#i need to settle on how i draw his face why is it so inconsistent

[crows-of-buckets]

Woe tyrian doodles be upon ye

[eliyips]

HOW DO YOU MAKE X SO FRIENDSHAPED?!

But also genuinely curious about the design translation from the actual skins to your interpretations due to the small but mighty details added in

Infodump as hard as you want!

If i ever pass up an opportunity to talk about my X design, it will be because I am either dead, or dying!!! neither are true at time of posting, so here you go! I will be going over my ENTIRE design process for Xisuma, starting with my initial design:

My initial design for Xisuma wasn't anything special, in my opinion. Most of what I included was directly ripped from the classic Doomslayer. Though, the face scars were inherited from fanon, of course. :) The changes that I did make were in service of having things make more sense for Xisuma. Namely, the belt buckle, and the fabric covering the arms...

The belt buckle is simple - bullets didn't really make sense as a design motif, all considered - but the fabric is more complicated. I have a couple different ideas about why Xisuma wears the suit, but I haven't settled one way or the other on some of the specifics, so forgive me if I'm a bit vague. Ultimately, It is just my impression that X is not comfortable having his body visible more than it needs to be, whether that be for health-related reasons or for personal/emotional reasons. I don't intend to ever draw Xisuma with his helmet off, because of that. To me, it feels like a violation of boundaries. To be perfectly clear though, that's just for me - more power to other artists who draw him without the helmet/armor! :)

By the time I was full-on fixated on Xisuma, I realized I was unsatisfied with this first pass at his design. Mainly, in regards to the helmet. So I did more work on it!

I feel like my re-design process for the helmet is a good example of the importance of using reference. :) I did a lot of unsatisfactory sketches before pulling up pictures of real helmets, at which point I feel like I settled on something I was happy with very quickly.

Specifically, I referenced motocross helmets! My choice of reference was mostly driven by my passing interest in sports equipment design, though motocross helmets are similarly bulky and have the same distinct mouthpiece as X's helmet, so I think it was a good choice. I also feel like the pixels at the top of Xisuma's skin can be pretty easily read as the brim of a helmet, so it works out!

Other than the motocross helmet influence, I also made the choice to add tubing to the sides and back of the helmet. This rolls with my headcanons about the purpose of the helmet, connecting to air tanks on his back! I also think it helps to distinguish him from the doomslayer, in addition to the new helmet shape.

The only other changes I made were to the helmet's palette, added a few additional grey tones for contrast, and the positioning of his scars. I decided I wanted them to be a little off-center, leaning towards his left eye. I'm pretty inconsistent with how I draw the scars though, lol, so it changed again by the next time I drew him.

At this point my design is mostly settled for him, and I don't expect it to change very significantly any time soon. I don't have much else to say about it, but I listed the other iterative changes I made to the design above! I figure I will continue making small tweaks to his design every time I draw him :)

That said... I have yet to answer your initial question! So I will answer it now:

"HOW DO YOU MAKE X SO FRIENDSHAPED?!"

My answer is that it's (almost) all in the eyes!!! I have already talked pretty extensively about Xisuma's eyes. So I won't dwell for too long! In short, human facial recognition is very closely tied to the eyes. The ability to see the eyes of a character clearly affords you a lot of flexibility when it comes to making a design seem approachable, or "friend-shaped." I painted over a screenshot of doomguy to illustrate my point!

My drawings tend towards being a little cutesy, of course, so that helps :) but you can see that the bright, saturated color, big distinct eyes, and less harsh expression all contribute to making him seem like he is less of a threat, despite this literally just being the doomslayer.

Another thing that helps is, again, related to the style I draw in. My art is very "clean" looking, not gritty. I use a lot of soft shape language and don't texture things too heavily. With Xisuma specifically, I also make no effort to make him seem intimidating. I use very neutral angles when drawing him, I don't frame him in a way that makes him seem intimidating or imposing, I don't pose him too confidently or angrily. Because he's not that kind of guy! Though it would be an interesting challenge to try and make him look as intimidating as possible :) I certainly think he could be quite scary, if he wanted to be. Just a matter of what I'm trying to convey.

... I think that's all I have to say for now! Once again, blown away by all the nice things people have to say about my Xisuma design and my art. Everyone here has been so kind and encouraging, and I really appreciate that. Thanks for giving me the opportunity to yell about Xisuma! If you have follow up questions, by all means, I am ready to answer :)

[chronic-escapixt]

His Rose ~ Part 2

(Kai Parker x Bennett OC fanfiction)

content warnings/tags ~ Dark fiction, CNC, dubcon, yandere, murder, abuse, trauma, smut, innocence kink, mutual attraction, slow burn, manipulation, childhood trauma mentioned. Minors DNI

I don't claim ownership of The Vampire Diaries or its characters. All credits go to the rightful owner(s). I only own my original character(s).

Word count: 1.7k

K.P. Masterlist

Burning candles lined each side of the table where Rose and Kai sat across from each other with a map between them. He suggested they use Portland, Oregon as a starting point to locate the ascendant. He told her it was the hometown of the Gemini leader. He lifted the dagger and dragged the jagged edge across his palm to draw blood before dripping it on the map. In turn, Rose started the incantation: “Phasmatos Tribum, Nas Ex Veras, Sequitas Sanguinem…”

He watched, waiting for the location to reveal itself but nothing happened. Even the flames kept a consistent burn, failing to rise as they should in reaction to magical energy. She continued the chant, her voice wavering until he stopped her. “What are you thinking about right now?” he asked.

“I don’t know… I just don’t want to mess this up.” 

“That’s your problem. If you keep imagining yourself failing, then that’s what will manifest in your spells. Magic draws on your energy and emotions.” She nodded and took a deep breath to settle her nerves before beginning again. The crimson droplets twitched before they conjoined into one surging arrow as the candle fire erupted into a light roar. Rose peaked down at the map. “Keep going. You’re almost there.”

She continued until the blood gathered in one spot, the candle flames dying out in unison. “Oh. my. god. It worked…” she whispered as soon as her eyes opened.

“Don’t sound so shocked. You’re a Bennett witch. You know, my coven has a long history with Bennetts. Your magic has to be one of the most powerful of any coven, that’s why they seal prison worlds with it.” He searched her eyes, detecting insecurity, “you doubt yourself too much.”

Her face warmed, but she didn’t avert her eyes from his. “Thank you.. for the advice.” 

“Don’t mention it.”

Without wasting time, they got on the road to Oregon, with Kai taking the first turn behind the wheel. After only half an hour on the road the silence unnerved him, prompting him to strike up a conversation.

“You never told me how you ended up here.” He glanced at her.

“The truth is, my sister Bonnie was supposed to, not me. Her life was bound to the Other Side but it was falling apart and I couldn’t sit back and let her die... again.”

“So, you sacrificed yourself for her?”

“Yeah.. I guess I did. I was looking for any way to help, then this spell practically fell into my lap. It let me switch places with her and time was running out so… I just did it.”

Confusion contorted his face “But why?”

She turned sharply, “Because she’s my sister and she always puts everyone before herself, especially me. But more than that, she’s the smartest and most beautiful person I know. If anyone deserves life, it's her,” she frowned, “if I had more time, I would have told her that.”

He wanted to ask more questions because truthfully, the idea of loving someone, let alone a sibling that much was.. odd, but he saw how emotional it made her, so he went the reassuring route. "You can tell her everything you need to when we get you back home."

She nodded.

After a day and a half, it neared midnight when they arrived in Portland. Rose snored softly beside him having been asleep for the better part of an hour. Kai took over the last stretch of driving, glad that she was sleeping so he wouldn’t have to pretend to follow the map. He didn’t need the locator spell in the first place. The ascendant was exactly where he left it. The spell was a test that showed him she had the ability to do magic. Her low confidence and inconsistency could be an obstacle but he hoped that wouldn't be an issue come the eclipse.

They pulled up to a large white house at the end of a gravel road surrounded by a modest expanse of field and woodland. He nudged her awake before they got out and approached the house.

“The ascendant is here?” she asked, staring back at the facade.

“The spell led us to this address,” he confirmed.

An odd feeling took hold of her. Maybe it was dread, but she couldn’t quite place it. Whatever it was left her feet stationary at the cobblestone just before the porch steps. “Rose… Roseee, are you.. coming?”

She nodded and followed him, pushing down the indiscernible feeling.

Little did she know, this place had unpleasant memories for many, especially those familiar with its bloody history. Having grew to befriend his demons, Kai found a twisted comfort with the place that nurtured them through a childhood of abuse and depravation.

They searched the house together, starting with the ground floor and moving deeper until they reached the study. Her eyes locked onto the brown trunk against the far wall. She removed the heavy grimoires stacked on top and fumbled with the lock.

“I have a feeling it’s in here but the trunk is locked,” she stated. Kai searched the desk, opening drawers until he found a small key. He crouched down beside her and put the key in the lock, turning until the subtle click sounded. She reached inside, pulling out a circular piece of metal with a small reflective crystal in the center. 

Before the night ended, Kai brought her down to the nearby caverns which he said would be an ideal location to access direct moonlight for the spell. Rose followed in silent awe, tracing her fingers along the granite walls that glistened in hues of blue. They stopped below the skylight which granted direct access to the moon above. “It’s beautiful,” she remarked breathlessly. He turned to her, immediately noticing the way her eyes sparkled, taking on a silvery color in place of their usual hazel hue. Her gaze met his just before he could look away and pretend he wasn’t staring.

“We should head back and get some rest. It’s been a long day,” he finished with a stretch and a yawn. 

Bubbles rose to the surface as he topped her glass with Pinot Grigio. Kai insisted she relax while he made dinner in exchange for the meal she made him the other night. She complied despite her desire to help, not only because she knew her way around a kitchen but also just to be close to him. His energy, his scent, the slightest physical contact gave her full body goosebumps.  

Sip after sip had her inhibitions waning until her eyes shamelessly traced his body, the contour of his back, the ever moving muscles that bulged along his arms as he worked with his hands. He was saying something, but it all faded into the background. His broad shoulders were strained by his tight t-shirt, sleeves clinging to his biceps. She silently thanked him for taking off that hoodie before cooking. He poured some wine into the hot pan before bringing the bottle to his lips and taking a generous sip.

She watched with baited breath.

He swallowed then turned to her suddenly, “Do you like shellfish?”

“Yes!” She blurted out loud. If her face could get any hotter it would have, “I mean, yeah… shellfish is fine,” she murmured quietly. Kai turned back to the stove, stifling a chuckle.

They ate a shrimp pasta with a white wine reduction and finished off the bottle of Pinot. Perhaps it was the wine or the way he looked at her like she was the most interesting person alive but she felt open enough to tell him all about her life back in Mystic Falls.

Although he liked to talk, Kai was attentive to her stories, vampires, love-triangles, originals and travelers. He took particular interest when she mentioned a pair of twins, Liv and Luke Parker. “Bonnie met Liv in her occult studies class. She’s really powerful. She gave me a few lessons in channeling.”

Kai looked up from his wine glass, “what about the guy... Luke?”

Rose thought for a second, “Oh, I only met him once. He was nice and I heard he was even more powerful than Liv.”

As the meal wrapped up, he asked if she enjoyed it. “It was delicious. Where did you learn to cook like this?” 

He chuckled. “I’ve had to cook for myself for almost 20 years now, so I’ve picked up a few things along the way.” 

“How did you do it? Spending so many years alone without anyone to talk to must have been difficult,” she inquired.

Kai offered a strained smile, “Loneliness isn’t new to me. I've always been by myself for as long as I can remember.” 

“Why?” she asked. 

“My dad kept me away from my family. He said I was an abomination. In his defense, I’m not like other witches in my coven.. I can’t make my own magic. I can only siphon it from others. Ever since I was little, he forced me to stay away from everyone else or face whatever punishment he felt like doling out. Early on, I wanted to be around them, but I quickly realized it was safer to just stay to myself.”

“Kai, that’s horrible. He couldn't be more wrong about you.”

He raised his hand, “If I touched you right now, I could siphon your magic right out of your body. Doesn’t that scare you?” 

