help her let go."

Rowan stands up, swaying. "I have to go."

"Hell yeah, you do. Give Aelin my love," Fenrys waves as Rowan vates the bar like a hawk out of hell.

Aelin sets the stack of papers in front of him.

Rowan had been camping out in his office ever since there disaster of an anniversary. He'd texted a few times, but every time they talked, it was like relighting a fuze. Things weren't getting better.

"What are these?" Rowan asks without looking up from his screen.

"Your ticket to freedom," Aelin sits in the chair across from him.

She looks thin, thinner than she did when Arobynn was her foster father. It physically hurts Rowan that he's causing her that kind of stress. Glancing at the papers, she slapped in front of him. His blood becomes like an ice river through his body. "Aelin-"

"I'm not the one for you. That's apparent now. I won't hold you hostage in a marriage that you aren't happy in." Aelin blinks, and a tear slides down her face. He wants to wipe it away, but he's beyond angry. She was giving up on them.

"If this is what you want," Rowan slides the papers towards him and pulls out a pen.

Rowan is racing the familiar paths to their apartment. He doesn't care that it's almost four in the morning. The plane ride between Perranth and Ornyth is mercifully short, but he can't force himself to wait another minute.

"Aelin," he yells through their door. "Baby, answer me. Open the door."

Rowan's fists tap a consistent rhythm on the door, and his heart skips a beat when a bedraggled Aelin finally appears. "Rowan, do you know what time it is?"

She's in a pair of grey flannel pajamas, not one of her usual silky numbers. Aelin's eyes are red around the edges, and her face is still dewy from the excessive amount of lotion he knows she loves to put on. Rowan knows all of her routines. All of her favorite outfits, comfort movies, and best memories. He knows the scar she has on her left hand from an abusive foster father. Rowan remembers how the bridge of her nose wrinkles when she's upset in the same spot her cousin's does.

He knows everything about her, because not only were they husband and wife, they were best friends.

How could he have let that go?

Before Aelin can ask any more questions, Rowan has swept her into his arms. "I missed you so damn much."

"Rowan, have you been drinking?" Aelin asks in a voice cracked with emotion.

His hands are running up her back, and his knows burrows into her hair. He's always loved the smell of her jasmine shampoo. "Fireheart, I never resented you for losing the baby."

"Rowan, I don't want to talk about this," Aelin tries to push him away, but he squeezes her into his chest, and she melts.

That had been his mistake. He should have held Aelik like this and never let her go on pretending to be happy. How could he know everything about this woman and not have seen past her facade? She'd suffered. His own pain had blinded him.

"Aelin, I've made so many mistakes lately." Rowan rubs the back of Aelin's neck the way she likes, and he can feel the sobs starting to build up inside of her. "But the greatest shame of my life is not being there for you when you needed me. I was stupid, Fireheart. I'm not going to be stupid any longer. This separation can't go on, we aren't any happier for it, and I can't live knowing I'm away from the other half of my soul."

Aelin cracks, and he can feel the tears wetting the front of his shoulder. "You were never home. I thought there was someone else, someone who could give you the things you wanted because I can't."

Her whole form is shuddering his arms, and Rowan squeezes tighter as if he can hold her broken pieces together. "It's always been you. I don't care if we adopt or never have any kids at all. All I need is you, baby. You are all I've ever needed."

Suddenly, hands are in Rowan's hair as Aelin crushes their lips together. The kiss is frantic, a relief of the stress they'd carried upon their shoulders.

"I missed you too," Aelin whispers in between kisses. “Gods I mussed you so much.”

The rest of their night is filled with soothing words, frantic kissing, and murmured apologies. Rowan kisses the tears from her cheeks and Aelin looks into his eyes like she’s home. Nail dig into skin as they promise never to be apart again.

For the first time in months they sleep in the same bed. Rowan sinks into a deep restful sleep with his wife in his arms once more. He loves the way her cold toes search out his heat. How Aelin fits so perfectly against his chest. When he wakes up and she’s still there, his heart nearly features from relief.

After months of pain, it's the beginning of their walk towards healing.

The days after aren't perfect. They had legal issues to sort back out, more problems to lay bare to the sunlight. There was arguing, but it lacked actual heat, and they didn't walk away feeling unloved at the end. No longer did they fight to land barbs. Their bickering now served to work towards solutions and to express needs.

Between struggles, the love began to grow back. Rowan kept his job at work, and when he was home, it was about them. He started calling her on his breaks again, and it always astonished him how much he missed the sound of her voice. They both strived to communicate their feelings better and actually listen instead of reacting.

Aelin surprised him with romantic dates, and Rowan read pages of her favorite books to her at night. They danced in the kitchen and laughed at their favorite shows.

Fixing their marriage was hard work, but Rowan and Aelin didn't mind. The separation proved that neither of them wanted a life without the other. It was to whatever end, and they wouldn't accept anything less for them.

On one Sunday morning, Rowan opens his eyes and realizes that Aelin isn't on her side of the bed. Panic surges in him, and he looks around to make sure her things are still there.

They are, and the tension eases from his shoulders until he hears soft crying from the bathroom. Darting out of bed, he grabs Aelin's bathrobe and knocks on their bathroom door. "Aelin, what's wrong?"

Had he screwed something up? Was she sick?

The lock clicks, granting him silent permission for him to come inside. Rowan pushes the door open and finds Aelin crying on the side of the tup. With gentle hands, he wraps her robe around her and throws an arm over her shoulders. "What's wrong?"

Aelin looks up at him, a radiant smile on her face. "Look."

Rowan glances down to her clenched fists and-

He blinks, once, twice. Aelin laughs at his dumbfounded face, and it breaks his paralysis. Rowan grabs her around the waist and spins her around the cramped bathroom, the positive pregnancy test clattering to the floor.

Aelin's arms wrap around his neck. The emotion in the room is raw and bittersweet, but there's a hopefulness that can't be denied. Rowan holds her tight as they process the news. When they break apart, the love between them is palpable. They had another shot at this, a fresh start.

Hards times would come and go, but good days were never far behind for them. Because for Aelin and Rowan, it's always been them.

And that's all they needed.

[straightupsickfics]

@softersteve said sick steve + puppy so 🥺🥺🥺

****

“Steve?” Tony nudges Steve with a gentle hand, surprised to find him sound asleep on the couch, Dorian sleeping peacefully beside him.

“Mmm? Tony?” Steve asks, eyes fluttering open, his voice tired. “When did you get home?”

Tony smiles, leaning down and running a hand through Steve’s hair. “Just now. The real question is, how long have you been home?”

“Most of the day? Umb…. What time is it?” Steve asks, struggling to sit up and look at his phone. Dorian huffs a little sigh before curling up in an even tighter circle and going back to sleep on Steve’s chest.

They'd found the dog on the last mission they'd been on together, a little more than three months ago now, and despite the short amount of time, Tony knows that neither of them can imagine life without him now. Steve, though, is the clear favorite between them, and Tony pretends not to be jealous of this fact as he watches them lay there, sleepy and comfortable as can be.

“Almost four,” Tony tells him, reaching over to pet the golden retriever’s ears. “Did you keep daddy company today? Hmm? You’re so good, yes you are…” He trails off, smiling when Dorian wags his tail a few times, even half asleep.

“All day, then,” Steve admits. He rubs a finger under his nose, like he knows he’s going to start sneezing soon and is trying to buy himself enough time to prevent it. He clears his throat a few times, too, eyeing the tissue box beside him on the floor as if wondering how soon he’s going to need it.

Steve’s wearing one of Tony's old MIT hoodies, and his eyes and nose are pink enough that Tony knows he must’ve finally come down with the cold Tony himself had a week and a half ago. He’d spent the majority of it draped over Steve in bed, sniffling and sneezing and apologizing enough that Steve had finally made him promise to stop.

“Well, that’s probably my fault,” Tony says. He gives Steve a sympathetic smile. “I’m sorry, I’m not used to being patient zero. Usually it’s the other way around,” he adds, tapping the flushed pink tip of Steve’s nose.

This earns him a sleepy smile, though Steve's face quickly turns more bleary and irritated than fond.

“C-cand you, grab h-himb… ? Steve gives his head a shake, turning away from Tony and Dorian, eyes filling with irritated tears as the itchy-ticklish feeling in his sinuses builds and crests. “Hdt! IItshh! Huh-Utshhuh! EeeiishhiEW!” Steve manages to aim the sneezes down at the blanket, unable to free his arms to muffle the fit in time.

Tony, puppy now cradled safely in his arms, makes a soft, concerned sound in the back of his throat. “Steven,” he says, “god bless you.”

“Thandks,” Steve sighs. “Don’t know why I keep getting sick like this, shouldn’t the serum make mbe…. Immune or something?” His voice has a distinctly stuffy, congested sound to it, and Tony wants nothing more than to hug him.

“I thought so, but Bruce and Dr. Cho think otherwise,” Tony tells him. “At least you had great company while I was at work?” Tony really does feel bad for infecting Steve, even though he knows Steve wouldn’t have left him to suffer on his own even if he knew this would be the outcome.

Steve nods, looking blearily between Tony and the puppy cradled in his arms. “Yeah, but…” He blinks up at Tony even as he trails off, and Tony knows exactly what he's thinking.

He can’t help but smile at the soft, slightly needy look on Steve’s face. “I missed you, too,” Tony says. “Let me just get changed, then I’ll come keep you company myself, yeah? Do you need anything while I’m up? Meds? Water? Tea?” He tries to think of anything else that Steve might need while he’s dealing with his cold, but his boyfriend just shakes his head.

“Just you,” Steve says, his eyes falling shut again.

Which, really, sounds perfect to Tony. He changes quickly, smiling as Dorian trails along, his collar jingling as he traipses around the room behind him, sniffing at Tony's discarded clothes and ankles all the while.

“We come bearing blankets,” Tony announces when he’s back in the living room, Steve already half-asleep on the couch. “That didn’t take very long, sleepyhead."

“M’tired,” Steve admits. He looks comfortable laying there, his large frame curled beneath a soft, knit blanket that Bucky had made them once upon a time. “Glad you’re home, though.”

“Me, too,” Tony agrees. He puts Dorian down on Steve’s chest again, where he wastes no time curling up and settling in against Steve, who smiles tiredly, petting his ears.

“Good boy,” Steve murmurs.

“And to think, that used to be reserved for me,” Tony teases, sliding in beside them on the couch. Steve looks so comfortable there beneath the blankets, somehow more tired and sick than Tony remembers feeling when he had the same cold, that he feels a little helpless. He wastes no time curling up beside him, scooping Steve into his arms and pressing soft, warm kisses agains the soft nape of his neck.

“Really did miss you all day,” Tony says. “I’m sorry I got you sick.”

Steve mutters something unintelligible, his face tucked into his pillow, hand still resting on Dorian’s head. “Just glad you’re here.”

Tony sighs, breathing deeply, taking in the warmth of Steve, and the blankets, and Dorian. “Yeah,” he says finally, just as Steve curls into him, his nose damp and soft against his shoulder. "Me, too."

[elysianslove]

when the stars align; oikawa tōru

requested by anon; ❝ hi bb :) can I request an Oikawa and reader story where they’re two petty/sarcastic best friends. Like they just have that understanding that their love is shown through petty comments or bickering lol but n e ways, the reader gets approached by a guy she doesn’t really like but isn’t thinking and says she’s seeing Oikawa and now they have to act like a couple but all they end up doing is bickering and Oikawa complaining. I hope that makes sense lol thxx <3 ❞

pairing; oikawa tōru x reader 

warnings; it’s the fake dating trope with oikawa tōru. that is a warning in itself

note; i screamed when i found this in my inbox this trope has a special place in my heart and the fact that oikawa was requested??? pls don’t let this flop :(

━ you’re not sure why you said it. you rack your mind for an excuse: you’ve known him too long, you spend majority of your time with him, you had just been texting him a moment earlier — that must’ve been why you’d sprouted that ridiculous excuse to rid yourself of spewing out a futile, useless rejection. there’s an array of mixed emotions on you as you watch the boy before you shrivel in disappointment, sighing in frustration.

“i’m sorry, i’m dating oikawa right now, actually,” you had said, like the liar the same boy you refer to has coerced you into becoming to fuel your endless sneaking out.

the guy before you, honestly nameless due to both your carelessness towards him and your uncomfortableness around him, shoves his hands into his pockets cooly, attempting to shrug it off. “well, you know where to find me in case it doesn’t work out,” he jokes, and you have to fight off the urge to cringe directly in his face at his words.

instead, you lightly smile, more similar to a grimace, and nod politely, before turning and heading in the complete opposite direction, despite the other way having been your initial route. your shaky hands fumble for your phone, and you pull it out, unlocking it and tapping on the messages app.

i did something stupid, you type out, and you’re unsure whether you’re grateful or thrown off by how quick oikawa responds.

not surprising. what did u do

the familiarity of his tone only calms you slightly, and before you can talk yourself out of it, already having thrown yourself too deep when you’d thought up the lie, you explain the situation briefly. instead of a text message response, his caller id flashes across your screen, and your breath hitches. regret begins flooding you, and carefully, you slide to answer.

“i don’t want to hold your hand!” you complain, smacking at his palm when it reaches for yours.

oikawa sighs amusingly, grabbing your wrist anyways and linking your fingers together. against all odds, and to your disappointment, you shiver at the feel of his hand in yours. it’s considerably larger, and despite the fact that this is farthest from the first time you’ve gripped his hand, your insides twist. his fingers are slender, and his palm and the pads of his fingers are soft. for all the years you’ve known oikawa, his hands constantly run cold, and you’ve hated it for multiple reasons. one being the way it gave him an ego boost of ‘cold hands only mean i have a warm heart.’ the second being his infuriating actions of constantly pressing his palms to your skin, specifically the back of your neck. but most importantly, it signifies just how little oikawa tends to care for himself at times, the way his hands shake when it gets too cold, when the world grows too small, the tips of his fingers a bruised blue and purple. and you hate it. even more so, you hate how much you hate it.

despite all this, his hand feels — nice in yours; it’s a comfortable contrast to your own warm hand. still, your frown remains on your face as you see the school gates appear before two of you, never daring to reveal any of your thoughts to him.

“if you didn’t want to hold my hand, you would’ve thought up a better lie,” oikawa argues, and you turn your head to glare at him. he diffuses it easily when his thumb brushes against the back of your hand, your words faltering momentarily. “could’ve had anyone! iwa, mattsun, makki— i know they woulda loved to do this with you.”

“you’re insufferable,” you huff, but your cheeks are painting red, visibly too. he’s right, you realize. he’s terribly right.

