#he says to use this as a wallpaper since it's empty on top

[uplatterme]

aether and kaveh look like disney princesses i wanna fuck the shit out of

there is no need for elaboration

-🪸

—okay. you’ve got me hooked. rapunzel!aether in part 2! (tba)

—cinderella!kaveh/royalty!reader, sub!bottom!kaveh/top!dom!reader, amab!reader (referred with they/them pronouns) | cinderella au, semi-public sex, quickie, clothed sex, cum as lube, porn with actual plot (don’t let the tags fool u, this is so fucking soft)

You completely regret hosting this party.

It was something that your advisor had tasked you to do. Host a party, find a suitable partner, get an heir so the kingdom has someone to depend on, blah blah blah.

It’s not like you were even that old. 

You sigh, a cigarette on your lips as you lay your back on the wall of the balcony. So many folks festering you, for that chance that you’ll somehow hand them their crown. 

Your head aches at the number of conversations you have had to endure just to be polite, the amount of times you’ve had to shake off someone from hugging your arm without your consent.

“Oh, fuck!” You hear someone yelp.

And while the owner of this voice sounds overly anxious, you can’t help but want to hear it again, especially with the polite wording that the attendees have used to butter you up. someone swearing right in front of you catches your interest.

Hands reach the bottom of the balcony, and someone lifts their body up to get on the platform.

“Oh god, why is the entrance so crowded?” The person says.

Your ears perk up at that.

“Well, their highness did host it. it’s been a while since such an event has happened.” You answer.

The figure flinches, turning their attention to you. 

Your mouth gapes as you finally see who that voice belonged to. Everything about him is enticing that you can’t help but to drown in his gaze. 

He’s properly dressed as well, although not anything overwhelming to the eyes.

Now, which family had been hiding such a prince from you?

“Ah sorry, I didn’t realize someone was here.” He quickly apologizes. His cheeks flush, not expecting someone to catch him climbing up a balcony.

“You’re more than welcome to stay.” You offer, craving more of him.

He shakes his head, much to your disappointment.

“I’m actually here for something else.” he says.

You hum. “Also aiming for the heart of their highness, then?”

Take it, unknown prince.

“What?! N-No, not at all!” He screams in reply. “I mean, I'd be flattered if their highness even finds me a bit intriguing.”

“Have you met them?” You ask.

“Oh. I haven’t really got the time for that.” He answers, although he seems to be in a melancholy thought when he does.

Still, you breathe at his beauty. You think you can stare at him for your whole life.

You quickly try to change the topic.

“So, what are you here for?”

He points behind you.

You turn your head back but what faces you is nothing but the empty hallway.

“Sorry?” You question.

“The castle.”

His answers just keep surprising you.

He blushes, rubbing his arm as he paces around the small space of the balcony.

“You’re interested in the architecture?”

As soon as you mention that, he brightens up. “Yes! From what I've seen, it’s alright.”

You feel offended. It is your castle, one for which you’ve decided most of the structure. He seems to notice his mistake as he panics.

“But don’t tell anyone that! Especially not their highness…”

You grin.

“Perhaps, the inside can change your mind?” 

“Inside? I don’t think we’re allowed—”

“If we don’t get caught, it’s fine, right?” 

“Yes, but—”

You grab the stranger’s hand and lead him inside, he stumbles in after you, the warmth in your hand startling him.

You bring him into different rooms, hoping that one of them will at least suit his taste.

“This?”

“It’s a bit cramped, the furniture set is going against the wallpaper.”

You roll your eyes, he’s so damn picky. That, or you’re just really bad at interior decorating.

Still, you smile at every single word he says. Being royalty, you have no damn clue what he’s saying. But with that pretty voice of his, you could listen to it for hours.

“Don’t you think you’re being a bit too harsh? What if their highness were merely shown bad choices by their architects?” You say, hoping that wouldn’t risk the random attendee persona that you’re playing at the moment.

“If that’s true, they should’ve fired those architects.” He states confidently.

You laugh. “And what, hire you instead?”

He purses his lips, he didn’t expect you to get that so easily.

He stays silent.

“Do you want to?” You ask.

“Get hired?” The look on his face is so innocent like he can’t even believe that you’re asking such a thing. As if the answer is painfully obvious.

You shake your head. 

“To build a castle.”

He stares at you dumbfounded. His eyes glimmer as he grabs your hands and does so aggressively. You don’t mind even a second of it.

“Are you fucking crazy? T-That’s like my dream!” He admits. He’s smiling widely, his face nothing but only a few centimeters away from you.

He starts babbling about the materials he’ll make it with, the different types of rooms and decorations he’ll add. He’s so damn fascinating, you don’t even care about the speech that you’re supposed to give by midnight.

It’s like he has planned this for a long time. Everything he says is so intricate. His hands move as if he’s drawing it, he’s a bit shaky but it’s obvious that it’s from excitement. To your amazement, the way he describes everything makes it seem as if you’re actually in that castle in your head.

Once he realizes how much he’s talking, he stutters an apology.

“Sorry! It’s just that no one has ever asked me about this, I mean at home I—”

“Okay. I’ll give that to you.” You reply genuinely, your eyes are focused on his soft lips.

His chest heaves and his golden eyelashes flutter with grace…just looking at you.

“You know that’s impossible. I’m not even a professionally licensed architect.” 

“It’s not.”

You’ll make it happen, even if your advisor goes against it. It doesn’t matter if you have to demolish the entire castle you’re in right now.

“It is! You’re just flattering me, I get it. You’ve been nothing but nice to me, but you don’t have to promise and lie to about such things.”

“I mean it.” You say it so sternly that he almost starts believing it.

He sighs deeply. “Going to this party is already a dream come true. There was this little green fairy with white hair, I—”

The words slip out of your mouth, cutting off whatever stupid things he has to say.

“Meeting you is a dream come true.” 

The next few moments are a blur. Your hands are all over the unknown stranger. Fuck, it’s as if you’ve been hit with a love spell. You want to keep kissing his mouth, tell him that he has nothing to worry about when you’re with him. That you’ll do anything he asks.

Your prince whines and the sound has you going insane. 

You want more. 

You’ve gotten so addicted easily that your mind is insatiable. 

It doesn’t matter that the room is left unlocked, no one is going to keep your hands off him. 

“Hah—God!” He breathes enticingly. His mind is so hazy, so weak at how his heart is pounding each second.

You take off his coat, the clothing echoes as it falls down on the floor. His blouse is silk and you swear you can see the way his chest is lined underneath the white cloth.

Your fingers rubbed his hardened nipples and his entire body shivers. He holds onto your shoulders for support, the aroused moan that escapes his throat is just enough for you to keep doing it, and so you do.

“W-Wait! I-I’ll—” He pushes you for a moment, to take a breath as he slowly composes himself.

You watch him impatiently. You can see how his cock twitches from his tight pants, the wet spot in the center, and his dick dripping from precum as the white liquid seeps through it.

You keep your hands inside your pocket. Despite how your pants are perfectly fitted for you, your cock is begging for warmth, specifically from the blonde stranger in front of you.

He then nods.

“I’m okay…we can continue.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t have any—”

“I can take it. It’s fine.” He says as if he’s in a hurry. You’re not sure if it's just because he’s needy or if it’s something else.

You still indulge in his wants, however.

You’ll have to make do with his own fluids although you really don’t want to do anything that’ll hurt him.

Your fingers steadily prepare his walls and you’re trying your best to not be greedy. His needs first, more than anything.

He’s so damn tight, not that you need to worry much as the sounds he’s making are signaling everything but pain.

He’s so soft and so perfect that you’re starting to get jealous of even your own fingers.

“Are you..?”

He nods, and desire fills his eyes. It looks like you’re not the only one getting impatient.

When you finally feel his insides with your cock, the expectations you had were completely blown out of the water. Your hands find their way to his waist and it’s perfect.

The first thrust is enough to send you to heaven. 

“Keep going.” He pleads.

You continue to pound into him, enjoying how each one brings out a soft mewl from the blonde.

His cock is dripping white on the floor, and the carpet gets soaked. You know you need to get that replaced but instead, you want to keep the stain there, as if some kind of trophy.

And while you stir up his insides, a familiar noise bothers your ears.

You don’t let it even phase you, enjoying the pleasure that’s eating you up.

However, your prince decides otherwise.

“H-Hold on! What was that—”

“Just the clock. You don’t need to bother yourself with it.”

A groan escapes your throat, feeling how he tenses up all of the sudden.

“Is it twelve?” He asks.

“N-No, but it’s close. Five more minutes.”

“I need to go.” He says.

No way was he leaving you like this.

“What?”

“I’m so sorry, but I—” His words are cut off by his moaning.

The way you fill him up has him salivating. You didn’t even move but god, his walls clenching on you are betraying his choices right now.

“T-Three minutes.” He whimpers out.

“Thank you, love.”

Your fingers feel up his cock, stroking it up and down while still continuing to pound ruthlessly. He continues to scream out, his mind too overwhelmed from getting his ass and cock ravaged at the same time.

His legs quiver and you have to hold him still. You’re both close and you’ll make sure to have him finish in time at least.

“F-Fuck!” He sobs.

And the worries in your head disappear, cumming inside his walls as he splatters more onto the carpet.

You sigh, your chest thumping as you stand there with your clothes a mess.

He quickly slides off you, trembling but still hastily moving as if the adrenaline has gotten into his head.

“I-I’m so sorry, I’ll try to get in contact with you again. I swear!” He stammers out before fixing his clothes, nearing the doorway.

“Don’t go through the balcony! There’s an exit to the right of this room!” You say, helping him out despite your wishes to keep him here.

“Thanks!” He shouts back.

You swipe the sweat on your forehead, zipping your pants back on.

The clock chimes as it signals it’s midnight. What a fucking way to end the night.

You hear rushed steps from the hallway.

Your attention turns to the door. Did he come back?

Your disappointment is immeasurable when you find out it’s just your advisor.

“Your highness! I’ve been looking everywhere, you’re late for your speech—Oh my god, what did you—No, who did you?!” She looks disappointed.

You look down. Ah, right.

Who?

Oh fuck, you never got his name. 

“I didn’t ask. Oh no.” The realization slowly sets in.

“Excuse me?!” Your advisor answers offended by your words. You can tell how stressed she’s been, her teal hair in a mess.

“I’ll be right there. Let me clean up first, Ma’am”

“I’ll get everyone distracted. Jeez, young ones these days!” She says before rushing away.

The urge to punch the wall in front of you right now is high.

You look at the floor and notice the coat on the floor.

It smells just like him.

You lay your head on the cold table, mind filled with everything but your duties. The only thing that’s engraved in there is nothing but the sweet prince you met a while ago.

But no matter how many times you’ve gone through portraits of different royal families, even going through the nobles, you’re not met with a match.

“Your Highness. I see you’ve been distracted again.”

“Madame Faruzan, I cannot do this anymore.” You tell her wholeheartedly.

Your advisor rolls her eyes.

“Right after I caught you and that whole mess, you should be working.”

“He’s a great guy! He’s skilled with his hands.” You argue with her.

“I do not need to hear what he did with you.”

“That’s not what I meant! He’s an architect, he’s good! I’ve heard how he works, I’ll vouch for him.”

“You’re biased. Something that a ruler should not have. I told you this when you were younger.” She warns you.

It seems that she won’t hear you out no matter how hard you try. 

“I really cannot focus.” You say. 

It’s the truth. You’ve been sleeping with that coat for weeks, along with other things. As if it’s actually him to begin with.

“If he’s such a great architect, then why don’t you work with that?”

An idea enters your head.

“Ma’am, you’re a genius.”

“Of course.” She says confidently with a smile.

She shakes the compliment off, lord knows she's the smartest person you’ve ever met.

“So? What’s your verdict?” She asks.

A day after, a letter was sent out to the people of your kingdom.

Needless to say, everyone was freaking out.

“Goodness, that’s a big deal. Isn’t it?”

“Right! That’s a big opportunity.” 

The entire market was in an uproar as Kaveh shops for his family. He couldn’t care any, especially not with the consequences he faced from being caught out late in the night. They never knew that he went to the party, but he’s sure his snarky scholar of a step-sibling knows.

“Oh, Kaveh.” A friendly face greets him.

“Miss Nilou.”

She smiles at him, 

“Are you participating?”

The confused face of Kaveh is enough for Nilou to shake the soul out of him.

“You have to! Their highness is currently looking for an architect to turn the whole castle into something new!” 

Kaveh’s eyes widen. “…Actually?”

“Yes! Oh, you have to hurry! It’s only up till today!” She brings it up, and Kaveh rushes home as fast as he can.

It’s almost like a dream come true.

First, that little green fairy that gave him the opportunity to attend the party in the first place. Then, that person he met at the said party who he flushes at every time he thinks of them. And now, this?

He almost tears the whole place down from searching for his plates. 

Kaveh compiles it in an envelope. He feels rewarded as if everything that he’s gone through has finally led up to something.

“Fuck! Where is it?” He’s missing a folder. 

Technically, what he’s giving is already more of what was asked for. Still, the perfectionist in him cannot stand to not have everything in its place, especially not with the opportunity that he was presented with.

A knock comes from his door and he flinches, his family cannot know about this. They’ll get rid of it again.

“It’s just me.” He relaxes, rolling his eyes before turning back.

“Asshole,” Kaveh says.

“After I saw your folder in the living room and kept it? Alright, I’ll guess I’ll throw it out.” Al-Haitham replies sarcastically.

“You wouldn’t.”

“I kept it for a reason. I wouldn’t throw it out now.” Kaveh forcefully takes out the folder and shoves it into his envelope.

He wants to say thanks, but his pride is too high for that.

“Be home before your curfew, I won’t cover for you.” Al-Haitham says.

Kaveh knows that he will despite the annoying tone that he’s using.

He runs to the front of the castle as fast as he can, his legs were not made out for this kind of journey. Still, he won’t give up.

He reaches the gates luckily, just an hour before the deadline.

Now, all he had to do was wait.

“We got a lot of submissions…and most of them are barely even considered actual pieces. I mean, look at this. Who would turn a castle into a teapot?” Faruzan complains, searching through the different envelopes.

You take a look at the amount and you couldn’t help but agree more. It’s absurd.

“Everyone who’s a licensed architect can be thrown away.” You ordered.

“Did I hear that correctly?” She eyes you as if you’re crazy.

You are.

“It’s fine, I have faith in him.”

After that, the submissions are lessened quite easily. While there were some that had fit up to the standards, they weren’t simply what you were looking for.

You remember every single thing he said, if you could just match that up with an envelope then you’ll be fine.

“We have two left.” Your advisor states.

Two names in front of you. One was named ‘Albedo’ and the other one was named ‘Kaveh’. You hesitate to open, the anxiety that he never heard of this competition or that you have sorted away his piece is eating you.

Your advisor notices this and gives one of her very rare encouragement.

“You said you have faith.”

You sigh, trying to calm down.

“I do.” You say it just loud enough to believe it.

You and Faruzan both take one, opening them at the same time.

Your hands shake as you do. 

This ‘Albedo’ is good. God, it’s gorgeous. Though what he’s sent out are more artistic than they are architectural, you can see the vision that he’s presenting, it’s something you think your mystery man would find great fun studying.

You literally cannot do this.

You only had one chance left.

It’s this or nothing.

Faruzan holds your hand while you go through his envelope. It’s breathtaking, it’s almost as what you imagined that time Kaveh was talking to you were right here, laid out perfectly.

“Kaveh.” The name sounds so sweet on your tongue.

Finally.

You dress up in a nice outfit, sitting on the carriage’s seat, trying your best not to scream. You could have gotten the wrong person, but you’re sure that this Kaveh is him.

You’re not accompanied by anyone except your coachman. You’ve asked him “if you’re there yet” about five times.

You bury your face in your hands. This is fine, you’ll be fine.

You almost smack your head face-first on the seat when the carriage comes to a stop without any warning.

The door opens for you.

You hear the gossiping of the people around you and you give them that perfect smile you’ve been taught to do even if it makes you feel uncomfortable.

There’s a person by the door. One who’s certainly not the one you met at the party.

“Hello.” You greet.

“Your highness.” He replies, bowing his head.

There is an awkward silence between the two of you. It is clear that neither of you likes talking.

“I’m looking for—”

“Kaveh, I presume?”

You nod nervously.

He opens the door and shouts, an annoyed response can be heard from the outside.

Everything’s fine, you rule this kingdom. If it’s another person, you can just bomb the whole place away!

The joking in your head does not make it any better.

“I swear this better be important, I was busy—” He stops talking as soon as he meets with your eyes.

There’s a flushed look on his face that matches yours.

“Oh. It’s you…”

There come the gasps from around you.

“He did not just call them that.”

“How disrespectful!”

“Right?!”

You cough, unsure how to state why you’re here. You just hand him the contract.

He shakes as he reads it. 

“What…?”

“I told you that I’ll build you a castle.” You remind him.

Kaveh remembers and you can see everything click right in his face. He’s very expressive, not that you were a stranger to that.

“Y-Your Highness.” He stutters.

You wonder if it’s appropriate to go down on your knee.

Fuck it. You can have Madame Faruzan reprimand you later.

The people watching scream in shock as you go down on one knee.

“Now that we have that out of the way…Will you do me the honor of ruling by your side?”

Please say yes, please say yes, please say—

“What?!” Kaveh yells at you. 

“G-Get up! Oh my god, your highness!” He tells you.

“I’m not standing up unless you say yes.”

The man you talked to previously whistles before heading inside the house. Kaveh glares at him, he did just not leave him in a situation like this.

“I’m serious, Kaveh.”

“You’re crazy.” He says.

“I know.” You look up to him hopefully.

He’s so red, it’s almost painful to look at. Not that you were any different from his case.

“I—Alright! Yes! So stand up already, your cape is getting dirty and everyone’s looking so—”

You pull Kaveh down by his collar, drowning in his sweet familiar lips.

You pull Kaveh down by his collar, drowning in his sweet familiar lips.

[moralesmilesanhour]

piece of cake

summary: meeting miles g at a bakery, and other happenings. wc: 3k+ warning: blood, grief (more at the periphery, not a major theme), and lightly implied mommy issues a/n: ngl i was hungry asf when i wrote this. why can't i ever write normal fluff fics anymore. first fic of 2024!!

Brooklyn Middle is closed for winter break. The basketball court where the snow-covered hoop no longer has a net is empty, save for the blinking Christmas lights strung across the chain-link fence.

In a few years, the pizza place across the street where students would linger after school will be demolished, replaced by a shiny new Oscorp building that reflects the sun from all angles of its glass exterior. But for now, the place is just closed early for the holidays, a few blocks away from a bakery.

The tall, bear-like frame of a father dressed in a long black overcoat can be seen entering with a wiry young boy in a red hoodie and bomber jacket tailing close behind. He has an afro as opposed to his father’s closely-cropped hair. The boy keeps trying to straighten his posture - as if his spine would suddenly lengthen and his shoulders would broaden from the act alone. He wants to make himself look important today, because he is on a top-secret mission: 

Operation: Get Mom a Cake.

“I think mom’ll like that one.”

The boy points at a slice of tres leches cake sitting behind a glass display. It’s not as flashy as the other decorative cakes drizzled with chocolate and strawberries or encased in pink frosting, but those wouldn’t melt on the tongue the way tres leches did. 

His father raised an eyebrow at the plain slice, but the boy looked at him with a certainty that he’d never seen before, through eyes nearly identical to his mother’s. The man knew then that he was getting an expert opinion.

“Alright, if you say so,” he chuckled, adjusting his glasses. “We’ll take that one, Val.”

The boy smiled proudly at the older woman as she handed him the pink box containing the cake. Mission accomplished.

Now, he looks up and frowns at the Oscorp building blocking the view of where his old school used to be as he picks at a slice of cake with a plastic fork.

The ‘Employees Only’ door behind the counter swings open, and Valeria Cruz hobbles out, removing her apron.

“It’s almost your shift, Miles, hurry up and finish that cake.”

Miles takes one more bite before rising from his seat near the entrance and pushing the paper plate and half-eaten slice into a small trash can.

“You got it, Miss V.”

“Did you take out the trash?”

He pauses, and his eyes widen.

“I’mma get that done right now, Miss V!”

The woman sighs, running a hand through gray and white-streaked curls as the teen sprints out the door and back outside.

A forest green puffer jacket rushes past you on the sidewalk. It’s the same one you had seen shuffling out of the back entrance of Val’s bakery the other morning, lugging two black garbage bags with a purple hoodie obscuring the stranger’s face. 

He probably works there, then, you think. Good. She could use the help.

The place had been packed the week before Officer Morales’ funeral, and for several weeks after. But over time, business began to slow down to a trickle. Hipster cafés and towering condos sprang up and choked out the little pizza shops and restaurants that took their owners’ last names, like when an invasive species of plant grows taller than the local varieties and smothers them, blocking out the sun.

You had been seeing Val’s face since you were in diapers. Families used to go there for birthdays, for elementary school graduations, middle school graduations - or sometimes just to grab something sweet to eat after church on Sundays. You continued the tradition–even if just to buy a tiny bag of cookies–in the hopes that the place might still be standing for your high school graduation. 

The bell above the door rings to signal your entrance. The once baby pink wallpaper has begun to fade, but the late-afternoon sun makes it feel as vibrant as it did when you were twelve. Valeria is standing in front of the display of freshly-baked pastries with her apron folded neatly over her arm.

“Oh, were you about to close up shop?” You begin to take backward steps. “I can come back later–”

“No, no, sweetie, it’s fine!” The woman waves her hand, beckoning you to stay. “I was just about to go on my lunch break. I have someone about to take over for me.”

“It’s cool, I can wait. I saw somebody taking out the trash, that him?”

She sighs wearily, “That’s him, alright. He’s a good kid, but he’s always–”

“Sorry I’m late!”

In rushes Mr. Green Jacket through a chilly gust of wind, who turns to nod in greeting towards you before weaving past Val and behind the counter, where he disappears through the ‘Employees Only’ door.

“That boy, I swear. Never on time!”

He reappears sans the jacket, wearing a white apron identical to the one Val is holding. The name tag on it reads ‘Miles’. 

Miles. Where have you heard that name before…?

The hood on his sweater is no longer pulled over his head, revealing two neat cornrows that cascade all the way down his neck. The surrounding hair has been shaved and faded at the nape of his neck and hairline. He’s the sort of brown-skinned that looks golden when the sunlight hits his face as he approaches the cash register. 

“You gonna be alright for the next half hour?” asked Val with an eyebrow raised.