Rose stared back unwavering, “I’m not afraid of you.” She closed the distance between their hands brushing her fingers against his. “I trust you and I’d let you have some if you asked, I'm not that good with magic anyway.” 

For the first time, she did something he didn't expect. He could almost get lost in her soft touch and genuine eyes but couldn’t afford to. Reminding himself of his plan in which her purpose did not include making him vulnerable. His hand slid away and he rose from the table.

“I should get started on the dishes.” 

“I’ll help you,” she chirped after him. 

“No-no, I got it,” he insisted. 

She frowned, suddenly noticing his mood change. Whether she had crossed a boundary she wasn't supposed to or the topic of his childhood made him uncomfortable (or both), she didn't push it any further, hoping that by giving him space, he would feel more at ease and open up to her about his past but clearly, that wouldn't happen tonight. Rose stood up and said goodnight before heading upstairs.

[konigenblobbity]

i had this idea stuck in my mind, all i can think about is the trio that Hobie, Pavitr and reader (platonic) would make.

And i listen to pop AND I WOULD TOTALLY ARGUE WITH HOBIE TO SEE WHICH ONE IS BETTER BETWEEN PUNK AND POP LOL

And like reader would tease Pavtir that their are more taller even if just an inch (than there is hobie who is more taller than both of them💀)

And yeah just a platonic trio with them :D

Headcannons or anything is good I JUST NEED THIS

Request: Triple Threat

Hobie x Spidey!F!Reader x Pavitr

A/n: Made it more headcannony but yes I love this idea! I can just imagine them as a totally chaotic but amazing trio. I managed to answer this request so quickly because I was just able to put my thoughts on here and not worry too much about structure or spelling

General Headcannon

A chaotic and just overall silly trio

Always up for a spontaneous bit of fun

Often the culprits for pranks played on Miguel

Affection shown through playful insults and jabs but also physical touch

The tightest hugs from Pavitr while ofc Hobie throws his arms over your shoulders when you’re walking

Somehow never get on each others nerves

Countless sleepovers! Just all in pajamas making s’mores and watching horror movies together!

Constantly cracking jokes behind Miguel’s back during meetings

“Man’s hands are glued to his hips” Hobie jokes

“Wonder if you can crush a watermelon from how tight his ass is” you say

“Shhh! Don’t make me laugh” Pavitr pleads, almost losing his composure

Miguel would turn around to the three of you fighting back laughter, turning red in the face to the point he can see it through the mask

You and Pavitr have gotten caught - multiple times - trying on Hobie’s clothes when at his place, doing your best impressions of him

“Oi Bruv! That’s messed, not at all my cuppa tea innit! I hate the PM and all that shite, inconsistency blah blah blah that’s me!”

You and Hobie saying ‘Chai Tea’ whenever someone asks about a drink, just knowing it’ll infuriate Pavitr for a good laugh

You three make fun of each other endlessly, but if anyone else dares to insult one of you, the other two get immediately protective and ready to fuck shit up

“What’d you just say?” You’d say

“You watch your mouth.” Hobie would warn

“I dare you to say it again” Pavitr immediately remarks

When it came down to it, no one could complain. You three made a great team and on missions worked like a goddamn masterpiece

Height related Headcannon

“You’re not!” Pavitr’s voice got higher, which only made you smirk and tease him more

“I totally am! You just won’t admit I’m right” you bring a hand up, placing it on the top of your head and then moving it forward to float above Pavitr’s “you’re totally shorter than me!”

“Only because you wear those insane platform boots!” Pavitr retorts back and points at the three inches of platform attached to the sole of your boot

You shrug and put your hands in your pockets “still taller than you” you go to walk off but Pavitr uses a web to pull you back, you look at him with feigned shock

“This conversation isn’t over” Pavitr said, hands on his hips and eyes narrowed at you. You then send a web to hit him directly in his face, making him let out a soft yelp “don’t. web me” you say with a smirk watching as he struggles to pull it over his mask

“Why you!” He mumbles and finally gets off the web, his eyes glaring at you. You narrow your eyes back at him and wait for him to attack again

It then that Hobie’s voice draws both your attentions “What are you pipsqueaks fighting about?” Once he reaches you he rests his arm on your head making you scowl

“She thinks she’s taller than me!” Pavitr says pointing a finger at you and you let out a soft scoff “snitch” Hobie just chuckles

“You’re both short. There. Argument settled” as he walks over to Pavitr patting his head with a hand and you can hear how Pavitr mumbles under his breath

As Hobie walks further into HQ, past both of you, you and Pavitr make eye contact. Giving each other a small nod. Both of you sending a web at Hobie’s feet causing him to trip and fall

You and Pavitr break out into hysterical laughter, grabbing your stomach as you watch Hobie try to unwrap the web around his ankles

“My god! Watch your step next time ‘pipsqueak’” your words only make Pavitr laugh harder, you smile as you watch how he takes off his mask to wipe away his tears from his laughter

As you laugh your eyes no longer focus on Hobie, the next thing you know Pavitr is pointing behind you, trying to say something but still laughing too hard to speak

You suddenly feel Hobie place his hand on your shoulder “Did you have a good laugh? My turn” and you feel yourself be pulled up into the air by your feet, hanging upside down from the ceiling by a web around your ankles

Before you can undo it Hobie uses another web to wrap you up as if in a cocoon, leaving your face showing but the rest of your body is wrapped up “Hey! Let me out! It wasn’t my idea!” You say

Hobie just laughs and shrugs “well, sucks for you I guess” and then steps back, putting his hands in his pockets. He takes his mask off and you see the wide smirk on his lips, he then peels yours off looking at your unamused expression as you hung from the ceiling

For the next few minutes Hobie and Pavitr just take photos of the whole thing, doing obnoxious poses as one of them takes a selfie

Everyone else at HQ just sighed, knowing this was an everyday thing.

Miles leans towards Peter “so they’re friends?” He asks and Peter nods “Sure are. The closest friends too.” Miles just nods his head once “huh. Alright”

Pop vs Punk Headcannon

Even though the three of you were friends, you had your differences.

Even though you could swing where ever the hell you wanted, the three of you loved car trips together, usually asking one of the adults to drive you places seeing as you’re all not able to drive

The car rides are fun, even if every time you and Hobie fight for who gets the aux

“Not fair Hobie! You got it last time!” You say as you watch him plug in his phone “Too bad! We’re not listening to any of your basic studio plant pop music!” And you just groan out

“Well I’m sick and tired of your punk, I need some more light in my life!” You complain but Hobie just turns on the music, sitting in the passengers seat rocking his head to the music

“PAVI! You agree with me don’t you?! Help me tell him to turn it off!” You try to speak over the music to Pavitr who was sitting next to you

“Sorry! I cant focus on that right now. You’re both mature enough to figure it out!” He looks down at his phone, too busy texting Gayatri

But he glances your way and shrugs as he spots your unimpressed grimace

You sit back in your seat crossing your arms “and he gets shotgun again?! So much for ‘I don’t believe in consistency’” You murmur to yourself

“I heard that!” Hobie says and looks over the chair at you, and you look at him with a snarky expression

“Good! I wanted you to!” You say and lean forward, glaring into Hobie’s eyes, his squinting as he does the same

There’s silence as you both engage in an unspoken eye staring contest

Pavitr let’s out a sigh, leaning forward and turning down the blaring music before sitting down again “finally. Some silence”

Neither you or Hobie say anything in fear of losing the contest. Neither of you aware of the stakes… but yet you knew you couldn’t lose

Finally he blinks and you cheer in victory, he just groans in annoyance “Cheater.” He says and you scoff, punching his shoulder jokingly

“Prick. Now hand me the aux” you demand and he begrudgingly abides, unplugging his phone and letting you plug yours in

As much as Hobie pretended to despised your pop, whenever you played your playlist in the car all three of you would be singing

Much to the dismay of the driver of the car… usually Miguel or Jess

If it was Peter he couldn’t help but sing along, and those were the best car rides

After the first time Miguel or Jess drove you, they always ask Peter to do it, haunted by the absolute chaos the three of you managed to make in just an hour

[ghostaholics]

ɪɢɴɪᴛᴇ

Pairing: Johnny MacTavish x fem!Reader Warning(s): [ 18 + only ] friends-with-benefits (incoming); implied reverse sunshine/grumpy trope; mentions of sex (w/ dom and sub vibes but like it’s subtext; pining (mutual); religious imagery; angst (?); not much plot while Johnny is clowning around the entire time; I could not explain to you why reader is in a constant state of distress lmao Summary: Johnny thinks a FWB relationship would be good A/N: there will be a follow up; (I made Johnny sound incredibly Scottish?? I dialed it back in various parts for easier reading if you notice inconsistencies) - I tried to get this out as my winter break is ending soon, so sorry for the rushed intro and ending (I’ll come back to fix it after the term) Word Count: 2.7k Translations: [know/ken] [I'm/ahm] [don't/dinnae] [of/o'] [you/ye] [your/yer] [for/fer] [mom/mam] [can't/cannae]

He's an unwavering fixture in your life, a constant that you can depend on; you know that he's always been waiting at the end of your warpath for you in that special way where he can absorb every negative emotion without a second thought.

You’d asked Johnny to spar with you – a terrible decision on your part as you’re now suffering the consequences. He manages to do another take down maneuver that has you slammed onto the ground, your back colliding with the hard surface. It tears the breath out of your lungs.

His voice is low and teasing in your ear, a rough timbre that melts you from the inside out. "Tap out."

You're panting, gasping for air as best you can after being winded from his throw. Still, you show snark in the face of defeat. "Fuck you."

The accent is there. "C'mon hen. You really wan' tae keep this up?"

It is several more moments of him cutting off your air supply before you slap the floor in frustration. It only stokes the annoyance in you further.

He rolls over onto the mat, collapsing onto his back next to you. "Solid work. Gonna have bruises in the morning. Two-fer-o, but—"

“Let's go again.” Your body is sore and aching with a promise of further pain. It’s not enough, especially when you can feel all of the pent-up frustration and disappointment that’s followed you off the field. You wish that it had stayed behind, but you still carry it with despite your best attempts to shake it off.

He turns his face towards you. Sweat dots his temple. He appraises you for a second before he shaking his head. His mouth curls down into an expression of displeasure. “Nah, we're done for the day."

You, decidedly, do not agree with this.

You don't think, only react. Maybe you can catch him off guard. It's undignified, but you do it anyway. You need a win after these past few months, no matter how small and dirty. You swing your body, exploiting the momentum to pinch him into a headlock.

He's quick to act though, expertly avoiding your ambush. A flurry of movement – Johnny lays you out with brutal efficiency.

It's infuriating.

You huff out your annoyance, less than pleased at this turn of events.

He's straddling you, weathered and calloused hands on your skin. Thick fingers curl around your wrists, pinning them to either side of your head. He leans in closer, the weight of his body pressing into yours. "Behave," he admonishes.

A wave of heat draws into your limbs at the command.

You instead, settle for narrowing your eyes at him.

"Thas' three, by the way,” he says around a smug grin. "But whose keepin' count, right?"

"Ready tae tell me what's got you so worked up?"

“What makes you think something’s bothering me?”

“Everybody and their mam’s noticed, hen. You’re not exactly doin' a great job o’ keepin' it under wraps. Hell, you were so strung out on the plane ride, I had to make sure ye didn’t accidentally take home a giant rod up the arse once we landed.”

“Did you just admit to checking me out?”

He did linger a few metres back after deboarding.

Johnny gives you a pointed look. “It was with your best interests in mind, bonnie,” he says solemnly. “Like wan o' those welfare checks. Just bein' a good mate and all that.”

“Thanks for your service,” you say dryly.

He’s a natural flirt at heart, a sweet talker to boot. It’s how he wormed his way into your life in the first place with nothing but boyish charm and megawatt smiles. He’s trouble, and the kind of personality that you never took seriously because for all intents and purposes, he did it with everyone.

“I hate tae be the one tae tell you the bad news, but you’ve also got this… face or somethin’”

“What face?”

“Like whenever my mam bitched at me fer forgettin’ my cleats an she had to swing by the pitch to drop ‘em off.”