“but you still chose me,” he teases.

your hand in his twists until you’re bending his wrist at an awkward, painful angle, until he’s pinching at your arm to force you away. he’s right, but that doesn’t make it mean anything.

by now, you’ve spent more time glaring at oikawa threateningly and in warning than you have your entire friendship with him, and it’s honestly starting to give you a headache. after admitting your situation to the three other third years, and giving them maximum fifteen minutes to laugh until they ran out of breath, iwaizumi included, spend the next twenty minutes huddled up next to oikawa, your chair attached to his.

the guy, who had been persistent enough in asking you out that you’d resorted to this, decided to spend his lunch break in the same area as the five of you, leaving you unable to push away and bicker with oikawa the same way you would any other day. you pick at your food as you avoid his gaze, oikawa’s arm around your shoulder heavy, leaving a trail of sparks up your spine and along your arms. it makes you want to scream, loudly too.

makki and mattsun have resorted to making fun of the guy, whispering between themselves, but it’s still awfully loud enough that there’s no possible way he can’t hear. iwaizumi and oikawa have their attention on each other, discussing some upcoming practice match in the weekend.

and all you’re left with are your thoughts, your nagging, unbearable thoughts, about how pretty oikawa’s hand looks as it hangs by your shoulder, brushing against your arm with every small shift of his body. with shameful, red cheeks, you shut your eyes in frustration, and allow the regret to boil and build in your stomach.

the weeks pass steadily. outside of school, your relationship with oikawa remains unchanged, and although he’s just as touchy as he is with you with an audience, the source of affection continues to be — simply friendship. and whenever you catch any disappointment building because of that, you pinch yourself in reminder than none of it is real. the way he always has an arm around you, the way he fumbles with your fingers, the way he ties your hair back for you while you work on an essay during your break, the way he kisses your cheek, a show of respect for your boundaries, but as a way to reinforce that you’re his in front of anyone, or the way he lets you lift one leg over his own, just because.

and you’re left wondering that if it were real, would it be the same?

he sits before you now, cross legged on your bed, back straightened and mouth stuffed with popcorn, completely engrossed in the movie before him with his eyes wide open. the three other boys are spread across the room: makki laying on his stomach, chin perched on his hands by the edge of the bed, while mattsun and iwaizumi share the couch, drinks in their hands, all three just as enamored by the movie as oikawa. 

you had always been aware of just how pretty he is, and everyone around you has always ensured that you do. was it the way the light from the screen shone in his face, reflecting in his pretty brown eyes and shadowing some of his features? or was it the way he sat so comfortable in your bed, in nothing but sweatpants and a loose shirt because, of course, the four of them were bound to stay the night? was it the way his lips glistened with the water he gulped, or because of the way his tongue poked out to lick at the salt from the popcorn? 

or was it nothing in particular, or everything all at once?

sighing lowly, you shift and sit up, swinging your legs over the side of the bed and heading towards the bedroom door. “i’m gonna grab some water; anyone want anything?” you announce.

none of them seem to hear you, too lost in the movie, but makki turns his head to the side slightly, eyes remaining on the screen, and replies, “no thank you.” it’s all you need to leave the room.

as you walk out, oikawa eyes you, then eyes the filled up water bottles next to where you had been sitting. his heart tightens in his chest.

two months into the fake relationship you’d established with oikawa, and it begins to feel natural. it no longer feels off putting to walk hand in hand with him to school, or to greet him with a grandiose hug and a kiss on the cheek, or to wear his jersey to games and cheer for him from the stands, or to constantly have his ankle looped with yours beneath the table where, despite this all being for show, nobody can really see.

outside of your fake relationship traditions are your friendship traditions, which include, but are not limited to, him walking you home. it’s always been mostly because your mother adores him, or because he prefers the food that’s at your home as opposed to his, or because your home is on the way to his anyways, but it’s a lot closer, so he always ends up staying longer than anticipated.

either way, it’s not unusual that he walks by your side as the moon illuminates your path. it is, however, not very like him to stay quiet the entire way. you can see the roof of your home growing in size as you near it, and he’s yet to say a word to you. it both weirds you out and worries you, and before you can convince yourself you were overreacting, you pause in your step, the gravel beneath you scratching and crunching as you turn to face him.

“alright, spit it out.”

his eyes meet yours, wide and confused. “what?”

you sigh. “something’s up, and you’re either gonna tell me now or i’ll force it out of you later,” you reply.

“i’m not—”

“oikawa.”

“stop it, i’m fine—“

“tōru.”

“i can’t do this anymore.”

your heart stills, and almost as if in understanding, in pity, so does the world around you. the wind no longer howls in agony, respecting your need for silence as the trees around you look on curiously. your brain processes a little slower than your mouth, and you’re asking him, “what are you talking about?” before you could think.

his gaze falls from yours again, and he takes a step back. “i can’t be with you anymore. or — fake being with you anymore,” he admits to you.

you’re not sure why, but you had imagined this scenario to be a lot less earth shattering than it is. maybe you’d grown to like faking it, because it slowly started to become the closest you could get to experiencing it realistically. you refuse to speak, and it isn’t because you’re angry at him. it’s because you genuinely are lost for words. it’s not even a real break up, but it still hurts just as bad, if not worse. it’s your own fault for believing that this, whatever this was, was as simple as it seemed.

“not unless— not unless i can really be with you.”

what?

“what?”

he breathes in steadily, and moves forward, closer, closer, closer to you. his hands rise to your cheeks, cupping them softly, flinching when your breath hitches. but you make no move to push him away, only stare up at him, in wonder, in confusion. he opens his mouth, preparing himself to speak. you expect a monologue, a speech, a declaration of his undying love for you, because it sounds just as dramatic as oikawa is. the moon above you holds its breath, waiting for the band to snap, for the words to spill and drown you. 

but then he kisses you. 

his hands urge you up and he meets you halfway, pressing his lips to yours. they’re soft, and he tastes like cherry, and it’s probably your chapstick if you were being honest with yourself. his mouth moves languidly against yours, as if he’s trying to drag out every moment, as if he wants to purposefully slow down time, begging and pleading for the world around him to stop. the kiss is sweet, gentle, and somehow, kissing him is exactly the way you’d imagined it would. it’s breathtaking, and dizzying, and overwhelming, and needy and it’s beautiful. 

when he pulls back, he doesn’t let go of you. his hands remain cupping your jaw, his mouth hovering over yours. his thumb brushes along your cheek momentarily as he gazes at you, admiring you, as if memorizing every inch and every detail of your features. 

“tōru, you idiot,” you sigh. the insult isn’t foreign to him, not even on your tongue, but he still looks taken aback, and even more so when you reach up and close the distance between you again. the world lives again, the moon celebrating within the clouds, the wind twisting in your hair, whispering and whistling cheerfully by your ear as the trees dance.

 it all comes together, and the stars finally align. 

end note; i’m so happy with this!!! i hope everyone enjoyed reading this as much as i loved writing it!!! <3

[reidology]

Dying in a bathtub - Hotchreid

Summary: Hotch gets nightmares and hides in the tub, so Spencer makes it comfy for him <3

Word count: 4.4k

Content warning: discussion and description of nightmares, smut, brief description of physical abuse, light angst, quite fluffy, happy ending <3

AO3

__________________________________________

The first time it happened Spencer woke up shivering, the cold of a missing body beside him seeped through the sheets chilled his bones. He braved a lazy glance to his bedside, squinting to see the alarm clock blinking big and aggressive red numbers. 05:25. Aaron must have gone out for a morning run, something Spencer never understood. In fact, his reasoning of ‘why run, when sleep?’ whenever Aaron attempted to get him to join always earned him an affectionate eye roll and kiss on the cheek, so why would he ever give that up? No promise of endless coffee can get Spencer Reid to wake up before 7am, much less for exercise.

Reluctantly the sleepy man made his way to the bathroom, knowing he might as well shower and get ready for work now, there’s no way he could get back to sleep without his human furnace of a boyfriend covering him completely. Only, through his grogginess he failed to notice the boyfriend-shaped body softly snoring in the tub.

So he padded over to the semi-closed shower curtain and blearily reached in to turn the water on for it to heat up while he got ready.

Almost as soon as the water turned on, a high-pitched shriek assaulted the young agent’s eardrums. Spencer did what, in his opinion, any caught-off-guard fully trained FBI agent would do— he squealed in shock and fell back on his ass. A moment later the shower curtain pulled back, revealing a very irritated -and very wet- Aaron Hotchner.

“Babe what the fuck,” the older man whined, wringing out his shirt and turning the freezing water off, “I was sleeping!”

“Oh this is my fault?!”

“Yes! Couldn’t you see me?!”

“I just woke up!”

“Me too!” Aaron pointed to his wet shirt as if to say you have no excuse for this.

Spencer let out a frustrated sigh and pushed himself up from the floor. Somehow he upset his boyfriend, he guesses apologies are on the table. He carefully stepped into the bathtub to face his dripping boyfriend and wrapped his arms around the soaking man’s neck, “I’m sorry,” he pouted quite prettily, “But honey, why were you sleeping in the tub?”

“I didn’t sleep in the tub. I went to sleep in our bed, then you woke me up in the tub.” Aaron grumbled.

Spencer thought Aaron looked positively insane. His eyes focused on the older man’s pupils as his hands checked for a fever.

“Do you have a concussion?” He couldn’t help but fret about the man who is usually so well put together. He was obviously in distress though what kind of distress completely eluded the dry man. Aaron waved Spencer’s worried hands away from his face, “No. Spence, I’m telling you, I didn’t sleep in the bathtub.”

“Then how did you get here?”

Aaron shrugged and swatted Spencer’s nosy hands away that were trying to inspect the grumpy man for any injuries, “Who knows? Let’s get some breakfast.” He calmly stepped out of the tub and headed out, leaving Spencer confused (for once).

“... But it’s 5 am.”

_____

Two nights later, it happened again. But this time Spencer awoke to the sound of sobbing. His heart just about broke in two at the sight of Aaron curled in on himself in the porcelain tub, shaking and covered in sweat.

The Unit Chief used to have terrors most nights. After Foyet, all of life’s problems seemed to unravel in his dreams. The sounds and images were so vivid that upon waking up he believed he had done what he’d dreamed. That he’d hurt his family or that Foyet had come back to finish the job.

During hard cases, Aaron would forgo sleep completely, knowing his mind would only haunt him with terror beyond his conscious capabilities. It left him exhausted and agitated for the rest of the investigation. The team and LEOs got frustrated but none had the guts to confront him, except for one young agent who took special notice of his boss.

So Spencer stepped in, and after weeks of getting closer and learning more about each other than they had in the past five years of working together, Aaron digressed and accepted the help that was offered. The following three months ensued so smoothly, the therapy was helping and Aaron couldn’t believe he was sleeping full nights again. He knew it was all thanks to Spencer, who had taken up a very special place in his heart. Aaron knew that Spencer would always be there when he woke up, like an anchor. Something real to hold on to and keep him in place.

It had been a while since Aaron had such a bad episode, luckily Spencer knew just what to do and jumped right into action. Without missing a beat, the younger man climbed into the tub and sat by Aaron’s head, taking hold of one of his white-knuckled fists and gently coaxing it open by rubbing his thumbs from the palm to the back of the hand. Constant pressure, soothing, real. With one hand he threaded his fingers through the brunette’s damp hair, stroking softly at his scalp, willing his nightmare mind to latch onto the familiar touch.

“It’s okay, you’re safe.” He murmured sweetly like a mantra.

Eventually Aaron’s panicked sobs dissolved into pained whimpers, his body lost some of its tension, allowing for Spencer to gently lift his boyfriend’s head into his lap and off the hard floor of the tub. The whimpers died down to light trembles and Spencer shushed him comfortingly, continuing to sooth him with gentle strokes to his head. Slowly Aaron’s eyes opened and Spencer felt the moment panic set in. The taller man’s breathing quickened and tension returned to his body, frozen in fear. God, Spencer should have turned the lights on.

“It’s just me, darling. You’re home, Aaron. This is home. You’re safe.”

Aaron trembled more, his eyes glazed over as if reliving the nightmare, “Shhh you’re safe.”

Spencer placed a feathery kiss on his boyfriend’s forehead that seemed to anchor him immediately. Tentatively, Aaron looked up at his rescuer, relieved to be in his lover's arms and away from the nightmare universe that had felt so real. He burrowed further into Spencer’s lap, wrapped his shaking arms around his boyfriend’s steady hips. He tried to focus on Spencer’s heartbeat in an attempt to regulate his own. Spencer was warm, Spencer was safe. Always safe.

“Foyet?” Spencer asked cautiously, breath fanning over the older’s forehead. Aaron stilled at the name then nodded. The younger man knows that Aaron needs to talk about it immediately, even if it’s terrifying. It allows him to discern dreams from reality, so that the events and sensations of the night terror don’t ingrain themselves into the man’s memories of reality .

“... and Scratch,” Aaron gulped, “They had Jack. I couldn’t... I didn’t know what was real. Couldn’t tell if it was really Jack. He made me hurt him. Oh god, Spence… I hurt him.” Sobs wracked the pained man’s body once again, unable to forget the horror of the dream. Spencer rocked them back and forth.

“Shh… Jack is fine, he’s at Jess’s. You would never hurt him, Aaron.”

Aaron was spent, he couldn’t muster up the energy to talk. He fell asleep once more in his partner’s comforting hold.

_____

The next morning they woke up with aching muscles from being in the bathtub for so long. Spencer couldn’t help but be worried about his boyfriend. There was definitely something going on, and though he respected Aaron’s privacy immensely, he was afraid of the older man getting into a dangerous situation. Was he sleepwalking to the bathroom? What if he tripped and hit his head on the edge of the tub? But most importantly, why were Aaron’s nightmares leading him to the bathtub?

Spencer nuzzled Aaron’s neck in an effort to wake him up a bit more. “Darling, we need to talk about this.” The worry in Spencer’s voice was audible and prompted Aaron to sit up and sigh deeply. He didn’t think this part of his life would ever come back up to the surface, he’d avoided thinking about it for decades and he didn’t know what triggered the habit to resurface. But now it’s affected Spencer, and he knew he couldn’t keep the love of his life in the dark, but some things were so hard to talk about.

Aaron found himself panicking again, flashes of Foyet and his father clouding his mind once more. Images of Sean taking cover in Aaron’s arms while their father pounds on the bathroom door-

“I know. I-” He was cut off with the sweetest kiss.

“You can take your time sweetheart. No rush.”

Even at this stage in their relationship, Aaron wasn’t used to being treated so well. The kindness that naturally radiated off his boyfriend was enough to make his insides melt, the understanding words never ceased to choke him up. But he knew Spencer would be there to put him back together once he gave him all his pieces. He buried his face in the younger’s neck, breathing in the scent of his shampoo, relaxing into his hold. Spencer wrapped his arms around Aaron’s lean form, offering a safe space. Aaron had never been this vulnerable with anyone before his relationship with Spencer.

After a moment of just holding each other, Aaron’s breathing mellowed out and his voice cracked as he explained everything.