Miles drummed his fingers on the counter and grinned. “Yup, I got it.”

“Don’t destroy anything while I’m gone!”

“I won’t, promise.”

She pushes the door open with a skeptical look and leaves.

With this new stranger temporarily in charge, you carefully approach the counter. He looks up at you with curious brown eyes.

“Whatchu want?”

“Um…” you blink before remembering what you were here for. “Just sugar cookies, please.”

“How many?”

“Five.”

He turns to grab a paper bag, then bends to drop the desired amount of cookies into it with the pair of tongs that sit on the inside of the display.

“If you don’t mind my asking, what school you go to? I haven’t seen you around here before, feel like I’d remember you if I had.”

Miles pops his head over the counter and tilts his head with a cheeky grin.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

You avoid eye contact, shifting from one foot to the other. Suddenly it’s not so cold anymore.

“I-I don’t know. You just seem memorable.”

He laughs a raspy, breathy laugh and hands you the bag of cookies over the counter. His hand is much larger than yours with slender fingers at the end of it, but still manages to appear almost clumsy-looking. Big enough to be a man’s, but with only half the dexterity.

“I go to Visions.”

“Fancy. You like it over there?”

“It’s aight. Kinda uptight, but my dad always said it was a ‘good opportunity’, so I stayed.”

You hum in consideration. 

“Can't do everything for your parents, though. They'll have you living their dreams before you know it.”

The smile fades a bit, and Miles averts his gaze.

“Well my dad passed, so I just figured I’d just do this one thing for him.”

You cover your mouth with your palm.

“I'm so sorry, I–”

“It's fine,” he snorts without any humor. “You might be the only one that doesn't know who my daddy is. Kind of a relief.”

Miles encloses the money you just gave him in the slot beneath the cash register with a loud snap. 

“You need anything else?”

You chew on your bottom lip in embarrassment and clutch your bag of cookies.

“No. Thank you.”

He doesn’t look up from the register.

“Have a nice day.”

Your mother is leaning on the window sill, nibbling on a granola bar when you get back home. She’s silent, which means she is observing. You’ll need to tread carefully. 

“I brought cookies.”

She gives you a sidelong glance.

“Val’s cookies?”

“Yup, same as always.”

“That lady still working there all by herself?”

“She hired somebody to help out, actually - I saw a boy working the register.”

She notices the upward inflection in your voice at the mention of a boy, which interests her more than the cookies.

“What’s he look like?”

“He’s got, um,” you make a gesture over your head. “Twin braids–cornrows–and a green jacket? Kinda tall, too.”

Your mother nods, thoughtful. The description rings a bell, but she needs to confirm.

“You catch his name?”

“Miles, I think.”

“Lord,” she gasps, fully turning to face you. “That’s that Morales boy! I used to work with his momma, bless her heart. Barely saw his face after the funeral.”

The image of Miles’ face at the mention of his dad makes you cringe at your comment earlier. How could you not recognize him? He practically stole his face from the mural that was plastered above the precinct. You had only heard the boy’s name uttered once by your mother over the phone at 2:00 A.M., whispered like a secret.

“I can’t imagine how it must be for Miles. Didn’t he just get into that nice school down there? Of course they’ll have to let him go home. He should be with his mother.”

“He was such a sweet little boy. Then I saw him the other day?” 

She shook her head, “Look like a different person. He had them flashy studs in his ears, nose pierced and everything.”

She wrinkles her nose. “Wouldn’t be surprised if he had tattoos under that coat as well. Damn shame.”

“He seemed nice when I saw him,” you remark quietly in a weak attempt to defend his character, despite having known him for all of five minutes. “Sweet, like you said.”

Your mother’s face hardens, all of her attention now focused on you as she folds the wrapping of the granola bar.

“That’s why you’re not bringing no boys home ‘till you’re eighteen,” she sharply reminds you. “‘Seems nice’ - How you know if he’s really nice or not?”

Again, Miles’ face appears in your mind’s eye. He didn’t seem to want your pity - rejected it, even. And what of his apparent chronic lateness? 

Still…

“You don’t know that, either,” you say despite yourself. “I spoke to him while I was there.”

Your mother’s eyes narrow. 

“Girl, I know that look. I better not see you runnin’ around with that boy, understand me?”

She looks set on not changing her mind now, so you only nod in defeat.

“Yes, ma’am.”

In your head, you’re already making plans to hit up the bakery tomorrow - both to apologize and to see the sun kissing Miles’ face again. Maybe tomorrow he’d even have the piercings in.

But when you get there the next day under the guise of ‘a trip to the corner store’, Miles isn’t at the register. 

The sky has turned a pale shade of gray, and it has begun to drizzle. Pulling your navy blue coat tightly around you, you consider turning back around when–

Boom!

The sound of something hitting a trash can from behind the establishment catches your attention. It could be him taking out the trash at the last minute again.

Your assumption is proven only halfway correct.

Stepping over discarded boxes and tin cans, you find Miles doubled over, clutching his side. “Are you okay?” 

Startled, bloodshot eyes glance at you before focusing on the ground.

“Fucking fantastic,” he grunts painfully.

As you get closer, you can see a dark stain blooming from where his hand is. A sick feeling swirls in your stomach.

“Oh my God, do you need me to call somebody?”

“Nah, I’m…I’m straight,” Miles says through labored breaths. “I just gotta…patch myself up before I get home.”

You whip out your phone and frantically unlock it.

“I’m calling an ambulance.”

“Hell no–”

“You are bleeding!”

He tilts his head towards a duffle bag lying near his feet. 

“I got First Aid in there…that’ll do me just fine.”

When he tries to reach for the bag, his knees give out, causing him to collapse right next to it.

-

Miles shivers as you gingerly wrap white bandages around his waist, the flat expanse of skin on his stomach partially exposed to the elements. He fades in and out of consciousness, between your face and black nothingness. When he’s awake, he stares up at you in disbelief.

“I didn’t call 9-1-1, if that’s what you’re wondering,” you tell him with a grin. “This should stop the bleeding, but I can’t help you beyond that.”

“Wusyaname?” he mumbles, head lolling towards you. He’s on the brink of passing out again.

“Call me (Y/N).”

“Wasn’t gon’ call you anything else.”

“Shut up, I just saved your life.”

“Mmmm-hm,” Miles hums with a lazy smile that makes you wonder if he’s becoming delirious.

“Eeeeverybody loves sayin’ that. Everybody always…”

His eyelids get heavy before he can finish the thought, and he finally blacks out again in your lap. 

-

There’s a short line inside the bakery that weekend, and you wonder if Miles has anything to do with it. 

Word seemed to get around mysteriously fast that the former teenaged recluse had come out of hiding after that conversation (if you could even call it that) with your mother. From where you’re sitting–by the window, nibbling on a sugar cookie, observing–Miles does not seem to enjoy the attention.

Or maybe you’re just imagining the strained smile on his face as the line of customers becomes a Greek chorus of gasps and squeals.

“You got so big!”

“What did you do to your hair?”

“Oh, you look just like Jeff.”

“How’s Rio?”

“Good to see you out and about again.”

The sparkling curiosity is nearly drained from his face by the time he joins you at the end of his shift with a slice of cake. He does not have the fabled nose piercing in, but two diamond studs sparkle when the light hits them every time he moves his head.

“So?”

“So…?”

“Are you alright after I found you the other day? I saw you limping back there.”

Miles rolls his eyes.

“I’m fine. My mom’s literally a nurse. She got me straight.”

“What’d you tell her? Looked like you broke a rib.”

“Far as she’s concerned, I fell off my bike.”

“I’ve never seen you on a bike.”

“Doesn’t mean I don’t have one.”

You shrug. Touche.

“What did you have to say to me that was worth stalking me after my shift?”

“Stalking?”

“You buy the same thing every time, you think I ain’t notice?” Miles smirks, like a detective who’s just gotten a confession. “Who goes to a bakery and only gets cookies?”

“Lay off me, man, these are excellent,” you take another bite for emphasis. “Anyways, I actually came to apologize.”

His brows furrow in confusion. “For what?”

“For what I said the first time I saw you. I didn’t know you were that Miles.”

The corners of Miles’ lips pull downwards into a frown. 

“That’s it?”

“Mm, well…”

You bite your lip by force of habit.

“I also wanted to talk to you again. Under better circumstances. That your favorite type of cake?”

Miles looks down at his plate when you point to it with your fork, as if he’s seeing it for the first time.

“Yeah, tres leches. What about it?”

“I dunno, I just always see you eating that and nothing else. Is there a reason?”

You expect to say something about the sweetness, or the texture, but instead he answers:

“It always tastes the same.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, like…” He puts down his fork and starts to construct an analogy in his head.

“It’s like when you see an ice cream truck. You run up to it before it drives off, and what do you ask for? First thing that pops into your head?”

“Vanilla?”

“Exactly. You could try one of the other ones, but what if it tastes like ass? Now you stuck eating something you don’t like–”

“And it’s a waste of money.”

“Exactly!” Miles laughs. “You get it. My mom makes fun of me because I’ve been eating the same thing since I was five. But it’s always good! And the same amount of good.”

“Can’t argue with that.” 

You tap your nails on the table, thinking. 

“But what if you find a new flavor that you really like?”

He shrugs, “Then lucky me, I guess. But that doesn’t tend to happen.”

“It could happen, though.”

He watches the strange way you eat. Slowly, teeth-first, as if you’re afraid to make a mess. It’s weirdly dainty, which makes him chuckle beneath his breath.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“Uh-uh, don’t do that. What’s so funny?”

Miles gives you that same head tilt again.

“It’s cute, the way you eat.”

Your hand freezes just as it’s about to lift another cookie to your mouth, and you stare at him blankly.

“That’s…”

He pauses too. 

“...Weird, yeah. Sorry. I dunno why I said that.”

A beat of silence passes that’s so heavy with awkwardness, that the two of you can’t help but burst into poorly-stifled laughter.

You lean forward with your chin resting in your hand. “That’s fine. I kept coming here just to spy on you, so I guess I’m weird, too.”

“Ah, so you admit it!”

“Hey, if I wasn’t bein’ a total creep, you might’ve bled out next to the garbage dump. Val can’t lose a valuable employee, right?”

“If you put it that way.”

You can see the white of some of Miles’ teeth peeking out as he smiles. One of his canines is charmingly crooked, and sharper than the others. When the smile fades, he suddenly looks uncertain.

“Can I ask you a question this time?” 

“Ask away.”

“Do you wanna make this,” he gestures between you, “like, a regular thing? Y’know, ‘meeting under better circumstances’.”

It’s your turn for a smile to spread across your face. 

“We should. Whatever you did to end up bleeding out in the rain, I guess I’d be a witness now.”

“M-hm. Can’t have you yappin’ about that to my customers,” He plays along, then winks. “I’mma need your number too, just in case.”

Just before you reach for your phone in your pocket, you hear your mother’s voice in your head, casting a shadow over the whole thing and giving you pause.

All jokes aside, Miles had never explained what had landed him in that predicament behind the bakery in the first place. He’s always late. He lies to his mother. You’re about to lie to your mother. 

But the sun is hitting his face again, and with the light bouncing off of his pupils, he looks like he couldn’t hurt a fly. The shadow remains at the corner of your eye. Just the corner.

You grin and hand him your phone.

“You got it. Just in case.”

[genderlessjacky]

THE NEW FUCKING EPISODE OF HELLUVA BOSS IM.sO NORMAL. THE LAST SCENE BRO THE LAST SENE HIT DIFF SPOLIERS AHEAD YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED

LOOK AT HIM LOOK HOW SAD AND LONELY AND EMPTY HE IS HE IS RELIVING WHAT HAPPEND TO HIM AT STRIKERS LAIR YOU BITCH WHAT DID YOU DO TO MY BOY

LOOK AT HIM WHEN HE LIFTS UP THE PHONE LOOK HOW EMPTY HE IS HE ISNT EVEN SHOCKED THAT SOMEONE SENT HIM SOMETHING HE MUST HAVE A LOT OF PEOPLE AND FANS SENDING STUFF TO HIM BUT HE DOESNT C A R E BECAUSE THAT FAN DOESNT ACTUALLY CARE ABOUT HIM AND IS CLOSE TO HIM BUT HE SEES THEM ANYWAYS BC ITS HIS ONLY FORM OF COMMUNICATION OF THE OUTSIDE WORLD

I JUST NEED TO POINT OUT AGAIN HOW SAD AND LONELY HE IS HE IS STILL FRESH OUT OF FUCKING TORTURE AND TRAMATIZED ANDANDNAJSAJShu

HE HAS HIS DAUGHTER AS HIS WALLPAPER OH MY GOD HE IS TRYING SO HARD TO BE A GOOD DAD TO HER I CANT-

LOOK AT THE MESSAGES WITH BLITZ FOR A SECOND AND REALIZE HOW IT DIDNT START AT THE BOTTOM OF THE CHAT IT STARTED OUT ON THE TOP OF IT THAT MEANS STOLAS HAS BEEN READING THE MESSAGES WITH BLITZO BECAUSE THATS HOW MUCH HE MISSES HIM AND HE WANTS HIM TO BE BY HIS SIDE AND HE JUST GENUINELY LOVE HIM SO MUCH IT HURTS AND YOU SEE THE MESSAGES?? THIS ALSO HINTS AT HE IS TRYING TO CONVINCE BLITZO THAT HE DOESNT JUST CARE ABOUT SEX HE ALSO LOVES HIM AND C A R E S A BOUT SINCE THE OZZIES

LOOK HOW HAPPY HE IS WHEN HE GETS THE MESSAGE FROM BLITZ ONE SINGLE MESSAGE FROM HIM MAKES HIM SMILE AND HE LOOKS SO HAPPY

GUYS LOOKAHOW FAST HIS MOOD CHANGES WHEN HE REALIZES BLITZ IS NOT GONNA RESPOND HE LOOKS SO HOPELESS AND EMPTY HE JUST WANTS BLITZ TO BE WITH HIM AT HIS LOWEST AND WEAKEST BUT WHEN HE REALIZES HE CANT HAVE THAT HE LOSES ALL HOPE

AND INSTEAD OF PUTTING THE PHONE BACK W/ HIS POWERS LIKE HE DID BEFORE HE USES HIS HANDS BECAUSE THAT HOW WEAK HIS STATE IS HE CANT EVEN DO MAGIC ANYMORE

IT ZOOMS OUT AND NOW ITS REVEALED THAT HE HAS A LOT OF FLOWERS , THE S A M E FLOWERS NOT DIFFERENT BUT SAME THAT REPESENTS HOW EVERY FAN OF HIS IS THE SAME THEY JUST PITY HIM AND WANT HIS ATTENTION BUT HE KNOWS THAT , HE K N O WS THATS WHY THE ONLY THING THAT MADE HIM HAPPY WAS THE TEXT FROM BLIZTO NOT ANY OF THE FLOWERS BUT B L I Z T O BECAUSE HE IS THE ONLY ONE HE CARES ABOUT AND THE ONLY PERSON HE CAN ACTUALLY RELY ON BUT HE ISNT THERE SO STOLAS HIS JUST LEFT THERE TO BE HOPELESS

ALSO NOTICE HOW THE ROOM LIGHTING IS PINK?? THIS SAYS PINK IS A NURTURING PLAYFUL AND N O S T A L G I C COLOR THAT MEANS AT THAT MOMENT HE WAS TRYING TO BLOCK OUT ALL THE MEMORIES HE HAD WITH STRIKER BUT IS FAILING SO HE IS TRYING TO THINK OF HIS CHILDHOOD , WISHING HE WAS INNOCENT AGAIN W I SH I N G HE WAS WITH BLITZ AGAIN IN THIS EASSY I WIL

[amazingmsme]

i was wondering if you had any ler!tinky hcs 👀👀

For sure! I used to not be the biggest Tinky fan because the doll version was so unsettling, & he really was such a bastard, but then I saw Curt play him & let’s just say he skyrocketed to the top, right under Wiggly & probably tied with Nibbly. He gives a whole new meaning to the song Kiss the Go-Goat cause I’m gonna smooch that eldritch abomination!

Ok now that I’m done gushing, onto the headcanons!

He’s literally the definition of a switch! Like he’ll straight up ask to be wrecked & he’ll be having the time of his life laughing under one of his brothers then it’s like “ok I’m done now” & without any warning he’s got them pinned & is sporting the most wicked grin. & he’s just like “my turn!” & wastes no time making them scream. He especially loves doing this to Wiggly because he thinks he needs an “attitude adjustment”

If he’s got a lot of pent up energy, he’ll stick his lee in The Box & chase them down. His box is literally the backrooms, just endless empty rooms & halls all in that sickening hue that puts The Yellow Wallpaper to shame. Something about that color just adds just the right dose of lee panic in his victims that’s only intensified by his echoing taunts & cackles. For a fucking prey animal he sure is one hell of a predator!

Even tho he’s the literal worst he still wants his victims to have at least a little fun, so if he notices they’re not fighting back as much when he goes for a certain spot, he’ll target it for longer

He’s got golden retriever boy energy & no not just because he’s yellow! If you so much as flinch when he wiggles his fingers it triggers something deep inside him. Just like when a dog has something they’re not supposed to & you step towards them & they run off at the speed of sound. That except of running away he’s running toward you

The most fun ler out of all the lib please don’t tell them I said that

Just take a wild guess who his favorite lee is

Seriously Ted can never catch a damn break with this bitch. It’s either The Horrors™ or tickle torture. & depending on how pissed off he is with Tinky he’ll gladly pick the horrors. But Tinky doesn’t really care about what he wants, he just does whatever he feels like in the moment

Unrelated but the first time Ted saw him in his human form he kept having to tell himself “don’t fuck the monster, don’t fuck the monster” but he thinks the goat man is cuuuute & he’s trying hard not to let it show but he blushes so much when Tinky flirts or teases him

One time he was wrecking Ted & he was all red & giggly & he was too weak to really fight back anymore & the sight was just too cute & too much for Tinky to handle so he stopped right in the middle of it & ran to the corner, biting his shirt & screaming because wtf he’s literally just some guy he shouldn’t give him butterflies in his stomach & make him feel all giddy but he does & then Ted snuck up behind him & got revenge for who knows how long

Tinky is the type to wiggle his fingers at you before he ever even strikes. He just wants to make you nervous & build up anticipation & because he’s gotta live up to the bastard title, he will fake an attack just to make you scream he’s the woooorst

& since he controls time & space, he’s not very aware of how long he’s been tickling someone, so he’s probably the most likely to go overboard without realizing. But then he’ll rewind time so he can start all over again & “this time I won’t overdo it, I prommy!”

[achtung-attitude]

CHAPTER 73: Black Keys - Part 4

“Move, move, move.” T’onga commands Shizuka, pulling her hand away from the bathroom door. 

Only when she approaches does Shizuka notice her mother’s condition. “Mom!! What… What happened to you?! You look like-!”

“Move, I said-! And shush…!” the former assassin hisses, pressing her swollen hand over the girl’s mouth. She looks like she’s gone through the worst day of her life, her hands red and blistered. Patches of her exposed skin are also red with burn marks. “I don’t know how long that can hold him,” she says, “We might only have a few seconds, so we gotta slip away now-”

Before she can say anymore, mother and daughter hear the sound. From behind the bathroom door comes the metallic crunch of a key turning in a lock. 

A half-second later, the door bursts off its hinges and flies straight at them. T’onga shoves Shizuka out of its path. As she stumbles, ACHTUNG BABY manifests to pull T’onga away as well. Just in time, as the door slams into the wall. Both women fall onto the master bed and roll backwards to the opposite side. “Not even two seconds…” T’onga mutters once she regains her bearings.

All-Kill stands in the empty doorway, wiping a trickle of blood from his lips with a hand blistered by ultraviolet rays. His attention turns to his former protegé. “T’onga… Where is Yeon-in…?”

A second passes before T’onga responds with a smirk.

Her smirk is wiped off her face almost immediately. With tremendous skill and strength, All-Kill hurls a weighing scale like an Olympic discus thrower. T’onga raises her arms to guard, but too slow. The glass edge crunches against her cranium and shatters, showering her in shards.

“Mom!!” Shizuka cries. The girl turns, only to find All-Kill already making a B-line for T’onga, outright ignoring her with BLACK KEYS in his hand.

“You’ve just made the dumbest mistake in your life!!! Now you’re really going to die!!!” the man in black shouts, thrusting his KEY forward. She stands in utter surprise, but as his punch extends, it phases through T’onga’s chest and impacts something sharp and hard.

Pulling his arm back, the image of T’onga disappears, replaced by the sight of his hand bloodied by the shards of broken vase. He looks right. “You and your little illusions!!!” he hisses.

Shizuka, with T’onga standing behind her in the bedroom doorway, shoots a glare at him, before she turns herself and her mother invisible. 

Dark determination engulfs All-Kill. Silently, he spins both of his KEYS on their chain, striking at the wallpaper, but not at his desired targets. They have moved on.

Saying nothing still, he storms down to the first floor and resumes his hunt, whipping the keys as he stalks down the hall.

As soon as he reaches the foot of the stairs, the girls reappear at the top step. They release their held breath. T’onga wipes her mouth. “Why does the air taste like ass?” she whispers.

“It’s the remnants from his last move, I guess…” answers Shizuka, “All-Kill did something to the atmosphere, before you came in. It made moonlight dangerous, and it made breathing really hard. I don’t get how, but it had an effect on my mind too. Made me lose control of my anger-”

“Wait, holy shit…” T’onga interrupts, “He used his Stand on the air?”

“Y-Yeah? I made him undo it. What, what is it?”

“That’s the move he used to break Brother Dust into a stalemate… Ugh, nevermind. We can’t slip away from him for long. So? What’s the plan for when he finds us again?”

Shizuka stares at her.

In the loudest whisper she can manage, T’onga asks “You don't have a plan?!”

“Hey, this raid was your idea! I've just been winging it ever since I got here!”

“Uuughh…” the former assassin groans. She presses her fist to her chin, then hisses in pain as her blisters throb. After glaring at the ground, deep in thought, for some time, she speaks up. “Hey, so Ae… Uh, Shizuka, are you popular in school?”

“Huh?”

“You're still in high school, right? Are you popular? Do you have any friends, or what?”

The girl frowns. “Well, yeah. A few. We’re not super close, but…”

“What about guys? Do you have a boyfriend?”

“Mom-!”

“Keep your voice down and answer the question.”

Despite everything, the girl blushes. “No… No, I don’t have a boyfriend, OK?