“Johnny!”

“Tha's it – tha’s the one. God, you sound jus' like her, too. If I close my eyes, feels like ‘m right back home and she’s chasin’ me around with her broom.”

“I should’ve left you behind in Frankfurt.”

“Funny enough, she said somethin' similar when I was eight. Swear on my life. Now tha' one’s a good story.”

"Come back to my room." The offer is innocent. It's a familiar pattern, practiced enough times that you know the routine by heart now: side-by-side, leaning up against his headboard; third party – the company of an Ardbeg passed between the two of you like clockwork as he does his best to put your mind off of whatever circumstances have you in a piss-poor mood. The effort is always endearing. He tries so hard, the least you can do is pay attention. And you do, closely — so much that you've got the image committed to memory. He’s got permanent residence in that faraway corner of your head where all good things stay safe.

The other parts, you remember too well – ones that he doesn't know about himself. You can't help but notice the little details; they would have to be ripped from your brain for you to forget.

bright blue eyes, glassy and crinkling at the corners when's he had too much to drink and starts laughing at his own jokes

the smell of Scotch on his breath, vanilla and caramel and smoky, spiked with the spearmint from his gum that he chews throughout the day

moonlight, how it blooms across the profile of his face and shines on the scar engraved into his chin (got it because he saved your life and that was his penance – “How’s it look, bonnie? How’s it look?”)

his smile, magnetic and disarming – it draws you in, lowers your defenses and sways you into returning one that matches his own

when he speaks, it's a husky voice, wrapping around you like a blanket, lulls you to sleep as he regales you with all the ways he was a shite-stirrer as a lad and you inevitably drift off

It’s a fever dream, every time – a warm and pleasant haze that washes over you and heats your insides.

And it should not, will not ever happen again.

At least, not after last night, when you'd narrowly avoided the colossal mistake of leaning in and almost kissing him. He might've been too far gone to realize it – you're not sure. But you caught yourself, and that was enough grounds to put a stop to this whole thing.

"Need to ease up on the drinking. With the way we're going, I'll probably die from liver disease before I catch another bullet in the shoulder."

He lifts the hem of his shirt to wipe the sweat off his brow, an action that reveals the hard planes carved into his lower abdomen from years in the military. A happy trail disappears down into the lining of his cargo trousers – something that you dutifully try to ignore. “Know wha' I think y’need?” he asks, breaking you out of your thoughts.

You cross the space to grab your towel off the bench. You’re not all that interested in hearing what bright ideas he has to offer anymore, but you decide to humor him anyways. “What?”

“A good shag.”

Your head snaps back in his direction. “Oh my god, could you be less crude?”

His laughter echoes across the room. He thinks he's so fucking hilarious.

You hurl the towel in his direction. “Piss off, Soap!”

To your disappointment, he catches it – stupidly brilliant reaction time – before depositing it on his shoulder with relative ease. Johnny's looking quite chuffed with himself. His eyes sparkle with amusement. “When’s the last time you got one in?”

“I’m going to kill you.”

“Ah dinnae ken,” he says with skepticism. “Wi’ the way your hand-to-hand is, ‘m fully confident my arse is safe for now.”

You let out a low growl of frustration.

He keeps spurring you on. And Johnny, of course, brings up, “Was it March 18? Swear tha’ was the only time I’ve ever seen you in high spirits without my help.”

Your face burns with indignation.

Bastard.

His mouth curves into a devilish grin. He's looking positively thrilled with this newfound discovery. "’M right, aren't I?"

Your brain stalls as you try to come up with a lie, but the silence is more than telling about your circumstances.

His laughter has died down by ten-fold, but there's still a commiserating smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. He tips his head in sympathy, like he's grieving a loss. "Oh, hen..."

You wait for the ground to open up and swallow you whole; it never comes. "Not another fucking word, Johnny."

So anyhow, he can’t bite back his opinions on the matter; he's relentless – too persistent for his own good. He takes a few steps forward, ready to put a hand on your shoulder in consolation. He's never had much consideration for personal space, always the touchy-feely type to throw an arm around you while walking into base after a good op, or drawing you into a hug when he knows you’re feeling down. The expression on your face must have him reconsider his decision, because he wisely stops in his tracks. "Look, it's nothin' t' be ashamed about. You’re sexually frustrated.”

"This conversation is over."

It's a fruitless endeavor. Whatever hope you've held about him dropping the subject is reduced to ashes.

"Jus' a bit o' a dry spell," he carries on – the primary objective is to inflict misery on you. Johnny takes it all in stride, now acting impervious to how much you want to curl up and die. He brings up your sex life as if it's as casual as talking about the bloody weather. "No wonder yer wound up so tight, though. Haven' had the company of a nice bloke in ages —"

You're utterly mortified. You cast your eyes to the ceiling, hoping for some sort of god to strike you down. It would be a merciful death. However, the plea goes unanswered, much to your chagrin. "I'm in hell," you say to yourself in disbelief. "I'm actually in hell right now—"

He continues, paying no mind to the internal crisis that you're suffering at the moment. "Got loads o' friends tha' I think you'd get along wi'. Have plenty o' them on speed dial."

"I'm doing perfectly fine on my own, thank you."

His eyes cut to yours. "I mean, judgin' from how strung out you always are, I'd say tha' whate'er you’re doin' isn' workin' so well. You sure you’re gettin' yourself off alright?”

You almost choke. "Jesus fucking Christ, that's not what I meant. I don't need you to set me up with anybody."

"Alright, hen. I’m hearin' ye loud and clear."

"Finally.”

“It’s just—”

“Johnny…”

"Can I say my piece?”

"For God's sake," you mutter.

He looks at you expectantly.

You gesture to him with an impatient wave of your hand.

“‘M sorry for giving you a hard time. Jus' have trouble believin’ tha’… well, y’know.”

“It’s opportunity. I’m not interested in spending leave with the company of strangers,” you explain. “And I don't exactly have many options on base – nevermind the fact that I'm spending every night slumming it with you."

He snorts at the last revelation.

You roll your eyes at him. You shoot him a look that says, Am I wrong?

“So ye haven’ asked Price or the L.t yet, then? They don’t seem like the relationship type. I think they’d do right by you.”

You give him a flat look.

He grins.

“You’re insufferable.”

“Couldnae help myself, hen. You know me.”

"Keep pulling my chain. See where it gets you."

He studies you for a beat. It’s an awfully long time for him to be thinking about this.

You wonder what his next daft comment will be.

It’s even more stupid than you expect.

“And so you thought about what would happen if you asked me?”

Idiotic, because yes, you've poured over it again and again. There are some lines that you simply shouldn't cross. You’re not entirely aware what your expression is – shock, annoyance? Both?

Either way, Johnny notices. "Don’t give me that look. It's a fair question," he supplies.

You turn your nose up at him, ambivalent. “Must think highly of yourself to assume that the idea even crossed my mind.”

He’s fast with a quip. “I know you’re thorough and tha' ye looked at every option available tae ye, whether it was actually possible or not."

“Clever now, are you?”

"You asked if I could spar with you earlier, aye? But from what I can tell, it didn't do shite. So if you wanna take your anger out on somethin’, I don’t see how this is any different. It’s jus' sex – like scratchin' an itch.”

“Sure,” you deadpan. “If the itch was in the back of my cunt.”

He barks out a laugh. “Aye.” His gaze comes to fix on you, blue eyes all hot and electric with a ferocity so intense it’s nearly scorching. "Ye get it."

Still, he waits patiently – the virtue of a saint.

“Johnny—”

This would never work, you try to say.

And maybe he can sense it. "C'mon," he rasps. His patience wears out, presumably. Then, the words of a sinner – wicked and shameless, unapologetic – they’re cut from the same cloth of forbidden things, a path that you shouldn't go down: “Use me.”

Something catastrophic happens to your brain. If you had any resolve before, it's nowhere to be fucking found now. Every rationale thought, obliterated. There are a million splintered fragments and you can't piece them together enough to form even a semblance of an appropriate response.

What the hell are you supposed to say to that?

Johnny always manages to fill the silence between the two of you. “Dinnae overthink it. I know your scrapin’ together every argument in the book to convince yourself why this is a bad idea. But before you say no, I can promise you tha' I have a thousand better reasons for why it isn’t.”

You're on the verge of capsizing. If you ask, you might never come back up again, and the temptation to go down is very, very appealing. When you finally regain your voice, it sounds like a broken prayer. "Give me one."

He doesn’t even have to mull over it that long. There's no hesitation from him. It’s like he’s had it waiting in the chamber this whole time. "We're close enough fer me to say that I'd do anything fer you, aye? Take what you want. I’m all yours."

“You say that to just any of your mates?”

His face is the picture of innocence. “Only for you.”

You’re stuck in time. Frozen. There’s just his confession still hanging in the air. It’s a long stretch of time before the cogs in your head start running again. You let out a shaky exhale. Fuck, I want you so bad — it's there. Almost, right on the tip of your tongue. Nearly bleeds out. It would make things so messy. “I‘ve got to clear my head. I'll — um, yeah.”

"O’ course." Johnny nods in understanding. There's a small smile on his lips. Polite. He takes a step back, makes space, returns to the sidelines.

You can finally breathe again.

He can’t forget his closing remark though – give you something to chew on. “You’re probably never gonnae wan’ tae be my sparring partner after this, but for what’s it worth, bonnie, I don’ mind the way you feel under me.”

Goddamnit.

[berrymoos]

📺 ▬ a picture, a stuffie, and maybe a paci

❛ pairing — big sib!will & regressor!jonathan; mention of eddie at the end ❜

❛ summary — will is feeling kinda bummed. jonny doesn't like that. ❜

❛ disclosure/s — 573 words of very mild hurt/comfort ,, like it's so mild <3 also proofread twice by me so if there's any spelling / grammer mistakes im gonna cry /j

❛ a/n —I'M STILL WORKING ON THE EDDIE BLURB I POSTED LIKE A WEEK AGO I SWEAR, i just had an idea & acted accordingly. based off the post abt small jonathan trying to cheer will up when hes upset <3 ❜

Will stares dejectedly at the drawing laying in front of him on his desk, one hand supporting his cheek while the other traces his eraser along lines that curved too weirdly and redrawing them half-heartedly. Erase. Redraw. Erase, redraw. Erase and redraw and erase and redraw and erase erase redraw redraw. Over, over, over again — and yet nothing looks right. Why does nothing look right? Does he need less lines? More color, maybe? Another piece of paper to start the fifth drawing of the evening that he may or may not end up getting rid of anyway?

"Wuh-wuh?" Jonathan mumbles.

Will turns his head away from his failing attempts at artwork to his brother, sitting on the floor just beside his chair. He shows a completed coloring page of a character of his — this go-round, it's Will the Wise casting a spell upon a dragon — with a sheepish yet proud smile peeking behind his orange pacifier.

"That looks great, Jonny." Will tries a smile, but it doesn't feel right. He turns back to his own drawing. Should his arm be above his head instead of in front of him...?

A soft whine meets his ears, and an ashamed feeling settles in.

"It really does look good, buddy, I promise." He knows he's doing a trashy job at babysitting, but his inconsistent lines and clashing colors disheartens him a lot more than usual. Usually, he'd make something work, but today ... today, it seems like nothing is, no matter what he tries. I'm just a mess.

The bottom of his shirt moves with a tug as Jonny whines louder — it's not very loud, but it still drags Will out of his head again. The drawing is set into his lap.

"Oh! Is this for me?"

Jonny nods. " 'ubba take!"

A genuine smile spreads across Will's face as he takes the drawing and hugs it to his chest. "Thank you, bub!"

The little guy beams, and as he crawls away, Will takes a moment to admire his gift. The clashing of purple and blue for the blast of magic ejecting out of the wand clash wonderfully, and the orange-red mixture for the fire spewing out of the dragon's mouth gives it such a realistic look. Oh, and the dragon itself! Another, lighter shade of purple for the scales paired with a cream underbelly...

Will glances at his paper, then back at Jonny's.

Could I make this a continuation of his?