“After Sean was born, my dad started drinking. He’d always been somewhat aggressive, scary even. He- he’d get angry and take it out on my mom… and if she wasn’t there... But when he started drinking it got a thousand times worse. I vowed to myself to protect Sean at all costs, I promised him I would never let our dad get to him. So I took the brunt of it when he was sober. But when he was drunk… he would chase us, try to get to Sean specifically. He was just a little kid 5 or 6, I was 15. He would scour the house to find Sean so I took him and locked us in the only room in the house with a lock… the bathroom. I’d carry Sean in my arms and make a run for it. I blocked off the door with a cabinet and we sat in the tub until he passed out.. My dad couldn’t get in but he would pound on the door so loudly, his voice was so angry-”

Aaron inhaled hard, the grip on the back of Spencer’s shirt tightened and his breathing shallowed. Spencer continued rubbing soothing circles on his back, allowing Aaron to take his time.

“The bathtub was the only safe space for Sean and I. We spent whole nights in there, waiting for my dad to pass out. Sometimes we’d tell stories, play games, but other times we cried and I covered his ears with my hands, not wanting him to hear the horrible things our dad was saying. This went on until I went to college, I tried to take Sean with me but my mother wouldn’t allow it. My dad died a year later, when Sean was 9.

“I- because of that, if any of us had nightmares we’d go into the bathroom and sleep in the tub, because no one could get to us in there.”

Aaron swallowed thickly and timidly looked up to the honey-haired man. Had he sounded pathetic?

But Spencer cupped his cheek once again and kissed him lovingly.

“Thank you for telling me. You’re the strongest person I know, Aaron. I'm sorry you had to go through all of that.”

Aaron’s heart skipped a beat, warmth spreading through his chest. He swallowed down all his uncertainties and let Spencer in, he was proud of himself. Both of them yawned in succession, still exhausted from last night and uncomfortable from sleeping in the bathtub.

With a cheeky grin the younger man announced, “Let’s go to bed, I’ll get us the day off.” Aaron was so grateful.

While he called in sick, Spencer had an idea, and he knew just who to call.

_____

“Boy Wonder! How wonderful to hear from you on this frabjous day! We miss you and the Bossman dearly. We are definitely… working. Work is happening, and we’re doing it, and it’s getting done. You can trust me on that. Definitely no piñatas in the break room, where would we even find one on such short notice? Emily doesn’t even know where to get balloons! Anyway, what magical service may I bestow upon thee today, my little lord?”

Spencer bit back a chuckle, “Hi Penelope. Listen I need some advice on… interior decorating-”

Immediately, he got cut off by a squeal, “I’m on my way!”

“No! Garcia- after work-”

The line goes flat.

“Dammit. I should’ve just texted JJ.”

_____

Despite her best efforts, the rest of the team did not let Penelope leave the BAU for a ‘design emergency’. Fortunately for Spencer, that gave him some time to plan what he wanted to do while cooking lunch for his sleeping beauty.

After a full meal of soup and grilled cheese, Hotch retreated to the living room hoping to watch some History Channel with Spencer. They love watching the conspiracy shows together and debunking the awful propositions. Though Hotch learned quite surprisingly that Spencer is very open to the idea of aliens on Earth. However, he has a suspicion that that’s mostly wishful thinking on the part of Spencer's inner child. Nevertheless, it’s adorable and Hotch was excited for it, and waiting patiently for Spencer to finish cleaning himself up.

Before he could question what was taking so long, their doorbell rang a sweet lullabye sound (they had to change it from the awful buzzing that it was- it was too overwhelming for Spencer). Not expecting any company, Hotch was puzzled as to who could be at their door.

“Who is it?” He spoke through the intercom.

“Bossman! Sorry to hear about your incurable case of Work Sickness! If you could let me up, I brought you some warm soup!-”

Spencer bounded through the foyer from the bedroom, practically hopping over furniture and knocking down a flower arrangement, “I got it! I got it!” he heaved frantically.

“Babe, what’s Garcia doing in front of our building on a weekday?”

“Nothing Aar don’t worry about it, Penelope and I are just going out for lunch, see you later!”

Spencer grabbed his satchel and was out the door.

“But- Spencer you just had lunch!” The curly haired man was already running down the steps, “Bye!”

It was Hotch’s turn to be left alone and confused.

_____

In Penelope’s car, Spencer explained his idea to Penelope, without going saying too much about Hotch’s nightmares. In true Penelope fashion, the bubbly bits-and-bobs connoisseur knew the perfect place to get what Spencer needed. Penelope dragged Spencer around the independently-owned home goods boutique like a lost puppy for about two hours. She ended up with more bags for herself and Sergio than what Spencer needed.

A few texts and one missed call from Hotch wondering what the hell was taking Spencer so long prompted them to leave. Spencer thanked Penelope in front of their apartment and air kissed her goodbye, promising to show up at girl’s night next week..

Spencer walks into the foyer as quietly as possible and hides the bags behind the living room’s entertainment center.

“Spencer?”

“Yeah! I’m home!”

Aaron walked out of their bedroom with a soft smile. His round glasses were on, meaning he’s been reading… or looking at case files.

“Are you going through the case?” Spencer scolded.

The bespectacled man didn’t waver. “There’s something the victim’s parents said that doesn’t add up, they said that every Thursday Mandy went to soccer practice after school and swim practice in the next town over in the evenings. She takes the bus so if the unsub was stalking her he’d either have to take the same bus and risk getting caught or have a car- which goes against our age profile- so that would mean there’s someone driving him. Spencer, there are TWO unsu-” He was cut off by being pulled into a kiss. He hummed into it and wrapped his arms around Spencer’s slender waist, pulling them closer together. When they pulled apart Spencer whispered “Two unsubs. The team knows, they’re working on it. You-” he tapped his finger on the older’s chin for emphasis, “need to relax today.”

The resulting pretty pout was swiftly kissed away. None of that now.

“But I don’t know how to relax. I’m Aaron Hotchner, stoic as a statue, stern glare extraordinaire, Mr. Emotionless…”

Spencer rolled his eyes and trailed his hands down Aaron’s hard chest, “I know how to make you relax…” The other man grinned “Oh is that right?” Spencer smirked and led his boyfriend to the couch.

_____

That night when Aaron was gone to bed, Spencer quietly retrieved the bags from behind the TV and set his plan in motion.

_____

He’s trembling. And he can’t recognize his own thoughts, he can’t think straight, all he can see is his son- and Haley with terror written all over their faces.

He barely registers the sound of Jack’s wailing because, as if from right behind his ear, he hears a voice that he interprets as his own thought ‘shoot him’.

‘What?’

‘Pull the trigger’

He looks back up to his sobbing, terrified son, and without hesitation- click- BOOM-

Aaron bolted up from the bed, gasping for breath. His eyes darted around the dark. Jack? Where is he- Jack ohmygod-

His vision landed on Spencer’s sleeping form, breathing shallowly and folded into himself like a pretzel, sleeping soundly like an angel. Spencer. Real. Safe. He took a deep breath to regulate his heart. In for 4, hold, out for 6, repeat. This was exhausting.

Groggily, Aaron slipped out from under the covers and headed to the bathroom to get a drink of water and maybe splash his face a little. He thought of getting into the bathtub for the comfort he desperately needed right now, but he’d be embarrassed if Spencer found him in there again. Who does that? But nothing could have prepared Aaron for the sight before him when he opened the door.

Lights. Yellow, green, purple electric lights on strings, illuminating the room in a beautiful calming glow. They were suspended from the curtain rod of the bathtub, taped to the walls. Gorgeously scented candles perched on the sink, some on the ground, a few tea lights lining the edge of the tub. It smelled glorious and comforting and Aaron couldn’t tell what it was. Pine? Sandalwood? Campfire?

The most breath-taking part was the inside of the bathtub. Patterned sheets hung from the walls and draped over to form a delicate roof. Fluffy pillows perfectly laid out to coat every inch of the porcelain interior, and soft blankets piled on top for added comfort. Lights lined the inside of the sheet tent as well, it looked fantastical. Like something out of a book.

Aaron was floored, to say the least. Was this what Spencer had been doing today? He was flooded by a new emotion, something he couldn’t quite put his finger on. Spencer had done all of this for him? To make him feel safe?

He was still standing just barely in the room, taking everything in and getting emotional when he heard soft footsteps behind him and felt Spencer’s long arms slink around his waist. A chin hooked over his shoulder and a kiss was pressed to his neck.

“Are you alright? Did you have a nightmare?”

Aaron nodded, “You did all this… for me?” A tinge of awe decorated his voice.

“Yeah,” his boyfriend whispered back, “So you don’t hurt yourself when you sleep in here.”

Aaron felt stupid for ever thinking his wonderful, thoughtful boyfriend would ever feel embarrassed by him. Of course Spencer took everything he admitted seriously, of course Spencer cared about what he’s been through, Spencer cares… that's what he’s been feeling. Taken care of. Important. For once in his life, he feels like he’s allowed to let himself be loved.

The stunned man seemed to be frozen in place, not knowing how to respond. His mind was overwhelmed with love for his boyfriend. Spencer pulled away and grabbed the older’s hands, Aaron let himself be led to the makeshift fort.

They climbed in together, careful not to knock over any of the burning candles. Spencer settled on one end of the tub and pulled Aaron into him before he could even think of not cuddling with him. He made space with his legs for his boyfriend to settle between, chest pressed to back, arms wrapped around his love. Safe, warm, and comfortable in a sea of cushions like twin yolks in a shell.

Laying here, in his lover's arms, surrounded by low tranquil lights, and the gentle rise and fall of Spencer’s chest, Aaron felt as serene as he’d ever been. Spencer slid warm hands under Aaron’s shirt, bringing one up to rest cozily on his heart. Aaron turned his head and nuzzled further into Spencer’s neck, feeling the familiar tingle of the man’s touch and murmured a low hum of approval.

Spencer’s other hand, that wasn’t on Aaron’s heart, was used to tip the taller man’s chin up to look at him.

“I know what it’s like to be afraid of your own mind,” he cooed, “sometimes it’s impossible to take yourself out of that world. But in our home, Aaron, I want you to feel safe and protected at all times. I want you to be vulnerable and unashamed. You’re free to be everything you are in here, and I hope that you feel you can be everything you are with me, too.”

Aaron lost himself in his partner’s deep gaze, glorious hazel eyes boring into him. Completely enamored by the words spoken to him, all he could do was nod and lick his lips, trying to regulate his heart rate for a completely different reason now. Spencer had never been so… authoritative before and his sincere but stern tone sent thrilling sparks down his spine. A blush rose up his neck.

Spencer tracked the slow movement of Aaron’s tongue sliding over his bottom lip, and didn’t fight the impulse to drag his thumb over it. “You’re always safe with me.” He barely whispered before angling his head down to catch those lips in a languid kiss. Aaron sighed into it, waiting a little while before pushing himself up to fix their awkward angle. He positioned them so that Spencer was laid down flat on his back, allowing Aaron to lay between his legs once more, chest to chest. They tangled themselves in each other, lips colliding again like a match to a box, igniting a fire in the both of them.

Both were still tired from waking up in the middle of the night, but the desire coursing through their bodies was a more pressing matter. Spencer lifted his hands to frame his lover’s neck and wrapped his legs loosely around his waist, inviting Aaron to grind down onto him, both already half hard from the anticipation. Spencer groaned into Aaron’s mouth. A sound that went right to Aaron’s dick.

They explored each other’s bodies with a youthful novelty, eager to feel more skin. Never once pulling their lips apart. Aaron slipped his hands under Spencer’s shirt and shoved it up under his arms, digging his fingers into those delicious hips. Finally he broke away from the kiss to pepper the younger’s face with sweet ones. Aaron’s heart grew three sizes at Spencer’s soft giggles and let out a low laugh of his own. How ridiculous were they, making out like teenagers in a bathtub fort? Neither much cared to answer that question though, because the impatient genius bucked his hips up to meet his boyfriend’s, who was still in his boxers, let’s get those off.

Spencer eagerly reached for Aaron’s underwear and palmed at his bulge just until he heard that impatient sound from him. He pulled the man’s cock out now fully hard and dripping with precum. A groan escaped the both of them at the sight and sensation. They wasted no time in getting Spencer out of his nerdy physics flannel pajama pants, and grinded their dicks together. Lighting sparked right through the both of them, Aaron balanced himself on one arm near Spencer’s head and took both of their lengths into his right hand.

The rub of their slick cocks together was spectacular as Aaron kept a slow and steady pace, making sure to draw out all the best sounds he knew Spencer could make by nipping at his neck, where he knew the younger man was ticklish. Spencer whined at the excruciating pace, turning into a desperate whimpering mess. Making Spencer wait was so fun.

Spencer’s hands find grip in Aaron’s short hair, keeping him close, feeling the pull of Aaron's big hand on his dick and grinding up to meet him. It’s intoxicating bliss, being taken over the edge by the man he loves.

Their worlds minimized to just the slide of their cocks and the lips on their skin. The whimpering man felt the familiar build up in his abdomen, moaning freely now as he chased his orgasm, guiding Aaron’s hand with his own to feel his touch everywhere.

“Yeah baby,” Aaron encouraged, his own orgasm coming on quickly, “Cum for me baby.”

Spencer sputtered his release over both of their hands and stomachs, momentarily suspended in the intense bliss of his orgasm. He laid there spent, feeling like putty in Aaron’s hands, and pulled him down for a passionate kiss. He took his lover’s cock in hand and pumped him quickly, thumbing the head of his dick on each upstroke. Aaron came with a groan and a shudder, his arms gave out. They laid there catching their breaths for a while, ignoring the drying stickiness between them and tracing slow patterns on each other’s skin. They were so lucky to have each other.

“How are we going to shower now?” Aaron looked up and pouted.

“There’s a perfectly good sink just 5 feet away.” They laughed, Aaron pulled a blanket over them.

------------------------------------------------------

Taglist: @foxtrot91 @physics-magic @ssa-sarahsunshine @hearteyedhotch

[bakugohoex]

I'm so happy for you! Congrats for 1k! 🥳🥳🥳 I saw there was one fluff prompt left, number 10 I believe. If it's still available could you do it with Porco?

“we were never just friends”

pairing: porco galliard x female reader

cw: fluff, language, a lot on intimate moments that make me sad that I’m alone

word count: 2700+

a/n: please im sorry that im still working on my 1k event when i have a 2k event going on at the same time, but i wrote this fic in a sprint thing on discord and surprisingly I think i did okay with it.

summary: in which Porco relives moments of his love for you until he finally gets what he had always wanted

1k event masterlist

↞ back to attack on titan masterlist

Porco didn’t understand the first time he met you would be as children; he saw those tender eyes and that soft sunflower dress, and he couldn’t help but fall in love. Maybe it was a childish dream or some misconception that this was the love that he had so often seen between his parents. But he knew from that very moment seeing you with your hair up in pigtails playing in the sand he had fallen in love.

His eyes stayed focused on you, his shorts showing the grazed knees he had had from sliding along the grass against his mothers will. But the sound of his screams as he ran towards the sandcastle you had made, and the crying as a consequence of the fallen castle made him realise this wasn’t a real way to introduce himself. He looked between those damp tears and the sand that speckled across your chest and knees and he knew this moment would be ingrained into both of your minds for the rest of your life.