Her mother nods. “Good. That’s good. You don’t want to, uh…” she pauses, suddenly unsure of what she’s saying. She spends a moment searching for what to say, then sighs. “So have you noticed how strong he is right now?”

“Huh? You mean All-Kill…? He’s been strong the whole time…”

“Yeah, but his strength is ridiculous now. I almost didn’t see him throw that weighing scale, and then he punched that vase and barely flinched. I bet that has something to do with his using BLACK KEYS on the atmosphere. Oxygen: that has to be it. Deactivating the atmosphere purified the oxygen and supercharged his body.”

“Maybe… but he already deactivated that effect. The atmosphere’s back to normal.”

“But if he breathed in even a gulp of pure oxygen, he should still be metabolizing it. Supercharging his body, but addling his mind. That’s what we’ll use against him.”

Shizuka frowns. “You have a plan…?

T’onga nods grimly. “I have a plan… but I am not going to enjoy it.”

***

All-Kill leans against the kitchen island, willing himself to calm down. “Thoughts are muddied… Calm down… Have to calm down… Like that girl must have… Have to find her… Have to find both of them…”

Turning to lean back against the counter, he takes command of his breathing, inhaling regular air to flood out the pure oxygen searing through his system. Each breath restores more of his composure, until he can open his eyes and see clearly.

No sooner does he take a moment to listen, a stumbling noise emanates from the next room over. A human voice, quietly cursing. “Oh… of course…” he whispers.  His study. Where he was first betrayed.

Giving her no time to prepare whatever counter she’s planning, All-Kill charges into the study and finds T’onga there. She leans against the wall, clutching the side of her head. Raising her face to meet his eyes, in silence, they stare one another down.

[nam-daeeun]

NIGHTREST :: TASK 001

on the record | nam dae-eun

The Basics

brand of phone & color:

samsung s23, silver.

case:

clear case with a (slightly sun-bleached) polaroid of him and his sister tucked inside. the corners are slightly bent since it's a bit too big.

locked or unlocked?:

always locked with a fingerprint lock. there's a backup pin instituted, but it's rarely used. (for the record, though, it's the address of his childhood home: 1422.)

lockscreen & wallpaper:

Usage

screen time:

probably uses it about 4-5 hours a day, depending on the day.

five most used apps:

spotify, messenger, chrome, news, twitter.

web tabs:

generally has no more than 7-10 tabs open at any given time. 5-6 of them are articles he swears he's going to go back and read. 1 of them is a forgotten search tab that he won't remember to close for another day or so. 2 of them are the nightrest news network, permanently open since the murders started. the other 1-2 tabs are interchangeable, and he generally cycles through these for most of his general internet browsing.

google:

last seen doing research, so it was “nightrest news.”

last text messages:

any one of a couple he sent to various friends throughout nightrest, checking up after the fires. prior to that, it was his messages to jieun.

voicemail:

an annoyed message from @jieunparks, calling to say she'd found out he was here in nightrest and that they needed to meet up. he left it there to remember to text her later...and then forgot to delete it. (he's been a bit distracted.) other than that, it's empty—he makes sure to go through it frequently in case any important calls come through.

Social Media

handle:

@namdae on all platforms. he's a basic man. (plus, it's professional.)

instagram:

[ feat. @kattcalled, @kyleyangs ]

snapchat:

he has an account, but doesn't post, just uses it to keep up with others.

tinder/bumble/hinge/grindr/etc:

doesn't have an account on any of these. never did. never will. he's wary of them.

spotify:

top three songs of 2022: heather by conan gray, runaway by aurora, and cold by corbyn, in no particular order. last played song: youth by kihyun. he was looking for something else, but ended up there somehow, and he wasn't mad about it.

tiktok:

doesn't use it, but will watch videos if others send them to him.

facebook:

he uses it, but only when forced to. barely touches his own account, just has it for family updates.

others:

has a youtube account, but never uploads. his email is primarily used for professional correspondence. uses twitter religiously. someone pull this man away from the bird app. please.

extra:

doesn't often save his contacts with funny names because it makes it hard to find the ones he needs—although he will use nicknames sometimes. uses primarily emoticons while texting rather than emojis because, honestly, he's just too lazy to switch the keyboard. keeps his apps all stuffed into four folders so that he can actually see his background—he hates those people who cover their screens with so much crap that you can't see the picture; why even bother setting one? always forgets to turn off unnecessary app notifications so he generally accumulates a lot of nonsense stuff throughout the day that he just swipes away. doesn't use a screen protector—he just doesn't drop it.

bonus: an additional edit that i spent a ton of time making before i realized there was no room for it. enjoy this article from the future.

[patches-bitsandbobs]

started - 16/1/2023 - The Nade wakes up for a second time.

'geez Duster, why ya gotta hold the kettle like that?'

'like what?'

'like that! you ain't even usin' the handle! you never use the handle!'

'I don't need to.'

'... yeah, I know you don't bud, but it makes me cringe, y'know? I still ain't used teh' stuff like that.' Giovanni dries off a plate before putting it in its cupboard. then he turns around and locks eyes with The Nade, who still has a complete hold of the kettle with his bare hands. 'I just want you to take care of yourself, Nade.'

and something within The Nade's chest snaps. he's not sure what it was; it wasn't a bad kind of snap, but it ripples through him all the same, burning and heavy. suddenly, the inside of his head sparks into life; thoughts and feelings that have been quiet, dormant, inaccessible, ignite with a violent tremble, and a voice, loud and clear, begins to talk, for the first time since he woke up.

The Nade blinks once, twice, three times. the voice prattles on, but he has no idea what it's saying. his entire torso is full of emotions, entirely different to the usual, and he can feel his ears twitch, his pupils expand, his stomach click. he doesn't feel the normal rage he's used to at all. he doesn't understand.

for a second time, he has woken up. Giovanni has already turned around by now, completely oblivious to his growing turmoil, but what shocks Nade the most is that he can see him. truly, he can see Giovanni, for the first time in a year.

a big guy, if his arching shoulders and thick arms are anything to go by. a light blue hat and apron, with a dark grey undershirt and trousers. a yellow towel. white plates. he looks beyond Giovanni, at the light purple walls and the bright yellow flowers plastered along the wallpaper. the counter-tops are a granite grey. the floor is a pale white. he see's the cooker, the drying rack cluttered with dishes, the sink, microwave, bread bin, oven mitts, radio, cooker, empty flower pot. he looks down at the purple kettle that's cooking his hands, steam swirling into the air just beyond his face.

he see's it all, crystal clear and there, and despite being a visitor to this exact kitchen a-hundred times over - despite doing this exact routine with Giovanni for weeks and weeks on end, it feels like it's the first time he's ever set foot in this place. the first time he's ever been inside the Pizza Plex's kitchen. the first time he's seen.

the ripple in his chest is still there, even heavier now, and he's not sure how, or why, but it feels warm. not a white hot, churning warmth, but a comfortable, glowing warmth. the voice is loud, prominent, and when he starts to pay it attention, it's a constant chant of what the fuck? what the fuck? what the fuck?, in a voice he doesn't recognize but knows belongs to him. for the first time since he awoke in the forest, something other than pure, smouldering anger has filtered into his system, and within the moment, it's all too much.

feeling too much at once. seeing everything for the first time. the hollowness in his soul suddenly filled to bursting, the empty chasm drained of its rage and replaced with something new, something scary, and he can't handle it.

the kettle slips from his grip. it shatters to the floor with a deafening noise, boiling hot water spilt across the pale, pale, too pale floor, why have I never noticed how pale it is? Giovanni jumps seven feet in the air with a squawk, the (plastic, thank God) bowl being launched straight up at the ceiling. he whips around to face The Nade right as the bowl clashes down next to the ruined kettle. all The Nade can do is dumbly stare right at him.

'fuck, N-Nade, are you alright?!' a hand grips his chest, eyes bugging from his head, shoulders hunched all the way up, and Nade can't help but see just how big Giovanni is. how had he missed such a startling sight? how had he missed all of this?

what the fuck is going on with me?

he must look different to him, because Giovanni leans in a bit, a brow raised, scanning him with a critical eye. his eyes are tired. 'Na-Nade? are you alright?' he asks again, softly, more calmly, and it's too much. too much to see his genuine concern. too much to hear how much he cares for him. too much to know that Giovanni really does consider him more than a thing; more than a monster. it makes whatever's in his chest stir again, the voice in his head talking louder. he doesn't pay it any mind.

'sorry!!!!' his voice comes out high pitched and squeaky. it makes Giovanni jump again, because it's so different to the dull monotone he's used to. 'I didn't mean to do that!!!! uh listen I um I need to go like Now but don't worry I'll be right back!!!! okay!!!! um!!!! yeah just one second!!!!' and just like that, he leaves the kitchen, rushing for the (dull yellow, he can't help but notice) door, with a surge of uncharacteristic energy. he doesn't know where it came from, and he doesn't know where he's going; he grabs his top-hat off the top of the counter (a weird brown, and are those stickers on the bottom?), thinks of the forest, and then slams it over himself, disappearing from the Pizza Plex and leaving behind a confused, startled Giovanni.

----

ORRRRRRRRRGHGDHGASGHSAGHSJHSDF

[scarabiaa]

OCs in a Haunted House

ITS SPOOKY SEASON, YOU KNOW WHAT THAT MEANS??? SPOOKY OCS anyways enjoy bc. I'm making them as stuff I've said in a haunted house that they'd probably say too and what they'd do (except ivy, she only gets a quote, and yes, let us pretend this takes place in universal studios for the jokes)

Lumi:

"I get that he wanted to be evil or whatever with his hotel and he killed people, but come on, be original. At least summon Satan."

Is the one everyone holds on to since she's the one that shows no fear

While she shows no fear, it doesn't mean she isn't scared; she's terrified but she does not show it

Sees the villains of this book series roaming around and immediately drags her friends to take pictures of them

Those pictures are posted on her empty Magicam, along with other pictures of her friends (her new wallpaper is one of her, Iris, and Meditrina posing at the camera while the Package Trio is behind them, screaming and covering their eyes)

She buys one of the really sweet drinks from the book series section and she immediately winces at how sweet it is

Passes the drink on to Valkyrie since she has a slight sweet tooth

For food, she orders a chicken sandwich and an Acid Pie Shake (immediately regrets it and gives it to Ignis)

Hates the escalators, they take forever

WILL take Miles with her next time and she's taking Allen too, she thinks that with his collection of knives, he could make some friends inside of this place

Lumi, texting Allen: I'm taking you to this event where you can make friends and meet the love of your life.

(When she says "love of your life", she means one of the stiltwalkers.)

Meditrina:

"I do not need an umbrella or poncho, it's too expensive, I'd rather die."

Grips onto Lumi like she'll get lost (which she does and Ignis panics trying to find her)

She's having the time of her life screaming at the top of her lungs and she always comes out of the houses laughing

The flower in her hair changes constantly because she's either laughing or screaming

She's the kind of person that, once they're all in the haunted hoise, gets impatient when the line isn't moving

Meditrina: MOVE IT, LOSER, SOME OF US WANT TO GET SCARED RIGHT NOW

She likes the rides they went on before (she got so wet from one of the water rides and Iris was cackling because she warned her)

She's the one that knows her stuff when it comes to Latin food so she definitely gets a bunch of it

A worse judge than Gordon Ramsey, she sits there and goes, "This tortilla is drier than my texts with (insert person she hates from middle school)."

She says that she's taking Esteban with her next time, they're gonna be the cool cousins of the family going to a horror event and coming out of it traumatized

But #BetterThanYou is great for the Magicam

(Oh my God, she's been infected by Cater)

Gale:

Directly at an actor that scared the crap out of him: "MOTHERFUCKER"

SCREAMS at the top of his lungs

Literally mutters under his breath, "If they keep asking for our bracelets, I swear to God I'm going to pay so they know our names and we don't have to show our bracelets."

Lumi has to explain that the bracelets let the people know that they paid for the Halloween event and Gale's going :D again

He's not picky about where he wants to go, he's been to some of these events back in his home world but never with such a large group of friends

He has to be stopped from using his Unique Magic to see what's ahead of them but he still searches online to prepare himself for what's ahead (he says that he needs to be prepared just in case)

To not be scared, he goes along with the scare actors; there was one time where one of the scare actors was behind a mask before he peeled off the mask and slowly tilted his head at Gale, Gale, out of terror, did the exact same thing so the actor wouldn't jump out at him

He can hear some people whispering about his eyes and how they're cool contacts, even though he isn't wearing any contacts

He orders grilled cheese because he is basic and knows what he likes; he just dips it in the tomato sauce that Ignis brought with him since the tomato sauce slaps

Ignis:

"I only know who Optimus Prime and Bumblebee are--BUMBLEBEE SAVED US? Hey 😏"

Restrains Gale from using his Unique Magic to see what's ahead of them because it's not fun that way

Definitely flirts slightly with the cashiers to get some free stuff (by the end of the night, he's given fake numbers to a bunch of people and gotten a bunch of plushies for his friends)

Screams when he feels a chainsaw near him and jumps into Navin's arms, who goes :|

Complains about walking but if any of the girls are tired, he's immediately carrying them on his back so that they can rest

Turns into a tiny dragon to sit on Astro's shoulder on one ride, regrets it immediately when the ride is going super fast and he's holding on for dear life

He gets grilled cheese, just like Gale, only he has tomato sauce that he made that is better than anything

When he gets tired, he just gets into Meditrina's backpack but by accident, he was put into a locker and panicked the entire time while the others were on the ride, so he sent a text to the group chat

Ignis: SNED HLPE IM DRGUN STCKU NI LOCKER

Gale: Anyways so

No longer becomes a dragon after that, he has learned his lesson the hard way (and does not talk to Medi for a whole ten minutes because she's laughing so hard at him)

Iris:

"If this dinosaur eats me, tell my cousin I hate [him]. Just kidding, don't tell [him] anything and leave [him] in suspense."

Studies the animatronics of everything and internally seethes because she wants to create this someday and she's kicking stuff, saying that if she got the chance, she could design an entire park on her own

The creator of a machine that glamors stuff; the stuff Medi and Ignis brought should've been confiscated by security by with Iris's invention, they were able to sneak in a whole picnic

She does get scared easily and screams very loudly before cursing heavily, no child should be near her and she is gripping Val and Onyx's hands for dear life

Hates waiting more than anything and instead of having Colette pay, she just creates something necessary for them to get little passes to get ahead of the line (shout out to Titus for hacking and getting the passes)

The food there is decent and she gets some sweet stuff, even though her friends tell her to get actual food (she does not listen)

That night, she cannot sleep (even though that's common for her)

Drinks a lot of coffee too and she's so funny in the mazes because she's saying all sorts of things that are out of pocket in mazes, but it's all because she wants to go to the next house, knowing full well the lines are packed

She hates lines. She's impatient. What a good duo!

Promises herself that she'll take Merrill next time just to see if he can handle everything

Navin:

"NO, I'M TOO YOUNG TO DIE--wait, I'm [19]. I DON'T EVEN HAVE MY DRIVER'S LICENSE YET!"

Fanboying over the actors and the prosthetics and the lights

(He's just too scared and won't admit it)

Sorry, Colette, but Navin is grabbing Titus's hand because 1.) He's short 2.) He's terrified 3.) He doesn't know where he's going

He actually gets lost in a haunted house; cue the entire group realizing once they get out that he's still inside and they are absolutely panicking

By the time he's outside, they're all back inside trying to find him

He gets stuck on a ride and it's hilarious to the others because it's his first time there so Navin goes along with the joke

"Hey, I didn't know us being stuck was part of the ride!"

"Oh yeah, it's my favorite part."

Although he tells the others to eat actual good and fusses over them like a mother, he's a hypocrite because he only gets churros

Meditrina is shoving food into his hands, there is no way their toy poodle is going to collapse in the rain

Navin asks, "Do you think I could be a scare actor?"

Ignis, like the idiot he is, goes, "If gnomes were the theme for next year, yeah."

Navin prays on Ignis's downfall

He's also really simple with his food, he just gets pizza and that's it, he's not picky at all and follows the others around wherever they want to go

Blanca:

"I either scared the actor or the actor was flirting with me. I think it's the former. I'm gonna be a scare actor!"

Her butterflies latch onto her hair and since they're constantly moving, people compliment her on her "costume" but she's so confused because she's not wearing a costume ?? What ??

When it inevitably starts raining, she immediately buys a poncho with pockets inside so that the butterflies don't get wet

She buys cotton candy, having never tried it before and she really does like it!

Of course, she screams too; yes, she likes horror but she will also scream here

Goes first into the scariest house and she's super excited about it, even leading some of them and holding their hands

She buys the chicken caesar salad, only, she lets Meditrina put all her spices in it because Meditrina always brings like a box of tiny spices (Blanca trusts her, the food is always good)

She's the person that stays on the outside of the group as a sacrifice and in one of the mazes, she made eye contact with an actor and she did NOT let the eye contact go until he let go first out of fear that this guy would go chasing after her

She immediately gets jumpscared right afterwards

There is one house she wants to go to, but unfortunately it was closed, so she makes a plan in her head to take other students with her next to around, including Malleus and her brother

Colette:

"Why the hell is this place full of kids, don't you all have homework to do?"

Buys everything for her friends, no, they can't look at something for more than a minute because she's paying for them

She's the one that buys their food, their plushies, anything that they want, it's theirs

Not surprisingly, she's been to that park before, just not during Halloween so she's really having fun

Pretends not to be scared but is super jumpy and accidentally punched Iris one time when Iris tried to scare her

She also glares at the little kids all the time

She went with the girls to one ride while the boys went onto another ride: she had the time of her life and it was such a cute photo that it's now her lockscreen

The food there is decent to her, she'll buy it because her friends all like it; she's dainty about her food too, so she'll pick the ones that don't seem like they'll give her a sugar rush

Makes fun of couples behind their backs and it's a running joke between all of them where someone has taken a picture of Colette making a disgusted face in front of a couple (it seems like they're taking pictures of Colette, but overall, it's of the couple AND Colette)

In her fear in the houses, she says stuff like, "God, if you're chasing me that bad, at least take me on a date first" and the scare actor just leaves trying not to laugh

Titus:

After not being scared by jumpscares but by hanging fruits with heads in them: "HOLY SHIT, WHAT IS THAT?"

He and Colette are the ones making faces behind couples' backs, being disgusted by them as though they aren't in a relationship

Onyx: You two are literally dating-

Titus: Yeah, except we're not like that.

Yes, he is holding a lot of his friends' hands and they're all crowding to him so that they don't get separated and they can hang onto him

Titus once hit his head on accident on the doorframe and he pretended to be fine, but he literally had to sit down because he swore up and down that he saw the ghost of the hotel owner (it was the ghost of the hotel owner, but it was actually an actor well hidden)

Carries Navin on his shoulders and it's hilarious because Navin pretends he hates it, but he's having so much fun on Titus's shoulders

Titus: I can let you get off-

Navin: NO.

He likes the Harry Potter ride, they all just had the unfortunate experience of getting stuck and he was so sarcastic about it, like, "Oh wow, I didn't know this was part of the ride, Ignis."

"Yeah, it's my favorite part."

"I think I'll come back for more of this."

He has won plushies for everyone, he's strangely good at the arcade games

Astro:

"These guys are higher than a kite, but at least they're vibing."

Screams at the sight of the guides, they have cloaks and glowsticks and these guys scare Astro more than the scare actors

Also screams at the sight of his friends, specifically Val, he loves teasing her and he screams at the sight of her

Astro: Oh, Val! I didn't know you were a scare actor for the clown house!

Val:

He thinks he's hilarious and the Package Trio's giggles affirm that (they are also laughing when Valkyrie is chasing him)

Astro, of course, tries to flirt with everyone.

Does it work? Sometimes, but most of the time, the scare actors are there like :| bro ong you get no bitches

(Someone took a video and the other three of his idol group are RUINING him on Magical Twitter, no one slanders him more than they do)

He does not stay still in maze lines, he's vibing to the music or he's playing a game on his phone; most of the time, he's playing Heads Up on his phone with the others

Makes so many friends in the lines ?? It's crazy because they all think he's dressed up and he has a costume, but it's just his regular demon form, so no one even guesses it's him as Astro

He likes anything and everything from that place, although the others have to stop him because he'd get a lot of sweets and that's a REALLY bad pairing

Valkyrie:

"If you're going to kill me, not the head, please."

She's enjoying it here, having never been here before and she wasn't aware that people liked being scared for fun so this was a brand new experience for her

To her own surprise, she was the only one in the group to be stopped by one of the "monsters" and she was given a flower from this monster before he immediately sprinted away to find a new victim

Gale: Why's Val pulling entire monsters?!

Ignis: Because she's better than all of us, I guess.

She goes to sleep thinking about that interaction

There's this event that's just special effects that she wanted to see and then she saw the wait time and said, "Let us move on and venture to get nourishment."

She's simple and gets a sandwich, she likes the sandwiches there

Also, she REALLY likes the escalators. There's like four of them to get from the top of the park to the very bottom and she finds that more fun than any of the rides

Does not take pictures and if a ride takes a picture of her, she's super photogenic

Buys stuff that has to do with traveling, she looks like an entire tourist when she literally lives near there

The one person that everyone hangs onto; by the end of the night, she's literally carrying all of the others in her arms and it's an entire pile on top of her as she takes them around

Onyx:

"Listen. When I said I wasn't scared of La Llorona, that did not mean that I am going to go knocking at her door. I am intelligent, not scared."

He doesn't really flinch a lot in haunted houses, he's not scared by them as much as everyone else is

When the girls and the boys separated and he went with the boys, he, at the request of Colette, recorded everything that went on in the haunted house; cue the boys (except for him) screaming at the top of their lungs

He goes along with it because his friends drag him out, but unfortunately, his inventor was too good at her job, so now he can see the jumpscares and where people are

(Iris obviously fixes it when she realizes and she takes out her pocket toolkit so that he's as scared as the rest of them; it works)

Goes into the Llorona maze with the others, and at seeing Meditrina actually freeze up, Onyx is going, "Aw, hell no-"

Gale: COME ONNN IT'S NOT THAT BAD

(It was that bad)

He's very happy with his food, he's adorable because he's actually kicking his feet as he eats his cotton candy

Poor boy does not trust any of the stiltwalkers, he's gripping onto whoever is next to him and their hand, their hand might be a little sprained after this

Onyx: OH JEEZ, OH MY GOD, THEY'RE RUNNING, THEY'RE SPRINTING

Astro: See, that'd be great and all if it wasn't for you literally CRUSHING MY HAND-

Ivy:

"I am not waiting a long ass line for some pizza fries inspired by the Weeknd."