He looks harder at his own, no hint of disdain but a spark of lost creativity. Maybe I can...

Tug tug.

Will turns to his little brother again. One hand holds up a small stuffed duck, and the other offers a pacifier. Another smile starts to rise, until he notices the pacifier in question is orange. The orange one that had been in his mouth is wet.

"Oh..." Will mumbles, willingly grabbing Ducky. "Is the ... paci for me, too?"

Behind his own new blue pacifier, Jonny grins, and Will can't say no to that. Oh, I hope that's water...

"Okay ... thank you." Reluctantly, Will pops the paci in his mouth, only to spit it out into his palm not even a second later, expression wrinkled. The wetness is not, in fact, water. "Jonny, you didn't wash this?"

While his little brother's tiny giggle makes it hard for him to stay grossed out, it also makes how much time he's been spending with Eddie very apparent.

[kim-monsterlings]

Cathair - M Kelpie x F Human (Reader) // NSFW

The pictures do not belong to me. I only created the mood board. Do not repost my work anywhere.

Content: NSFW/Lemon; childhood friends, mentions of inflicted harm to reader (near drowning, scar on left upper arm), minor angst, allusions to death, growing fluff, hugging and intimate embraces, kissing, receiving oral, fading out/allusions to more NSFW - if there is anything else anyone would like added, let me know <3

Wordcount: 5292

Faebruary Summary: after abandoning your childhood home, the memory of your kelpie and your feelings for him draw you back

Notes: apologies for this being so delayed! I had some time off at the beginning of the year, but the lovely Cathair is finally here. I hope you love him! <3

Masterlist // Faebruary Masterlist

Gentle embraces left dark impressions on your back from grieving family; grieving in anticipation, as you travelled the miles to your hometown. Their farewells - certain they would be an eternal goodbye, rang as your only company the closer you came to your abandoned house near the valley.

 Crowded by the creeping tree line, it rested abandoned for years. Only faint memory beckoned you through brambles to the smallest clearing, a far way from the closest bus stop, that itself farther from the train station.

 Packing light hadn't eased the burden of returning, though you wouldn't stay long. The guise of wanting to pack up your old things would wane after several days, and if that hadn't yet exhausted you, the trial of rekindling what you remembered as more than friendship with the woodland kelpie would.

 If he hadn't drowned you by then.

 Somehow, your home still stood. Neglected and damaged but there all the same. Untouched without your needing to check: this land cursed by folk wasn't sought after. It had always been your family's, no matter how disputed by the creatures rarely emerging from their murky rivers.

 Yet you went in the hopes of finding the kelpie. Your sister's wishing for your wellbeing manifested in delicately crafted charms. Blair's wards were useless against the likes of man-eating creatures, and only somewhat effective against true fae. It hung all the same, like the silver bridle fell at your kelpie's throat across the clearing.

 It was only right for Cathair to guard his territory.

 Standing before you like a daydream, the dark horse pawed with gnarled hooves before your old home. Too far to see the unforgettable glow in his blackened eyes, the glinting moss tangled in a thick mane danced in the soft wind. The sense of unease at being so close to him twisted your navel, though not from fear like it once had; from pain at seeing him after so long, and now wanting to flee.

 With a deep dig at the damp earth, Cathair moved. Faint sunlight glinted along his flank, an eerie sheen forcing your stare down. Today, you wouldn't challenge him. Not so soon, with a low breath close enough to chill through to your bones.

 Jagged teeth snapped not far from your shoulder: a warning, and one you wouldn't heed. He passed with a scent so familiar you nearly reached out, desperate for the rush of warmth his thin frame could bring when curled around you.

 Instead, you settled for looking back when he left to the trees. "I missed you, Cathair."

 With the swish of his tail, the faint scar on your left arm ached. The light of the clearing vanished into the woods too, away from you and nearer the body of deep water a short walk away; close enough someone could run off unnoticed. How cold it was rushed back to you. The emptiness beneath the surface drove you into the untouched house, onto old floorboards creaking with every step.

 You had given yourself three days. Optimistic, Blair said. She gave you an hour, whispered onto your shoulder as she saw you off.

 If he came near enough to question why, after so long hiding, after years of silence from disappearing late in the night, your excuse would be the same you told your family, though nobody believed it. You wondered if he would cling to the lie and hope you left again.

 The same mess waited indoors, of scattered possessions too insignificant, left behind while the mark of a kelpie stung fresh on your arm, and his kin, your friend, chased you away as you ran.

 If he came closer again, you would tell him the truth. That Cathair's brutality in defending you as you nearly drowned hadn't forced you away, but his family had. It was the fault of his brother for seeking you out and dragging you down the banks into cold water. Cathair saved you.

 The fresh bedsheets almost smelled like him.

 Coming home brought a sleep long into the morning. Even as a lie, you still began sifting through old diaries, some with handwriting far harder to read than the delicate script from your family. This curled and looped inconsistently, signed by the little boy with dark hair, always your shadow in photographs pinned to the pages.

 The photos told the same stories of the friendship you remembered, while your sister preferred the safety of indoors until night, when the child with a smile wider and brighter than yours returned to the woods. They told of you both growing up, just out of reach of Cathair's family - before his brother came from the waters in his footsteps.

 By the time your back ached from leaning over faded pages, it was late afternoon. The groove deep outside the threshold hadn't been crossed. Even left untouched, the figure lurking in the forest darted closer. Out of view, but there.

 Here.

 The empty bag on your shoulder swung when you reached for your phone, unsurprised to find the call from Blair. You'd told her of your arrival, reassuring her - and everyone she would then turn to, that you hadn't yet been stolen by fae folk.

 Surviving the night was different, and her breath caught on the other end when you answered with, "I'm alive and unharmed. You can stop checking on me."

 "Never," she said, her small, light laugh rushing over you. "Is it still standing?"

 "Barely."

 The doorframe held beneath your shoulder. Blair replied, something quiet and nonsense. This was all padding until she could pester for more and as she fretted, you looked to the sheen of moss along the kelpie's mane, cautiously stepping from the trees.

 "Hello?"

 "Sorry. I'm here," you said, and your sister cleared her throat.

 Blair spoke softer, as though knowing where your focus drifted in the pause. "His necklace," she said and even through the trees, the slight reflection of the bridle glinted low on the kelpie's chest. "Have you broken him?"

 "He doesn't need breaking. He never has." Her sigh followed yours. Cathair held steady among the trees as you came to stand further from the door, and a part of you hoped he heard as you said, "I trust him."

 "You trust the kin of the kelpie who tried to drown you?"

 His ears twitching may have been coincidence before, but the rising of his head couldn't be. Your stare held. "With my life."

 There was little more to say to one another. They disapproved and you didn't care. The impasse was as old as you, so you promised to speak later - to reassure her that you were still alive with a promise you would be home soon, before shrugging your bag right and drawing in a breath.

 "Cathair?"

 Hooves stepped forth. Still not the form you wished for - not the sweet embrace, the lilting charm inherent in folk - but the dark horse revealing himself completely now still tripped your pulse.

 "Hi," you whispered, quiet, but he heard as well as he heard your call, his tail whipping. "Is it just you? Not... not your family?"

 His muzzle twisted. With the inherent threat, you had to swallow a laugh. It only lured you further from the safety of your home. This creature, this gentle kelpie responsible for saving your life, wouldn’t harm you, and still, the land hadn't disturbed your rest. A family of kelpies would've sought the first trespassing human out in a night, or less.

 Cathair's head fell low. Yes. Only him.

 Nothing betrayed the fate of his family, even as his ears continued twitching back. However they came to leave their land, whatever chased them or otherwise, it was well-deserved. Your deep scar ached as you reached to scratch it, drawing sharpened eyes before the shadows embraced enshrouded again.

 Branches parted for his wide form and created a path you followed. It veered down to the water, the path well-trodden - one you remembered clear enough, from only one journey down - but you turned away.

 Unfamiliar faces watched you walk through the town you once called home. The few you remembered, friends you thought of as family, like distant cousins, had followed yours in moving away from land plagued by folk, and you busied yourself in buying the supplies you needed for the rest of your stay, if not a little extra, too.

 You were home within the hour, bag weighed down by fresh food, a small first aid kit - as a precaution, and a heavy bundle of meat in your arms. If there hadn't been a curled horse before your home, the fresh scent would've enticed him from the water.

 "Did you miss me?" His head lifted, only enough to narrow at the bundle. The trembling energy tight in your stomach pulled you closer. "Did you think I'd leave so soon?"

 Cathair rose, though you held steady; you had to. Muscles locked as the creature with unnatural jaws crept closer, your throat tight. Hot breaths fanned across your face, the kelpie standing well over you. Like this, the allure of his bridle made your fingers twitch.

 If he were human, nothing would have stopped you from leaning into him.

 Instead, you lifted your chin. "Want an apple?"

 Dark ears twitched forward, a faint green to his coat enough for your fingers to curl against reaching for him. This close, even looking at his chain was a feat itself; any other kelpie would have reared back from the looming threat of subjugation. Extending your hand never made you fear an extra nip to your fingertips, but still, your breath caught. Only a slight lean closer and you would be near enough to snatch the bridle away, trapping him as he was now.

 You wanted him back, not trapped.

 One huff and the apple lifted from your palm, snatched by a jaw opening too far, flesh jagged like his teeth.

 "You're welcome," you teased. His tail twitched but he didn't move. When his head lowered, you couldn't help smiling. Cathair nudged his muzzle against your empty palm, nickering softly. "If you come back later, there may be spare meat for you."

 Reaching out had been ambitious. Cathair darted back before you could stroke his long mane and when he faded without turning, the constriction in your chest drew tighter.

 Banishing him from your thoughts wasn't so easy now you were no longer far from him. Out of sight perhaps, but only minutes from where you fretted over long-settled dust. It passed the time, to trace old etches into walls from hours playing with your sister, until it darkened enough outside that a faint glow from beyond the door beckoned you.

 That same glow haunted your nightmares after leaving, but soothed you again when you woke, finding comfort in the kelpie who had drawn you from the murky waters rather than sacrificing you to his kin.

 That need for comfort ached through you and it had been long enough after forcing yourself to eat something that you reached for a jacket. Not one breath from closing the door at your back, Cathair distanced himself. Water clung to his coat with a tangling of water reeds, knotted and thick. His tail swished at your approach but the unmistakable flaring of his nostrils brought you closer, beginning to smile.

 "Sit with me." Without looking to affirm what the coil in your stomach told you - that every scuffle of hooves was another further from you, the two wrapped bundles captivated him. "Please."

 Before you, he wouldn't eat. Not like this and not the meat remaining bundled in its wrapping. Cathair joined you, though. Remaining a fair distance and so far your fingertips tingled, forced into your lap and busied by reaching for your snack, in the hope he would join you not like this.

 Faced with a kelpie now, heat crept along your cheekbones. That Cathair came at all held you from retreating.

 "My sister says hi," you began, picking at one half of the sandwiches, the one intended for you. His ears flicked. "They all do."

 And it wasn’t a lie so much as a twisted truth. They missed being here, not necessarily him. Had the rush of hot air not been enough to signify his irritation, the short whinny was plenty. Best not to inform him of their predictions for your improbable journey home.

 You pushed the bundle to your back and inched closer. "Have you been alone all this time? Is your family... are they gone?" Head lifting, he nickered as he had that afternoon and even quieter than him, you whispered, "thank you." For saving me.

 Whatever laid at the bottom of his territory - whatever was left to, was none of your concern. The kelpie unsettled was, who only shivered worse at your nearing again.

 "I wanted to visit. Often. If you had chased me away again," your jaw locked against the words. "It would have broken me, Cathair. Did you miss me, too?"

 Not one twitch appeased you. Not one turn to his ears nor stretch of his torn muzzle eased the pang in your chest, thudding like a rib had cracked. The press of your fist into your stomach didn’t lessen it, either.

 The curl to your lips wasn't much a smile, reaching your cheeks but not your eyes. Every forced breath scratched your throat. "It's late. Don't you ignore me, okay?"

 He remained still while your muscles barely held beneath you. The bundle rested nearer him with every step towards the cabin.