He knelt in front of your timid body, eyes tearing up as you looked like you wanted to chuck sand at him. Your mother hadn’t noticed the tears as they were silent, but as Porco brought his hand out, moving his small fingers to touch your cheek he felt the cold tears stream down your face. It wasn’t his fault, or maybe it was, but at the time he felt bad. “I’m sorry.”

You looked up to meet the blonde, his dinosaur t shirt and beige coloured shorts made him look like any other child. You don’t know what got into you too stare at his childish figure. Maybe it was because you were a child yourself but seeing this random child apologise for kicking down your hard work and effort. It brought some relief, “it’s okay.”

He wiped away the tears as he spoke once more, “I’ll help you build another one.”

You nodded in an instant as he grabbed the plastic mould and started digging for sand. Maybe it was the start of a new friendship he didn’t know at the time but here he was lying on his bed reliving those childish memories that he had had with his only love.

It had been years since that incident, a decade even but you still remained close to him, still had him at arm’s length. He was the boy who had spent years pining over you whilst you always just seemed out of his grasp. He stared once more at your text message, once again speaking about your date with Reiner.

All he could do was send good luck for it, what else could he do? You were his best friend, key word being friend and nothing else, nothing more. He could only just wish to see you happy and if it meant with Reiner who was he to suppress your happiness.

He couldn’t help but admire his lock screen, the love and admiration he had for you, maybe it was because of the many years he had spent following you around like a lost puppy, but the way his eyes would almost widen each time you spoke. He looked down through his camera roll, he couldn’t help but relive all these memories he had had with you.

The first time you both went into high school together, the first day that you both had found other friends. Met new people and happened to form your own group, Porco knew everybody knew of his little crush on you. Who wouldn’t, the way you’d both walk to and from school or the way he’d always be on call with you to just talk about anything.

Maybe this was the sign, the push to admit his feelings but he never did. It had been a stupid party; his camera being filled with that night months ago. The night were you both went to Eren’s stupid party, the night where he had found you in the arms of another.

“I hate Eren.” You had muttered to the boy.

He scoffed as his arm rested loosely against your shoulder, “who doesn’t, he put me in a headlock in PE once.”

“And you didn’t fight back, aww I’m proud of you Poc.” He rolled his eyes at the nickname, he hated it, but he knew that from your lips any name of his would sound so pretty. “I heard Reiner’s going though.”

Ever since that stupid Maths class with Reiner you almost seemed infatuated with the boy. Porco hated it and knew he’d have to keep an eye on you for the rest of the night. As you both walked through the doors, already seeing drunk teenagers and couples making out. Porco became jealous, he might have hated the idea of ever having his first kiss with you in a rowdy party. But the way he wasn’t even able to keep you by his side, to show you off to Reiner and the others because you really meant more than the world to him.

Your eyes scoured around the room and in a matter of seconds you faced the brute of a blond, he hated how you left his side. Hated how Reiner beckoned you forward as if you were his, you weren’t you were Porco’s. Porco shook his head as he stared at the two of you before going off to find anybody except the two of you.

He didn’t know what went into his head to drink as much as he had that night. He stared at the photos on his phones, many drunk ones of him falling about but he might not have remembered the night that well. But a memory would forever remain ingrained in his head.

The shift of his weight from the alcohol and the way his eyes landed on you. His sweet childhood friend on Reiner’s lap, his Y/n, the girl with the sundress now draped across Reiner’s lap, hands around his neck as your lips had been attached to his own. The couples Porco had seen, had envied for not being the two of you had all divulged into you and Reiner.

His arms against your waist, your hands tugging at his blond hair, Porco eyes flashed red. He wanted to run up and take you away, grab your arm and leave but he didn’t. He looked at the two of you and left. Walked out of the house, telling Mikasa to let you stay the night and then left, he couldn’t face you, couldn’t walk home with you and see your smudged lipstick, see your dishevelled hair.

Porco’s eyes stayed firm at the multitude of texts that came through, you had sent him voice notes after voice notes about what you were wearing and the plan for the night. Now here he was listening to them and replying half an hour later, you were probably out there, probably with him, kissing him, holding him, loving him.

He chucked his phone to the ground as he stared at the many photos of the two of you and your other friends. Every moment with you always felt like a whole other world, maybe you felt the same way or maybe you didn’t. But he would always keep it hidden, he knew better than to let his emotions fuel his rage. Because in the end all he wanted was for you to be happy and if it meant giving up his own, who cared.

The sound of his doorbell going off made him sign it was probably his mothers friend. He stayed staring at the memories, he could have been out right now. Could be with Zeke or Pieck or anybody but no he was in his bed mopping per usual, his mothers voice boomed through the house as she shouted his name.

“Yeah, yeah I’m coming.” He groaned as he swung his legs off the bed, his eyes straight down the stairs. He didn’t know who it could be, possibly Bertholdt wanting to borrow his switch again or Colt asking for Marcel as well.

He rubbed at his eyes as he was finally met with you. In that pretty dress you only wore for special occasions, those bright eyes that brimmed with tears and that soft smile you tried to put on. His mother left as you moved towards the stairs, both unable to speak as you walked up to his room, the room you had spent countless nights sleeping at. The room where you both spoke of your dreams and aspirations, the room where he had fallen even more in love with you.

You sat on his bed refusing to meet his eye as he leant against his door, “what happened?” His phone remained chucked to the ground, the lock screen of the both of you flashed as the group chat seemed to be buzzing about something. He was about to walk over and check it but your croaky voice stopped him.

“Don’t…please.” He looked at your figure, the way you look vulnerable and almost nimble, he moved to your body, hands against your shoulder as you leant into his own. Tears finally falling freely onto his shirt, “I…I thought he liked me Porco.”

“What did Reiner do?”

The whisper and tension around the room was low but he kept you close by his arms, “we…we were supposed to hang out and when I met up with him he was all over Historia.”

Porco’s eyes flashed in rage, Reiner had no right to do that to you. To his girl and at that moment all he could think about was the hurting you must feel, he may have hated Reiner from the beginning but seeing you with tears from an undeserving man broke him the most. “It’s okay, I’ve got you.”

You both stayed in each other’s arms, his lingering touches and eyes that filled with so much love as he kept a hold of you. His perfect girl that would never be his, “don’t leave me Poc.” It had been a whisper but the way his hand caressed your hair, the illuminating moon cascading through the background as it lit up the room. Every memory and past version of yourself, you looked out seeing the picture of the two of you from years ago, “that was the day I fell in love with you.”

Porco stayed silent, he didn’t think you understood what you had said, pointing at the two of you at the treehouse his father had made for you at 13, but he remembered that day as if it was yesterday.

“I can't believe he actually made it for you both,” you got all giddy as you climbed the ladder, Marcel already up there, you helped Porco up as you looked inside the treehouse.

Porco shrugged as you both looked around the place, the disposable camera your mother had given you around your neck as you stayed firm in your want to take pictures of the world. He watched you take pictures of the different parts of the treehouse, one of Marcel sleeping as he finally showed you what he had brought.

“We can put our names in the tree, make the world know we were here.” Your eyes widened as Porco wrote his initials with a plus underneath and you wrote your own. The way he told you to keep your eyes closed as he engrained around your names a heart, you had always thought it was a friendship heard but wanted it to be a heart of love. A sign of new beginnings of a relationship that could possibly occur. “Now we’re together forever.”

You hugged the boy as the two of you spent the rest of the day in the treehouse, his mother coming and taking the exact picture of the two of you that was now plastered against Porco’s wall.

It was beautiful and you didn’t mean to confess your own truths, Porco stared back at you, his eyes widening as he grabbed your wrist. “Y/n…”

“Forget what I said.” You muttered as you looked back out of the window, more and more memories each one holding moments of how deep your love ran for one another. The first time you both went swimming and Porco helped you into the deep end or the many trips out to the beach where you and Porco would run into the sea.

Childhood friends meant nothing when all you both really wanted to be was lovers. And as his firm grip stayed on you, his eyes filled with wonder and desire looked back at you with lust and love. All he could see was love, a type of love that had only ever been shown for you because he knew there would never be anybody else.

“It’s you, you’re everything I’ve ever wanted, and I hope what I heard was true, I pray it was because Reiner doesn’t deserve you Y/n, I…I need you.” The last part was nothing more than a murmur but as you finally looked into his eyes, his pretty smile and pretty face. He knew you knew; he knew that there was something more than that, “we were never just friends.”

With those final words, reality hit the two of you both were never just friends. He gave you a look, his eyes filled with lust as he looked down at your lips, hands moving to hold onto your waist. His love, his girl in his arms for the first time, “I love…”

You trailed off as his lips met your own, the tears having stopped and your hands cupping his cheeks. His soft full of life cheeks filled with admiration and adoration at the girl that had finally become his, he loved you, he did and now he knew that you loved him.

The kiss was soft, you both stayed in one another’s arms as his soft lips kept at a boundary but as soon as a moan slipped from your mouth his tongue had divulged inside. The heat from the past decade all coming to this one kiss, one look at you and he finally saw his love, the truth behind his sadness.

He had hated seeing you kiss Reiner, he had and now he would put that hatred and replace it with the love he had for you. He put you down onto his bed, his hands around your waist as he kept his mouth on your own. Kissing you with such passion and drive that his parents could probably hear the squeak of the bed.

He looked down at you, having finally let you go, arms to your side as he looked at his love. “I love you.” He knew he was repeating his love, but he wanted you to know, wanted you to never forget that his love knew no bounds that he would forever be yours and hopefully you’d forever be his.

He was about to kiss you once more, but you spoke just as his lips gilded against one another, the hush of it all, the way his breath fanned against your lips. You licked your lips and Porco could almost taste your saliva as he waited to hear your words. Waited to see the woman he loved speak truths about their future with one another, your hands wrapped around his neck making sure to not bring him to another kiss.

Instead to see his eyes widen at the proximity of another, the way he kneeled between your legs, spreading your dress apart, the way his hands stayed firm against your head. An intimate moment for the two souls who had finally become one, “I want you, you…you deserve to know the truth.”

He hesitated but nodded waiting for a reply, he didn’t care if whatever your next words ruined any moment the two of you were about to have. He just wanted to hear you say your wants and needs for him one last time.

“Reiner…he was a distraction…I thought you liked Pieck so…so I let you pursue that.” You whispered, he hated thinking that you thought he liked Pieck, the way you went to Reiner as an alternative when the two of you could have just spoken about your feelings.

But at this moment he didn’t care, he had you in his bed, in his arms and the past meant nothing to him when he knew there was a future for you both. “I’ve loved you since I kicked your sandcastle Y/n and I’ll love you for the years to come”

i’d really appreciate if you guys could leave a like, reblog or comment, thanks x

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[andromedasstarship]

i could not choose between 77-80 so i overbearingly ask u to use each of them with spencer reid if u wish 🥺👉🏻👈🏻

80. “Your comfort and happiness is more important to me than some stupid dinner.” + 77- “If you want to leave, we can leave.”

send a prompt + character from this list! 

pairing - spencer reid x gn!reader

warnings - stress?? mostly fluff 

a/n - tysm kenna for requesting this i love you and i loved writing this. i also went overboard on this one bye! ive also never posted something this long in an ask reply before so if this looks weird BYE!

Your car had long gone cold, but you still couldn’t find the energy to pull yourself out yet. It was futile to try and wrestle your emotions into a tightly sealed box; as soon as you crossed the threshold of the town-home you shared with Spencer, you knew he’d be able to read you like a book. Damn genius profiler skills.

Taking a quick look at the time you knew you had to suck it up and go inside; you were pushing how ‘late’ you could be without him worrying something had happened on your commute home. With a deep sigh, you grabbed your bag from the passenger seat and exited the car; taking your sweet time with locking the car behind you and digging your house keys out of the bottom of your bag.

To put it simply, it had been a difficult year. It was the final year of your Phd. program and while- all things considered- you had had an amazing time, the past few months had been both physically and mentally draining. What was once your lifelong passion had suddenly started to feel like a chore; a chore you felt you weren’t even good at anymore. Almost every day was spent either in your own classes or teaching undergrads. Almost every night was spent on the final edits of your thesis or grading work from your students. The few moments of freedom you found were spent doing the boring parts of adult life: housekeeping, getting your car fixed, calling elderly family members, etc.

Neither of you had formerly addressed it, but you knew it was taking a toll on your relationship. Spencer being busy was a constant, but it was normally balanced out by your typical 9-5 schedule. But recently, even on the nights he was home you’d be too wrapped up in your own work to even sit down and eat dinner with him. By the time you crawled into bed he’d be long asleep and in the mornings you’d been leaving for work earlier and earlier in order to get research time in at the university library. It felt like the two of you hadn’t even been awake in the same room for weeks, let alone do anything relationship-y.

Tonight was supposed to change that. Kind of. His team was having a fancy dinner to celebrate some major milestone that you couldn’t remember. It’d been on the books for months, but kept getting pushed back by surprise cases. It felt like everyone held their breath this week, waiting for a case to pop up, but instead everyone was left pleasantly surprised when no such thing happened. It was going to be a great night: classic Rossi pasta dish, all partners and kids invited. Even though the two of you wouldn’t be alone, it’d still be a perfectly good excuse to get out, put on some nice outfits and have a fun evening with friends.

Spencer had been particularly excited. The past week, you felt as if it was the only thing he ever talked about. Not that the two of you were having extensive conversations. He kept talking about how great it would be to get out of the house and how much he was looking forward to having a totally work free evening. His excitement warmed your heart.

Which is why you were taking so long to find your keys. Today had been one of the hardest day you’d experienced in a long time. The thesis meeting you had with your advisor- that you’d been staying up late every night editing for- had gone horribly; it was as if everything you prepared was wrong. Almost every student in the class you taught scored poorly on the latest assessment- on a unit you considered yourself an expert on-, something you viewed as a failure of your ability to convey the info. And to top it all off, even though you felt as if you’d spent hours upon hours working yourself to the bone the past week- in order to clear space for tonight-, you still felt as if you had piles of work to catch up on.

You knew the stress and tension of the day would read clear on your body as soon as Spencer got a look at you. And with how excited he’d been, you absolutely didn’t want to ruin the dinner. You’d hate for him to feel as if you were being selfish or that you couldn’t even prioritize him in your schedule.

You took one last deep breath, before going to put the key into the doorknob. Just as you touched the handle, the door swung open from the other side.

“Jesus!” You exclaimed, one hand clutching your chest as you nearly jumped out of your skin. In front of you was Spencer, smiling down at you with that irresistible grin of his.

“Did I scare you? Sorry. I thought I heard you car pull up earlier and when you didn’t come in I thought maybe something was wrong so I wanted to come check-”

You quickly cut him off- even though you did find his worrying a bit endearing- by pressing a quick kiss to his lips. 