[bigmouthlass]

Title:  Crazy Ways Are Evident

Author:  BJ

Fandom:  Supernatural

Rating:  Explicit

Pairing:  Dean Winchester/You, Dean Winchester/Reader

Synopsis: Just a nice little fantasy-- you, Dean, a hot house, and a stereo.

Tags:  Rough sex, Facesitting, Squirting, Unsafe sex, Handyman Dean,

AN:  An exercise in pure self-indulgence. But hey, isn't that what fanfics are for?  All recognizable intellectual properties are owned by their respective creators and holders of any copyrights or trademarks. This is a not-for-profit work of fan art and protected by Fair Use. Oh, and there's a podfic! Courtesy of Sandra, @talltalesandbedtimestories.

---

“I thought it never got hot here,” Dean bitches.

“Climate change,” you shrug.  He’s right though. Holy sheezits it’s hot, inching up towards triple digits and not a dry heat either.  At these latitudes air conditioning isn’t a necessity for all but a few weeks out of the year, so most homes don’t have HVAC.  People in apartments and small houses get by with window units.  The old Victorian barn your parents inherited from Great Aunt Gwendolyn?  Not even.  Cool baths, ceiling fans, and breezeways can only do so much.  You’re at the mercy of Mother Nature.

Something cold presses into your hand.  Throwing Dean a smile, you crack the can of Mountain Dew.  Jesus that’s good, so cold ice crystals have just started forming on the inside of the can.  You have rules about this kind of work, handed down from your mother and her father before her-- there must be a cooler full of pop, there must be a portable stereo tuned to oldies or classic rock, dinner must either be cheap pizza or hot dogs, there must be beer in the fridge for sipping after everyone’s knocked off for the day.  So it is written, so it must be.  Dean takes the opportunity to rub a handful of ice over his sweaty face.  Might’ve cooled him off, but now you’re feeling the heat.

You forget sometimes about your dad’s fibbing skills.  Clear out the attic, he said.  Stay over the summer and just pay utilities, he said.  Maybe strip the old wallpaper out of the downstairs bedrooms and get rid of that carpet in the living room, he said.  What a schmuck you are.  You haven’t worked this hard since you were an undergrad.  When the Winchester brothers arrived to help pack up and store some of Great Aunt Gwendolyn’s -- the name is practically a title, it should come with its own trumpet flourish -- magic junk, you’d fallen all over yourself offering them a place to crash for a few weeks.  Good company, easy on the eyes, handy with tools, free help with the book you’re researching (Haunts and Spirits: A History Of Occultism In Colonial North America, co-authored by Doctor You, Ph.D., loremaster, occasional Hunter, euchre player, and maker of passable Texas chili).  All good.

Then Sam decamped, saying he wanted to spend some time with a friend.  Named Eileen.  Whose name Sam couldn’t say without a goofy little smile.  They’re Up North, taking the opportunity to do some camping after dealing with a poltergeist.  You hope they’re having a good time.  Pictured Rocks is beautiful this time of year.

Leaving you and Dean, alone, in a big empty house, with no air conditioning, in the middle of the hottest July on record.  It’s totally because of the heat that you’re wearing overalls with the legs cut off mid-thigh and a sports top with no shirt.  Of course your hair’s pinned into a just-fucked bedhead twist, otherwise it’d lay down your back in a sweaty mat.  Your legs . . . okay, you don’t have an innocent reason for your freshly waxed legs.  Beach trip sometime before the boys head back to Kansas?  Yeah, that’ll work.

Dean’s down to a T-shirt and jeans, the shirt sweated translucent and the jeans snug around the long muscles of his legs.  You’d damn near dropped a paint can on your foot watching him wipe his face dry with his shirt, revealing a heart-stopping patch of bare chest and belly in the process.  That same night he’d turned his nose up at pizza, disappeared with his Chevy for an hour, puttered in the kitchen for another hour, and presented you with the best goddamned hamburger in the world.  Payback for the chocolate silk pie, he’d said, with that grin that makes your heart dance.

He’s definitely capital-I Interested.  Sparks are flying.  But apart from some lingering looks . . . a light caress of your leg as he spots you on the ladder . . . an exchange of shoulder rubs . . . an evening sitting on the couch with his head in your lap and your fingers in his hair . . . Dean’s been a perfect gentleman (the bastard).  So it’s your move.  Hmm, what to do, what to do?  You are not letting him leave without trying him on for size, and that’s final.

“Dance break!” you blurt, taking the roll of Blu-Tape out of Dean’s hand and pulling him under the ceiling fan.

Dean frowns.  “I don’t dance.”

“Tough shit.  Dance break!”  You lean into him, kicking one leg high on the YEAH! in Kickstart My Heart.  Dean balances you easily.  His body picks up the beat and a bright smile breaks across his face.  Mighty long time between dances, you think.

It works.  As the afternoon shades into evening the personal space between you disappears.  Every little while you or Dean will say, “Dance break!” and pull the other close.  You both smell like sweat and paint and hot fabric, an earthy smell that settles into your brain stem.  The radio gods are on your side today.  Lots of suggestive stuff in the air.  The DJ who played Pour Some Sugar On Me and Her Strut back-to-back’s getting a thank-you card next week.

Finally you stand and inspect the day’s labor, a fresh coat of Summer Sky Blue drying on the walls, baseboards and window frames stripped of paint and stained to bring out the beautiful red maple.  Miles better than the old butterfly wallpaper and white high gloss slopped on the woodwork.  The sun went down a while ago, bringing a beautifully clear, starry night.  A fresh breeze puffs through the open windows, a sip of relief from the day’s relentless heat.

Dean inspects the work and nods.  An arm drapes around your back, hand pressing to your bare waist.  “Looks great.”

The radio plays five precise notes on a guitar, and a melody begins.  You know this one well, and you know Dean does too-- music for some low-down dirty dancing.  This time there’s no shyness, no standing on dignity.  His chest and belly mash against yours as his arm pulls you close.  So hot, so fucking hot.

Dean bends his knees a little, matching your height, moss green eyes half-closed.  Your bodies sway together.  This is a dance he knows, and you know enough to take his lead.  That leaves you free to just feel.  Your skin is pulsing with your heartbeat, hot, sensitive.  The steady pressure of Dean’s hand on the small of your back makes you melt inside.  His other hand slides down your hip and settles on your ass, kneading into the muscle beneath.  Lower, down your leg, lifting your knee, opening a space between your legs.  Dean’s hips fit neatly into that space and oh my, the man’s packing much more than a hammer in his pants.

You need more naked.  Dean’s damp T-shirt bunches in your grip as you untuck and pull it up over his head.  Bare to the waist he’s sex personified far as you’re concerned, all ropy muscles bunching and jumping as he moves you both to the music, those patrician lips just parted.  You want those lips on you, all over you.

Dean dips you, the move putting his denim-covered erection right where you’re burning.  Your head drops back.  The two sticks holding up your hair slip out and clitter to the floor.  The look in his eyes as he pulls you upright and your hair unwinds is dark, predatory, hungry.  You know right then you’re not going to have it in you to deny him anything tonight.  Playing with fire is one of your vices, and there’s always the chance you’ll go up in flames.

If that’s how you go out, write WORTH IT on your gravestone.

You fit yourselves together, Dean’s knee in between your legs.  Hot skin, sprinkled with hair and sticky with half-dried sweat, slides under your hands as you pet his chest.  Overalls were a good choice for seduction wear, you decide as Dean cups and fondles a tit through the thick support fabric of your top.  It’s like a shortcut to naked.

Robert Plant’s wail makes every hair on your body stand up.  Dean’s too, gooseflesh ripples under your fingers.  His arms lock tight around your back.  “Up!”

You hop and clamp your legs around Dean’s waist.  There’s no more space, anywhere.  He fills the world.  Gentle fingers worm into your hair and finish taking the twist apart.  He’s hard, so very hard, you need to get fucked by that body so very bad--

“God damn it!” Dean hisses.  “Are you on the pill?”

“Huh?”

“I don’t have any condoms.”  The words make sense, but at the same time they so very fucking don’t.  You writhe, grinding over Dean's crotch.  He snaps, “Are you on the fucking pill?!?”

“Depo shot,” you manage.  “Couple weeks ago.”  The song's final delicate notes shiver in the air.  What comes on next?  You don’t know and you don’t care.  Dean’s finally, finally, using that sinful mouth on you.  Tongue rubbing against yours, lips on your face, teeth scraping on your neck.  Under your mouth his skin is salty and clean and hot.  “Fuck me,” you whine into his ear, soft and pleading.  “Please, fuck me.”

Easily as though your weight meant nothing, Dean turns and walks down the hall.  Both stronger and smarter than he lets on-- he ignores the stairs and goes for the downstairs guestroom and the nearest bed, tossing you on the mattress with a zing! of bedsprings.  He works on your boots as you work on your overalls.

Teamwork makes the dream work.  Dean pulls off your overalls and panties, you whip off your top.  Dean’s eyes go buggy as your tits tumble free.  In all modesty, most men do that when you turn them loose.

“Get those pants off and fuck me!” you plead.

“Can’t,” Dean says, climbing onto the bed with you.  “Gotta eat your pussy first.”

Oh no, we are done with foreplay.  Every nerve in your groin aches, and Dean’s packing the cure inside those thrift store Wranglers.  You open your mouth to make these points.  Instead you damn near swallow your own tongue.

Dean’s got a very direct idea of foreplay.  It involves tongue kisses straight up into your pussy, lips kneading your clit, the edges of teeth right where you’re softest.  “Tastes so fucking good,” Dean moans into your cunt.  “Been dreaming about this for days.”  You can’t breathe, there’s no air but there must be because you scream when Dean’s fingers get involved.  Your cunt clenches around him and he adds another finger, forcing you open so fucking deliciously.

“Please,” you beg-- the little shit, you don’t know how but he could tell you were about to lose it and slowed down.  “Want you.  Please.”

“Want my cock?”

“Yes,” you moan.

That leer.  That filthy, filthy leer.  “Be a good girl, stay just like that.”  Dean stands and goes to work on his boots, not taking his eyes off you.  Something in your chest unfurls; he’s just as much a slave to his libido as you are to yours right now.  So you make it worse, one hand stroking your pussy and the other pinching a nipple.  Dean’s eyes go wide and his fingers damn near get knotted in bootlaces.

“MotheraGod,” he breathes as you stick out your tongue and angle your tit.  Get it just right and there.  Dean has to catch his balance on the edge of the bed as your lips close around your own nipple.  “I’m gonna shoot in my pants if you don’t knock it off.”

“Then quit screwing around and fuck me already,” you say.

“Yes ma’am,” he mumbles, tearing his eyes off you and working the tangle of boots and jeans off his legs.  You flop back flat on your back, arms flung wide, taking deep breaths, holding yourself still.  You’re close, so very hot and close, and you don’t want to come unless it’s with Dean inside you.

Dean finally gets himself naked and now your eyes are going buggy.  It’s not fair to the other men of the world, is your first thought, that a man that fucking beautiful should have a dick to match.  So thick.  Massive.  The thought of a fuck from that makes you clench, equal parts anticipation and terror.

You make room as Dean climbs onto the bed, crawling up between your legs.  You jump halfway to Heaven when he rubs a hand up through your pussy, getting a palmful of your wet.  Dean laughs as he kisses you.  Through the blood pounding in your ears you can hear the obscene sluicing noise of him slicking his cock up with your juices.  You look down as he takes another handful and oh my God, the sight of Dean jerking his dick is fucking sublime.  Hardcore pornography by way of Renaissance sculpture.

Dean grunts, squeezing himself at the base.  “You see what you’re doing to me?”

“Me?” you demand.  “I’ve been changing my underwear twice a day for a week!  I don’t take those cold showers just to rinse off!”

“Honey,” Dean says, fist still clenched around an erection that looks so hard it hurts, “you are not helping.”

“Then for God’s sake get down here and--"

“Hold your pussy open.  Perfect, just like that,” he praises, propping himself overtop you on one arm and guiding his cock through your pussy lips with the other.  Hot, stone-hard, wet with precum.  Dean finds where your body opens and presses himself in, crown, ridge, and shaft.  Slow, a millimeter at a time.  Your mouth drops open.  Wide, full, he stretches you to fit, close as a glove.

“Fuck, so tight,” Dean pants.  “Fit me so fucking good.”

“Please, baby,” you breathe against Dean’s neck.  “More.”

Dean tips your head up.  “Look at me.  Right here,” he points to his eyes.  He withdraws, a slow slide away, his eyes almost crossing.  Then he thrusts back, giving you all that cock.  Thick, heavy, you’re going to feel him for days.

You somehow find it in you to wrap your legs around his waist.  Whatever he’s looking for, he finds it.  Dean starts a slow, rolling motion that rubs the fat head of his cock right there.  The sensation makes you whine for more, makes you cling, your fingernails digging skin from Dean’s back.  It’s glorious, almost too much and not nearly enough, it feels so good, if Heaven isn’t like this you don’t wanna go.

“Shit,” Dean pants, something breaking his smooth pace.  “Oh fuck me,” he moans.  One hand goes between your legs.  Blunt fingertips find your clit and you screech.  The stimulation makes your cunt clamp down on Dean.  He fucks up against the squeeze, grunting and moaning in harmony with you.  “Fuck, fuck,” the pitch of his voice spikes upwards, “fuck--”

And he’s gone.  Pulled out, withdrawn, gone.  Every nerve in your body shudders and weeps.  Something warm splats on your stomach as Dean jerks himself to finish.  You grind your palms against your closed eyelids and yell your frustration to the ceiling.

“Jesus, honey,” Dean manages to huff out as he catches his breath.  “I’m sorry, I--"  You start to cry.  It’s just not fucking fair.  Dean finds a box of Kleenex on the nightstand and wipes his mess off you.  So considerate.  You could kill him, really you could.  Four good hard thrusts from the orgasm of a lifetime.  Instead you’re stuck with the girly version of blue balls.  Nothing to do but catch your breath, stagger your aching cunt upstairs to your room, and hope you can get yourself off hard enough to sleep.  The reasonable adult you pops out of her cave long enough to tell you you’re being childish, Dean can’t help it if he’s not perfectly in tune with you on the first screw.

You pull yourself together enough to roll away.  Strong hands and arms pull you back, turn you onto your frontside.  “Oh.  No.  You.  Don’t,” Dean pants, making every word distinct.

“Dean don’t worry about it, I--”

“Up on your knees.  Now.”

Shivering, you do as you’re told.  Big hands, rough from the day’s work and wet with sex, pose you just so, back arched and thighs spread wide.  Your pussy throbs and burns, open to the air.  Something-- what the hell?

You look down and see Dean’s head coming to rest between your legs.  He kisses the little pad of fat at the top of your crotch.  “Been dreaming about this too,” he says, “you riding my face with,” he kisses, gently, coaxingly, “this,” kisses right where you ache, “perfect,” gives your clit the softest kitten lick, “pussy.”

Where he promptly buries himself.  Flat on your back his mouth was good.  In this position, you don’t know why, it feels amazing.  The embers of your ruined orgasm smolder back to life.  Your hips grind and shimmy down onto Dean’s face.

A teasing finger presses to your perineum and travels back.  A thrill of something different rattles up your backbone as it presses against your other hole, rubbing gently over and around.  More fingers sink into your cunt and rub against that spot that makes you hungry.  It’s too much, too much.  Trying to get away makes it worse.  Dean won’t let you escape and trying makes him cling to you tighter and work you harder and oh shit, something’s happening hasn’t happened for years.

“Dean!” you cry, explosions ripping through your guts, “Dean stop!  I’m gonna--” too late.  Some Overload valve in your body trips and hot fluid jets all over Dean’s face.  His arms clamp over your thighs and his mouth seals over your clit, little grunts of surprise rattling straight into your nerves.  It doesn’t stop, you just keep coming and coming, every cell in your body shuddering itself to pieces.

You cling to the bed’s headboard, your nervous system shot to shit.  Vaguely you feel Dean work his way out from between your legs, probably to go find a washcloth.  You damn near drowned him, for fuck’s sake.  Explain that one to Sam.

“Wow,” you hear Dean panting behind you.  He presses up against your back and turns your head for a kiss.  He stinks like, well, you.  Tastes that way too.  Dean shifts and no way, that cannot be his stone-hard cock sliding between your soaked pussy lips.  “Still want my cock?”

“Huh?”  That doesn’t figure, no man goes from blowing a load to fully erect in . . . however long you were riding his face.

“Not done with you yet,” he says against your lips.  “But if you’re tapping out--”

“Fuck you.”

“I,” Dean proclaims, deep and raspy, “have not yet begun to fuck.”

“Now would be a great time to start,” you snark back.

With that, Dean’s cock shoves into you.  Oh shit-- everything’s swollen and sensitive and he feels even heavier and fits even closer.  “Oh my fuck,” you whine.  Your hands go right back on the headboard and hold fast.

With a hand rubbing your clit and another squeezing your tit, Dean’s fucking you like it’s the last thing he’ll ever do in this life.  The Hunter grapevine’s buzzed for years with gossip about Dean’s skills in bed   Sweet Jesus, the rumors don’t even come close.  He’s panting filth in your ear, how good you feel, how hot it looks watching your body wrap around his cock, how much he loved it when you lost it and came all over him.  He’s fucking you so hard you can almost feel your body splitting apart to get him closer.  “More, please--" you cry.

It’s happening again, oh my God-- you come so hard you literally see stars.  More hot fluid squirts out of you to flood down your thighs, splatter on the duvet.  Dean's hands clamp on your waist, yanking you back to meet his thrusts, punching his cock up into you.  It’s not ending, it keeps popping your nerves.  You can feel Dean throughout your body.  Shit, you can feel him to your fucking fingertips, up your spine to the ends of your fucking hair.  How is that even possible?  He snaps his hips hard enough to jolt your knees up off the bed and goes still, moans spilling from his lips as his come spills inside you.

Dean’s cock softens and slips away.  Liquid trickles out of you; juices, come, blood, who knows?  You slump into a sort of bony puddle, winded, sweat-drenched, smelling of sex.  Your sense of discretion’s totally gone.  The first inane thing that pops from your mouth is, “I thought . . . getting your brains fucked out always . . . figure of speech.”

A weak, breathless laugh from Dean.  “Zeppelin fan, a screamer, and a squirter?  You’re a gift from God, baby.”

Carefully, as feeling returns to your limbs, you turn and sit, back to the headboard.  Dean’s sprawled across the foot of the bed, panting, flushed, shiny with sweat and come.  As your eyes meet, Dean smiles almost shyly and sighs out a laugh.  He looks so gorgeous lying there, part of you wants a round three.  The rest of you groans and throbs.  Nineteen and horny was a while ago and sex is off the table for now.

You shift around the soreness and grimace at the feel of wet fabric.  “I think,” you say, groaning yourself off the bed to stand on wobbly faun legs, “I need a shower, four Advil, and about six hours of sleep.”  Moving carefully, you shuffle to the door.  A look over your shoulder and Dean’s rolled to his back, an arm over his eyes.  “Off your ass and on your feet hot stuff, I need you to wash my hard-to-reach places.”

Dean takes his arm off his eyes and looks at you upside-down.  “You’re not big enough to have hard-to-reach places.”

“Well come on so I can wash yours.  I’m not going to bed all sticky and neither are you.”

Dean runs a fingertip across his chest and brings it to his mouth.  “Mmm.  I like being sticky.”

“We’ll get sticky again tomorrow.  Promise.”  You grab his wrist and Dean lets you tug him to the upstairs bathroom.

After a wonderful cool shower, you and Dean gently washing each others’ hard-to-reach places, you lay with you head pillowed on Dean’s chest.  His fingers toy with a strand of your drying hair.  Your fingers toy with the hair on his chest, enjoying the scent of your soap on his skin.  Every bit of you aches but it’s a good ache, the ache that comes of hard work well done.

Neither one of you thought to turn off the radio.  A sudden loud jangle of guitars and you startle, looking up into Dean’s eyes.  It’s so beautifully appropriate, you both dissolve into giggles and pick up the lyrics, singing together in soft harmony.

“Dancing days are here again, summer evenings grow . . .”

---

AN2: Songlist: Motley Crue, “Kickstart My Heart.” Def Leppard, “Pour Some Sugar On Me.” Bob Seger, “Her Strut.” Led Zeppelin, “Since I’ve Been Lovin’ You.” Led Zeppelin, “Dancing Days.”

I was looking at my dashboard the other day and I noticed I didn't post anything at all for the whole of 2020, despite making significant progress on my bigass crossover fic. That just won't do. And I gotta admit, the thought of Dean in home improvement mode, all hot and sweaty, makes me feel some kinda way.

[ladywaffles]

hello fellow enjoyer of things >:)

😈 Has there been a point in a story where you did something just to be playfully mean to your readers?

🛒 What are some common things you incorporate in your fics? Themes, feels, scenes, imagery, etc.

🛠What tools/programs/apps do you use to write?

💖 What made you start writing?

👀 Tell me about an up and coming wip please!

💞 Who's your comfort character?

✅ What's something that appears in your fics over and over and over again, even if you don't mean to?

😈: i am so bad at writing smut scenes so i always fade to black, even when it feels like there should be a scene there and i've built up to it, and it just feels cruel. i would say like 60% of the time there was a sex scene there but i just couldn't get it right so i always end up cutting them out before posting. also i wrote a story once where the entire thesis was "what if the villain deliberately broke the rules on bioethics, as a character study and worldbuilding exercise" and well. readers did not seem to like that. conversely, i also have not updated either of my big WIPs in over a year, so like, that too.

🛒: music and sound are a very big part of my life, so they come up in my stories pretty often! i really enjoy writing to set the place of a scene/story, so i do a lot of touch/smell/hearing similes and metaphors. in terms of feelings, there's a lot of contemplating of loneliness, but not the kind that is, "i am alone in my room," rather the, "i am the only one who has this set of experiences and circumstances, and i cannot explain myself to this person who i care about so they can understand my actions/affections/choices fully, and that makes me feel isolated."

🛠: i primarily use scrivener to write fic, although if you catch me without my laptop, i'll sometimes use google docs or just a plain old fashioned pen and paper. if i'm plotting something out for a longer story, i might use a handwritten timeline on a blank sheet of paper and then just cover it in highlighter and sticky notes as i tack on addendums, if i'm not just screaming about it in a friend's DMs. thesaurus dot com is my best friend.