 And with every breath taken further from him, the truth in Blair's pleas for you to stay throbbed in your temples. How could you know if Cathair had wanted you to return? If the same kelpie who ensured you left his land longed for you, too, then his snapping jaws wouldn't have mirrored the jaws of his kin when dragging your drowning body under the surface.

 If it was nothing more than a wilful fantasy, the soft groan at your back was a hallucination. Rougher pants and deeper grunts spurred your heart into a flurry. While he underwent a change so torturous you could only imagine, you clutched the doorframe with white knuckles for support.

 Without an audible footstep, heat pressed to your back. Hastened breaths nestled against your hair, lips pressing to your crown. It strained your senses when he whispered your name, with his arms creeping around your waist and drawing you to him, back from the door.

 Grooves to his palm tickled brushing to yours. Cathair slid his fingers down, and swayed when you softened to his chest. Turning as far as his shoulder, your kissed the pale skin, gently first, before returning the favour and stealing a breath of his scent.

 Kelpies hardly changed far from humans, and he had been so alone. The embrace eased your tremors to little more than a whisper at his chest. "Will you come inside?"

 He only hummed low, breathing, "no."

 So simple, yet one syllable broke you. He held you from turning completely, his fingertips stroking the backs of your hands. "Why not?"

 "No," he said. Large palms fell to run down your thighs and against your hips, binding you to him. Familiar muscle from his bare frame tensed and the press of a chain dug into your back. "Not alone with you."

 Before you asked again, his touch flitted against your upper arm. The tracing of your scar left you paralysed long after his return into the woods.

 No matter how far you dared venture along the same path he followed, no flitting shadow rose. No prints from hooves or bare feet led you to him but that scar ached how it never had before.

 The softest touch from a window left open along your arm cradled you in your sleep, tricking you into believing he finally came to you. Old nights of the window opening wide enough for a slender frame to sneak indoors came to mind and the wind mimicked his embrace, careful, and always cold.

 But he hadn't come inside. He wouldn't.

 Little remained to sort through. Meaningless and pointless now to complete, yet you wasted the day sifting through them. Some - sketchbooks, usually - settled with smeared prints, like someone had traced where you had before leaving. You ran over the jagged edges left from torn pages, matching the paper you had rushed to carry away; portraits of him, old messages passed in notebooks. More pages were missing, though.

 Maybe the faint scent lingering on old bedsheets hadn't been just wishful thoughts.

 Only for fresh air, you cracked the door open late that night. To find bright eyes fixated on you frightened you back, staggering against the frame, forgetting in that second who watched.

 He never faltered.

 Guilt gnawed at you the longer you stood in the doorway, but you wouldn't go further with his heavy tail swishing, no doubt his sharp teeth bared if you approached now, so late.

 "Cathair," you whispered, and his dark form moved with a trembling shudder. "I'll leave soon. Just... just come in, and sleep warm. I feel bad enough as it is." When fae folk made no move to come closer, you sighed and let the door close, calling, "goodnight."

 Collapsing onto the cushions in the dark living room was followed by chills creeping over you. With the land of a kelpie came an unease, a familiarity haunting every sight. Not every night could be so peaceful and you tossed restlessly, until the first rap of the door felt more like your thoughts taunting you than reality.

 For one, slow step indoors, your intended bed for the night hadn't been within his line of sight, but Cathair turned only to you. The door closed at his back and he crept closer, bare from the hips up - clad only in torn fabric hanging from his thighs, hardly covering him. Soft light cast a gentler glow on him now, along the dark hairs of his chest, the impression of bone ghosting his thin frame. You longed to touch him where you used to, along the curve of his collarbones, where you once toyed with his necklace without ever contemplating breaking him.

 Blair would tell you to snatch it from him, to bring him to his knees. You would have him, your Cathair, then, but he wouldn’t be the same - not trapped and enslaved.

 You couldn’t move. When he fell before you to his knees, a hand rising slowly, you relished in the familiar heat leaning over you. Moss-thickened hair framed sharp features, clinging to his pale flesh. Beneath that silken hair, thin slits to his neck flattened now on land. He touched your cheek with slow, deep breaths.

 Then he softened, fingertips running down your throat. "You are too comfortable around me."

 It was too late for an argument, any debate - and it would be a fight. You wouldn't stop until Cathair welcomed you like he used to, with his smile unnaturally wide and long arms curling you close, but now was too late, too dark in your moon-lit lounge.

 This may have been the first time Cathair came through the door in your presence. It was unheard of for a kelpie to pine after a human, but to follow through; to slip into your bed and kiss you, careful to hide his daggered teeth, only enticed his family. It made you a challenge.

 The cushion became your pillow after you kissed his palm and his touch fell back. With the room dark and your trust implicit, you closed your eyes. As hesitant as to your cheek, his fingertips fell down your waist.

 "There is room for two here," you whispered. "Room for two in the bed. In our-"

 His chest warmed beneath your cheek and with each careful stride nearer the bedroom once shared in secret, his heart beat harder under your temple. The weight of his bridle tucked near your crown, hanging heavy from his throat but you rested by his shoulder rather than risk hurting him.

 "I do miss you," you said quietly. Your hand stroked down the slope of his chest, hugging him closer. “I really do.”

 His breath warmed your cheek. "You're tired."

 "Tired of wishing you stayed."

 Cathair stiffened around you for the slightest moment. "I never left."

 The first bend to his knees came and you made to lean back, only for a rough grunt to choke in his throat. He held you close until the bedsheets made space before laying you back, lingering only to tuck back your hair.

 "Cathair-"

 "Goodnight."

 The lithe muscles to his back rippled at your fingers on his wrist. His arm to your lips made him swallow hard, the kiss softening just below his elbow, where the scar forever wounding your arm rested.

 "Will you stay? Stay on the sofa."

 He turned, a kiss returned to your palm, a hint of a small smile, before the bedroom door closed. The fleeting skim of teeth warmed your stomach in a rush of everything but fear.

 You woke at the front door closing.

 Blair, in the least, didn't approve. Your parents wouldn't be told of your late night visit, and you couldn't promise your sister it wouldn't happen again. Not as you tightened your coat around your chest and followed the path laid by hooves.

 Thick boots couldn't steady you over damp earth and fallen leaves. With every step from your home, the woods quieted. Bird songs softened until your steps alone rang in the air.

 That pool left you frozen, the creature within looking so much like another pale-bodied being that strength escaped you. Several years before, that cold water rushed into your lungs. How he could swim in it, live in it, reminded you of the nature of the man wading deeper.

 And still, you would give anything to be with him again.

 The figure waist-deep tilted his head. Thin hair floated with the murky water, rippling against the shadows of his lithe muscles.

 "When will you leave?"

 The invitation back indoors fell silent at your lips. Cathair held his palms where water ran, a glimmer from his chain against the surface. He strode deeper in your silence, up to his shoulders blades. Following him even into deserted waters, no matter your trust, couldn't happen today, and he crept to his throat.

 "You said you would leave me again. Soon. So," he murmured, head tipping back, moss clinging to his crown. "Go."

 Before he fell, before he returned to pretending you weren't here, you dug your feet deeper into the ground. "I'm here. You forced us out, too," you called, harsh and unsympathetic to the sudden locking of his muscles. "I wanted to be with you, Cathair. I want...” When your words trembled, the sting rose to blur your vision. "Send me away. I won't come back again."

 Halfway home, your foot fell from a loose stone. The soft whisper of your name on the wind beckoned you back, though you continued until you could collapse on a bed he used to lay beside you on, aching to call Blair, though her patronising would worsen your suffering. Either you drowned or returned miserable and all you wanted was the kelpie hiding from you.

 If he wouldn't come to you within the next days, you would be home in less than week. The fresh air walking to town spared you the time to torment yourself with thoughts of him, busy feigning passing smiles, hoping nobody would recognise you as the girl who nearly became a kelpie's prey; the girl who still wanted one.

 Before dark, you rested surrounded by disorganized possessions that ought to be burned, lest you turn to them again for comfort. Some things you posted home that day, old scraps and photos, but there was nothing more you could do to busy yourself.

 Nothing more to do than close your eyes against the trick of light nearing your home.

 Still, he knocked, as though you would refuse him. You didn't answer, either way.

 "Bags?" Hardly a step through the open bedroom door, he whispered and stilled. Careful touches flitted over the straps, following the abandoned pile of clothes for the journey home beside them. His body fell with all the grace of something other, cradling your loose scarf and bringing it to his face. When his eyes closed, your heart lurched.

 "You're forcing me away again."

 His shoulders hunched. The scarf muffled him before he clutched it in a tight fist, stroking the material. "This coming morning?"

 As you intended, he flinched when you said, "I have no reason to stay."

 Cathair came closer in the dim light, and you struggled to sit up faced with his sudden decision to cross the distance. He was bare, the pale of his body tinged, bar the necklace dangling down his chest. Your scarf fell now you were within his hold. When he reached out to you, his fingers were cold on your cheek, slender and running back to lift your head.

 "I wanted you to have my bridle." Breath left you on a sharp rush, and Cathair pressed himself closer. He cradled your face and when his seemingly empty eyes found yours, he held you there. They glistened. "Before you left, it was to be yours."

 The last time you had seen him, in the thick of night and holding back a cry, he hadn't spoken. You told yourself it must have been the same pain at being apart, that he would miss you just as much, then he never reached out, never replied to letters delivered here, so you fought to move on, too.

 But looking at him now, fallen onto his knees and offering servitude, your heart broke for him. Cathair curled his fingers at your waist and clutched the thin slip when you turned, and he bowed his head to lean against your thighs.

 "I don't blame you for that night," you said quietly. His shoulders rose with a sharp breath. His raven hair had the same shimmering to it as his body when you brushed back the thin strands, careful to avoid jostling him. "I trust you. I chose to befriend you, Cathair, and you saved me when your brother-"

 "You left."

 The scar on your arm throbbed with a phantom pain at the memory of sharp teeth catching at you. No human could dismount a kelpie, and Cathair swung to help, to fight off his brother, but dislodging you would leave you helpless again in a river of kelpies unable to swim with a wound so deep. Saving you from drowning first then protecting you, he had nothing to guilt himself for.

 Then you left.

 That same night he whinnied and rose from the riverbed as you ran. He followed not far behind, tail swishing fast until he turned and left you fleeing.

 Cathair hardly reacted when you touched the thin bridle, but he lifted his head, eyes round and shadowed. "It is yours. Take it."

 "I don't need the bridle to trust you. Unless you... unless you want to leave, to live out your life in that form, then I won't take it."

 "Why?"

 "I don't want to enslave you!"

 His thin lips rose in an eerie semblance of a smile. "Why do you trust me?"

 "Cathair," you whispered, and it was you reaching to frame his cold face, brushing your thumbs beneath his eyes. His lips turned to your wrist. "Why wouldn't I? I've loved you my whole life, and you've never once abused my trust. You've never once hurt me, tried to drown me or eat me-"

 His teeth nicked at your wrist, though he was fast to kiss the soft skin again, a warmth in his voice when he spoke. "I could."

 "You could. Do you want to?"

 His body rose, leaning on his knees with large hands gentle on your thighs, before pressing his lips to yours. Tenderly, without moving for a breath when you held still, desperately trying to hold yourself back from scaring him away.

 Cathair fell back with a soft thud. The brush of his hands upwards made you soften, but you mistook it for a way to hold you, not the question it was when his thumbs dipped and pressed your legs to part. He bowed low and brought his lips to your inner thigh, drawing in slow, steady breaths, before his lips softened on the thin fabric barring him from your body.

 "Do you trust me?"

 "With my life."

 "I want to taste you."

 With his touch guiding you, Cathair laid a warming hand to your stomach. He ushered you back, fingers tugging at your underwear until you were bare, your slip thrown away.

 He trembled and lifted your thighs up to his shoulders, breathing deep, and the first kiss was experimental. He watched you tighten, your legs coming to press at his head until he returned low, guiding his hot kisses down before letting his tongue slip against you, and you cried his name. As you gasped now, it came different to when you spoke to him in the woods, with such power he himself groaned, and when he tasted you again, ran his nose up to nudge against your flushed nerves.