“A good song came on just as I pulled in, couldn’t just get out.” You lied, adding a small laugh for effect. It was an on brand situation for you, something certainly believable. If Spencer had any doubts, he didn’t question you, simply moved out of the doorframe so you could step in.

Inside the house, you set your bag down by the front door like you always did. While kicking your shoes off, you pulled your jacket off, smiling when Spencer had his hands already open to hang it on the rack. You knew he had that ridiculous memory- and you had a pretty set routine-, but it still made your heart swell every time he anticipated your next move and went the extra mile to be helpful.

“So, how was your day?" Spencer asked, as the two of you made your way to the kitchen area. “What’d Professor Addams have to say in your meeting?”

You clenched at the handle of the fridge, grinding your teeth before pulling the door open. When you turned to look at Spencer, you saw he made himself comfortable on one of the countertop stools.

“Went well. They gave me some uh, um, some comprehensive revisions.” You said flatly, turning back to face the fridge; missing the skeptical look Spencer was throwing you.

“That’s good?” He said slowly, before adding, “well how was class? You just wrapped up the last unit didn’t you?” You both knew he knew the answer, but was just attempting to further the conversation. Had it been any other day you would’ve found it endearing, but today just wasn’t that day.

You slammed the fridge door shut, just hard enough to be cause for concern. “I thought tonight was absolutely no shop talk. Huh? Why don’t we just start that rule now.” You said, a slight edge to your voice. It’s not his fault, it’s not his fault.

“Are you okay-”

“Yes! I just don’t-”

“If there’s something wrong, you know you can tell-”

“There’s nothing wrong-”

“Do you need to stay-”

“Stop!” You exclaimed, bringing an end to the constant cutting each other off. “Everything is fine. Okay?” You said, unable to maintain eye contact.

Spencer slowly nodded, though you could tell he didn’t believe an ounce of what you had just said. Luckily for you, he seemed to let it go, falling back in his seat.

“I’m gonna go shower and get ready and then we can leave, alright?” You asked rhetorically. When he just nodded again, you very quickly walked up to him and pressed another quick kiss to his lips. “Love you.”

“Love you too.”

---

The ride to Rossi’s was silent, something that normally wouldn’t have bothered either of you had it not been for the borderline argument you had in the kitchen. As you pulled up a few cars down from the house, you caught Spencer staring at you from the passenger seat, a slightly concerned look on his face.

“Stop doing that.” You huffed out, but there was no real bite in your voice.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” He asked gently, reaching out to push a piece of your hair away from your face. God that was sweet.

You quickly nodded and threw a very forced smile his way, not quite meeting his eyes. “I’m fine. I promise, come on.” You said, killing the engine and pushing open your car door.

Before you could fully open the door, Spencer’s arm shot out across your body and pulled the door back shut with a bang.

“Spencer!” You yelped, startled by his sudden movement. You turned and gave him a bewildered look.

“You always look over my head when you lie.” Spencer stated.

“Oh I do not-” You started, but letting the sentence fall flat as soon as you realized you currently were looking over his head.

“Your favorite song came on the radio, twice, on the drive here and you didn’t react at all either times.” He said. When you still didn’t say anything he continued. “What’s going on? You know you can tell me.”

The look he was giving you was making you feel all sorts of guilty. Of course he cared, that’s why you loved him so much. You just didn’t want to ruin something that’d been in the works for so long, all because you had a bad day.

“Spencer,” you started, giving him a very pointed look and making sure to hold eye contact, “I’m fine. Can we just go in?”

Spencer shook his head, externally searching your face for more clues while also internally thinking back to any clues from your kitchen fight. “We aren’t going anywhere, until you talk to me.” He urged.

It probably wasn’t the best move on his part, seeing as you both were incredibly stubborn. The two of you were unrelenting, both staring blankly at the other; hoping the other one would break first. After nearly 5 minutes of silence, it became very clear that neither of you were standing down anytime soon.

Spencer reached his hand out again, gently cupping your cheek; internally you cursed your body’s natural reaction to lean into his touch. “What’s going on?” He asked, voice much softer than earlier.

You were internally screaming over how caring he was. Damn him! You cursed yourself for not being able to just play the role of perfect partner for one night.

“I’m exhausted.” You said, voice quiet. “My meeting went horrible day. I absolutely failed at teaching my students the last unit. I’ve been bringing so much work back to the house I haven’t even been able to give you a second of attention. And now we have this dinner that you’ve been looking forward to for months and I don’t want to ruin-”

This time, it was Spencer that quickly cut off your rambles with a kiss.

“Do you want to leave?” He asked, as if it were the most simple thing ever

You gave him a shocked look. “Spencer, you’ve been talking about this dinner for weeks. I, I can’t ask you to put this off, you and the team rarely get time to-”

“If you want to leave, we can leave.” He said. His voice was so sincere it made the whole thing that much more difficult. He was too good.

“Spencer, no.” You said, putting special emphasis on the ‘no’. “We haven’t even walked in the door, there’s nothing to leave yet. I’m not going to ruin the dinner we’ve all been planning on for months. I’ll be fine for a couple hours.”

He didn’t answer, instead pulled his phone out and quickly started to type out a text.

“What are you doing?”

“Texting Rossi, I’m gonna tell him you aren’t feeling well and we can’t come anymore.”

“We’re outside his house! It’s not a big deal-!

“Your comfort and happiness is more important to me than some stupid dinner!” Spencer cut you off, giving you a very pointed look. You weren’t sure your heart could take the swelling much longer.

“Spencer, you’ve been planning-”

“I don’t want to hear it-”

“You’ve wanted to get out of the house for so long!” You stressed, giving him a ‘duh’ look.

“We can go do something else!” He replied, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Just us, no pressure to be ‘on’ in front of anyone else.” That did sound good- No!

“I’m not gonna be the one who keeps their boyfriend away from his friends-”

“I see them every day. Every day. One dinner means nothing.” Spencer said confidently, clasping your hand tightly between his.

You contemplated for what seemed like hours; though it couldn’t have been more than twenty seconds. “Are you sure?”

“I’ve never been more sure of something in my life.” Spencer said, giving you a very mock serious look; you couldn’t help but laugh at that. “There you are.” He said, smiling to match yours.

You turned the car on, clicking your seatbelt back into place. “So, where to pretty boy?” You asked.

“Well, I heard of this new ice cream place that just opened up. Their ‘claim to fame’ is they make over 50 flavors in store every single day. Did you know on average it takes nearly three hours from start to finish to make a single batch of ice cream? Or that when ice cream-”

You shook your head in amusement, chancing a couple glances in his direction as you were driving. You loved his excited ramblings and animated hand motions as he further explained the history of ice cream; as well as all the random facts about the place he was directing you to. As you got closer to your new destination, all you could think about was how lucky you were to, to be loved by someone who always knew just what to say.

---

permanent tags - @sunflowersandotherthings

[yuzukult]

from home 05 || jjk & reader

title: from home  pairing: jungkook x reader genre: richkid!jk, baker!reader, fakedating!au, fluff, angst, e2l, smut in later chapters word count: 7.5k+ prompt: jungkook is the youngest of five boys, the last in line to truly inherit any his parents’ money. but what if his mom suddenly cuts him off due to his current poor behavior and he’s forced to learn how it feels like to be part of the working class? a/n: i was really excited to write this chapter and i still couldn’t get myself to make it longer... :( i suck...

please let me know if you’re interested in being tagged! but also let me know if you want to be removed! taglist: @scalubera @strugglingartistno16-2 @taestannie @teresaisla @drumsofheaven @vampgguk @christiandosworld @madjammil @jungkookieyoongs @bananagguknim @shuttheelleup​ @yobroitsjayden​

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Stating that Jungkook was 'on edge' is an understatement.

His palms and armpits were sweaty from the moment he arrived at your apartment to grab you before going to meet your parents, despite the amount of layers of deodorant he has on. He's never had a real relationship before, let alone met any girl's parents, and he can't help but feel something churning in his gut. "Good to go?" You ask, and he merely nods, suddenly bashful because he feels like he is definitely not ‘good to go.’ "Alright, let's head out."

The ride on the bus to your family home is only 30 minutes away, and truthfully, he has never ridden on one before. Walking to yours, Hoseok, and his home were less than 15 minutes, the thought of taking the bus being the absolute last thing on his mind. 

Jungkook isn't exactly sure how he feels about the bus. The constant starting and stopping makes him nauseous; then the unsteadiness of having to hold the bars and handles throughout the vehicle all around seems unsafe. When there's an available seat, you sense his fear, nudging him cautiously, gesturing him to take the seat. "Sit," and granting he wants to offer it to you instead, Jungkook complies to the demand because he swears he's going to vomit. 

After getting off the public transportation that he vows to never take again, you guide Jungkook through a narrow road, he notices the neighborhood here was more concentrated than the ones in Busan; tightly knitted with homes that stacked on top of one another, side to side, and back to back. People hung their clothes on lines that stretch from apartment to apartment, piles of boxes stored on balconies, and plants resting on the borders with owners sitting idle on their porches, fixated on their hobby of people watching. 

Jungkook is known to be popular to the public, from magazines, gossip TV channels, social media posts, and the types continue on to the point that you couldn’t name them all on your own ten fingers. People don't often recognize him on the streets anymore because he's unrecognizable in regular everyday clothes but today, he learns that you're the celebrity.

The people in their homes say their greetings, making comments here and there as you entertain them with a response back, laughter dispersing in the air. There's an old lady that lounges on the steps of her home, a smile stretched so wide that her eyes disappear, all with a blanket laying across her lap, knitting away. "I haven't seen you around, I assume your mother is having a dinner party for the kids? I see you brought a friend!"

"Something along those lines," you retort indirectly, nose snug into your scarf. "You're not staying indoors? It's cold out."

"My husband keeps the heater on the home too high, I sweat like I'm going through menopause like I’m forty all over again, so I much rather be outside here. Anyways, I don't want to hold you up too long, but please come by for Christmas, I do have a sweater I knitted for you as well!"

Then there's a grandfather, another grandmother, and a couple who seems just a bit older than the two of you, and the list just goes on. Despite the whisper exchanges at the supermarket mentioning that you're intimidating, mean, and scary, it's obvious that you aren't or else you wouldn't be swooning the hearts of these strangers.

But there will always be an exception. Especially when the two of you run into a girl who looks close in age, hair dyed blonde with her lips painted fusion red. He could tell how curvy she was with how tight the winter coat hugs her frame, swaying her hips toward your direction as she eyes you both suspicious. "I see our town loser brought a friend."

"Mm," You nod, attempting your best not to amuse her, or else you’d be pouncing on her back by now. "Jungkook, this is Somin. A classmate of mine when I was in grade school." He bows in politeness, zipping up his jacket further while stepping closer to you. "Nice to meet you, Somin."

"Oh, no!" She gasps, a hand on her chest in exaggeration, completely flabbergasted by something he said. "Don't call me that. I go by Bella, since... you know, I am an American now. Being an American deserves the right name."

"You got your citizenship there?"

"No, but, I spent enough time there to know." She grins, shrugging her shoulders. Spent enough time there—you want to call out on her bullshit yet again, knowing she barely spent a month there before dropping out of school and coming back, but it'd be humiliating to mention that with Jungkook standing by, a stranger that she had only met a mere few seconds ago. "You said Jungkook... Are you perhaps, Jeon Jungkook of the Jeon Corporation?"

You furrow your brows. "How do you even know that?"

"Well, daddy invests in their stocks, of course." Fluttering her lashes, she manages to make her presence known to Jungkook as she moves in his direction. "And I saw his pretty little face in a magazine and couldn't help but admire."

Possessively, your hand slips into his pocket, intertwining your fingers together, causing warmth to creep up his neck and into his cheeks. "Well, great to see you, Somin. Jungkook and I have dinner plans with my parents."

"Whoa, wait, dinner plans?" Somin nearly exclaims, shifting aside to block your way. "Also, it's Bella, get that straight, will you? And why is Jeon Jungkook with you anyway?"

"We're dating," Jungkook interjects, clearing his throat. The words are still unfamiliar on his tongue yet he loves to flaunt them anyway. "I'm her boyfriend." He adds, tightening the grip on your hand as if Somin could see it. Her mouth drops open, unable to grasp onto the fact that you were able to land on a hunk like him. If only she knew how much knowledge of basic life skills he didn't have... actually, she might still have the same perspective. "There's no way. This is fake, right? You realize how rude she is, don't you?"

"No, it’s not fake, and well, kind of," Jungkook admits, scrunching up his nose at the thought. "But it's endearing. Wouldn't be as exciting if she wasn't always trying to banter with me, so I don't think I'd have it any other way. People mistake it for her honesty. I love a woman who can be true to herself and genuine with her words."

Just then, your mother peeks out of the front door of your childhood home, waving her arm eagerly, calling out your name. "Well, that's our cue. Thanks, Somin, for congratulating us on our new relationship. Hope you find someone yourself soon!"

"What—" Somin barely finishes her sentence before you're zooming past her, tugging Jungkook along. 

"I didn't know you had so many enemies," Jungkook says jokingly, a playful smile upon his lips. You roll your eyes before squinting them at him, squeezing his hand hard as he winces. "Now you know how little I care for them, watch out because you might become one."

Upon entering the home, Jungkook observes too many things at once. Your mother is in the kitchen, frantically maneuvering through the junk that your family has hoarded over the years, searching for whatever it is she needs for the task at hand. Your father sits comfortably on the couch, feet on the coffee table with a controller in hand, dozing off with a combination of quiet and loud snores escaping from him. As a family home, Jungkook believes it's small considering that you had mentioned previously that you had two other siblings. To think that your parents are still living in the same home they grew up in is amazing to him, knowing that his parents moved at least five times within his youth while you only stayed in one home.

"Uh, hello," He greets your mom, bowing as she places her hands onto his shoulders, shaking him in excitement. She looks almost like a replica of you, except older and much brighter. "You must be Jungkook! It's so great to meet you, I'm so happy that my daughter found someone. She's known to be a bit... cold, so knowing that you were able to warm her up means that you're definitely special!"

"You make me sound like a bad guy." You hiss before your little sister walks in, in the midst of tying her hair up into a ponytail. She resembled your mother than you did, a delighted expression that matched exactly the one your mother had on. "That's because you are, and any guy who dates you seem to run away once they find out." She halts in her steps when she notices Jungkook's face. "Oh my god, you're that model."

"Model?" Your mother reiterates, glancing back at Jungkook and then your sister. "Yeah, yeah, that model in the new edition of Elle. He was in it—he's listed as one of the 10 most desirable men under 30. No flipping way, how'd you even get him to even date you?" She pauses before pointing at Jungkook with a suspicious look on her face as his eyes widened. "Unless... you need her for something. What's she offering? It can't be her body, she's not sexy... is it her brains? You heard about her—"

"Miyoung." Your mother says sternly, interrupting your sister. "Just because Jungkook is a model, it doesn't mean that your sister is incapable of being loved by a man like that."