💖: i started writing fic when i was maybe 11 or 12, right around the time that i first learned that fic existed when i was looking up pictures to make my nook wallpaper, and you could do self-inserts and change the story around to suit your desires, like play-pretend but better. there were just so many permutations to explore, and i really liked that idea! i didn't start publishing fic until i was about 15. that first fic is still out there on ao3 somewhere, but i've since anonymized it so i don't have to look at it on my profile anymore lol. (not because i think the fandom is cringe, but rather because i've grown a lot as an author and it's not necessarily representative of my ability anymore!)

👀: so i know the answer you want me to tell you about is the comphet iceman accidental lovechild aaron tveit AU but sadly i have no more words on paper than that which i have already told you (iceman, very gay and upset over breakup # 3 with maverick, comphet rebounds with a woman who is also very gay and rebounding comphet style and whoops there's a baby now and here comes a bouncing baby aaron tveit). i'm still working on the timelines, because the top gun timeline in relation to the actual universe timeline of when everyone got married/how old aaron is versus when CMIYC was on broadway/aaron's nearly 10-year long absence from broadway is a hot mess and i'm trying to piece things together in the way that is the most true to form/makes the most sense.

💞: donald scripps from the history boys ("I have never particularly liked myself but the boy I was, kneeling in that cold and empty chapel that winter morning, fills me now with longing and pity," spoke wonders to my eighteen-year-old self who was also off to university and questioning reality) and obi-wan kenobi from star wars ("until this very moment, he had never realized he’d always expected, for no discernible reason—that when he died, anakin would be with him." his place in the series as a man who fights for good because it is the right thing to do, because he believes in goodwill, even as the world crumbles around him because it is inevitable that he fail in his mission and ultimately lose everything and everyone he loves, and we all know that he must fail so that others will succeed where he did not... i eat that shit RIGHT up.)

✅: there are at least three separate instances where i have used the righteous brothers' unchained melody in my writing, and two of them are because the song plays on a jukebox in a greasy spoon diner. it was completely unintentional, that's just a song that keeps popping up lol.

fanfic writer emoji ask

[agustdakasuga]

Winter Bear

Genre: Romance, fluff, (slightly) sad, oneshot

Pairing: Taehyung x reader

Characters: Idol!Taehyung, Normal!Reader

Summary: The world loved him but he still felt alone. He slept in his own misunderstood world alone, like a bear in hibernation, waiting for the approaching spring to wake him up. You were the spring he waited for.

[A/N: There will be references to Tae’s grandmother in here so please read at your own discretion. I wanted to incorporate that and a romantic take in the story since these were the two assumed reasons behind Winter Bear. I didn’t want to ignore that side of what the song could possibly mean too.]

Letting out a soft sigh of despair, Taehyung stared at the empty screen before him. He buried his face in his arms. Every song that he had worked on for his mixtape in the past 4 months were now in the trash. Namjoon and Yoongi said they were good but Taehyung didn’t want that. He didn’t want good, he wanted perfect. 

He needed to do well, he needed this to be a success. This was supposed to be one that would be talked about for a very long time. He was trying to show a whole new side of his musicality, to show how he could mix his two favourite genres, jazz and ballad. 

This is meant to be Kim Taehyung’s mixtape, tunes and lyrics from his real self. Kim Taehyung, who came from Gochang, looking for an outlet to express himself. Not V from BTS. 

But with every day that he didn’t release this mixtape, the bigger the expectations grew. 

Jungkook continued to release successful song covers, Taehyung used to do the same but he stopped. Jimin has been putting out dance videos, Seokjin was releasing singles more frequently. What was he doing? 

Nothing. 

Everyone in the vocal line worked extra hard, not being able to really do as much producing as the rappers for albums. 

When the management announced that each member would get their own studio to work on their music, Taehyung was the most excited. As much as he liked sharing a space with the other vocalists, he wanted to curate his own space with his own creative liberty. 

Make it his own. 

Like every other person, he thought that having his own space that matched his energy would allow him to write songs as fast as someone like Namjoon, who could write lyrics in less than an hour or Yoongi, who randomly composes chart-topping tunes just because he was ‘bored’. Judging by the crushed balls of paper that littered the floor and the chunk of music files in the trash, it didn’t work out that way. 

Sitting back up, he threw his head back with a long sigh to stare aimlessly at the ceiling, hoping for an inspiration to just hit him out of nowhere. 

“Halmeoni, what should I do?” He asked the air. It had been 3 years since his grandmother passed and Taehyung was still not over it. He missed her dearly. 

Her warm hugs, her head pats. She always knew what to say. 

She looks like a blue parrot Would you come fly to me?

He took his phone out, to check the time and stare at his wallpaper. He had recently changed it to a photo of her, feeling guilty the other day for not thinking of her as much as he should be, with how busy he has been. 

No, he hadn’t forgotten, of course. But with comebacks, schedules, practices and meetings, he hadn’t even had time to go visit her grave like he always did. It was rather ironic. When he first started, he made a promise to himself that he would always put family first before anything. And yet, he couldn’t even make it for her final send off when she passed. He planted on a fake smile, prioritised the joy of others before his own and walked on that stage. 

She spent her life caring for him and left before he could say goodbye or I love you. The day she left, was the day Blood, Sweat & Tears won its first award. Until today, Taehyung maintains that it was a final gift from her to him. 

He tried to remain strong, not wanting to break down before ARMYs and worry them. He hadn’t even told the members until the show was over and they were headed back to their hotel. 

Maybe she wanted to see him smile, her last day on earth to be remembered as a day of celebration, not grief. 

Taehyung clenched his fists, squeezing his eyes shut as he dropped his phone. He remembered the mix of emotions when his father sent him the message of her passing. Yes, he was sad. But he was also angry, he couldn’t help the feeling of betrayal that bubbled within him. Why did she have to leave him when he was in another country? 

Didn’t she want him there to say goodbye? 

Shaking his head, Taehyung willed himself not to fall down that hole that would lead him to wallow in sadness and cry. Taking a sip of water, he sat up straight to try and write a tune again, or some sort of lyric. He just needed something to make him feel productive. 

Placing his fingers on the keyboard, he experimented with a few keys, making sure to record them just in case. After that, he pieced them together, layering them over one another to listen in their entirety. 

What was the thought, the feeling that he wanted listeners to have? 

What was his reason for writing? 

That’s when it hit him. He hadn’t even thought of his reason for writing. To be able to continue, he needed to go back to the source, his muse. 

So he turned off the computer, the lights and left the studio. Returning to the dorm, the entire house was dark and quiet with the members having gone to bed already. Taehyung just went to his room. He hadn’t bothered to change out of his clothes, leaving his coat and mask on the ground before going to his bed. 

Seeing the other person asleep in his bed made him crumble. His facade that he tried so hard to hold up fell. 

I want some good day, good day, good day Good day, good day

“Tae?” Your sleepy voice called out to him, feeling the bed dip. Taehyung didn’t reply. Instead, he wrapped his arms around your figure under his blanket, just wanting to receive any form of comfort that he could get right now. Your warm hands cupped his cold cheek. 

You were shocked when you heard him sniffle, feeling the damp tears against the skin of your neck. But you didn’t point it out, letting him cry into your shoulder. 

“Sorry.” His voice cracked. 

“Don’t be.” You hushed him, patting his back. Taehyung always grew frustrated with himself when things went wrong. He always felt the need to stand out and be different, he was afraid of being forgotten or left behind. That was already a lot for a person to deal with. Coupling that with the nasty rumours and constant accusations made against him, it was easy to push him over the edge. 

For the rest of the night, you just held him, letting him fall asleep in your arms as exhaustion washed over him. As worried as you were, you pushed down that want to question him and figure out what happened. Was it his songwriting? Was he being caught in another scandal?

Right now, you know you needed to be here for him and tell him that everything was going to be okay. Looking down at his sleeping facing, you gently wiped the stray tears from his face, brushing his fringe back. 

That’s all Taehyung ever needed.

As much as he loved verbal affirmations, sometimes, all he needed was a hug. It was more than enough to know that someone was there for him, to give him the warmth and love that he craved. You didn’t go back to sleep after, opting to just look at him resting peacefully, enjoying him being so close to you.

“Sleep well.” You whispered softly, leaning down to press a kiss to the top of his head. 

Looks like a winter bear You sleep so happily

Taehyung met you at a photography class. The class took place in the outskirts, the instructor teaching how to capture moments in nature. Taehyung was first amused by the way you diligently took notes while no one else did. The way your tongue stuck out slightly when you were focused. 

When told to partner up, Taehyung came up to you. You didn’t know who he was but you did admit that he was good looking. As the two of you moved around to take pictures, he was intrigued by the way you saw things. 

It was different from the others. 

Just like him. He always saw things differently from others. To have you also share a different perspective as he did made him feel connected to you in a way he could never explain. 

Until now, his favourite picture was the one he took of you secretly during that class. You were standing in a field of tall weeds, a tranquil smile on your face, your eyes closed as you enjoyed the sounds of nature around you. He couldn’t help but capture that moment. You reminded him of the peace that he used to enjoy in his life before it was taken over by the hectic schedules and practice classes. 

You brought that peace back to him. 

After that day, you thought you would never see your photography friend again but Taehyung continued to keep in contact with you. He would often ask you out for coffee, just to catch up and talk. On days you couldn’t meet, he would spend hours on call with you or texting you. 

Taehyung didn’t want you to find out his identity. He didn’t want to scare you off. You had become someone important to him. Someone more than a friend. 

There was a sense of normalcy with you. Taehyung could express himself, share his ideas without fear of being judged or laughed at for being different. He didn’t need to hold back. Seeing your smile or interest in his ideas was enough to give him that confidence he needed. The feeling of self-doubt and stupidity melted away. As long as you saw the meaning of his ideas, that’s all the validation he needed. 

Because just like how he felt about you, you also loved the way his mind viewed things differently. What seemed like black and white to everyone else, were shades of grey to Taehyung. 

I wish you a good night, good night, good night

You had the pleasure of meeting his grandmother before she passed. She was the kindest lady that you’ve ever met. While she was protective of Taehyung, she adored the way he took care of you and the way his eyes lit up when he spoke about you. 

When Taehyung was busy or overseas, you would go visit her in his stead, take her for health checkups and make sure she had everything she needed. 

In turn, she would feed you, continuously send you food and teach you to cook delicious dishes. You looked up to her like she was your own grandmother. She was there to give you a home that you never had. She became your pillar of support, the person to hug you and encourage you when you didn’t want to bother Taehyung. 

You were there when she passed. Before she left, she gave you her ring, along with her husband’s. 

“Even if I have to watch from heaven, this is what I wish for you and Taehyung.” 

That was when you were sure of your feelings for Taehyung. Unfortunately, she wouldn’t be there to see the two of you come to your feelings for one another. 

Despite feeling the ache and pain in your own chest, you couldn’t even begin to imagine how Taehyung was feeling. As you held her hand for the last time and cried, you mentally asked why she didn’t wait for him. 

Being just a stranger, you stood far away, silently crying. It was Taehyung’s sister that came to hug you first, letting you sob your heart out. Taehyung’s family was kind enough to include you in the funeral, they knew how much you cared about her. You were allowed to be with Taehyung’s sister as the both of you donned the same hanboks, signifying the granddaughter representatives in the family. 

When Taehyung finally came home, you accompanied him to her grave. Your heart broke as you watched him sink to the ground, sobbing his heart out as his hands grabbed at the stone with her name and photo etched on it. 

He thanked her for the award. 

He apologised for not being there. He apologised for prioritising work over her.

But even as he stood there before her grave, he didn’t say goodbye. Instead, he wished her goodnight, hoping her eternal sleep would be one of peace and good dreams only. 

Good night, good night

You were there the entire time, comforting Taehyung without being suffocating. He appreciated your presence and effort, not wanting to imagine what it would be like if he didn’t have you with him as he tried to move on from that dark period of mourning. 

When you gave Taehyung his grandparents’ rings, he knew he couldn’t waste any more time, realising how the unexpected can happen just like that. 

He knew he didn’t want to lose you, he couldn’t afford to. So he immediately asked you to be his girlfriend, to which you said yes.

This is why he wears his grandfather’s ring and you wear his grandmother’s around your necks as necklaces, waiting for the day the both of you could wear them properly on your ring fingers.

Taehyung’s eyes slowly opened, feeling the cool sheets instead of your warmth beside him. He let out a groan before sitting up. The outerwear and coat that he had dropped onto the ground the night before were now neatly folded, stacked on his dresser. Touching his cheek, he cringed at the slight tacky feeling of his dried tears. 

“Jagi?” He called out softly, even if he knew you were not in the room. 

That was when he heard your faint voice outside. You were talking to people, who sounded like Jimin and Yoongi. The conversation stopped and he heard your approaching footsteps. Immediately, he hid under the covers to act like he was still asleep. 

“Tae?” You whispered. He squeezed his eyes shut, not really sure why he was even hiding from you in the first place. 

You peered over his shoulder, knowing he was faking it. But you patiently sat at the edge of the bed, adjusting the blanket over his body. 

“Rest well.” You wished and stood up to leave when a hand shot out to grasp your wrist. Taehyung yanked you back until you fell over his lap. He engulfed you in a tight hug as if he was afraid you were going to disappear any second. You wrapped your arms around him too, turning your head to give him a kiss on the cheek. 

“Maybe your animal shouldn’t be a tiger or lion anymore. You’re more like a bear.” You chuckled when he pulled away. You fixed his messy hair with a soft smile on your face, gently running your fingers through his messy locks. 

“This bear wants to go back to hibernation.” Taehyung yawned. 

“You can get all the rest you need. But first, food.” You pulled him to stand up. While you went to put his food together, he washed up and changed into a fresh set of clothes. 

When he came back out, the house was empty. There were no other signs of life, except your humming from the kitchen counter. Taehyung slid onto the barstool, curiously watching you put the individual dishes onto a tray for him. Whenever you stayed at the dorm, you did a lot of cooking with Yoongi and Jin. Even if they were busy, you would prepare a meal for all 7 of them when they got home. 

They were always grateful to you and Taehyung was always proud to call you his, his heart always swelled with pride when the other would talk about how amazing you were. He was never jealous. 

Because he knew your heart belonged to him, just like how his belonged to you. 

Imagine your face, say hello to me Then all the bad days, they're nothing to me

“Do you have any plans today?” Taehyung asked. You shook your head.

“Can we go somewhere after this?” He requested. You nodded, not even asking where he planned to go. If Taehyung needed you there, no matter where it was, you would be there. You stayed with him as he ate. There wasn’t much conversation, you just sat there and Taehyung placed his free hand on your thigh to keep you close. 

After he ate, you did the dishes and headed out together. Taehyung brought his camera, slinging it over his shoulder. You held his hand as the both of you walked to his SUV together. Being the gentleman that he was, he opened the door for you and helped you climb up. 

Soft, classical music played in the background as Taehyung drove. You kept your gaze on the scenery outside. 

With autumn here and winter not too far away, the streets of Seoul changed. It was always different. The trees that swayed in the autumn wind, the coloured leaves that slowly fell and littered the ground. 

“Are you cold?” Taehyung broke your train of thought. You turned away from the window and looked at him, shaking your head with a soft smile of reassurance. 

“Autumn truly is beautiful.” You commented. He hummed in agreement.

The further Taehyung drove, the lesser buildings and cars you saw. The tall skyscrapers of Seoul city were replaced by lush forests and open fields. You finally knew where Taehyung was taking you. The gravel crunched below the wheels of the SUV as it came to a stop. You opened the door and hopped out first, looking around and taking in your surroundings. It was so quiet and serene, there were only the sounds of birds in the distance. 

This is the place you met Taehyung. 

Wordlessly, he came to hold your hand. The both of you walked together, following the exact same trail that you had walked when you took the photography class. Having come in summer the last time, the entire place looked different in the autumn. 

It was a lot more comfortable. The warmth of the sun contrasts the cold of the wind. And there was no one else there, just you and him. 

With you, ooh, ooh, ooh, ooh

The both of you found a good spot to sit towards the end of the trail, at a low cliff edge. You drew your knees to your chest as you admired the rest of the forest below you, closing your eyes to enjoy the peacefulness. Taehyung took his camera and snapped a photo of you, the sound of the shutter making you open your eyes again. Your confused blinking made him laugh. 

“Let me see!” You giggled, reaching over to him. 

“No! It’s mine.” He chuckled and held the camera away from you. Pouting, you lightly knocked your forehead against him. 

“Being cute isn’t going to work this time, jagi.” He pinched your cheek, wrapping an arm around you. You leaned against him, savouring the warmth of his body. It was as if the both of you were the only ones in the world, no one else existed and nothing else mattered.

“Do you want to talk about what happened last night?” You offered. Even if he didn’t say anything, you could feel his hesitation and fear. You took his hand and squeezed it, a silent confirmation and reassurance that he didn’t need to talk about it if he didn’t want to. You weren’t going to force him. 

“I just needed to be reminded of my muse, my reason to write music. I was so caught up in trying to make as many songs as I can that I forgot it.” 

Right here, right now, this is his muse. Having you here with him, being in this place that allowed him to forget all his worries and fears of what can happen in the future. This was the reminder that he needed. 

The reminder that you are his reason. 

Winter bear Ooh, ooh, ooh

“Jagi, this weekend… Do you think we could go visit my parents?” He requested. 

“Of course, we can pay respects to halmeoni while we’re there too.” You replied. Taehyung stared at you, appreciation filling his heart, you said exactly what he wanted to you. You knew what he wanted to do but couldn’t find the words to say. Thankfully, you knew him well enough that you could practically read his mind, that he didn’t feel the pressure of having the voice everything out to you. 

“I’d like that.” Was all he could say with a crooked smile as he held you closer to him, if that was even possible. 

As the sun started to set, you and Taehyung headed back. The both of you rushed to get out of the cold and embraced the warmth under the blanket of his bed. You laid on his chest, fingers laced with his, listening to his calming heartbeat. 

“Go to sleep. I’ll be here.” He encouraged in a soft whisper. 

On cue, you let out a yawn, the lack of sleep from the night before finally catching up to you. Taehyung’s thumb traced random patterns on the back of your hand, his soft hum slowly lulling you into slumber. He didn’t sleep yet, instead, he watched you. Watching you rest brought so much energy back to him. He let out a blissful sigh and kissed the top of your head. 

“I love you.” He whispered before closing his eyes to join you in dreamland.

Sleep like a winter bear Ooh, ooh, ooh

Cracking his knuckles, Taehyung sat down on his chair. The monitor and machines before him whirled to life. Taking his phone out, he referred back to the notes that he made the other time, watching you sleep on his chest. 

There weren’t music notes. Rather, there were lines of lyrics thrown around here and there but most importantly, there were writings of his thoughts and feelings as a reminder of what he wanted to do with this song that he was going to make. The message he wanted to share and convey. 

Not just for you, him and the members. But for the ARMYs and any listener that would need his song as a lullaby or source of comfort. 

Closing his eyes, he transported himself back to that exact time, remembering how he felt in that moment. 

His fingers moved on their own, pressing the keys on the keyboard before him. He was so caught up in the moment. When his eyes opened and trailed to his desk, his fingers suddenly stopped. He reached out to hold the new picture frame encasing the new photo, holding it delicately. A small smile crept onto his face as he admired it for a few minutes. 

The stolen picture. 

You, sitting on the cliff edge with him, your eyes closed as you took in the new world around you. The picture of tranquillity. 

Looking at the picture was able to calm his heart down but make it race at the same time, the feeling of adoration and love for you overwhelming his entire system that he couldn’t even comprehend it. Every feeling he had for you was so intertwined that he could never separate them and describe them with just words. 

Just like how he would watch over you as you slept, you would do the same from him. The both of you brought so much peace to each other. The world that you lived in together, away from this reality, would never be understood by anyone else. 

Taehyung was like a bear in winter, asleep and alone in his own misunderstood world, waiting for spring to come. 

You were the spring he was waiting for.

And now that you were here with him, there was no need for him to be alone and to sleep like a winter bear anymore.

[bolded+italicised words: Lyrics from Winter Bear by Kim Taehyung]

~~

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[sourholland]

You Can See Me || Timothée Chalamet

a/n: here’s a period piece with ghost!timmy!!! i recommend listening to tom’s diner by suzanne vega before or while you read :)

Fall, 1902

All throughout your childhood, you’d lived on a quaint countryside with your mother and father. It was a comfortable and quiet life, nothing very out of the ordinary. You did your lessons at a small schoolhouse a few minute walk from your home.

And then your father succumbed to consumption. He died and your mother shut herself away for so long that she drove herself mad. It was a terrible thing, having to grieve alone with no siblings or mother to lean on. So finally, at the ripe age of eighteen, you wrote to your Aunt Druella. She was your mother’s eldest sister, living a ways away in an old manor that you’d never visited.

She urged you to come immediately, to uproot your life and take your unwell mother to stay with her. With no father, there was no way you could afford to keep the house. It was a matter of time before you were left with no place to stay. Mother was in no position to find you a possible suitor, one that could pull the both of you out of debt.

Moss was overgrown, covering the stone of the home. Vines hung idly around each and every crater in the exterior. A thick fog covered the surrounding greenery, there was another manor just down the path a bit. You could see that it was in the same condition as this one, hazy in the smog.

“Where are we? What do you want with me?” Your mother cried, skin patchy and irritated.

“It’s me, mum. We’re at Aunt Druella’s home, your sister.”

Pulling the creaky gate open, you slipped through the rusted black poles that towered over you. You gripped your mother’s elbow, hoping your white skirt wouldn’t get dirty. There was a pale pink sash tied at your waist, flowing white lace collecting at your wrists.

It was a short walk to the front of the cold building, taking the steel handle and rapping at the mahogany. Only a moment later, a woman dressed in all black opened the door. She had pale blue eyes that appeared almost translucent. Her clothes were worn, her gaze blank.

“My darlings!” Came a shrill voice turning the corner. “Oh how good it is to finally see you, I trust your journey was alright?”

Aunt Druella in the flesh. She was dressed in deep purple tones, hair pulled back. Her skirts pooled at her feet, eyes a bit terrifying to look into. She scolded the woman who’d opened the door, shooing her away with a hand motion.

“Don’t mind Constance, she’s the housekeeper,” Druella drawled.

Can’t say it looks like anyone had cleaned here within the last century, you thought.

She tried to speak to your mother, gaze piercing as if she was willing her to remember. You almost thought she might be onto something, false hope overcoming you. Alas, your mother only sighed and began to weep silently again. It was a sad sight.