 "You taste divine."

 Rougher breaths flushed against your bare heat, awakening the heat molten in your navel. Like he knew, Cathair looked up, holding your desperate stare before his lips came around your flushing clit. Your hips bucked and he sucked, drawing a rough cry from your throat.

 "That's it," he murmured. "Let me have you on my tongue."

 Too flustered, too lost in the gentle touches, his hand running up your stomach to run against your breast made you arch into him. Cathair's soft laugh made you keen, his fingers teasing your nipple and rolling it beneath his thumb. The other hand, though it slipped your attention, too, began to stroke low, and his middle finger curled itself to the knuckle. Each crook of it had your stomach flipping, and he eased another, stroking against your tight walls until you whimpered.

 "Please- I'm close-"

 "I know, love," he whispered, and his fingers pressed you wide for his thick tongue to dip up, to taste you there. Tension tangled heavy in your stomach and he curled his fingers once more, the cold touch of a chain against your thigh a stark difference to how hot his breaths were, lapping with fire. "Show me how much you love me," he murmured, and his lips caught your bud of nerves as you screamed his name and your vision blurred. His sharp teeth grazed where you were most sensitive before chasing your release, kissing up your thighs and still moving his fingers in a way that had you unable to breathe properly. Cathair settled back and with your eyes on him, brought his slick fingers to his mouth, groaning. "You taste like heaven."

 You fell back with a heavy head, and he came to lay by your side, soft lips to yours. The taste of you was thick on his tongue, and he laid over you with a hand smoothing back down your stomach. He held you close, his own body hot and pressing into yours.

 "I want to stay," you whispered, and reached to bring him impossibly closer. "I want to stay here and be with you again."

 Cathair's small smile warmed your heart. As you both curled back against the bed, the kelpie lost in touching your smooth skin, he took your lips again and promised, "I'll always stay with you."

[youvebeenlivingfictional]

The Long Con Part Nine

Previous Part | Masterlist | Next Part Pairing: Marcus Pike x Reader Rating: T Notes: I hope y’all had a good week! 💕 Warnings: Cursing, fluff, me pretending that I know literally anything about art history or art forgery— again. Summary: You wound up spending much of the day holed up in Marcus’ room, sitting at his desk with the numerous print-outs, a marker, a notebook, and his laptop. 

You offered to help Marcus with the wedding errands that needed to be done, but he could see how distracted you were by the print-outs he’d been able to get of the x-rays and craquelure of Leda and the Swan. He shook his head, nodding to where you’d already set up shop at his desk. “Don’t worry about wedding stuff today,” He reassured, smiling. Then he tipped your head up for a quick peck and left.

You wound up spending much of the day holed up in Marcus’ room, sitting at his desk with the numerous print-outs, a marker, a notebook, and his laptop. You looked for comparisons between the x-rays of the Mona Lisa, Da Vinci’s sketches of Leda, and the other reproductions that you were more familiar with. Jill actually had to come up and draw you out of the room by taking Marcus’ laptop charging cord hostage. 

When Marcus returned that evening, he found you folding programs with laser focus. 

“Having fun?” He teased, settling down beside you on the floor. You were leaning back against the couch, as you had when you and Marcus had been putting the favors together. 

“Mhm,” You hummed lightly, peering down at the program and lining up the corners of the paper before smoothing down the middle. Marcus picked up an unfolded program, beginning to fold them as you did. 

“How were um-- Errands, how’d they… You know?” You asked absently. “They were fine. Tuxes have been acquired, venue’s got the final headcount, seating chart and favors, photographer’s got the shot list.” “Has Marnie called the hotel they’re staying at and found out if there was an upgrade available?” You glanced at Marcus, “Might be able to get something if she mentions it’s her wedding weekend.” Marcus’ brows rose. “I don’t think she has, but I’ll find out.” “Should probably check in with wherever the rehearsal dinner is being held, too,” You added, turning back to the programs. “I’ll keep that in mind...Are you okay?” Marcus asked as you dropped another folded program atop the pile. “Mhm.” “Hey,” Marcus reached out, setting his hand on your arm. You glanced over at him. “S’wrong?” “You seem a little tense,” He scooched closer, thigh pressing against yours, “I can take over program folding,” He added. “She’s mad at me,” Jill called from the kitchen. “I am not mad!” You called back. “What happened?” Marcus frowned, glancing between the two of you. Jill came into the living room, leaning over the back of the couch and peering down at the two of you. “I made her come out from hunching over those photos that you printed out this morning,” She told Marcus as you pointedly folded another program. Busted. “How long were you in there?” Marcus asked, rubbing his hand over the back of your neck gently. “Since you left. I only got the damn cord away from her half an hour ago,” Jill answered, pushing off of the couch, “Speakin’a which, you hungry, Marky?” You snickered, muttering, “Marky.” “No thanks, mom.” “What about you, honey?” “No thank you, Jill,” You glanced back, offering her a smile before dropping another program atop the pile. Marcus watched her go before he leaned a little closer. “Were you able to work anything out?” He asked, picking up another page. “Nothing substantive,” You grumbled, folding the page and setting it aside. Marcus set his on the pile before he drew you into his chest. You pouted a little, slouching against him as you reached for the next page. “You know I’ve got the team working on this, too, right? And the team working out of the Louvre.” “I know,” You mumbled. “So relax,” Marcus murmured, turning his head and pressing a kiss to your temple. “I’m incredibly relaxed. I’m also very focused on folding these programs.” “Sweetheart, programs do not need to be that perfect.” 

“Agree to disagree.” You felt Marcus’ fingers tuck under your chin and turn your head to look at him. You paused in your folding, blinking up at him. “You sure you’re alright?” He asked gently. You were not— but what was one more lie in this house? “Yeah,” You murmured before you leaned up, taking a chance and pecking Marcus’ lips. You felt him smile as he cupped your cheek, keeping you close as he deepened the kiss. You sighed, relaxing a little more and resting a hand on his thigh. As the kiss broke, you rested your head against his neck, closing your eyes as Marcus rubbed his hand over your shoulder. “...Feel better?” He asked quietly. “I think so.” “I can do that anytime,” He added after a moment, and you smiled, pressing your face into the crook of his neck. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

-- “You still doing that?” Marcus asked. “Hm?” You glanced back at him, catching sight of him in his pajamas. Jill had relinquished the laptop cord shortly after dinner, and Marcus had freed you of program-folding duty. “What...Time is it?” You asked, frowning. “It’s a little after midnight,” Marcus walked over to stand behind you, bracing his hands on the back of your chair and looking over your work, “You comin’ to bed?” You knew that you should— it had been a long day (after Jill had finally ceded the charging cord), and you were a bit tired. “Uh… N--No, not yet—” “C’mon,” Marcus murmured, leaning down and wrapping his arms around your shoulders, “You need to get some sleep.” “I know, I’m gonna, I just— I think I’m really close to something here,” You admitted, looking up at Marcus, “I wanna chase it down. I’ll take it into the living room so the light doesn’t keep you up,” You added, starting to gather up some of the materials. “If you’re sure,” Marcus conceded softly, “But get some sleep, huh?” “I will.” “Promise?” You glanced up at Marcus, smiling. “Promise.” He nodded, leaning in and pressing a kiss to your forehead before heading to bed. 

-- 

You leaned away from the markups on the coffee table, dropping your marker with a shaky hand. 

You’d made a call to where she’d been sent, and found out she had had her sentence shortened. She’d been out for nearly three years— she’d missed parole; there was a warrant out for her arrest. You hadn’t wanted to believe it was her work, you hadn’t, but you’d found the messages she always left. One was in the x-rayed under layers of the wreath of flowers around the swan’s neck: ‘Dominus ad ludere’. And then, another x-rayed layer, within one of the grey layers of the painting, near the darkened fold of the swan’s wing: ‘Ad opus domini’. The master at play, the master at work.  The lettering was small, difficult to spot, but you knew that handwriting, and you knew exactly where to look. You couldn’t help the sick, twisting feeling in your stomach as you picked up your phone. You grabbed your notebook where you’d jotted down your notes on the sketches and brushstrokes, the notes that she’d left behind, and you hurried out to the porch. You sat on the porch swing, peering out into the dark and settling your notebook on your lap. You tucked the phone against your ear, listening as it rang. “Special Agent Melinda Yuen,” Came the answer when the phone was picked up. You were fond of Marcus’ colleague; aside from Marcus, she was who you’d worked the closest with. “Hi, Mel, it’s me,” You said quietly, glancing toward the door. “Hey, professor! How ya been?” “Fine,” You smiled a little at her question, “You?” “I’m alright. If you’re calling looking for Marcus—” “No, I… I wanted to talk to you. Marcus sent me some of the stuff from that da Vinci picked up in Orléans. I took a look at it, it’s definitely not authentic.” “You got notes?” “You have a pen? I’m going to tell you exactly where to look.” You listed off the points and layers that you were able to identify, as well as the suspect for her to look into. Melinda went quiet on the other end for a moment. “Professor, isn’t that your grandm—” “Yes,” You answered hurriedly, “It is.” “...Shit.” “My feelings exactly— Look, Mel, I’ve gotta ask you a favor.” “Sure.” “Don’t...Don’t tell Marcus who called this in until he’s back in D.C.” “Why not?” “Just, please?” You pleaded softly, glancing toward the door. “...I don’t know, professor—” “I’m not asking you to keep it from him forever, just-- Couple’a days.”

“Alright,” Melinda sighed softly, before, “How do you know when he’ll be back, anyway?” “Oh, he uh— mentioned he was going to his sister’s wedding. I don’t wanna ruin his weekend, you know. Figured if I got you on the first ring on this number he must be down there, ‘specially with this big of a case in the office,” You fibbed quickly. “You figure correctly,” Melinda chuckled, “I’ll get these notes over to the team. Night, professor.” “Night, Mel, and thanks.” “Hey, thank you.” You lowered your phone, hanging it up and peering out over the backyard again. You sighed softly, pushing the swing back and forth with one foot. “Can’t sleep?” You jumped at the sound of the question, huffing a shaky laugh at the sight of Marnie. “No,” You confirmed, “What about you?” “Nope,” Marnie sighed, walking over to sit beside you, “I was working on my vows.” “Big speech-writing day in the Pike household,” You teased. “That Marcus’?” Marnie nodded to your notebook. “O-Oh! No. Some uh… Stuff on that painting. Inconsistencies, little things,” You set the notebook down between the two of them, giving Marnie the option to pick it up. She left it be, giving you a little bit of relief in what had been a mostly hellish day. “Think it’s serious?” You shrugged, “Could be inconsequential.” You were already lying to Marnie so much, what was one more? Though, frankly, it made you feel a little crummy. You were growing very fond of Marcus’ family. They were warm, and welcoming. You’d always imagined having a family like them. “You and Marcus seem good, you know?” Marnie said, nudging your shoulder with hers, “I mean...Happy.” You smiled, lowering your eyes. “Your brother is... amazing. All of you are, I mean— I don’t know any family that would open their home to someone they don’t know for a night, let alone an entire week. And your mom— the way she pulled me out of Marcus’ room earlier,” The two of you chuckled, “Well. I’ve appreciated everything since I’ve been here, how kind you all have been.” “Oh,” Marnie reached out, patting your hand lightly, “We’re happy to. ‘Sides, Marcus is clearly smitten with you.” Your stomach churned with unease as you peered down at your hands. Marcus was a better actor than he gave himself credit for. You knew you’d make a liar out of him. “Makes two of us,” You mumbled. Damn, but that was the truth. Tag list: @hufflepuffing-all-day-long ; @spideysimpossiblegirl ; @blueeyesatnight ; @elen-aranel ; @yespolkadotkitty ; @artsymaddie ; @phoenixhalliwell ; @lunaserenade ; @winniedaboo  ; @empress-palpat1ne ; @randomness501 ; @nutmeg-20 ; @leonieb ; @the-feckless-wonder ; @lou-la-lou ; @captain-jebi ; @supernaturalgirl ; @naturenebula21 ; @evelynseventyr ; @giselatropicana ; @heatherbel ; @marydjarin ; @annathewitch ; @absurdthirst ; @hnt-escape ; @writingletterstothefire ; @misswriter ; @bison-writes ; @xx-small-town-witch-xx ; @ajeff855 ; @hellovanessax​ ; @drinkingwhileblogging​ ; @strawberryperegrine​ ; @a-court-of-feysand-and-elorcan​

[sorry-i-ship-drarry]

Bath with me

Prompt- Washing the others body | fluff | implied smut | Draco had a terrible day and harry makes up for it |

" oh Honey, good you're home. We are kind of short on groceries so we need to shop- why do you like you can kill me right now ?" Harry raised his head to look at Draco entering carrying his side bag and look exhausted.