"Actually—"

"Oh, hey. You must be the boyfriend." A taller male enters the room, his hair messy and lids hooded from waking up barely minutes before. He's still in his pajamas, a loose grey shirt and red checkered pants, but from the outline of his shirt, Jungkook could tell this guy was built. "I'm Daehyun, also known as their big brother. It's nice to meet you." Jungkook is in awe, hand extending to shake with Daehyun's. He knows he's straight, but even as a straight guy he knows a pretty man when he sees one. 

Jungkook was starting to pick up as to why your exterior was so tough. With a younger sister who didn't have a filter to an incredibly handsome older brother, of course as the middle child you had to protect yourself. "Uh, yeah. And that's my little sister, Miyoung, who basically just attacked me for all of my insecurities within a minute. Thanks, kiddo."

"No problem, Unnie." She grins cheekily, seated on the high stool. "Did mom tell you I was back home from college for the weekend? That's why you're here?"

"Something like that," you respond ominously, hanging up your jacket along with Jungkook’s. Despite her preceding interrogation, she’s chewing on her bottom lip skittishly. "More like she forced me to come. Well, she didn't say anything yet but I felt a guilt trip coming so I just decided that I would come instead."

"Typical," Daehyun scoffs, leaning against the wall beside Miyoung. He sneaks a glimpse into the kitchen where your mother secretly runs back into, resuming in her work. "She's been desperate to get us all back together since the two of you moved out. Remind me again why I'm the only one stuck here?"

"Because you can't find a job." Miyoung and you remind him in unison and he frowns. The interaction between the three of you is crystal clear evidence that you guys are related. "Well, geez, hurt a guy, why don't you? See what I have to deal with, Jungkook?"

With some time left until dinner, the four of you crowd at your small dining table, conversing away about updates in your lives. Miyoung is in University an hour away from home, residing there for an easier commute, and Daehyun stays at home with an ambition to find a job that fits his degree. Daehyun still dates from time to time but he admits that he can’t tend to his needs because well, his mother is a room away, and oddly enough, albeit Miyoung babbles on about other things, she’s silent about her love life. Neither Miyoung and Daehyun are able to hold a steady job, he observes, and he’s starting to pick up as to why you’re so adamant about keeping both of yours. Jungkook learns that everything seems to gravitate toward one of the two phrases from your siblings when it comes to finances and they are: “Mom can handle it,” or “I’m going to let Dad do it so I don’t have to.”

From what Jungkook can gather, your siblings seemed to have different outlooks on life compared to you—they still depended on their parents whilst you were already hunting for opportunities of your own before Miyoung’s age so you didn’t have to ask for money.

“Are you still upset with me about what happened a year ago?” Miyoung finally asks you, chewing on her nails nervously. It seems to be something she’s been holding back from you, Jungkook takes a note of the way her eyes were filled with worry. “Of course,” You reply nonchalantly, leaning back against your seat with your arms crossed. “How could I not be? But you’re my sister, so I can’t actually be mad at you.”

Miyoung begins to tear up— glassy gaze with her bottom lip quivering, in spite of the previous aggressiveness she presented when you first entered the house. Before Miyoung could get another word in, your mom comes in with a guilty expression on her face. She calls your name faintly, a pout upon her lips. “Can you and Jungkook go out and grab me a couple things before dinner?”

Jungkook can’t get the question that Miyoung brings up out of his mind. In the middle of an aisle at another one of his mother’s grocery stores, your lips are pursed in thought at which brand of soy sauce would your mom like more. 

“What was Miyoung going on about?” He eventually asks, but he holds his breath in case you decide to sock him for querying you about something so personal. Strangely enough, you open up. “Miyoung fell in love with my ex. He told me they didn’t do anything but he was in love with her, so we broke up. I thought I was going to settle with him but— guess not.”

Jungkook’s eyes expand like a deer in headlights. “Your little sister is dating your ex-boyfriend? And they were in love with each other during your relationship? I would’ve given her an uppercut if I were you— are you seriously still buying the banana milk she asked for?” He’s trailing behind you as you lead him toward the drinks; your face brightening from the lights from the fridges. How could someone who lost their boyfriend to their little sister seem so put together in the first place? Was this was Hoseok was talking about that your men streak was horrendous? 

“Because she’s my little sister. At the end of the day, I want her to be happy.” Throwing a pack into the cart, Jungkook continues to push it while following you, mind still foggy and angry about the situation. Here you were, with a guy who you’d fallen in love with to the point of considering settling down, then finding out he’s been in love with your sister... he feels like this is all a fever dream and isn’t an ounce real. “You’re fucking with me right?”

You look at him with perplexity. “What do you mean?”

“This sounds crazy. You’re serious? Miyoung stole a guy from you and you’re just going to be the bigger person here and not do anything about it?”

“What am I supposed to do? Throw a tantrum? Get in the way of their relationship that is obviously blossoming in a good way?”

Jungkook pauses. Was this what it was like in another family? Or at least yours?

In comparison, he perceives that within his family, outbursts were everything. Getting attention and being recognized for any wrongdoing was immensely important— he knew that if he stole a girl away from one of his brothers, he wouldn’t make it out of the house alive. His mother, including father, would never forget it. The chattering would be heard through the grapevine amongst the housemaids, drivers, and employees of the company. Even news media outlets would dabble a bit into the family drama, adding fuel to the fire. He could never react the way you did, at least, he hopes he would, but realistically speaking, he knew he wouldn’t be able to do it.

Yet, with you, it seemed simple enough. Sure, your heart was broken, but how were you going to be with someone who didn’t love you back?

“If you love someone, you let them go.” You say calmly when Jungkook doesn’t respond back. “Keeping them around for your benefit doesn’t solve anything. If he wasn’t truly happy with me, I want him to be happier with someone else. And if that person so happens to be with Miyoung, what am I supposed to do?”

“But... you’re not happy.” Jungkook declares with no hesitation. He recalls the time where you felt bad for him for not having the best upbringing, and he’s starting to understand the emotion that ran through you. “I’m happier now,” You concede, placing the last ingredient your mom has on the list for you to purchase, turning your back at Jungkook. “Now that I met you.”

His heart flutters at the comments, and he’s desirous about bringing up the topic of the kiss again. Jungkook resists the urge to because he could tell from the way your silhouette begins to quicken its pace toward the checkout line that you really didn’t want to talk about it. 

When the two of you arrive back at your house, your father is jolted awake. Jungkook greets himself to the elder man who only grins brighter than the sun—something Jungkook is trying to grasp where your grumpiness comes from— and instantaneously directs him to the dinner table where your mom has a ton of side dishes laid out with six place settings for you all.

During the meal, there was nothing but exchanging stories, laughter, and elation that swarms the room. If this was what family meant, Jungkook wanted it. And the more he thinks about it, the more he wants it to be with you.

Nothing is working out for Jungkook.

This week, the pipe in his apartment burst. Something about— it’s winter and when it’s cold, the water freezes within the pipe and it expands the material, causing the pipe itself to burst, he doesn’t quite understand how the whole plumbing system works, but he knows that he can’t use the water in his apartment and has to go to yours and Hoseok’s for the week for a shower until the landlord can get it fixed.

Then, one of the deli guys called off because he apparently had the runs which meant that there was a shift change— Jungkook having to cover since whomever was working that day didn’t have the skills to do it.

Skills? Jungkook curses underneath his breath when he recites that word in his head repeatedly because he cuts his finger on the meat slicer as he winces, calling out your name. Coming to his side, you pull out the first aid kit and force him to sit down on one of the stools, tying elastic on a higher point of his finger to stop the blood from gushing out. “You alright?”

“Yeah, I just... I didn’t need to be put here, right? Someone else could’ve done this, I have no idea how to use a slicer.”

“I know,” You coo, wiping some of the antiseptic on the wound as he whimpers at the sudden sting. “The new shift manager panicked, she wasn’t sure what to do since the guy with the actual food preparation license is going to be here a bit late so she put you here. Not exactly the best plan.” After bandaging him up, you wash your hands underneath the faucet as Jungkook slouches in the seat.

Nothing really was going his way.

It doesn’t even stop there. Unexpectedly, his mother calls for dinner but you’re on shift, therefore you wouldn’t be able to attend. He’s tempted to down a glass of whiskey on ice, his signature drink, but when he opens the cabinet in his kitchen, he falters at the image of your face. Would you be disappointed if you saw what he was doing? And Hoseok? What would he say?

Retracting his hand back, he immediately slams the door shut at the thought of the consequences.

Dinner is the usual at the Jeon residence. Father sits at the end of the dining table, the typical beige cloth napkin spread across on his lap while in his usual work attire, glasses rested on the tip of his nose as he’s ready to dive in with a fork and spoon in hand. Mother is settled beside him, pretty as ever and calm in comparison to the hell that’s going to let loose in a couple minutes. The unknown? Who is going to blow up this time and who will they be comparing themselves to?

The answer? Jongseok and Jungkook.

Jongseok is upset to the point that he articulates every word with spit nearly projecting from his mouth to the opposite side of the room. The vein on his temple is stressed to the point that all Jungkook can think about is when it’s going to pop. “Why are you guys always babying Jungkook? You realize the kid is fucking working at a grocery store right? And not just any grocery store, either, but it’s mother’s chain.”

“Okay?” Father retorts, forehead wrinkling in puzzlement. “Isn’t he trying to prove himself worthwhile? Didn’t he find that job himself, despite it being your mother’s chain? He’s paying for his mistakes, learning basic life skills along the way, and even landed himself a serious girlfriend who can hold his hand through these tough times, since, after all, you’re the one who suggested we cut him off. If I’m being honest, I think we should give him access to our funds again.”

A scoff of incredulity comes from Jongseok. He’s a ticking time bomb in this moment; jaw twitching in frustration with the tips of his ears heated red. Even though he’s the target yet again, Jungkook is sober now, mind clear of the fog and the ability to defend himself for once. “I don’t get it. Why are you even mad at me? I’m trying here, right? You’re the one who wanted me to get cut off so desperately— and congrats, by the way, because I did. I had to find a job myself, one I’m not a fan of, and I’m barely making it by. I lost water in my apartment this week, cut my hand on one of those deli slicers, sprained my ankle on my way to work— and that’s only a portion of my bad week. Yet here I am, sitting at the dinner table with people who claim that they love me when you’re here flipping shit at father. What do you want from me?”

“For your name to be completely off the will.” Jongseok finally says what he has been actually feeling unperturbedly, not an ounce of affection in his tone with a gaze that could pierce through Jungkook. “You have nothing to offer to this family. Why we keep you around— I don’t know. Why should you have any portion of our estate and company assets when all you’re doing right now is working at the supermarket. Tell me, Jungkook, why do you deserve to be part of any of this?”

Jungkook hates how childish he’s being, but he feels like he has the right to. The flickering colorful lights and music booming through the speakers of the club are tuning out the words his brother exclaims at his parents, and the amount of alcohol passing through his lips are numbing the pain that tears through his chest. Your face pops up in his head; your laugh, your smile, and the comfort in the underlying messages through your tough love— he wishes that all of that was enough to heal the sting in his heart and fill the hollowness that his family left.

He doesn’t remember any of these people sitting at this table with him, even though they’re hollering in excitement that “Jungkook is back again!” The girl placing a hand on his chest with his arm around her shoulder isn’t you, but he knows that if it was, you’d be so displeased at how wasted he is. Honestly, this feels wrong. Nothing sits right in his stomach and when another pretty gal with her dress hiked up to the point he could see her thong from where he’s on the couch, he’s not even attracted to her. All he could think about was you, and that scowl on your face when he tells you about this night. He could hide it from you but he’s not going to lie to himself— if he wanted to improve for the better, it meant being straightforward and authentic. Jungkook came here to let loose because the events that occurred at the estate tonight was something he wants to forget.

Turning to the girl beside him, his eyes are hooded and vision is blurry when he asks, “What’s your name again?”

When her rosy plump lips open, she says her name but the voice that comes out of it is deep and oddly familiar. “Hyeri?” Why does she say it like a question, and why is her voice so low? Just then, a hand clenches the fabric of his shirt, pulling him up and he meets the proprietor of the response. Hoseok.

Hoseok drags Jungkook’s weak and frail frame out into the alleyway behind the club, fuming to the point that smoke could’ve been whistling out of his ears. “What the fuck are you doing here? And with Hyeri, of all people! I thought I told you to stop fucking around, dude! I-I thought you knew how much she means to me. Out of the people I’ve partied with— you were my actual friend.” He clenches his jaw before Jungkook could even answer, a fist tightening in his hand. “You’re such a fuck up, Jungkook. So much for a friend.” 

Then everything blacks out.

His entire body hurts. His head is pounding, he can barely open one of his eyes, and his legs are so sore he can hardly shift on the bed— on a bed? He doesn’t have a bed. He has a futon but not a bed. Startled, he attempts to sit up against the bed frame, the other eye opening to skim through the room. 

He’s never been in your bedroom before, but the pictures of you graduating college hanging on the corkboard above your desk, concert tickets, Polaroids, and holiday cards thumbtacked beside them is all the evidence he needs to know it’s yours. Jungkook wants a closer look at them, he can scarcely make out the cute little smile on your face with your family in attendance in the picture, but when he puts weight onto his arms, he groans. Seconds later, you’re bursting through the door, out of breath and worry in your eyes. “Are you okay? Did you hurt yourself?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m good,” Voice hoarse, he realizes how dry his throat is and you lean over to the bedside table to hand him the glass of water you had there originally. “Don’t move, idiot. You’re actually really torn up if you didn’t feel it with all that alcohol in your system.” Inviting yourself onto the foot of the bed, Jungkook frowns after he finishes the entire glass, much more dehydrated than he initially thought. “Trust me, it’s gone now. I feel every ounce of pain. What happened? I blacked out.”

“No shit,” you retort harshly, rolling your eyes at him. “You were drunk as hell, but you didn’t black out from that. Hoseok saw you getting all cozy with Hyeri and knocked the shit out of you. What happened, Jungkook? Why were you there in the first place? Did something happen?”

Reading the expression on your face, he fears for the worse but he doesn’t see any hint of dissatisfaction anywhere. There’s no anger, no resentment, no frustration— none of that. Just curiosity smeared across, genuinely worried about his well-being. “Are you upset that you found out I was there?”

“I was mad that Hoseok called me to come grab you, at first, so kind of, yeah. But if you’re trying to figure out if I’m disappointed in you, then no, I’m not. Old habits are hard to kill, so I understand that you’re trying to cope with something. I just want to know why you were there in the first place and why were you getting all lovey dovey with Hyeri—“

“I wasn’t getting lovey-dovey with Hyeri,” Jungkook exasperates, head falling back against the headboard, closing his eyes shut, interrupting before you lead the conversation into a lecture. “She was just some girl that sat down and claimed a spot next to me. I didn’t even know she was Hoseok’s girl.” There’s a pregnant pause in his explanation, and you don’t break off his train of thought. “I... I went because Jongseok called me useless tonight, yet again. It didn’t bother me as much as it did before, you know, before I met you, and it’s probably because I wasn’t intoxicated or the fact that I’m actually trying now and he still thinks I’m useless. He wants me out of the will.”