Druella called Constance back into the entryway and ordered her to help your mother to her room. You felt weary, it had only been you taking care of her since your father passed. Druella seemed content, though. She turned to you finally, watching as your mother and the maid hobbled up one of the cobweb covered spiral staircases.

“Y/N,” she tsked. “How beautiful you’ve become. I’m so glad I could offer you some solace in these dark times.”

“Thank you,” you responded shakily. “I’m extremely grateful for the hospitality you’ve shown us. I only hope we won’t be too much of a burden.”

“Not at all, my love.”

She helped you up the staircase and then up another staircase where she brought you down a long and narrow hallway. The wallpaper was grey, peeling generously in some spots. She brought you to the end of the hall, opening a creaky door and leading you into a nicely sized bedroom.

There was a bed in the corner, a bay window on the side of the wall. By the door was a slightly ajar wardrobe, next to it was a vanity with nothing on top of it. Overall it was pretty empty, nothing out of the ordinary jumping out at you. Through the window you could see the other manor, behind it was a small cemetery covered in the smoky air.

“Best keep away from over there, never know what lurks around in the dark,” said Druella.

“What do you—”

When you turned around, she was no longer standing in the doorway. It was empty, as if she’d never been there at all. It was an odd feeling, being in this room, in this house. There was a stack of books on the windowsill, a few familiar titles.

Looking into the distance, you saw movement in the yard through the window. It was a fleeting moment, but you could have sworn you’d seen a head of brown hair. Squinting, you strained your eyes to see if someone resided just outside. Strangely enough, you shook your head and there the person was. Perched up on top of a headstone, someone sat with a book in hand.

Curiosity getting the best of you, you slipped your white gloves on and left the bedroom soundlessly. Taking the same hallways you’d used before, going down both staircases again, you were in your previous position at the front door.

It was a quick process, getting outside and onto the side of the house. The fog covered everything, grey silhouettes guiding you away from trees. The gate siding was easy to slip through, pushing your body through the bars and walking along the patch of grass that led you to the familiar cemetery.

Looking up, you could distantly see your bedroom window. A second later, you glimpsed back at the overcrowded, yet small gravesite. The person was seemingly gone, just as they had disappeared prior. You looked around ferociously, squinting through the smog.

“Where did you go?” You mumbled to yourself, exhaling deeply.

“You could see me, from the window—you could see me,” said a voice from behind you.

Nearly toppling over out of shock, you turned around hastily and with a quiet gasp. It was boy, he couldn’t have been much older than you. His skin was pale, much paler than you’d ever seen. Under his eyes were purple, his cheekbones carefully sculpted and making his hollowed out cheeks more prominent. His hair was a cascade of deep brown curls, falling into his eyes.

“Don’t you know not to sneak up on a person?”You huffed dramatically. “I nearly shrieked.”

“You can see me,” he repeated.

“I’m sorry, am I missing something?” You questioned. “I saw you from my window, I just moved into the manor with my mum. Where do you live?”

His green eyes scanned your figure, looking for something peculiar about you. He found nothing, not one single thing. You were a perfectly ordinary teenage girl. Lips parting, he tried to think of any explanation that would suffice. He thought of nothing.

You studied him, not because he was odd, but because he was quite good looking. His posture was good, hair done nicely. His white shirt clung to him, almost the same shade as his skin. It was strange, though. His clothes were sort of peculiar, old looking.

“I’m staying here with my family,” he coughed. “Timothée, my name is Timothée.”

“Y/N,” you extended your gloved hand to him.

He looked more than hesitant, eyeing you wearily and slowly putting his hand out for you to grasp. Oddly enough, he felt your silk gloves. It wasn’t like it should have been, his grip was staticky with a strange airy feeling. It was cold, though. Very cold.

“Y/N!” Your aunt’s voice came through the wispy white fog.

“I have to go,” you told him. “I’ll see you soon.”

“Yeah,” he breathed. “I’ll see you soon.”

Making your way back inside, you lifted your skirts and thought of the boy with green eyes and skin white as milk. You thought of the peculiar feeling you got when you touched him, and the sallowness to his skin.

You walked through the archway of the door, meeting your aunt by the same staircase as before. She did not look concerned, only annoyed. Glancing at the clock, you realized it had been longer than you thought. Dinner would be served soon.

“My apologies, Aunt Druella,” you said to her politely. “I spoke to the boy living across the way, he told me he was staying with his family in the house beside us.”

“What boy?” She asked a bit detached, fixing one of her buttons.

“Timothée, the boy with the brown hair.”

Her eyebrows laced together, her lips contorting when she turned towards you. Suddenly, you could see the years of age on her face. The grey had begun to take over the roots of her hair, skin ridden with age.

“There is no boy named Timothée staying next door, the house has been unoccupied since before I was born.”

“That can’t be,” you said lowly. “He told me he was—”

Aunt Druella had gone again, too busy to care about what anyone else was saying. She turned down the hall to the dining area, seemingly expecting you to follow. Before you sat down to eat, you planned to ask Timothée why your aunt told you nobody lived in that house.

Once again, you slipped out the front door and squeezed through the tall rusting gates. It was a short walk to the back of the house, dusk approaching quickly. Only this time you didn’t see him, nor did you feel his presence. Walking mindlessly down the path, you glanced around the small cemetery. There were an abundance of long French names, one’s who had died at least fifty years prior; it was just as your aunt had told you a few minutes ago.

Only when you reached the edge of the gravesite did you recognize the plot the boy had been sitting on. The stone was worn, moss covering it a bit. You crouched down, brushing the greenery away and blowing on the slab. It didn’t process right away, but when it did you felt a rush of ice down your spine. The headstone’s inscription read: Timothée Chalamet, 1826-1846

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[wkemeup]

Eclipse

summary: When a mission leaves you empty and broken, Bucky is determined to heal the wounds that linger deeper than the cuts on the surface.  pairing: bucky x reader word count: 8.4k warnings: canon level violence, hurt!reader, PTSD, dissociative episode, nightmares, a rapid switch from sweet/fluffy to pain, angst with a happy ending 

An eclipse finds its home in the darkness Thriving as it suffocates the sun and shadows her light In its passage she lays in wait Waiting— for the moon to give way and grant her morning

Bucky thinks he’s found heaven when he lays with you under the cover of thin, linen sheets; the soft, white of the fabric touching over curves and edges of exposed bodies, peaks and dips, like snowcaps nestled upon the crest of mountaintops. Lying flushed with heat, hearts beating a little faster, breaths a little labored, Bucky reaches out and traces the lines of your face.  

The tip of his finger brushes over your nose, slips down along your jaw, touches the sun kissed stream of light against your cheek as it seeps in through the sheet thrown over your heads. You giggle as he pulls you in for a kiss, chaste and sweet, his hand curling into the hairs at the nape of your neck and he tugs you closer. It’s the most beautiful sound in the world, the way you laugh to his lips, muffled in his kiss but still uncontained.  

Hidden under sheets, shared breaths between you in your own little world, Bucky decides he will be content if he stays here forever.

“I won’t be gone long, you know,” you tell him as you press lightly on his chest, just enough to get draw his attention away from the trail of kisses along your cheekbone and down your jawline. He pouts playfully at you, but you soothe your hand along his shoulder, recognizing the shift in energy as his eyes flicker a shade of hesitancy. “I’ll can handle myself.”

“It’s not that,” he replies quietly, voice soft, barely a whisper, as his smile begins to fall. It’s subtle, but you notice.  

“Then what?”

Bucky shrugs, swallowing back the anxiety that begins to pool deep into his stomach every time you leave on assignment. But he pushes out a smile, one you do not question, and he leans in to kiss the button of your nose.  

“I’ll just miss you, is all.”

You grin and it lights up wide across your face. The cast of sunshine behind you as it filters in through the sheets tossed over your body drapes down like a halo, an illumination of an angel, and Bucky commits the image to memory. Stored to a safe place in the back of his mind for the dark nights alone in this room. He’ll find you those moments, even when you’re miles away.  

“You’re a sap, Bucky Barnes,” you laugh, ruffling his hair as you toss the sheet up from over your faces and take in a deep breath of fresh air. It’s brighter in the room than you realized and you squint your eyes, tucking your face to the crook of Bucky’s neck to shield yourself from the sun.  

“Only for you, sweetheart.” He tries to ignore the bright red flicker of the clock beside you as he crawls out from under the safety of the bedsheets, the fantasy fractured by the reminder of your impending assignment; four weeks in a classified location, entirely on your own.  

A smile presses tight to his lips as you steal a glance back at him full of bright eyes and sunshine.

He does his best to swallow the anxiety though it churns like blades through his stomach.  

***

Bucky paces back and forth in his room, stealing looks at his phone as it sits face up on the bedside table. He taps the screen every few seconds, as soon as it dares to fade to black, so he can see your face again; the picture of you laughing behind an ice cream bar melting down your hand. A shimmering red bow and mouse ears on the top of your head from your trip to Disney last spring. He can still smell the melted vanilla and hardened chocolate when he looks at it and he tries hard to focus on the memory, but he knows it’s an excuse to make sure he doesn’t miss your call.

Tap.

Still nothing.

You’ve been gone over a week now and though he does his best to busy himself with time spent sparring with Sam in the gym, running out along the lake behind the compound, cleaning the kitchen until the stench of bleach burns up to the floor above him, you’re still at the forefront of his mind.  

He knows you’re safe. He knows that you can protect yourself and that you were capable of solo missions long before Bucky came crash-landing into your life, but it doesn’t stop him from worrying. It doesn’t stop the incessant twitching in his hands as he curls them to fists, doesn’t stop the frantic pacing and the wear he drives into the carpet, doesn’t stop the panic that skips the beat of his heart when it’s two minutes past check-in and you haven’t called.  

“Stop it,” he grumbles to himself, “she’s fine. Stop worrying. She’s fine.”

Another glance back at the phone. Tap-tap on the screen until it lights up with your smile. Nothing.  

Three minutes past check-in.  

He has half a mind to track down Fury himself when suddenly, the phone rings.

A ringtone you’d changed early in your relationship - a synthetic, almost electric, instrumental of Can’t Take My Eyes Off You right when the music starts to pick up and the trumpets are blaring and it throws him straight into overdrive.  

Bucky lunges it at, hands fumbling for the phone but it falls to the floor in his hurry. He hits his shoulder against the edge of the nightstand with a loud thump and collapses down to the carpet as the phone bounces down under the bed.  

“God-fuckin’-- ugh!”

He grips tight to the phone by the chime of ‘I love you, baby!’ and quickly brings it to his ear. He’s out of breath but he stills himself, takes a moment before he says anything and he hopes his voice is calmer than the rush in his chest.  

“Hi.”  

You snicker on the other end of the line and he knows in an instant he’s been busted. “Thought I told you not to wait by the phone, Buck.”

“I wasn’t.” A full faced lie. He grimaces as it comes out.  

“Sure, you weren’t,” you drawl, a laugh tucked sweetly into the hum of your voice.  

Bucky can hear floorboards squeaking faintly through the speaker between your breaths. Old wood, the whistle of the wind in the distance; a motel built in the early sixties with poor insulation and cracking foundations. He wonders where you are or if the image of you pacing amongst faded shades of burnt orange and green curtains, of once brightly colored comforters and pealing wallpaper only exists in his imagination.  

“You okay?” he asks first because he needs the confirmation. Despite hearing the even tones in your breath, the sweet laughter in your voice, he needs to hear you say it.  

“Always am, honey,” you respond lightly and Bucky lets himself take in a deep breath before you add, “I miss you though. It’s awfully cold here and I could really use a super soldier to keep me warm.”

It makes him smile; the first one that pushes up into his cheeks without force since you left. God, he misses you.  

“Don’t go calling Steve now, okay?” he teases, the anxiety draining from his body in gentle waves, cast out by the flow of ocean water through his bloodstream in the sound of your voice and the image of your smile as you tug your lower lip between your teeth.  

“Never. I prefer my men one-armed and dangerous.”

Bucky laughs as he sinks down further onto the floor, the carpet rubbing against his tailbone though he doesn’t mind. He’s grinning, listening to the sound of your voice as you tell him about how much you’re craving popcorn and chocolate chip movie nights and he feels like you’re sitting right next to him. He can see the creases in your smile, the lines by your eyes, the faint markings of old scars on your skin. He hears your voice and it reminds him of home.  

“It’s beautiful here, Buck,” you sigh and he wonders if you’re staring out a window to mountains or ocean or tundra. “I wish you could see it.”

“Where is ‘here’ again?”

You giggle and—God—it's the most beautiful sound he’s ever heard, even crackled and broken through the speakers of an old satellite phone miles away. “Nice try, baby.”  

The timer on his watch starts to ding and his heart clenches.  

“Time’s up, huh?” you whine playfully, but he can hear the disappointment in your voice. It’s never long enough, these three minutes that Steve allows for you, but he’ll take seconds if he can get them. Just long enough to calm his nerves, to give you the motivation to keep going on your own, without the possibility of the call being traced.  

“Yeah,” Bucky sighs, clenching at his hand. He brushes closed knuckles against his forehead, presses deep into his temples because he can already feel the pit in his stomach forming again. “Stay safe, alright? Come home to me.”

He pictures your smile, the soft edges and the curve of your lips.  

“Always do, don’t I?”

You do. He knows this.  

But his mind is cruel and it wonders when the day will come when you won’t.

***

“I’ll raise a Kit-Kat,” Bucky concedes nearly two weeks later with a tired huff, tossing a chocolate bar to the center of the table to accompany a handful of M&M’s and mini-Twix. It knocks over Natasha’s carefully constructed tower of Milkyways and she shoots him a warning glare.  

To his right, Sam snickers under his breath, a laugh too confident for a man with a dwindling stash of chocolate in front of him to the mountain sitting beside Natasha. He hides his face behind the fan of cards, but Bucky can still see the crease in his brow, the pinch of lines together at the center that tell him Sam is bluffing. Natasha is as stone cold as he would expect and he has no interest in challenging her resolve, so he decides to weed out Wilson first.  

“When’s your girl getting back, Barnes? Think you might need her around to console you after I obliterate your snack drawer,” Sam taunts, changing the subject abruptly. Another tell of his.

“End of the week, I think,” Bucky replies with a shrug, playing it off casually because he knows Sam is trying to throw him off his game.  

“As if you aren't counting down the seconds.” Natasha scoffs, a smirk pushing at pursed lips.  

“You're an absolute goner for her, you know that don’t you?” Sam says as he pushes a few more M&M’s to the center. Brightly colored pile at the center and he plops one from his own stash into his mouth.  

Bucky, meanwhile, chews on the inside of his cheek, avoiding Sam’s wandering eyes because he knows it’s true. You’ve only been together a little under a year, but he’s spent twice that loving you from a careful distance, just out of fingertip’s reach until he’d come back from a mission with one too many bullet wounds in his body and he couldn’t take the tension between you anymore.  

He could still picture the smile on your face as he told you, the way your eyes lit up and you jumped into his arms; IV drips and wires to machines and all. The press of warm lips to his cheek, his temples, his nose, his mouth. Sun streaming in through the window and casting a halo behind your hair. 

“Yeah, I know.”  

“Atta boy.” Sam nudges Bucky’s arm, grinning wildly.  

They turn to Natasha as she nods in approval before setting her cards down on the table with the kind of look in her eyes that tells Bucky the game was over before it even began. Royal Flush.  

“Not again!” Sam whines, slumping down into his chair.  

“It’s starting to feel cruel playing with the two of you.” Natasha reaches into the center and gathers the mountain of chocolate to drag it towards her towering pile. She starts to unravel a mini-Twix, keeping a taunting eye on Sam as he glares back at her. The chocolate passes behind parted lips and she bites down with a contented hum.  

Sam rolls his eyes. “You owe us drinks, ma’am.” He gestures to his empty glass.

Natasha smirks, conceding easily as she stands to grab their glasses. She turns to Bucky. “You want a refill, Barnes?”

He shrugs. “Yeah, sure.”

As Natasha makes her way back to the kitchen, Sam sneaks a few M&M’s from her pile and quickly plops them into his mouth with a cautious glance over his shoulder. Bucky begins to shuffle the cards and he can feel the burn of Sam’s stare even before he opens his mouth.  

“What do you want, Wilson?”

“When’s Y/n coming back? For real.”

Bucky glances up. Sam’s arms are stretched out along the backs of the empty chairs beside him. He’s relaxed into his position, chewing on the stolen chocolates as he raises an eyebrow.  

“End of the week... like I said.”

Sam leans in closer. “That a question?”

“No,” Bucky retorts shortly, though Sam clearly isn’t buying it. He exhales a tense breath as he bridges the deck. “She’s supposed to call tonight. Longest stretch without a checkpoint since she left.”

Sam nods. “What about the three minute calls?”

“Last one was four days ago. Same day she checked in with Fury.”

“You worried?”

Bucky slices the deck. Shuffles it for the fifth time. Bridge. Repeat. “Course not. I’m sure she’s fine. I’m not worried at all.”

“You sure?” Sam chuckles, leaning back into his chair with another quick grab of a few stray green M&M’s.  

“Fuck off, Wilson.”

That gets Sam laughing. He reaches across the table and snatches the cards out of Bucky’s hands before he can shuffle for a seventh time. He flashes Bucky a smile, dimples into his cheeks and all.  

“I’m dealing this round.”

Bucky nods, letting the tension slip easily from his muscles. He pushes out a smile. “Yeah, okay.”

But then, a glass shatters behind him and Bucky jolts up to his feet.  

“Nat? Are you--”

He freezes in an instant, tension burning through him like marble; the full force of a train straight to his chest and knocking the wind from his body, fracturing the stone to pieces around him.  

Natasha stands just a few paces ahead of him, her hands clasped at her mouth in an array of shock and horror, glass shattered at her feet. Ice along wooden floors and the smell of vodka burning into the air.  

Bucky almost doesn’t recognize you. There’s a slump in your shoulders, a far off look in your eye like you can’t quite focus on what’s in front of you, and a knife in your hand that won’t stop shaking.  

But that’s not the worst of it.  

You’re covered in blood. Deep red seeping into your hair, sticking thick and wet to your face and down your neck; trails of it along your cheeks like raindrops against a windowpane. It soaks into what remains of your suit, ripped and torn, exposed skin stained with grim and dirt. You look like something out of a horror movie.  

“Oh God,” Sam mutters out, pulling Bucky from his trance.  

He wants to sprint, wants to scream for help and sound every alarm he can find, but instead, Bucky only manages broken exhale as he slowly walks towards you. He moves with cautious steps, a hand out towards you defensively, like he’s approaching a frightened animal. It’s what you used to do when the line between him and the Soldier blurred, how you’d seek him out amongst the trauma and distortion and bring him back home.  

“Y/n?” he calls gently and finds his voice rough in his throat.  

You don’t respond, don’t even look at him as he stands within a foot of your reach. Nat and Sam are close behind, but they hold their distance.  

“Sweetheart, what happened?” Bucky asks as evenly as he can manage, eyes glancing down over your body in search of injuries. There’s too much blood and he doesn’t know how much of it is your own. He wants to tug you into his arms, tell you that he’s got you, that you’re safe now, but for the first time since Shuri removed the triggers from his head, he’s afraid to touch you.  

Your lips part, a few short blinks of your lashes, and you mumble out, “I came to find you.”

Your voice doesn’t sound like your own. It’s too flat, too void of emotion, and it rips Bucky right to his core. It’s a defense mechanism, he knows that. You’re still in there somewhere, he just needs to get you through this first.  

“That’s good, sweetheart,” he tells you, trying his luck as he sets a hand on your back. You don’t flinch, but you don’t lean into him either. He shares a worried glance with Sam and Natasha before he turns back to you, pushing out a smile. “You did good.”

“How did she get all the way here from the Hanger without anyone stopping her?” Sam questions, eyes trailing over the mess of blood in your wake, footprints following you from the staircase by the elevator.

“She’s covered in blood and God knows what else,” Natasha whispers back. “They were probably afraid of what might happen if they did.”

Bucky can’t tear his eyes away from you, vision tunneling on the mess of blood rooted in your hair and the stains of red on your face, your chest, your hands. Natasha and Sam’s voices become muffled beside him as he slides his hand down your back and gently lays it over your grip, still shaking as you hold onto the heel of the knife as if your fist had molded to stone around it. The tremors stop as he holds your hand.  

“It’s okay, honey,” he whispers, impossibly soft that not even Nat or Sam hear him, “I need you to give me the knife, alright? You’re safe now. I’ve got you.”

It takes a moment, but your grip on the knife slacks. It falls to Bucky’s palm and he gently guides it out of your reach and hands it over to Natasha. He doesn’t know what happened, but he knows what you’ve done for him when the Soldier has taken over his mind, when he didn’t feel like himself and needed reminded who he was, where the ground was solid under his feet.  

He knows what he needs to do.

“Nat,” he starts, but she’s already a step ahead of him.  

“I’ll go find Steve,” she says, like she can read his mind. “I’ll tell him what happened, see what he knows about her assignment that would have led to this.”

Bucky swallows back the bile in his throat and he nods. “Sam--”

“I’ll sweep the jet, see what I can find,” Sam replies quickly. He sets a hand on Bucky’s shoulder, gives it a slight squeeze, and pushed out a tight-lipped smile. He was your friend long before he was Bucky's. The determination reads in his eyes.  

"Thank you,” Bucky whispers.  

Sam and Natasha disappear down the hallway and then, Bucky is left alone with you. He’s suddenly made aware of how harsh your breathing sounds, like you’re gasping in air through a straw. You stare beyond his shoulders, though he can tell you’re not looking at anything at all. You’re existing. It’s all your mind can cope with.  

“Love?” Bucky calls, willing his voice stronger than it is. “Can you come with me?”

You don’t respond. Bucky clenches his jaw and tries again.  

“I’m going to take you to our room, alright?”  

He thinks it’s better not to present you with choices. It never worked well with him when he got this like; too much stimulation. He knows you’ll resist him if you need to. He slips his hand along your back to guide you towards the bedroom and you take a step as he does.  

You’re limping, he notices, as you cross the threshold into the bedroom. He tries to push his mind away from what caused such an injury, what could have possibly happened to result in the amount of blood drenched over you.  

That’s Sam and Natasha’s job. Bucky’s only concern is you right now, in this moment, bringing you home, making you feel safe. He guides you to the bathroom.  

“I’m going to start the water, okay?” Bucky tells you. You used to do the same for him, telling him what you were doing step by step in an effort to orient him. It grounded him back to his reality, brought him down from the plane of existence above his own head.  