" I - can - kill - Someone right now" Draco frustratingly grabbed onto the air, growling

" okay- well I have a knife, I don't think it will work but I'm sure we can work with that. You kill, I will dispose the body- not Funny. Alright. I'm almost done, sit down, and we'll talk alright "

Groaning Draco sat down in the kitchen stool, slamming his head softly over the table. Glimpsing at draco, Harry sighed pouring the pasta immediately into the pan and covering the lid.

" I'm done " Harry announced taking off his apron and keeping it over the counter

" when were you going to tell me that I have been temporarily suspended from apparating ?" Draco looked up at harry, his chin against the table.

" what- I thought you knew. The letter came in like a day ago, it was right over your coffee table. It said it's just a temporary thing with random people because of certain case they're working on " Harry explained

" well- as my husband- you are supposed to inform me such thing " Draco rolled his eyes

" well I thought you must've read it- you know what nevermind, just tell me what's got your knickers in twist?" Harry sat down in front of him and passed him a bottle of water. Draco huffed out air, raising his head and finally started with his rant.

" so it's a normal day, I get free from work, I decided to apparate and Just as I apparate, I'm pulled into the ministry and they start explaining me everything and obviously because you didn't tell me about the disapparation temporal ban, I fought with them until they showed me the damn letter and I ultimately lost the argument and you know how much I hate losing but then I thought let's be like my gentlemen husband so I walk off the ministry, then I finally thought let's take a damn car from the ministry but then I get to know that my damn gentlemen of a husband has denied using his ministry car privileges to donate the money to the orphan- when the hell were you going to tell me ?"

" well I thought- I think I told you-"

" doesn't matter. So I thought let's travel the damn muggle way, so I take the bus-"

" oh jeez-"

" yes jeez, well I've never travelled like that before, I didn't assume it to be that bad but boy oh boy, I had to sit beside a fucking stinky man who I am assuming was smoking drugs right beside. And it's not even the worst part, I can't get out of the seat because a huge man blocks my entrance and that man didn't feel a damn thing even when I punched him to move away. So I was stuck and you wanna know the worst part, one fucking hour, I was stuck for one fucking hour until I get off the damn station five miles away from here and it's not even that, I'm walking home thinking about how it's probably the shittiest day I've had until a car with some fucking teenagers threw some damn fucking milkshake all over me- this was the worst possible fucking day ever " Draco almost sobbed in frustration.

" oh dear " harry immediately gets up and hugs Draco, kissing the top of his head " I had no idea. Why didn't you just flooed ?"

" I- that didn't fucking came in my mind- Harry " Draco whined

" shush- it's alright.. you forgot honey, you were already dealing with a hard day. Merlin,you know what, let's not sulk. I'll go and draw a bath for you, how does that sound ? " Harry asks raising Draco's face by his chin.

Draco almost weeps but nods not leaving Harry yet.

" honey- you gotta let go of me if you want me to draw that bath. I also need to stir the pasta " Harry interjected after several minutes of Draco not leaving him. He groaned and finally let go off harry.

" just go get ready for a Bath alright " Harry said as he immediately turned off the stove. Nodding Draco walks into the bedroom and harry practically ran to the bathroom to prepare his bath.

When almost done with drawing a bath, Harry walks out, and waiting outside the door for Draco to come who did, finally after undressing with just a bathrobe on.

Draco had just entered the bathroom when he calls out to harry

" aren't you going to join ?"

" no- you know I just had one "

" fine- I come home from a stressful day hoping my husband would have a nice bath-"

" Merlin, get in, I'm joining " and with a grin Draco went inside. Harry shook his head smiling to himself about his melodramatic husband, but then he knew he loved him even after everything..

And so harry finally did join Draco into the bathtub, with Draco's back pressed against his chest, enjoying the warm bath. Harry took the shampoo in his hand, and softly rubbing Draco's scalp, who moaned in pleasure.

" love, I really am sorry for how terrible your day was " Harry kissed his neck from behind, his hands roaming Draco's, Washing him.

" it's not your fault " Draco responded turning slightly to only face Harry.

" but I should've told you about the letter and the ministry car thing-"

" it's alright Harry, I didn't check my coffee table, my fault and I know exactly why you don't use the ministry affiliated car- I'm your husband Harry, of course I understand everything you do, even if you don't tell me any of it "

Harry looked at Draco with a new found appreciation for his adorable husband who was probably the most understanding man to walk upon earth.

" how did I land up with you ?" Harry smiled, wrapping his hands loosely around Draco's, pressing soft kisses all over his neck.

" the real question is how did I land up with such an amazing husband ?" Draco gave Harry a genuine smile turning around so he straddled him " I feel like I don't appreciate you enough. I mean in front of you I look like a complete prat..all I do is create drama while you look after the house, take care of the bills and most importantly, take care of me everyday"

" Draco- you take care of me and you do things- like every Sunday you bring me a new breakfast in bed, you do my clothes shopping and always get the right size, you praise me every night and never force me to do anything. And I know you are disappointed with my job, you never tell me on it, I know you want me to take a safer job, I know you do but you let me make my own decisions. And you've taken care of me so much when I had terrible days. You're too good for me Draco, but I think we both think we are too good for each other and that's what makes us so perfect for each other " Harry smiled lightly brushing Draco's cheek with his thumb

" how do you know exactly what to say at the right moment " Draco smiled at harry before leaning down to kiss him over the lips..

" you taste like wine " Draco teased

" well I did try which wine should we have for dinner, since you know you had shit day " Harry mumbled against Draco's lip, his eyes stills closed.

" god- you are just perfect " Draco mumbled before deepening the kiss, his body pressed against that of Harry's, his hands lost in the brunettes hair.

" you are perfect Draco- fuck I love you" Harry breathed, his hands roaming over the back of Draco pulling him closer, Deepening the kiss.

And they made out until the water ran cold and harry picked Draco bridal style and walked them to the room, helping him get dressed and finally having dinner with the finest me in the entire Britain he could find to settle down with.

Request open | masterlist available for all prompts | I'm really sorry for being inconsistent with these posts somedays. I've have had a few very hectic days and someday's I can't just put up with writing, so I need those days off. I apologize for this.

Day 33- cruise to alberobello | Day 35- every inch of you

[maaaddiexo]

The Witch’s Tower (The Weeping Monk)

Mainlist | Serieslist

Warnings: cursing

part 1/4 (4 for now; maybe more after second season release)

[part 2]

-

He was in pain. She could tell from a hundred feet away. Part of her curse, she supposed. He and Father Carden had come back to the grounds after weeks of hunting the Fey folk and she could feel in the air that not all was good. Something was wrong.

Unable to leave her room, Y/N watched from the tower as he settled in a corner of the garden and carved bow after bow and twice as many arrows. She didn’t know why he didn’t get his wounds tended to but that only added to the mystery around him.

Despite the hot summer sun beating down on him, the Weeping Monk kept his hood up and his sleeves covering his hands. He didn’t even take off his boots. Y/N wasn’t sure she’d ever seen his hair – or anything above his eyebrows for that matter. Like everybody else, she only saw his hands and half his face, and only ever from a distance. For nobody was allowed to know she was there. The Weeping Monk was Father Carden’s greatest known weapon, but he had an even greater one. One he kept a secret – locked away in a tower like a princess in the fairytales her mother used to tell her.

Absentmindedly, Y/N felt the tingle in her fingers and raised her hand. The tingling intensified and a small breeze blew through the room, twirling her hair and fluttering the curtains. Soon it left the room and carried outside and down to the man below.

At first, it would feel like nothing more than gust of wind. But she knew the Weeping Monk was special. That he wasn’t entirely human. And she knew that he would feel the magic in the air when nobody else would. And he did. His hand stopped mid-carve and he dropped the half-made arrow onto the grass. His shoulders tensed and Y/N watched from afar as he reached for his sword. She smiled and pointed her finger towards the ceiling and drew circles in the air. The wind picked up and carried her words down to him.

Look up.

The Monk didn’t like magic, but he wasn’t a fool either. He understood magic and knew when to fear it and when to listen to it. Slowly - angrily - he lifted his head towards the sky and, as if against his own will, his eyes were drawn to the abandoned tower of the castle. He squinted. It wasn’t abandoned at all.

Pleased with her work, Y/N stepped back from the window and walked to the other side of her room, past her easel and paints, and to the wardrobe. She didn’t have a lot of clothes but Father Carden made sure she was comfortable enough not to seek attention. She opened the double doors and pushed her clothes aside, reaching in the dark for the lip of the panel that would reveal her only hiding place. The wooden panel came out easily enough and she gathered the pieces of paper and carried them to the round table in the middle of the room. She splayed them out beside each other so that she could see them all at once. Each one was different even though they were all of the same thing.

Him. The Weeping Monk.

Most were of his hands and the part of his face you could see, but a few were of his full body though none of those were completed. He always moved or left before she could finish. He was dangerous – she knew that. But he was also extremely intriguing and her curiosity had finally won her over. She knew his reputation, but she wasn’t afraid of him.

Creak.

Startled, Y/N looked towards her door. It couldn’t be Michael with her lunch and Father Carden was in meetings all day. Tripping over the area rug, Y/N scrambled to collect all the sketches and shoved them back in the wardrobe, sealing them in place behind the loose panel. She heard the lock click and turned just as the door opened. And there he stood. The Weeping Monk.

Y/N swallowed. He was much more intimidating in person. But he couldn’t hurt her and that knowledge calmed her nerves. The Monk took a step forward but ran into an invisible wall. She pointed to the cross above her door, not that the Monk could see it from where she stood. “This is holy ground, which means anyone who comes here needs permission to enter.” The Monk only stared back at her. He never blinked, and Y/N found that unnerving. “Still, I don’t have any friends and don’t get many visitors so come on in. Oh, but leave your weapons at the door. I don’t care for violence.” She sat back on her bed as the Monk tried to step over the threshold again and was successful this time. He slid the bow and quiver full of arrows off his shoulder and undid the sword belt. “And the daggers in your trousers and boot.”

The Monk rolled his eyes but obeyed, making a show of dropping them next to his other weapons. For a moment, they eyed each other before he finally looked away and began to walk around the circular room. He ran his fingers along the intricate carvings in the shelves and along the collection of books but stopped when he came to her worktable. He only said one word. “Witchcraft.”

His voice was low and gravelly. While others may have found it intimidating, Y/N found it soothing.

“That’s what a witch does. I’m surprised you can see anything from underneath that oversized hood of yours.”

The Monk didn’t respond immediately and instead continued looking around. “Father Carden said this tower was abandoned.”

“It was at one point of time. But where better to hide someone you once thought was human than a derelict tower rumoured to collapse at any moment?”

“You’re a Fey witch?”

“I know you’ve got the scent. Tell me, do I smell like Fey?”

The Monk was quiet for a moment. “No. You smell human.”

“By all accounts I am human. Except for the small inconsistency which is that I have the ability to practice witchcraft.”

“That’s not possible.” Y/N couldn’t tell if it was astonishment or fear she heard in his voice.

“Oh, it’s possible. Just unlikely.”

“How? How is it possible? And why would Father Carden let you live? Here? In our place of worship.”

“The same reason he lets you live. Yes, that’s right. I know all about you, Weeping Monk. So don’t you dare judge me. We’re both his greatest weapons and we let him use us because it means we’ll live to see another day.”