“He’s jealous that he’s the problematic child now, not you.” Making your way up the bed, you’re seated on top of the covers, settled adjacent to Jungkook. “If it makes you feel any better, I think you’re way more useful than you had been initially. I usually do the dishes at my parents’ house, mostly because I’m the middle child, but you did it for me instead. I consider that a huge accomplishment from who you were before.”

As much as he hates to admit how warm and fuzzy he feels inside just from that small achievement, it’s a resemblance of the time when he was younger and won an award for being most creative in his kindergarten class. How are you able to lift up his mood so easily by just saying a few words?

“I… is Hoseok really pissed?”

“A bit,” you reply sincerely and apologetically, even though none of this had been your fault. “He’s been in love with her even before I met him. She was all he could talk about, and I guess she finally gave him a shot, only to drop him a month later. I don’t know much about her, but I know she’s a gold digger from the stories he shared.”

Jungkooks face drops when his gaze meets yours. “Have you ever told him that?” You laugh—the melody that practically heals his wounds on the spot. “No, are you crazy? He’s blinded by love, Jeon, and any interference with that, I’m done for, probably cut out entirely from his life. Have you never been in love before?” 

He wants to say that he hasn’t, not until he met you, but you continue without expecting a response from him anyway. “Well, that’s just how he is. You could tell him a billion times that this girl isn’t for him but he’s never going to care about what I say until something actually happens.”

“I really care about Hoseok, though, and I want the best for him.” His doe-brown eyes are glossy, full of cherish for his friend. “And he cares for you too, Jeon. Just give him some time.” Quickly, Jungkook twists away, gaze avoiding yours as he clears his throat a couple times.

“Are you... okay?”

“Y-Yeah,” He says, choking up on his own words. “Hurts a little. Hoseok is strong.”

You furrow your brows. “Hey, look at me.” He doesn’t react. “Jeon,”

“Can... you give me some space?” 

Pulling your lips into a straight line, you contemplate whether or not to listen to his words or go against him. He’s been living in a home full of people yet still feeling alone, with no one to listen to his perspective on things. Maybe it’s time you change that.

Abruptly, you swing your leg over his thighs, hands cupping his cheeks just like you did that fateful night. He swore his heart stopped beating. “What are you—” There’s tears brimming in his eyes, you realize, with some escaping, trailing down his cheek. He sniffles. “You’re crying?” You’re stating the obvious, yet somehow it comes out as a question. “Don’t cry. Why are you crying?”

“I’ve never had a friend love me before, a friend who actually liked me for me and only wanted to spend time with me because of who I was, not who my family was. Did I really fuck up with Hoseok?” You frown, thumb rubbing against his cheek to wipe away his tears. Truthfully, you never really knew how to react when someone fell apart like this, but with Jungkook, it felt natural, the comforting. It might’ve been the sunlight peering through the windows of your room that made everything toasty, thawing out your cold heart, or it was just Jungkook. “Maybe. But I doubt he wouldn’t give you a chance to explain yourself though. I mean, yeah, you’re bruised all over because he really beat you up... but, I’m sure this evens things out. Plus, I’m your friend and I love you too.”

He sighs, shoulders plunging with his hands creeping up to your waist unconsciously, tenderly steering you to sit on his thighs. Swallowing at the feeling of his body flattened against yours, you’re attempting to shake your head from the dirty thoughts. Jungkook feels at ease, detecting the words come from your mouth, yet he wants more. He craves for more, especially since that night in Busan and he isn’t sure he can hold himself back anymore.

“I... What happened that night in Busan?” Lifting your weight off him, he only stops you by putting down more pressure to stop your escape. Despite being in an awful lot of pain, he still manages to overpower you in strength. “Please don’t avoid this. If Jongseok didn’t come to our door that night, it would’ve led to something more. I want to know, please, what does it mean?” Cheeks burning, you stare at the wooden headboard behind him, except Jungkook knows your next steps before you do because his finger is already on your chin, guiding your view back onto him. He doesn’t need to say anything because the look he gives you says it all, tell me.

“Okay, okay,” You cringe, the idea of talking about this makes your stomach feel queasy and want to recoil in dread. “White flag. I’ll talk.”

“Enough of this white flag nonsense, just tell me.”

Belatedly gathering enough courage, you spill. Although your heart feels like it’s jumping through hoops from suspense, you realize that you can’t hold yourself back any longer anyway. “I’m... attracted to you, alright? I mean, I’m not sure how I feel about you 100% emotionally, because I still feel like we’re on different pages here, but I feel like I kind of like you? If this goes any further, I wouldn’t necessarily be opposed to it.”

That’s... it? Admittedly so, Jungkook was hoping for more of a confession, something along the lines of, ‘I really like you, Jungkook’ but he’d have to settle for this. This was definitely a step closer to where he wants to be. “So... you’d date me, that is. There’s still an opening somewhere.”

“I-I mean, I guess so... why?”

“Because well, I can’t stop thinking about that night, and I know that for sure that I like you.” He discloses. “And if there’s even a bit of an opening, I want a shot at it.”

You scoff. “With me? You want an actual shot with me? After spending time with my family, you want to still try to swoon me?” There’s a smile tugging on Jungkook’s lips; there’s a blackish-bluish bruise underneath his eye, the side of his lips red and blotchy and the entirety of his body is either swollen or bruised, and yet, he still endures the pain to be beaming brighter than the stars. “Of course, you met my family, right? Yours is nothing complicated in comparison... well, maybe your sister. But for once, I feel like I belong here, with you, I feel like I’m home. So, will you give me a chance to win you over?”

“Don’t you think you’re rushing this whole thing? This... you thinking you like me kind of thing.”

“Are you going to keep wasting your time?” He blurts, a hint of annoyance in his tone. “You wasted how long with some guy only for him to ditch you for your sister. What about your happiness, and what you want? None of this is fair to you. What if I could possibly give that to you, that happiness? Would you actually give me a chance?”

Sincerely, you didn’t know what the relationship with Jungkook held and what it would mean in the future. But what he asserts is right with the things he repeats in Busan about being selfish for once replays in your head again, and you finally decide to take a shot at it.

Was it the high of saying ‘yes, okay’ to Jungkook or the painkillers he took earlier because when your lips meet with his, he feels like he’s floating in mid-air. Your tongue is wet and soft when it fights with his, and when his hands on your waist pull you in closer, the bulge in his pants isn’t discreet, raging for attention, twitching against your thigh while your fingers knots through his hair tightens in response to your bottom lip suddenly tucked in between his teeth. The room feels steaming hot, especially when your hips start to move against his, emitting a groan from him as hand trails down to your ass to give it a harsh squeeze in consequence. His jeans from last night are still on and they’re straining in his crotch uncomfortably.

This is escalating so fast—just as quickly as his heart is beating in his chest, almost popping out of his chest cavity. Your natural scent is intoxicating, clouding up his mind to the point that he doesn’t think he needs the alcohol to forget the pain his family has caused him anymore, because you’re mending the pieces of him together. Your hands trail down to his neck, tugging him closer before they wander down to his biceps, giving him a gentle squeeze that releases a wince from him. 

Just as abrupt as the kiss, you pull away with a concerned and panic expression, with your mouth open in aghast. “Oh my god— I forgot you were still injured—” As you’re trying to move back, you stumble on his legs and collapse onto the floor.

“What— hey, are you okay?” He says, breathless as he leans over to check on you sprawled on the floor. Swiftly hopping back on your feet, he observes you clearly with your hair disheveled, cheeks tinted pink, and swollen lips. There’s a look of achievement on his face from the sight of a disoriented you. “Uh, um, yeah. I-I’m good,” Flustered, you push a strand of hair behind your ear. “I’m... I’m going to get dinner ready for the both of us, uh, I’m going to leave you to it,” you’re awkwardly gesturing his crotch before rushing out the room and slamming the door shut.

He can only laugh at your reaction. At least his week wasn’t that bad after that kiss, right?

Jungkook stirs awake from the sound of chatter in the living room, voices familiar that he can associate them as yours and Hoseok’s. Unexpectedly, he sounds melancholic, the muffled sounds from your walls, almost to the point of whimpering mixed with your soft assuring words. He figures he should get a closer perspective of this, maybe enough where he can make out what the two of you are conversing about.

He’s not far off from shrieking when he angles his leg too far, but he bites his bottom lip in prevention of any sound, eyes rolling to the back of his head at the torment. Careful, he reiterates like a mantra in his head, chanting it until it’s engraved in his brain. When he reaches the door, he opens it slowly and just barely, to peek out and see the scene unfold before him.

“She told me that they didn’t do anything,” Hoseok exclaims, face in his hands as his elbows are resting on his knees. “That she chose to be there, and Jungkook was just lounging on the couch. That if anything, she wanted him to fuck her. Isn’t that ridiculous? How could she say that?”

You’re seated on the armrest of the loveseat, hand rubbing against Hoseok’s back soothingly. “I know, Hobi, I know. You might’ve been the right one for her, but at the end, she wasn’t the right one for you.”

“I could’ve changed,” He emphasizes, spinning his gaze to meet yours. His eyes are crimson and swollen from his tears, restlessness fills in those orbs. “I love her so much.”

“Well, and you love Jungkook. He’s in the other room, beat up and crying because he thought he lost you. He didn’t do anything wrong and you tore him to shreds! Earlier when we were making—“ You pause, clearing your throat when you realize where you were leading the conversation, Hoseok raising a brow in confusion at the action. “Earlier, I mean, I went to check on him and he was whining in pain. You really hurt him, Hoseok, and not just physically either. He’s both hurt emotionally and physically.”

He frowns. “I mean, I guess... I guess it wasn’t his fault.”

“There’s no guessing, idiot. It wasn’t. He was honestly too wasted to even realize that she was sitting beside him. Poor kid reeked of alcohol that I almost made him sleep on the porch. But he would’ve gotten robbed so... I let him stay in my room and I slept on the couch.” Jungkook glowers at the thought of you struggling to find comfort on the small sofa, wishing you would’ve chosen to sleep by him instead.

“Can I... talk to him?” Hoseok finally asks, looking down at his hands in embarrassment. His knuckles were red, contused from the one-sided fight he had with Jungkook the night before. “I fucked up, and I’m sure he thinks that he really fucked up.”

You hum for a moment before an idea pops into mind. “How about... you go out and get takeout? I’ll check on him, prep him for your appearance, and then you guys can hash it out?”

You don’t take no for an answer, pushing Hoseok out the door shortly, and a soft smile tugs on the edges of Jungkook’s lips before he lightly shuts the door and tip toes back into bed, pretending to be deep in slumber.

When you come into the room afterwards with a wet rag in hand and a bucket of warm water, his heart swells. Patting the towel against his wounds while seated at the edge of the bed, he hastily has a hand wrapped around your wrist, shocking you in the midst of your activity. “Oh— you’re awake?” He gingerly kisses the palm of your hand, heat clogging your face . “Yeah. And, thank you. For everything. I owe you a lot.”

“I—uh, maybe you’ll reciprocate this for me as well, one day?” You respond dubiously. “But... you also might not know how to do it so—“

“Are you still trying to make jabs at me after I made such a sweet comment?”

“Well, I’m just being honest, do you even know how to take care of another person?” You shoot back. “You couldn’t even get yourself back home, I had to be called and drag you back here myself, and my god, you’re heavy—“ He hauls your arm closer, dragging you along with it until your nose is inches away from his. “Can I kiss you again? I miss the way your lips feel with mine.” Even when he says the words in a volume that’s barely a whisper, his breath fans against your skin harshly, causing goosebumps to crawl up your spine.

The door pounds shut and before you can tear away from Jungkook’s hold, Hoseok is already standing in the threshold of the bedroom, mouth wide open in shock before it immediately fades into a mischievous grin. “What did I tell you, Kook? Which one was it first? You or her?”

[giorno-plays-piano]

Tainted Apollo

Pairing: Kars x Reader

Warnings: mentions of gore, death of minor characters, slight allusion to dubcon.

Words: 3056.

Summary: Finding a peculiar sculpture in the ruins of an ancient temple, you realize you have stumbled upon a god set in stone.

P.S. I forgot to post this one here haha

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"Good morning, Sire." You welcomed him as you stretched in your improvised bed, an old metal container of some kind with a pile of blankets on top of it.

Rubbing your sleepy eyes, you slowly put your feet on the floor and adjusted the hem of your nightgown so he wouldn't see too much of your flesh. Kars always found this habit of yours ridiculous. He had been a piece of stone for God knew how long, and even after you found him he'd been confined to bed for no less than a year, barely moving and unable to speak. Kars was sure you didn't even understand what he was, but you still cared about covering your body in front of him. What a pathetic habit, he thought.

When you found him in the sands, somewhere in what appeared to be a long abandoned temple that had been in ruins even before he reached the Earth, you first thought he was some kind of sculpture, adoring his unusual but captivating form. He hated you watching him with your eyes wide, even touching a lock of his petrified hair - you were just a mortal human woman, one of those he had been determined to wipe out, but you had the audacity to act like his sole purpose was to lay in the sand for your entertainment. If he could move, he would definitely end your pathetic like there and then. But Kars couldn't.

It must have been ages, if not a millennium, since he had been banished from Earth. Drifting through darkness, his body had turned to stone, his limbs losing their ability to move - regardless of him finally becoming an ultimate form of life, it brought him nothing but eternal suffering and oblivion. Kars had stopped functioning like a living being almost completely. Almost. If he hadn't been returned back to Earth by some accident, he would continue his meaningless journey to the stars till the end of times because the darkness enveloping him had no limits. It felt like being thrown into a cold throat of some gigantic monstrous creature, but instead of reaching its stomach and finally dying he had been forced to circulate somewhere in between, neither dead nor alive. If silly humans thought the Hell was real, it had to be it.

He couldn't remember what force sent him back to Earth as he could think of no one doing it intentionally, but it didn't matter as long as he could reach Earth. Regardless of what would happen after, Kars knew he would survive and regain his power, finally giving humanity what it deserved for what they had done to him.

Funny, but when his mind had awoken from hibernation, Kars realized there was no one to take revenge on. Humanity had successfully wiped itself out.

Even after year and a half that passed, he still saw just you, a girl who had brought his petrified form to her home to take care of him knowing he was alive - by the time you met him Kars was able to open his eyes. Oh, he remembered well how horrified you were, stumbling upon an immensely beautiful statue that turned out to be a stone god, he heard you saying that for a few times. That day you ran away with such an expression Kars didn't expect you to ever come back, although you showed up a couple of days after, trying to talk to him in that odd new human language he had never heard before. As he kept silent, unable to even move his lips and make a sound, you realized the god you stared upon had been trapped in stone, and you could do nothing to free him. You went away, but came back with an odd machine that reminded him of Stroheim, and Kars thought of melting your bones when you dared to use to transport him. However, he had to admit how further did human technology evolved when even a small and timidly-looking machine like yours could lift and transport him to your home, a place inside another machine that had been definitely used for military purposes before being abandoned. It looked incredibly pathetic, as if you were a little rat that had to live in a pile of garbage out of pure need.