The room starts to fill with steam, enough to fog the mirrors, and Bucky tugs his shirt over his head. He removes his sweatpants, but he resolves to leave his boxers on.  

“Sweetheart?”

You look in his direction and Bucky can’t help the wash of relief as it floods through him. You don’t smile and it’s almost as if you’re looking straight through him, but it’s something. Progress.  

He extends a hand to you, waiting patiently. Though you do not take it, you step a take closer to him, then past him as you walk into the shower fully clothed in your tattered suit. Bucky steps in behind and closes the glass door.

There’s enough room inside that he can stand comfortably behind you as you approach the stream of water. You stare at it for a moment before you reach out and let the water fall over your hand. You watch as the water around the drain begins to turn a dark red.  

“I’m going to wash this off. Is that okay, honey?” Bucky reaches steadily for the loofa behind you, though he pauses as he feels the texture of the sponge: exfoliating mesh. It’ll be too much for you in this state. He resolves for the body wash squeezed into his empty palm.  

“You let me know if you need a break.”  

Still, there’s no response.  

Bucky pushes back the burning lump in his throat and gingerly reaches towards you. He places a soap lathered palm against your shoulder and finds your muscles so tense they could have been made of steel or the vibranium seared into his own arm. You stare at his chest as if you could see through to his heart, maybe beyond that to the shower wall behind him, as he begins to peel the dried blood and grim from your skin.  

The water at his feet becomes muddied and red, the water slipping down your legs tainted by the aftermath of violence laid upon your body. He’s careful to only use his flesh hand as he washes you, something softer and kinder than the harsh touch of metal.  

You start to relax the more he works, your rigid stance easing as the blood cleans from your body. Your suit is still plastered to your skin, ripped and torn and cut open, and Bucky knows he needs to get this off of you. There’s blood behind the fabric, seeped behind the open slashes.  

He thinks of the softest clothes he has to dress you in when you’re clean and dry, something too big for your frame that smelled of fresh laundry or maybe the sweatshirt draped over the chair – the one you liked to wear when he was out on missions because it smelled like him. He just wants you to feel safe, to feel warm and protected.  

But he needs to get you out of this suit first.  

He reaches for the zipper at your chest and the next thing he knows, he’s pressed up against the shower wall, his head pulsing at the impact as you grip tight to his wrist. You’re panting, eyes unfocused at the center of his chest.  

He lets you hold him there. He doesn’t try to resist though he knows with his strength he could easily overpower you.  

“Sweetheart, it’s me. It’s Bucky,” he tries, his voice soft against the fall of water behind you. “I’m not going to hurt you, love.”

You don’t move, but your breaths start to come in a little more even. Your grip falters on his wrist though you don’t let go. His heart feels like it’s shattering inside his chest, stray shards embedding themselves into his stomach, his ribs, his lungs.

“Honey, look at me,” he pleads. “You’re safe now. You’re home. Let me take care of you.”

It takes a moment, but your eyes begin to trail up his collarbone, hesitant sweeps along his neck, his jaw, and then – his eyes. The hard resolve upon your features begins to crumble. Your lip quivers, your hand gripped tight around his wrist slacking in the tremors, tears burn into your eyes and Bucky doesn’t waste a moment before he gathers you into his arms, presses you tight to his chest and encases you against him.  

It's like something finally clicks, a floodgate burst open, because you’re clutching onto him like a lifeline. He can feel the sob as it travels up your spine and shakes your body as you cry. He’s grateful for the mist of the shower that hide his own tears as he rubs gentle circles along your back, easing you the best he can. It’s torture seeing you like this and feeling so powerless to help.  

He doesn’t know how long he stands there with you, but eventually, you stop crying. The exhaustion begins to take hold and your legs begin to shake under you, too weak to hold yourself up.  

“I’m going to take your suit off, okay? You’ll be more comfortable without it,” Bucky says, gesturing to the zipper. You follow his gaze in understanding and then, you nod.  

The suit already clings tight to your skin without the added pressure of the sticky residue of blood drenched into the fabric and the soak of water from the shower. He slides the zipper down to your navel and slowly peels what's left of the sleeves off your shoulders.  

There’s cuts and slashes underneath, wounds where blades had cut through your suit and nicked your skin. They’re superficial, better than they could have been if not for the suit taking the brunt of the attack, but they’re still painful to look at.

Bucky helps you step out of the suit and he leaves it in the corner of the shower. He glances at your underwear and you slide it down your hips without question.  

“Can I wash your hair, honey? Please?”

You nod and Bucky works quickly. You’re starting to shiver as the water loses its heat, so you stand a little closer to him, seeking out his warmth. It removes just an ounce of the boulder sitting upon his chest.  

When he’s finished, the water at the drain is clear again. The fresh scars upon your body and the distant look in your eye the only evidence remaining of what happened.  

Bucky reaches around you to turn off the water. He pulls a towel from the rack and begins to gently pat it over your skin until you’re dry. Then, he scrunches out as much of the water as he can from your hair, before he leaves the towel resting on your shoulders to soak up the rest.

“I’ll be right back,” he tells you as he finished drying himself off. “I’m going to go grab some clothes for you.”

He doesn’t even make it a step out of the bathroom before your hand is on his wrist again. He stills, looking back at you. Your eyes fall to the floor.  

Bucky swallows back the burn in his throat as he nods. “Okay. Okay, honey. Can you come with me?”

You nod.  

By the time you’re dressed in a fresh pair of his boxers and the t-shirt he slept in the previous night, you can hardly keep your eyes open. He wonders how long it’s been since you slept, if maybe it was since the evening he spoke to you four days prior. You sway on your feet as Bucky guides you to the bed.  

He lays you down, pulls the covers up to your chest and quickly rushes around to the other side of the bed to crawl in beside you. You come into his arms, curling up against his chest, and Bucky tries to pretend for a moment that this is just another night, that you just returned from a successful mission and there’s a relief in holding you again.

But he can’t shake the crippling dread as it burns into his skin. Even as your breaths fall even and you slack into his arms, Bucky stares up at the ceiling, eyes brimming with tears. He doesn’t sleep at all.  

***

A few hours later, the soft tap of a knock draws Bucky from his trance. He blinks a few times, realizing how long he’d been staring up at the ceiling before he lifts his head and finds Steve peering in through the doorway. There’s a solemn look on his face as his eyes flicker towards you.  

Bucky gently slides out from under you, careful to place a pillow under your arm where you’d been laying upon his chest as not to wake you. The bed rises a little as he stands and he takes a moment to brush the hair from your eyes before he makes his way to the door. When he meets Steve in the hallway, he’s careful to leave the door to the bedroom open a crack, just in case.  

“What did you find?” Bucky asks.

Steve sinks down onto the couch. A hand brushes over his face.  

“That bad?” Bucky can already feel the nausea beginning to take hold.  

“We recovered footage from her last know whereabouts – the safe house in Juno,” Steve says. He leans forward to rest his elbows upon his thighs, staring out into the empty space of the kitchen. He sighs. “She was ambushed, Buck. The feed cut out a few minutes into the fight.”

“Who were they?” Bucky chokes out. His throat is made of sandpaper.  

“We don’t know,” Steve admits, pinching at the bridge of his nose. “Mercenaries, probably. Could have been hired in retaliation against SHEILD. Her mission was to identify the point of contact for an illegal arms distributor that was shipping assault rifles into Canada and carrying them over the border. She wasn’t supposed to see any action, Bucky. It was a surveillance op.”  

Bucky doesn’t realize how tight his hands are clenched until he looks down to find puncture marks in the palm of his right hand from where his nails buried into his skin. He thinks of the woman who left him behind that morning, with sun kissed skin and a smile so sweet it made his heart melt, who has barely spoken in the hours since returning home, who’s bright eyes have dimmed into something empty and lost.  

He’s missing something, he’s sure of it. Maybe if he could just see the footage for himself, identify the bad guys, track them down... maybe he’ll be able to fix this. He could bring you back, make you smile again. Killing those men who hurt you will be a small consolation prize for his efforts.  

Bucky is determined as he stands. “I want to see it.”

“Absolutely not,” Steve shoots back. Bucky doesn’t even need to clarify before Steve puts an end to it. “What purpose will that serve, Buck? You don’t need to see the tape, okay? Just trust me on this. I’ve got everyone we have analyzing that video frame by frame. If there’s anything on it to lead us to those assholes, we’ll find it.”

“I have to do something, Steve. I can’t just sit here. Not with her like that...” Bucky glances back at the door to the bedroom. He can’t muster the energy to conjure the image of you standing before him drenched in blood that was not your own, a vacant look in your eyes as if you could see straight through him.  

“She needs you here,” Steve argues, rising to his feet. “What do you think will happen when she wakes up and I’ve gotta tell her you’ve run off on some vengeance mission? That you’ve left her alone to face this by herself?”

“That’s not what I’m doing—”

“Yes, it is!” Steve clenches his jaw as his voice echoes into the hall. It’s quiet for a moment and they listen for the bed to squeak, for any sign that you’re awake, but they’re only met with silence, Steve relaxes again. He takes a step forward and places his hand on Bucky’s shoulder. It startles him for a moment, but he can feel the tension as it melts in his muscles. “Just be here for her, man. When there’s something to know, I’ll tell you.”

Bucky keeps his stare on the thin crack in the door, the moonlight peering in from the window and seeping out into the hallway. He listens for the even breaths as you sleep soundly for the first time in days and he knows Steve is right. He doesn’t know if he could leave you like this even if Steve handed him the direct files of every man who laid a hand on you.  

“I should get back to her,” Bucky resolves, offering Steve as much of a grateful smile as he can manage. It doesn’t quite reach his eyes, but Steve understands. 

***

It takes days before Bucky can get you to leave the bedroom. He’s only been able to get a few words out of you here and there, short answers to direct questions, and you can’t hold his eye for very long, but he takes it as improvement.  

It’s the small steps.

He remembers you saying that when he was at his worst, when he could barely get himself out of bed, when he could hardly touch you without fear of breaking you in half, when the guilt tore and ate through him unchallenged.

So, every time you lift you head when he speaks, when you glance in his direction, when you nod in answer of a question, when you curl against his side and seek out his warmth – it matters. It’s more than what you were able to do the day before and that has meaning.  

When you finally do venture out into the living room, Bucky is sure to keep a hand on you at all times. Whether it’s wrapped up tightly in your own, pressed gently to the small of your back, resting against your thigh, over your shoulders – it helps to ground you, remind you that he’s there. You start to drift off into yourself otherwise.  

Meanwhile, everyone else is walking on eggshells around you.  

Tony turns out of the room before he can even step foot into the kitchen when he sees the back of your head over the couch. Peter is constantly shoveling food into his mouth to keep from his usual rambling one-sided conversations. Steve is deceptively quiet, constantly glancing in your direction as if he’s just waiting for something to set you off. Even Natasha keeps her distance, which surprises him. She stays in the room but she keeps to the corners, observing, like Steve.  

Sam, on the other hand, was never one for subtleties.  

“Hey kiddo!” Sam throws himself onto the couch beside you, bowl of popcorn in his hand as it jumps up into the air before landing back safely in the bowl.  

You flinch at the sudden intrusion next you and Bucky all but stares daggers into Sam for startling you. Bucky was trying to keep your environment as calm as possible as not to set you off into one of those dissociative states again. It could take hours just to get you to acknowledge his voice after that and Bucky can only take that so many times before he’ll simply crumble.  

“You know what I’ve been dying to watch?” Sam says aloud, as if someone is listening to him. He shovels a handful of popcorn into his mouth. “Raiders of the Lost Ark.”

“Sam, no.” Bucky warns as he pulls you closer to his side. That movie has far too much violence, even for an eighties film. He doesn’t know how you’ll react to it.  

“I wasn’t talking to you,” Sam shoots back. He settles into the couch beside you, grinning as he turns in your direction. “Come on, Y/n. It’s been ages since we’ve watched Indie. I know the first is your favorite anyway.”  

Bucky is all but ready to clock Sam ten ways to Sunday when you mutter out a quiet, “okay” and Bucky stills completely. It's the first time you’ve even acknowledged anyone besides Bucky since you came home. He stares at Sam with wide eyes, but Sam doesn’t seem to be surprised at all.  

Instead, Sam simply sinks into the cushions, turns on the movie he must have already lined up in the queue, and leans the bowl of popcorn in your direction. 

Indiana Jones starts his first trek into the cave in search of the Golden Idol and you reach your hand into the bowl. A few bites of popcorn within the first minutes of the movie and it’s more than Bucky has been able to get you to eat without coercion in days. A whisper of a smile crosses your face as Sam almost chokes on the handful he shoved into his mouth.  

Sam Wilson might be a massive pain in Bucky’s ass, but he’s a damn good friend. He’s the only one who hasn’t treated you like you’ve lost your mind. He gives you a sense of normalcy when the floor has been pulled out from under you.  

For that, Bucky owes him everything.  

***

Bucky finds out a week later that there are no bad guys to track down, no one to enact vengeance on for the trauma they’d put you through. There is a reason you came home covered in blood and grime with barely more than a few superficial scratches on your body.  

You’d killed them all.  

“Are you sure?” Bucky asks Steve, hands planted firmly on the conference table. The night sky is littered in cloud covered stars beyond the windows, crickets chirping in the distance. Bucky stares down at the mug shots of a dozen men now presumed dead.  

“We’re sure.” Steve slowly reaches out to gather the images, sliding them back into the file and out of sight. “We’re still working on who sent them but it was probably the arms dealer she was sent to identify. Fury’s sending out a team in the morning to bring him in.”

“That’s... that’s good.” Bucky doesn’t have the strength for revenge anymore. He’s grown tired of carrying it in his chest, on his shoulders, weighing him down as if sinking him to the trenches of an ocean.  

“How’s she doing?” Steve asks, gesturing towards the doorway as they begin to walk back to the elevator.  

“Better,” Bucky replies honestly.  

He’s even seen you crack a smile a few times watching movies with Sam in the living room, maybe even heard a breath of laughter when Sam dropped an entire bowl of popcorn and threw a fit about it.  

You’re talking to Bucky more, asking questions, starting brief conversations outside of the necessary ‘yes’ and ‘no’s, humming to yourself as you shower with Bucky standing just a few feet away. It’s something. Small steps.

“She’s strong, Buck. She’ll get through this.”

Bucky takes a deep breath as the elevator doors chime open. He presses the button for his floor. “I know. I just hate seeing her like this in the meantime.” The elevator reaches his floor and he waits as the doors begin to part. “Thanks, Steve. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

Steve nods. “You got it, brother.”

Bucky makes his way down the hall from where he’d left you just a few hours earlier. You’d insisted that you’d be alright on your own while he met with Steve. Sam is still sitting on the couch watching Netflix just a few feet outside the bedroom, leaving a blanket of security in Bucky’s absence. He can hear Sam singing along to the theme song as he passes by.  

There’s a ghost of a smile on his face as he approaches the living room, but a sudden, gut wrenching scream stills him in his tracks.  

Sam jumps up from the couch, popcorn spilling to the carpet and Bucky stares back at the cracked door to the bedroom with wide eyes. He exchanges a glance with Sam and as another scream echoes out into the hall in a broken cry, the two of them rush into the room.  

Bucky shoulders his way through the door, breaking the hinges on the top of the frame as he stumbles his way inside. You’re lying on your stomach, arms clutched under the pillow, sweat dampened sheets kicked off down by your feet. You’re whimpering, tear tracks into the pillowcase and your whole body is trembling.  

“Y/n?” Bucky calls as gently as he can, his voice breaking in the effort. He moves closer to the bed, his hand hovering over your shoulder, almost afraid to touch you. “Sweetheart, wake up.”

You cry out again, face contorting in pain as you press your face into the pillow. 

“I should get Cho,” Sam says behind him, starting to inch towards the door, but Bucky barely hears him as he runs into the hallway.  

“Come on, honey,” Bucky tries again. He sinks down to his knees beside the bed. His heart is stammering in his chest. It’s pounding so loudly he’s sure the whole compound can hear it. He feels the tears burn in his eyes as you start to sob. “You’re safe. You’re alright, love. I’m here with you. I’m here, baby.”

Bucky lets his hand ghost over your shoulder and he barely has a chance to react before you jolt upright and there’s a sudden, stinging sensation across his chest. Your eyes are wide, chest heaving as you try to catch your breath. It takes a minute before Bucky sees the hilt of the knife gripped tight in your fist.  

“Bucky?” you gasp. “What are you—Oh my God...”  

The knife drops from your hold as your hands clasp against your mouth. It falls at Bucky’s knees. You’re trying to stifle a sob as it threatens to consume you whole and Bucky tries to reach out for you, but you scramble away from him, fearful eyes staring below his collarbone.

Slowly, Bucky follows your gaze to his chest. There he finds that his shirt is torn in a long, pristine cut. Blood begins to soak into the light grey of the fabric from the open wound underneath. The knife you’d held in your hand bares his blood upon the blade.  

“What have I done?!” you cry, shaking your head as you scurry off of the bed and into the corner of the room. You sink to the floor and Bucky shakes himself of his stupor to rush towards you.  

“I’m alright,” he tries to reassure you, though he knows it’s no use. “Baby, I’m fine. It’s nothing. It’ll heal in a few hours. I’m okay.”

“Oh God, Oh God! No... I didn’t-- I didn’t mean to--” Your words are barely distinguishable, slurring together in your slobs, and you can barely catch your breath. You shake your head, fresh tears streaming on your cheeks. “I’m sorry. I’m-- I’m so s-sorry. I didn’t-- I didn’t mean to.”

“I know,” Bucky coos. He can feel the itch of a tear as it passes his jawline. “Honey, I need you to breathe for me. Please, let me hold you. I’m okay. You didn’t hurt me.”

But your eyes are glued to the open sliver of his t-shirt, the blood as it soaks into the cotton, and the slash underneath. It only makes you cry more. Its uncontrollable, like you might pass out if you can’t allow yourself to take in enough air, and Bucky feels like he’s reaching out into a fucking void because there’s nothing he can do for you.  

“Sergeant Barnes,” a stern voice calls suddenly from behind him. Helen Cho stands in the doorway with Sam just beyond her shoulder. She steps into the room, uncapping a syringe. “Hold her down.”  

You’re in hysterics as Bucky pulls you into his arms. You don’t resist as you fall against his chest, but he can feel the unease with which you sit in your own body, like your skin is crawling and you’re caged inside of yourself. He knows the feeling well.  

You barely notice as the needle punctures your neck, heavy head falling to rest against Bucky’s shoulder. He eases his left hand down your spine, hoping the chill of the metal will help soothe you as your breaths become more even and the sobs fall weak and far between.  

“I’ve got you, honey,” he whispers. You start to close your eyes, giving into the sedative. “I’m here. I’m not going anywhere. Just rest, love. I’ve got you.”

No one relaxes until it’s clear you’re out cold. Sam lets out a heavy sigh from the doorway, slumping into the arch. Helen sinks onto the floor beside Bucky, tossing the syringe into the disposal bag before she rubs a tired hand over her face.  

Bucky feels like he can hardly breathe. He waits until Helen and Sam retire to their own rooms before he allows the lump in his throat to consume him whole, before the tears on his face mirror the watermarked stains on his shirt. He doesn’t move from the floor until sunrise, unwilling to disturb your sleep.  

***

“I don’t know why you haven’t left me yet.”

The words pass your lips and they puncture straight through Bucky’s chest - like a knife embedded through his skin, nicking over bone and tearing through flesh. He feels sick, a wave of nausea crashing through him as he turns to look at you. 

Your eyes are swollen red, lips chewed raw. It only takes a flicker of your gaze to the long faded pink scar across his chest to know what’s on your mind. 

“I’m not going anywhere,” Bucky says firmly. 

You shake your head, unconvinced. “I could have killed you.”

“Don’t you go underestimating me, now,” Bucky teases, lighting his voice despite the burning ache he feels in his chest. He smiles at you but you can hardly meet his eye. 

Your legs are swung over the bedside, hands wringing in your lap, reddening the skin. Your breaths are shaken, lower lip trembling, and he knows you’re trying to hold back tears. He can practically feel the lump building in your throat, suffocating you. 

He sighs, sinking down to his knees in front of you. His hands reach out for your own and you flinch at his touch. It takes a moment before you can remind yourself who’s hands are holding you, who’s love you’re surrounded in, and you relax. 

He thinks of the woman who taught him how to love again, who woke him from a decades long nightmare with the sweet touch of her hand and the adoration in her smile. He conjures the image of you he preserved before you left on your last mission, with sun kissed skin and laughter in your chest, as he stares up at the dark circles under your eyes, the frown upon your lips, the aching claws of shame draining you of the light you possessed. 

“Sweetheart, look at me.” He tips a finger under your chin and guides you to meet his eye. He smiles, softening under your gaze. 

“You hold so much space in your heart for compassion and forgiveness,” Bucky eased, stroking his thumbs gently along the backs of your hands. “You never hesitated once to absolve me of my sins as the Winter Soldier. It didn’t matter how may nights I woke up empty, not knowing where or who I was. It didn’t matter how much I thought I was a burden to you and the team, or whether I deemed myself worthy enough to be loved by you. You were patient with me, kind beyond what I ever believed I could deserve. Can you not reserve some of that for yourself, too?”

He watches the sob creep up your spine before it breaks. There’s little more either of you can say and he resides to holding you in his arms, caged protectively against his chest where not even the demons lurking in the back of your mind can find you. 

He knows, eventually, you’ll be okay. You taught him that. Even when the tunnel was its darkest, when he could barely see beyond the tips of his fingers, and the sun was cast over in shadows -- you showed him that as long as he kept walking, he’d find the light again. 

***

“Come on, Y/n, what is the matter with you?”

Bucky hears you grumbling to yourself in the kitchen. He wipes the trail of sweat off his face from his morning run as he approaches the island covered in stray dollops of pancake batter, bottles of maple syrup, and mixing bowls. He smiles as he leans against the counter, waiting for you to notice him.  

“You weren’t supposed to be home yet,” you groan, catching Bucky out of the corner of your eye as you dump a plate full of burnt pancakes into the sink. Your hair a little out of sorts, a bead of sweat dripping down your temple. It’s almost endearing if it wasn’t for how fast your heart was beating. Bucky could hear it down the hall.  

“Missed you.” He shrugs casually, testing a smirk and you started to smile in return; all shy and sweet and full of the woman he adores. He glances to the mess in the kitchen and the smoke piling on the ceiling. “What happened here?”

“Pancakes aren’t my strongest suit.”