The world he once knew and wished to conquer had disappeared. All he saw while being driven away by your small machine had been a never-ending desert and ruins of other machines: he learnt lately those were enormous satellites, star ships, and other rusting remnants of an epoch that had been long gone. Watching gigantic sand stingrays crossing the desert as if it were a sea made him realize how far humans had gone - they had created monsters that were never meant to exist in the first place.

Of course, they paid for it. Judging from the stories you told him and what he observed himself, humanity had faced almost complete annihilation even without intervention of their outer space enemies, if there were any. The atomic war destroyed nearly everything humans had been creating since the beginning of their era. It affected even the natural course of life of every living being on Earth, forcing them to change and finally become a horrifying, mutilated, monstrous life form of something they had been once. Even the Moon had been gone, it's ugly half-destroyed form shining in the night sky and making it even more revolting. You had said something about unsuccessful colonization and the war over moon territories while Kars had to force himself to look down on the sand that was at least familiar to him.

Disgusting. He still had hard time believing how far humans had gone, destroying everything that existed long before they started ruling the planet. What would Jojo say now if he saw what a nightmare the world had become? Wasn't it better to let Kars wipe out the humanity before this had happened?

He had been fighting the urge to break your spine or melt your insides at least for a couple of months, blaming you for the crimes of your ancestors despite you obviously being too young to commit any of the atrocities that had happened. How come a human being had the audacity to survive in this post-Apocalyptic world while other life forms had mutated into monsters? When you were wiping any impurities off his cold stony skin, he was dreaming of the time when his body would come out of this odd hibernation period he couldn't control and then murder you in some rather painful way, prolonging your death till you felt all kinds of despair a human like you could. As he struggled to move even his fingers, he had finally decided not to harm an only being capable of taking care of him.

Each day you brought him to sunlight so he could observe what was outside of your pathetic shelter while you worked to grow anything in this lifeless place, several times a week departing to some place to fill the ugly rusted water tank, then watering your plants in a some kind of a nicely equipped greenhouse - funny, now you used it to protect the plants from the intense heat rather than trap it inside. Fruits and vegetables were what your diet was based on, including some synthetic supplements Kars refused to consume, disgusted by something made purely by humankind. Sometimes you would bring him fried meat, and while the thought of eating a mutilated animal had been revolting to him, Kars knew you could offer him nothing else. Even the meat you brought you offered only to him, rarely taking a piece for yourself: now it must have been a great privilege to consume meat. Besides, it truly sustained him better than fruits or vegetables, and he was dependent on what you were feeding him, slowly getting his strength back. After a year and a half he was now able to move his lips and fingertips, making you nearly ecstatic: it seemed you were doing everything right.

What did you think he was? A deity? A monster? A machine? Probably an immortal being who had existed long before the annihilation, that's what you said: you were talking to him from time to time either to pay your respects, tell him more about your world you thought he knew nothing about or voice what you were going to do right the next moment. One day as you brought several rectangular plates made with what looked like a blue metal to him, you read Kars about ancient Greek gods, wondering if he had been one of them - you saw him melting food with his skin, and for you it was the inherent symbol of his divinity. Kars had to give you some credit: you weren't as stupid he first thought you were. You weren't worshipping him as much as he deserved, but you probably did the best you could do, just a little desert rat having nothing but her plants and a decaying metal house.

"I won't come back till the sunset." You said once you finished washing your face and brushing your hair, tucking them under a faded scarf out of some light fabric and then reaching out to grab your mask. "I'll try being quick, Sire, but it's important I visit that place. If I'm lucky, I might bring something very useful to you."

Useful to him, huh? He would appreciate if you stopped humoring yourself: there was nothing useful you could bring him aside from a dozen people to devour. While he knew there were some people left on Earth still, he also knew you wouldn't master the strength to capture, less sacrifice them to him. Besides, Kars was still deciding whether it was worth devouring those creatures. While it certainly would make him return his powers faster, he could wait a couple of centuries - Kars doubted remaining humans could do something worse to Earth than what had already been done.

You didn't return after the sunset that day. It was the first time you hadn't keep your promise to him, and it made ill-tempered Kars bitter: oh, he would remember it and make sure you remembered it, too. He spent the night thinking what he was going to do to you, albeit not getting too violent in his thoughts. Something probably happened on your way, and you had to stop and spend the night in the desert before coming back.

The next day you didn't return either. He waited for you till the sunset but heard nothing but the sound of sand stingrays travelling to the other part of the desert. The complete silence troubled Kars more than he was able to admit: you had been somewhere around most of the time, taking to him or making some other irritating noise. While he found you just one more annoying creature inferior to him, your absence had a strange effect on Kars - it felt like something was crawling beneath his stony skin, making it harder to keep calm despite the fact the man had always been patient, unaffected by something so unworthy of his attention. However, your absence was a clear sign that something had happened, and it somehow bothered him.

Were you attacked by the monstrous creatures roaming the earth? Humans? Some other force he knew nothing about? Surely, it had something to do with the thing you attempted to bring, but you were vague about its nature, and Kars doubted it was really something decent. How come you had the audacity to risk your life when you were his one and only follower, sustaining and taking care of him while he was still in hibernation? Were you so unbearably stupid you decided you could leave him alone for long? Who had given you the right to bother Kars with your absence? It was inexcusable. The only reason why he didn't punish you was his petrified body, but he wouldn't stay in such state forever.

The lack of your presence was becoming more and more disturbing, and Kars questioned himself why did it matter. He had never needed someone's company - even though he had respect for both Esidisi and Wamuu, their closeness to him wasn't something essential. Not that your presence was either... and yet he found himself constantly thinking about the reasons why you were late. Although it irritated him, Kars decided that time he spent into space had its effects on his mind.

When you returned at last, the sun had already disappeared over the horizon. You were bleeding - he saw crimson stains on your face and your left arm, your faded scarf absent when you stormed inside your house, a small metal container in your hand as you flew to your stone god. Something had gone terribly wrong.

"I'm sorry, Apollo." You were running out of breath, but Kars heard you calling him by a Greek god's name. Was it the god of light? Your choice was rather peculiar. You were probably calling him like this in your mind since you brought those books home, but was afraid to voice your thoughts to him. "I wasn't as prepared I thought I was. The guards are still there even after all these years."

Leaving the container on the floor close to him, you took your bag and started your things there, searching for food and flasks. Somebody had been following you to your hideout.

"This is all I could find." You whispered, opening the container and taking out a small glass vial with a bright red liquid inside. "I can't tell how it will affect you, but I believe it would be of use to you, Apollo. Please, consume it."

You had carefully lifted the vial as if it were going to explode and then put it on his chest, awaiting for Kars to melt it onto his body. He had been suspicious about this, for some reason unable to detect what the liquid was as the vial seemed to block it, he consumed it, nonetheless - there was a chance it could speed up the end of his hibernation.

And it did. He felt the familiar heat, albeit Kars had never thought the stone could be turned into liquid, and yet it was it, something he had been chasing for so long once before becoming who Kars was now. How come it had been somewhere here all along? Was it fate to land here where it had all ended for him once? Kars had no answers. Not that it mattered now as his petrified body was rapidly recovering, his limbs finally able to move, his dark locks softening, the paralysis shattering while he stood up, showing you his perfect form in all its glory as you stared at him, either afraid or unable to move. He was the God you were waiting for, his large wings turning into flesh hands, a halo of light surrounding his perfectly proportioned, sculptured body and making you lose your eyesight for a couple of seconds. It happened so suddenly you were trembling on your knees in front of him, forgetting about those who had trailed you and the danger they could bring to your God and you, both fear and admiration engraved into your stare. Kars was much more than you had pictured him to be, undoubtedly.

As much as he enjoyed that look on your face, devouring your fragile figure with his eyes, he could feel his enemies breathing down his neck. Of course, all of them were unworthy of seeing his true power, but even someone as miserable as them would do for a quick warm up after centuries of hibernation: once several disgustingly looking men with scars and mutilated limbs showed up in your hideout, all of them Ripple users just like Jojo had been, Kars let out a laugh, watching them demanding both him and you to surrender. Worthless little creatures, they thought they could give orders to him, the most perfect form of life on Earth. He had slashed all of them the next moment, pools of their blood dirtying the floor and spreading further to metal walls: apparently, despite them still being able to use Ripple, their power had deteriorated greatly to the point they only posed a threat to a fellow human being, someone as frail and delicate as you.

Turning to face you still on your knees, he saw your wide eyes, tears streaming down your cheeks while you covered your mouth with your hands: was your God more terrifying than you had imagined him to be? Did you think he would forgive those who made a mistake of challenging him, the most powerful being the Earth had ever hold? Silly little girl, there were so many things you had to learn about him, the God you were destined to worship and love with your whole being.

"Stand up, woman." He said, watching you tremble and trying to wipe away your tears, not knowing what you had to say to the God you finally saw in all his glory. "I demand you to leave with me before the sun rises. Gather whatever belongings you need for a long journey, we will depart soon."

You bowed to him deeply, afraid to open your mouth and say something your God would consider inappropriate, and hurried to take your bag, quickly putting everything you considered important in it while Kars stepped closer to the pathetic beings, consuming what was left of them and feeling the power coursing through his body, filling him with warmth he had craved for so long. That little vial you brought was truly worthy of him, and Kars felt satisfied it was you who found him in the sands in the middle of nowhere. He would take you with him while he would try to resurrect the Earth as he remembered it, bringing the balance to it and watching it flourish once again.

"Apollo, I have taken everything." You whispered to him timidly, forgetting you were using that fictional name you gave him.

Kars chuckled, marching through your hideout flooded with blood of his enemies. If you needed to compare him to some stupid Greek god so desperately, you should have chosen Hades.

[acreepqueen]

Inktober 2020 |Day 3: Bulky|

You weren’t really sure what you were doing here. Anyone else on the ship being called to the main control room? Sure, that would make sense. Everyone else was basically a super genius. The crew was made up of the top experts in their respective fields; artificial advancement, extra-planetary biology, robotic engineering, universal travel, and so many more complicated fields you couldn’t hope to possibly grasp. But you? You were the ship’s gardener, in charge of keeping all the plants in the greenhouse room alive. Sure, you could name practically every single species of plant on Earth and otherwise and how to care for it, but it was never difficult for you to memorize information. In fact, because of your difference in field from literally every single other person on the ship, you hadn’t made any real friends. Which, after being on board for nearly two months, had made you lonely.

 In the past week or so, you’d often found yourself rambling to the ship’s AI. It’d made you feel more sad and lonely at first as they never really responded or offered up any sort of conversation. Although, by now it made you feel better. It was almost like writing in a diary; a daily ritual that kept you from falling apart at the seams. Speaking of falling apart at the seams, you hadn’t had a chance to check the garden this morning and were slightly worried some of the plants might start fighting each other if they weren’t fed soon. You shuffled nervously outside the control room, the air a little too cold and stale for your liking. Most of your time was spent in the greenhouse which always was kept relatively warm and smelt like walking outside. If you were being honest, you were starting to get a little homesick.

The pleasant little ding of control room doors stirred you from your thoughts. With a slight hesitancy you peered inside.Crew members were not really supposed to be in here. The main control room was only there for emergency use if the AI malfunctioned or something within the ship needed to be fixed. After all, the AI was fully capable of running everything on its own. You shuffled nervously unable to bring yourself to walk through the sliding doors. Why exactly had you been called? No matter how you looked at it, it didn’t make sense. Perhaps there had been a mix up and you weren’t meant to be called at all. Just as you were getting ready to walk away the familiar voice of the AI spoke out.

“Come in human. Do not touch anything,” it said. You stepped inside a little confused by its warning, though that didn’t last for long. You paled slightly as you looked around you. Bulky machinery lined the walls and parts were strewn across every table. Wires stuck out here and there some of which still seemed to be live. There was a narrow path where the floor was clear you could walk along. Whatever you’d expected the main control room to look like, it was not this! This place was practically a death trap! As slowly and as carefully as you could you shuffled along trying your best not to accidentally snag a live wire and electrocute yourself. All the while, you were being driven to madness by the constant barrage of noises; the whirring of countless fans trying desperately to keep the machinery intact, a suspicious beep that you didn’t want to know where or what it came from, and the alarming sound of sparks. Honestly, you’d rather be dealing with the lava-spewing plants in the greenhouse right now.

“Hello?” you called out nervously. You wanted to leave as soon as possible. It felt like every second you spent in this room was only increasing your likelihood of an untimely death. The lack of response was worrying, but it didn’t last for long.

“...To your left. On the table.” the AI stated without any sort of explanation. You glanced over to see something so incredibly out of place you couldn’t stifle a laugh. One of your flowered mugs was sitting on the clearest table in the room, filled with god knows what.

“...Is this for me? Can I pick it up?” you asked more than a bit befuddled. You glared slightly at the hazardous looking coil of wire sitting beside the cup. 

“Yes,” the AI replied. Were you curious enough to risk electrocution? Yes, yes you were. With not nearly enough contemplation you reached over and picked up the cup. You panicked slightly at the temperature of the cup; it was warm. Moving slowly as to not spill the dark liquid, you brought it towards you. You knit your brows at the familiar smell.

“Humans like coffee, yes?” the AI questioned. At that you let out a snort and couldn’t help the grin that spread across your face. Was this what you’d been called for? To pick up a cup of coffee? It was oddly cute and incredibly unexpected.

“I do, yes,” you responded sniffing the liquid before bringing it to your lips. Was it a smart idea to drink the coffee? No, absolutely not. Was it surprisingly delicious? Somehow, yeah. It didn’t taste like the instant coffee that was in the breakroom.

“I preordered coffee beans and needed human approval before removing the instant coffee. This is more nutritious. Is it acceptable?” the AI asked. You nodded and took another sip of the coffee.

“Was that all you needed from me?” you asked finally, feeling a bit awkward. After a slight pause the AI responded.

“Yes.”

You bid the AI goodbye and stumbled back through the mess of a control room, now feeling much better. Maybe your luck was starting to turn around. Hurriedly, you rushed over to the greenhouse to start your morning routine. At this point, you were just praying that the plants hadn’t started to eat each other. Though, even through your worries you couldn’t help the slight smile that spread across your face. It was a small gesture, but it meant bounds more than the AI could possibly comprehend. After all, it was probably selecting the least busy human of the group to do the taste-testing, not you specifically.

With a slight sigh, the AI watched you leave. Perhaps you wouldn’t be so miserable in the future. Not entirely sure what they were doing, the AI placed an order for some cookies. Those certainly weren’t nutritious. They supposed they’d have to think of a better excuse next time.