Bucky laughs at that. “I can see that.”

You sigh, scratching at the back of your neck. “I just wanted to do something nice for you, Bucky.”

Bucky can feel his heart sinking but he holds the smile to his face. “You do a thousand nice things for me all the time. Just being here is enough for me, sweetheart.”

“You know what I mean,” you say under your breath, eyes falling to the floor by his feet. “After everything I put you through since that awful mission-”

“Hey, hey -- Don’t do that.” Bucky crosses the kitchen and places his hands gingerly on your cheeks, guiding your eyes back to his. “You didn’t do anything wrong; you hear me? You survived. You’re still surviving and I’m just... I’m so proud of you, Y/n.”

You part your lips to say more, to argue against him, but it dies on your tongue as Bucky smiles at you as if you hung the moon and the stars and every damn  

“You don’t need to bring me coffee in the morning,” Bucky says before he presses a kiss to your forehead, “or bribe Stark into making new tech for my arm,” then a kiss to your nose, “or make me burnt pancakes to thank me for loving you through this.”  

He pauses as he pulls back. You’re watching him with an expression somewhere between awe and relief, but it’s the warmth of your smile that does him in completely.  

“We take care of each other, okay? That’s what we do,” Bucky says, leaning in to kiss your lips sweetly until he can feel the smile grow against his mouth. He pulls back, chuckling a bit under his breath. “Besides, I’m the last person who is going to be scared away by trauma.”  

You laugh as you wrap your arms around his waist, pulling yourself closer to his chest. Engulfed in the sweet smell of maple and butter and batter, Bucky feels a wash of calm for the first time since you left on that mission.  

He thinks you may have finally found your way home.  

Thank you so much for reading! ❤️ If you enjoyed this fic, please consider supporting me at my ko-fi account ✨

[carrionsymptom]

Latchkey ch. 3

Read on AO3 | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3

TW: Implied abuse but nothing graphic. AN: Sorry for the delay. GN reader, but they have a name. Basically an OC but in second person.

Alone in your new room, the house seems silent. Al’s footsteps had been heavy as he left, but the second that he shut the door, all outside noises went on mute. You get to work unpacking, placing the few clothing items in the empty dresser, blowing off dust as you go.

In all honesty, you weren’t quite sure how long you and your father would stay here. You’d packed for about a week, but Max’s fascination with the missing boys makes you doubt your estimate. As far as you know, the police don’t have any real leads, and Max’ll want to stay here until the case is solved, you're sure. You sigh into the empty room and gaze at the thin rays of light slicing their way through clouds of airborne dust. They dance around, oh so peaceful. Not at all like the tumultuous day you’ve been having.

It’s not like you dislike spending time with your father, nor uncle Al. They’re nice guys, and they’re family on top of everything. But the thought of uprooting your life for what? A handful of missing kids? You feel bad for how callous your thoughts are, but how much can one coked up father do to help the police? It’s a lost cause if you’d ever seen one, but you’ll never tell Max that. It’s not like you’re not used to his spirals, nor the hours of absence he seems to have, so letting him ride out his mania is all you really know how to do. That is to say, you’re used to being pushed and moved around like you’re a piece of furniture. 

Unpacking is a quick task, your clothes barely taking up half of the dresser space. The room is still bathed in an orange glow, yet the Sun is on its last hurrah before going to bed. November daylight vanishes quickly; it’s barely 5:30 now. Too early for you to sleep, you venture back out into the hallway and head back to Al’s living room.

You take in the house. The linoleum tiling and wallpaper are several decades out of fashion, the latter having been sun bleached from years of exposure and beginning to peel at the seams between panels. Faint spots are lighter, did there used to be picture frames hanging up? Small holes poorly covered up by patchy spackle agree with your assumption. Thinking about it, there’s no mementos from your uncle and father’s childhood anywhere in the house. Did uncle Al take them down? At least the furniture in the living room seems somewhat new. Maybe secondhand judging by the scratches and indents on the coffee table, but they don’t clash with each other. You’d venture to say they’re quite tasteful even.

Max is up and at ‘em, positioning his corkboard like an expensive prized painting on the wall. “Hey Lonnie!” He exclaims, bounding over to you. “Al said it was alright if we pinned stuff on to the walls- well, he said he ‘didn’t give a shit’ but that’s basically the same thing right?” Your father doesn’t wait for an answer, flitting between pages and polaroids, stringing everything together like a fucked up connect-the-dots. The papers breach the boundaries of the corkboard, now sprawled on the wall behind, lit only by the nearly-fallen Sun and a tacky lamp to the left.

“...Are you sure it’s okay to put this stuff up? That’s… that’s a lot of tacks,” you say. Max continues though, turning the already ripped wallpaper into swiss cheese with a few missed pinnings.

“No no no, don’t worry. Al said it was okay.”

—

“Get that shit outta here,” Al grumbles. In the brothers’ shared bedroom, Max sits on the ground with a handful of colored pencils he stole from school, about to tape his finished masterpiece to the bedroom wall. “You know dad doesn’t want you hanging anything on the walls.”

Shaw senior doesn’t even hang up his children’s drawings on the fridge. The two have long since given up any attempt of a handmade gift for the man, father’s day and his birthday going uncelebrated for years. Instead, poorly-feigned smiles are captured on the walls, documenting the young boys’ growth over the years. Max, Al, and their mother are grimly bearing their teeth, their father’s grin the only genuine one. In every photo he smirks as if he’s secretly won the lottery.

Max frowns. “It’s just a drawing,” he insists. “Look, it’s us.” He holds the paper up to his older brother’s face.

It is indeed a crude portrait of the little family they have. Sure the coloring is patchy and chaotic, and the lines often swerve off course, but where Max lacks in talent he makes up for in earnestness. Each figure has a big smile on their face, and an arrow pointing to each proudly declares the drawing’s names. “Momma.” “Papa.” “Max.” “Al.”

“See?” Max grins. “Look, that’s you!”

But Al doesn’t give a shit whether his kid brother included him in his family portrait. If it were up to him, he’d be anywhere but this cesspool of a house. Instead of praising the boy, Al sneers down, hands clenched into tight fists as his side as he fumes.

“Don’t. Put. It. Up.”

The younger boy falters. His shoulders sag at the disapproval, a sight that only aggravates the older more. Christ, this kid. Did he really think Al cared?

He snatches the paper from his brother’s hands. “This is shit.” The page tears with the force of his grip, crinkling and splitting into three parts: one with “Momma” and “Papa,” one with “Max” and the last with “Al.”

Al clenches the “Max” portion, crushing the paper into a tiny ball and throwing it in the teary-eyed face of the artist.

“Why…” Max whimpers. Al can’t stand the sight of his brother’s big dark eyes pooling with pain and sadness. He’s so pathetic it hurts. He turns his back to Max, not even bothering to turn around to look at the younger boy as he steps through the threshold to the hallway.

“Don’t do it again.”

[marshallpupfan]

As promised, here it is! The entirety of my Marshall collection!

I started this whole thing in 2019, back when I bought one single figurine to place in front of my computer monitor. Over time, as I became a bigger fan of Marshall and realized just how absolutely crazy I am about him, I ended up buying a few more things until... well, until it eventually became what you see here!

Also, let me tell you one other thing; I never realized just how much I had until I started rearranging/reorganizing a bunch of it! 😅

I figured I’d briefly talk about each section. So, let’s get started!

The majority of the plush dolls I own are on the right. They used to be located on the bottom of the big display case, but after I started to get so many more, I figured I’d transfer them to their own thing.

Some of the larger plush dolls are on the bottom (with some tiny dolls included because I couldn’t find spots for them elsewhere), and above are the ones that often get released during each new sub-series. Hopefully I’ll get to add the Rescue Knights plush soon, whenever it shows up. I just hope I can find a spot for it! lol

Though most of these are plush dolls, I reserved one shelf for miscellaneous items I couldn’t find spots for on the big display case.

Right in the middle is my TV, with a Ready Race Rescue poster above it. I also have some figurines here of various pups, though I’m hoping to add all of them some day (and perhaps others, like Claw). If you’re curious, my laptop is connected to my TV, and the image you’re seeing is my desktop wallpaper. 

I put that wooden wall art on this wall, along with the badges that came with some of the figurines. Things were a bit bare, so I printed off some of my favorite screenshots/pics of Marshall to go along with them! The one with the lucky collar is my favorite, since that smile he has there is simply the greatest thing ever. 😁

Now, onto the big display case.

The bottom two shelves house all of the vehicles I’ve collected. To make them appear nicer, I placed their respective figurines next to them. Some of the smaller ones, such as the True Metal vehicles, reside right below them.

The shelf above the vehicles has most of the figurines that’s released over the years. Can you believe Marshall’s worn so many different outfits? Fireman, EMT, Air Patrol, Mighty Pups, Dino Rescue, Pup-Fu, Moto Pups, Ultimate Rescues... the list just keeps growing!

Above that are other items I’ve managed to find, such as a snow globe, Christmas ornaments, ceramic piggy (puppy?) banks, an alarm clock, bobbleheads, a big color-changing lightbulb (that large head in the back-right), candy dispensers, bubble makers, shampoo bottles, among many other things!

And now, the last two shelves of the display case. 

The bottom one here has other misc. items I’ve collected, including lunch pails, a few Marshall-focused DVDs, Good2Grow Bottle Top heads (still missing one), more Christmas ornaments, coffee mugs, among other things. The thing in the middle is a light-up talking coin bank, which I actually imported from the UK (the first overseas item I added to my collection).

The very top houses some of the bigger plush dolls I couldn’t find room for on the right side. I included some others up there, just to fill up the empty space. There’s a few other jumbo plush dolls I hope to add here, whenever I can find them for a good price.

And last, but not least; this singular plush. It’s one of my favorites, so I like keeping him next to my bed. I suppose you could say I consider him a companion of sorts.

Well, there you have it! Pretty crazy collection, huh? There are still a few more things I’d like to do to spruce up the whole thing a bit, like make some better shelves (the one holding the figurines is starting to bend), and perhaps paint them so they’ll all match. For now, I’m quite happy with it, and I hope you guys enjoyed seeing it!

So yeah, needless to say, I wasn’t kidding when I said I’m totally crazy about Marshall! He really is my #1 favorite animated character of all time, and I feel this collection is a testament to not only that, but just how absolutely awesome/amazing I think he is! 😉

[gingersnaaps]

untouchable

keishin just can't stand the thought of anyone else being your first.

wc: ~2.5k

tags/tw's(PLEASE READ): noncon, explicit n*fw, alcohol, corruption of innocence, virgin!reader, mild misogyny, possessive ukai, masturbation, fingering, teasing, friends to lovers but fucked up, fem!reader with inner genitals

a/n: written for @seita and their collab! also i probably fucked up the characterization but oh well

i don't want minors interacting with my content

To Keishin, you’ve always been untouchable.

He’d grown up alongside you - seen you go from your pretty pigtails to your grown-up bob, watched you turn from a schoolgirl into a woman. And through all those years, he’d always thought you were beautiful in the way that spring flowers are, all soft and sweet and dewy, your expression dripping innocence.

You’re pure. Unblemished. Perfect.

But that doesn’t mean he’s never admired from afar.

He almost hates it, these urges he gets. Keishin sees your stupid Instagram posts, your Facebook updates - in fact, he’s practically inundated with photos of you. He can’t escape the pictures of you in your summer skirts, grinning cheekily and holding up a peace sign, or the ones of you in your sundresses, the fabric lightweight and loose, cascading over your body in ripples.

And sometimes, after spending a few hours with you in person - maybe at a concert, maybe just catching up with you as friends - these urges he gets are too much for him to control, too much for just a cold shower to tamp down. He’ll lay his head back against his pillow, groaning in relief as he palms him cock, guilt gnawing him raw as he strokes himself to thoughts of the soft swell of your breasts, the barest brush of your hand - every exposed bit of your skin that he can conjure from his memory.

He always gets this empty feeling in the pit of his stomach after.

Keishin will reprimand himself, muttering about how creepy it is, how wrong it feels, how he’ll never do it again, but soon enough, he’s seeing your pictures all over his feed again, and you’re inviting him to some new outing.

He knows it’s not right, but he can’t really stop himself, either.

So when you call him up just days later, giggling and chatting his ear off about some new amazing discount at this local bar - look, Keishin, I promise it’s not far - going on and on about how he should join you in celebrating your latest raise at work, a wave of nausea sweeps over him. He should say no. He should make up some vague excuse, awkwardly laughing, brushing off your invitation while promising to make it up to you.

But it’s just been so long since he’s seen you.

He clears his throat, and his voice comes out dry and a little unsure on the other end. “Yeah. Yeah - I can go. See you there, [y/n], okay? Take care.”

Keishin hangs up the phone with a click before you even get a chance to respond, his hand unsteady and trembling.

-

He gets there before you do.

His fingers drum nervously against the tabletops, eyes scanning above the sea of overdressed, garish bargoers, looking around for any sign of you. It’s hard to make out faces among the crowd, all finer features clouded by the smoke and mirrors that dim lighting creates, but he’s looked at you enough times to be able to tell you apart with his eyes closed.

“Hey,” your voice greets, pressed close to his left side. “Never been to a bar before or what? Just relax, Keishin. We’re here to have a good time, right?”

He startles at your sudden appearance, flinching slightly. “Right,” he responds, a smile tugging at his lips.

He beckons the bartender over, ordering a few drinks, and you get settled into a routine of easy conversation. It doesn’t take long for you to get woozy, alcohol flooding your system as your cheeks flush and vision blurs. It loosens your tongue, loosens your wallet, and before long, you start losing track of the time of the drinks you order. All you know is that it feels good to let go, to lose yourself in the light-headed headspace you’ve found yourself in, the kaleidoscope of people around you dissolving until indistinguishable, walling off the rest of the world from just the two of you.

If Keishin’s going to be completely honest, though, he’s not really paying attention to what you're saying.

He’s paying attention to the men around you.

Maybe he’s just being paranoid, but he could swear that half the bar is leering at you, eyes following every movement of your body in ways that are absolutely unacceptable. He’s not an idiot. He knows what those other guys are thinking about; he knows how their dicks are straining in their fucking pants, how their thoughts must be wandering, he knows because he’s been there before.

Because even in the middle of a bar, surrounded by debauchery and alcohol and sluts, you look absolutely angelic. The halo of hair around your head looks so, so soft - he wants to stroke it, kiss it, use it as a handle to maneuver you around for him - and suddenly he’s consumed by thoughts of how much he wants to be the one to force you down around his cock, choking and sobbing, how much he wants to smear his cum on your gorgeous face and ruin you before anyone else can get to it. He can’t tear his gaze away from you as you shift closer, wobbling on your stool, completely oblivious to the way everyone else’s eyes are undressing you.

He knows you’re not doing this on purpose. You can’t be, no matter how many times you wiggle your ass on the bar stool, no matter how far up your thigh the hem of your skirt rides up. You wouldn’t tempt others like that. You’re just not that type of girl - you’re innocent, so open and guileless - you would never.

Keishin isn’t going to let anyone else fuck that up for him.

He knows it’s only a matter of time before some sleazy man comes along, his hands groping at your body, mouth whispering sinful words into your ear, and the mere thought makes him shudder with revulsion.

No, if anyone is going to wreck you, it’s going to be him.

When you eventually get too drunk, words slurring and half delirious, he catches you in his arms and leads you stumbling back to his own car. He revels in how peaceful you look with your eyes lidded with fatigue, clinging onto his arm as he drives back to his apartment.

He takes you inside with him.

“K-Keishin..” you mutter. “Where are we?”

He shushes you softly, carrying you to his off-white bedroom of popcorn ceilings and peeling wallpaper, of warm lights dimmed low and an eerie silence that suspends your surroundings in stillness. Laying you down on his half-made bed, he tenderly brushes aside the hair that frames your face as he crawls on top of you.

“I’m taking care of you, baby.”

Your eyebrows knit in confusion at his pet name, but your mind is still too woozy to fully comprehend the meaning behind his words.

But even a drunk girl like you knows that something’s not right when warm, calloused fingertips reach beneath your skirt and slip under the hem of your panties. You instinctively flinch away from his touch, trying to close your legs back up, but he brings a knee up between your thighs to rest at your cunt.

“Please,” you whisper, sobered from the rush of dread that runs tingling down your spine. “Please, Keishin. We’re friends.”

He ignores you, pressing down on your cunt until you’re squirming beneath him, his gaze softening as your breath hitches with desperation. “You don’t have to worry. I’m gonna make this virgin cunt feel so good,” he breathes. “Gonna show you just what real sex is supposed to feel like.”

He presses his lips to yours, his kiss gentle yet insistent, lips and wet tongue probing your mouth as if he’s trying to pry you apart and open you up. You can taste the alcohol on his hot breath, puffing lightly along your jaw as he trails his mouth further down, dragging his kisses sloppily down the crook of neck to where it meets your collarbone.

You tell yourself that it’s gross, that it’s overwhelming, but it’s impossible to hide the way your clit throbs against him as he flicks his tongue out to tease at your sensitive nipples, a moan almost involuntarily slipping from your lips. His mouth curls into a playful grin, teeth scraping roughly against your tits, and brings up the palm of his hand to cup your pussy.

“See?” he says. “This feels good.”

You cringe at his words, desperately bucking away from his touch, but there’s nowhere left for you to go - one arm cages in your small, frail body, the other strokes at your clit through the fabric of your panties, his mouth is sucking and nipping at the soft flesh of your tits - he’s everywhere, drawing patterns across your skin with lips and tongue, tracing feather-light circles on your pussy until you feel that desire in your cunt pulsing with need. “No,” you whimper quietly, almost as if you’re trying to convince yourself. “No, it doesn’t.”

Keishin ignores your weak protests, because he’s much too fixated on the way you look spread out beneath him. He didn’t think he’d ever get to see you this debauched, a flush riding high on your cheeks as you turn your head away in embarrassment, your hips bucking needily into his waiting hand, hair mussed and pupils blown out with lust.

You’re not the same girl he used to idolize, now that he’s seen you like this.

“I wonder how tight your pussy is,” he muses. “It hasn’t been tainted, right? Except for when you’ve touched yourself.”

Now there’s a sight he wants to see.

He withdraws from between your legs, but he moves his large hands to pry at your thighs and hold you in place. “I want you to do it for me,” he orders. “Show me how you touch yourself.”

You feel so fucking vulnerable in this position, legs forced apart and your glistening cunt bared to his hungry gaze, completely at the mercy of his whims and fancies, your body gone almost limp with fear at the thought of what he could do.

So you follow his directions like a good little girl.

You reach a finger to the entrance of your cunt, but the angle is awkward, and when you shove it inside, you’re barely able to feel even an inch of stretch. It’s frustrating, embarrassing, humiliating to be so helpless in front of Keishin, but you swallow the shame and begin to roughly thrust a finger in and out of your dry hole, even when the ache in your cunt is screaming for something much bigger - much more satisfying - to fill you up and satiate the need throbbing in your pussy.

He clicks his tongue mockingly. “Not good enough?” he asks. Keishin can tell from the pained expression on your face, from the slight twitching of your hips every time your stubby fingers brush against your g-spot, even though your face is turned away from him, and he knows what you’re really asking for with your panting and whining.

You’re asking for him.

Sweetheart, he’s more than okay with teaching you how to do it properly.

He moves your cramped hand away from its pathetic attempt at satisfying you, bringing a thumb up to rest at your clit, relishing at the way it pulses with need after just a few light circles. “More?” he asks.

Guilt is written all over your features, your eyes darting away, fingertips curling to grip at his sheets as he presses down more firmly. The twinge of stimulation sends white-hot arousal rushing to your cunt, your brain becoming hazy and unfocused, and the only thing you can think about is wanting more, more stimulation, more of his soothing words whispered in your ear, more of his deft touches and long, thick fingers.

“Mhm,” you whimper quietly. “Yes.”

Keishin stops the movement of his thumb, the warm palm of his hand resting against your throbbing clit. “More of what?”

You shake your head, embarrassment seeping into your veins. You don’t want to say it. You can’t say it.

He dips a finger into your cunt, teasing at the entrance before trailing light, soft touches up and down your folds. “Use your words, baby. I wanna hear you say it.”

“Please,” you beg, desperation written across your face. “Touch me.”

“Where do you want me to touch you?” he asks, malice glinting in his eyes. He wants to hear you say those filthy words, wants his precious, innocent best friend to beg him to do the things he’d only ever dreamed of.

“My…” you trail off, eyes now hazy and unfocused as you blink back tears. “My pussy. Want your fingers inside my pussy.”

What a good girl.

“Knew you could do it for me,” he growls, slipping his finger deeper into your twitching hole. “When you want something, you have to learn to ask for it.”

He doesn’t hold back now, adding another thick finger inside to stroke and pet at your sensitive walls, pressing up against your g-spot firmly as his thumb rubs steady, even circles on your clit. The stimulation comes crashing down like a wave of relief for your sore, aching hole, his fingers playing with your cunt better than you ever could, reaching deeper inside you, stretching you out further, making you cream around his skilled digits until your hole is left fluttering and fucked out.

You barely have the energy to resist when he pulls out his cock, painfully hard and leaking, and fits it to the entrance of your pussy. He pushes in slowly, gently, his deliberate movement a facade of tenderness, stretching you out until the pleasure pulsing in your core becomes almost unbearable from how unhurried he’s fucking you.

“Holy shit,” he says, swearing under his breath. Keishin wishes all the other undeserving men at the bar could see you now, sprawled out on his bed like his own personal fuckdoll, your eyes rolled back into your head, gasping and moaning as he breaks in your virgin cunt. He knows he’s fucking you better than any other man ever could, wrecking you in ways you’ll think about years in future when you close the blinds and dim the lights and slip a hand between your legs.

And as he finishes, groaning in pleasure as the waves of an orgasm wash over him, he pulls out of your slippery cunt and watches as his thick spurts of cum land all over the soft, smooth skin of your chest and stomach, marking you as his.

You look so beautiful painted white.

No, maybe beautiful is the wrong word. You’d always been so pure in his eyes, so clean and untouchable, but looking down at your quivering form, he begins to finally see what he’d been to blind to all along. For the first time, he sees how slutty your tits are covered in his cum, how they’re almost pushed up to your chin when you’re lying on your back. When he squeezes at your thighs, your ass, your waist, the excess flesh spills over in all the places that make you perfect for fucking.

You’re not innocent anymore, he realizes with a sense of twisted satisfaction. Not after this.

You’ve been ruined, haven’t you?

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