The Monk practically growled. “How do you know?”

Creak.

Y/N blinked. Was it lunch already? “Shit.” She began to panic. Seven seconds until Michael walked through that door. “Quick! In the wardrobe.”

“What?”

Y/N tripped over the rug again as she ran for the weapons. “Not so loud or he’ll hear you.”

“Who?”

Y/N dragged the Monk to the wardrobe and opened the doors. She shoved the weapons into his chest before pushing him back into the wardrobe. “Stay here. Don’t move or make a sound. And don’t come out until I say so, okay? If Michael sees you here, then Carden won’t be able to protect you. And I doubt he’ll choose to either. You’ll burn with me if we’re caught.”

“Y/N?”

The girl closed the wardrobe doors and smoothed out her skirts. “Come in, Michael.”

There was no handle on the door. Just a lock on the outside. He kicked the door open with his foot and walked into the room, placing the tray on the table. “Did I hear you talking to someone?”

“Just myself. Working on a healing poultice.” She held up her hand where she’d cut herself on one of the Monk’s weapons. “Cut myself.”

Michael rolled his eyes as he backed out of the room and grabbed the tray that he’d used to carry up breakfast earlier that morning. “Stupid bitch.”

Unperturbed by Michael’s only insult, Y/N wiggled her fingers at him. “See you for supper, Michael!”

“Shut up, stupid bitch.”

Y/N cocked her head. “Hmm. He’s learned a new one. Good for him.” Still, she waited until she heard the sole wooden step creak before telling the Monk he could come out.

“Do you have a death wish?”

Y/N frowned as she took the weapons back from the Monk. “What?”

“You just locked a killer in your wardrobe.”

“Sorry. Next time you can hide under my bed. Are you hungry? I’ve got some wine around here somewhere.”

“Why aren’t you scared of me?”

Y/N rolled her eyes and walked to her worktable. “Gods, you’re curious. Sit down.”

Realizing he wouldn’t get any answers out of her by resisting, the Monk slumped into the wooden seat and plucked a few grapes off the plate. He was hungry. Y/N messily wrapped a cloth around her wound before gathring a bunch of items from her worktable. She dropped them on the round table the Monk sat at and began sorting through them.

“What are you doing?”

“Helping you. I’ll answer your questions in a moment.” In a stone mortar, she mixed and ground herbs and honey into a paste. “Roll up your sleeve.”

Apprehensively, the Monk did. He rolled it up past his elbow to expose the cuts on his arm. Her hand was warm as she held it firm and applied the paste over the wounds. He swallowed nervously. “What are you doing?”

“I already told you. I’m helping you. The blade you were cut with was laced with poison. That’s why it hurts more than usual.”

“How can you tell?”

“I could feel your pain. That’s what happens when magic is near. You can smell the Fey folk and I can sense them and their magic. Okay, see how this paste is light green? It’ll grow darker as it draws the poison from your blood and will only dry when there’s no more poison in your system. It won’t heal the wounds though so don’t worry – nobody will be suspicious.”

“If you’re not Fey, then how do you know all this. And how can you sense the Fey and magic. I mean…you’re human.”

“That is true. But I’m also cursed. Father Carden says that it’s poison that makes the Fey. But there are some humans cursed to similar fates. My parents were human, but they weren’t good people and they killed a Fey Elder. Because of that, the Hidden took revenge on them by cursing me. I’m not marked or anything. I’m just from two different worlds where neither wants me. But back to the story. Despite killing one of their Elders, the Fey took me in with the intention to raise me as their own. But Father Carden had heard a rumour about a human baby kidnapped by the Fey. By the time he heard the lie and found me, I was five years old.”

“Old enough to remember.”

Y/N felt a tear slide down her cheek. “He slaughtered the lot of them. That whole village…nothing was left. Burned or destroyed. Everything and everyone except for me. When they died, all their knowledge went to me.

“Carden brought me here thinking I was human and introduced me as his daughter. But a year later there was an incident and he saw the truth. In order to hide his mistake and embarrassment, he lied and said that I was killed by Fey and killed a whole village nearby just for the story.”

“But he locked you up here instead.”

Y/N shrugged and wiped her tears. “He knew how useful I could be. He said he’d spared my life two times now and I would spend my whole life repaying that debt.”

“And how do you do it?”

“When I feel magic, I send him a sign to meet me. I tell him where I feel it coming from and he goes in that direction and when he gets there, he uses you to sniff them out.” Y/N looked down at the paste. “It’s dry. No more poison. And you should probably leave. Carden will be looking for you soon.”

“Let me ask you something. I can tell you don’t like being trapped up here and used like a puppet so why don’t you just leave?”

“There’s only two ways out of here. The door or the window. If I take the door and run away, he’ll torture and slaughter all the Fey because he knows it’ll get back to me. And I will not take the window because if I leave this place, it won’t be by suicide. I wouldn’t dare give him the satisfaction.”

The Monk smirked and collected his weapons. “I don’t think he realizes that you’re nobody’s weapon but your own. What’s your name?”

“He calls me his little angel, but my real name is Y/N.”

The Monk gave a half smile. “See you around, Y/N.”

“If you do come back, it’s custom you bring something to a witch’s place of residence. It’s a symbol of truce. And I…I like flowers.”

The Monk gave a brisk nod. “Flowers.” He closed the door behind him and walked down the winding staircase until he ended up outside, facing the woods. Looking around and seeing no one, he reached into the folds of his cloak and pulled out the folded piece of paper. His bootprint was on it because he’d stepped on it when Y/N had shoved him into the wardrobe but the drawing was still clear. And at the bottom, the image had been signed, dated, and titled.

The One Who Cries for the Family He Kills.

He looked at the image again, feeling a pull on his heart. It was him.

[part 2]

[beastsars]

some cute morning sexy time with legoshi

at the first hint of sunlight, legoshi finds himself stirring. he never understood the newest trend of his body's desire to rouse earlier in the day. during his tenure at cherryton, he used to have a hard time motivating himself to traverse through enough mundane takes just to make it to his drama duties. now without that fixture in his life, he can recall a specific reason as to why he feels so inclined to wake before the sun properly can. 

cracking open his eyes, he notes that the room hasn’t completely lost its dim glow. splashes of calm blue still overcoming the encroaching warmth of yellows. huffing under his breath, he turns to bury his nose against the fur of your neck, hoping to drift back off for a few more hours. 

yet he finds the soft sighs that leave your lips with each exhale more distracting than the sun at his back. unable to resist peeking at the peaceful visage of your comfortable slumber. you fortunately, have no trouble missing the transition from night to day. the rhythm of your chest rising and falling not even hitching in the slightest until mid morning if you could help it. his borrowed shirt is still wrinkled from whatever restless bout that had overtaken you in the hours prior, the aftermath exposing the softness of your vulnerable belly. 

it surprises him how much effort it takes to resist disrupting the flow of hair there, knowing your sensitivity would react to the ticklish touch. a faint smile curls at the ends of his lips as he dares to drag a claw to a safer spot just above the curve of your hip. 

despite it being the first night together after a few days of separation, the two of you hadn’t fallen in bed together with the motivations of passion. he honestly couldn’t recall anything other than the warmth of you settling into the curve of his body and drifting off to the quiet rumble of your heartbeat. 

closing his eyes, he can’t help but imagine how it could have gone differently had the two of you had more energy to reserve. there had certainly been enough talk about it traded in the darkest hours of the night when it was impossible to resist the deepest thralls of imagination. the scenarios were plentiful and bookmarked with promises that he knew would be made good on. 

he comes to terms with his mistake too late as he finds his arousal trapped between the honey taste og you on his tongue and tightness of your aperture squeezing at his sex. his cock had already joined him this morning at half mast and was well on its way to fullness with each dip into the lucid fantasy. with a huff of his own he snuffless against the tuft of your ears. only to freeze at his flounder when it flickers in protest. 

“hmm, legoshi?”

his ears flatten in apology and he licks a firm stripe against the exposure of your neck as you roll over to face him. your eyes are still blurry and unfocused, teetering between consciousness as your body goes taut in a reflexive stretch. 

“wah time is it?” you slur and despite his faults, legoshi can’t help but chuckle at the cuteness. 

“early. sorry, didn’t mean to wake you.” he shifts gingerly, giving you more room to tuck into him. he completely forgets about kindling fire until the breach of your leg between his nudges against the tent. caught, he sheepishly tries to draw away.

“i ah- wasn’t being a pervert. just woke up like this.”

“so you aren’t happy to see me?”

the joke is fluid transition for you as more clarity filters into your voice. you have to press your lips together in a thin line to keep from laughing at the way he balks. in his lapse, you drag your hand through the covers to the sprawl of his fingers to thread them together. using the grip as an anchor, you fill the gap he tried to place with an eager roll of your hips, hoping to get your consent across without too much skepticism. 

unable to resist, your lover drops his head to the curve of your shoulder to hide his groan- or was that a moan? the task of trying to decipher the muffled words is lost to the distraction of the trail of open-mouthed kisses back up the length of your neck to the structure of your jaw. he ends with a chaste peck to the corner of your lips.

“i’m always happy to see you, i just didn’t want you to-y’know assume anything.’’

when he’s this relaxed and pliant to your will, it doesn’t take much to encourage the wolf to move to his back as you crawl over him. most of your weight is on his thighs, purposefully directed away from where he craves it the most. 

“what? that you want me? did you think i forgot about all the pretty scenarios you put in my head?”

‘pretty’ what the impression he had in mind when he’d conjured them up. but your receptiveness was more important at the time. none of it having any place in his swarm of thoughts as he watched your fingers walk over the flat of his stomach down to the hem of his pants. it's a relief when you don’t utilize the opportunity to tease and he’s more than eager to lift his hips to help you draw the fabric down to his thighs. 

the sight of him standing tall is less embarrassing when it’s under the hungry heat of your gaze. in one of those stories, you had woken him up with the circle of your lips catching on the ridge at the head of his cock. but he wasn’t picky when you hand wrapped around the base of him. 

there's a throaty sound to his voice as his legs flex underneath you. “i had a lot of time to think about you.”

truly. every waking moment and opportunity was a welcomed one to tune out the roar of your absence. 

“ah shit.” with a grueling amount of effort, he was able to pry away your hand, silencing your complaint with a chaste kiss to your lips. “we can run down the list later. just let me have you like this first.”

curling his finger into his palm, he uses the bend of his second knuckle to draw your garments to the side and rub small circles against your apex. no matter how short he cuts his nails, he can’t dull them enough to angle them too deep. relying more on your wetness to ease the way. it’s the burden of a carnivore lover- or perhaps just the trials of being with him, but he does hit best to make up for what he feels are his thoughts.

legoshi is mindful of his teeth as he draws you into the first proper kiss of the day, tongue flickering out to tease the warmth of your orifice. the combination of the heat and taste of him help to kindle your fire as you rub needfully into the pressure of his digits. the absence of his touch evoking a a heightened sense of fondness that you grapple on to firmly. your vision goes hazy, different than the thick cloud of sleep as he hangs by a thread within the smog of the combined lust. 

his hands skim the curve of your waist, latching just above your hip bone to draw you close for his favorite parts. he eagerly swallows your soft exhale as he nudges the head between your folds, intoxicated by the stretch of your cunt. it's an archaic sense of relief that draws all tension from his muscles as he slides his cock further to the hilt. 

the passion of lovers is a tender moment, but the desperate unbridled needs for raw fucking crashes through the setting, shattering your resolve like glass. coaxed by your whimpered assent, he doubts a raw pace as he fucks into you fervently. the friction of and slick slide of overheated bodies muddling slurred speech and broken ‘i love yous’. 

the force of his snapping hips is more than enough to shake the frame of the bed, a full unleash of the beast that inherits every fiber of his being. the sun is more prompting now, bleeding through the blinds to light the place where he enters you. 

it’s too fast to promise anything too long, a blessing as you find yourself straddling the edge of your completion already. there’s a halting moment where his rhythm goes inconsistent as he resists the grip on your hips to encourage you to adopt his pace. it's a sloppy rendition and most of your efforts are focused on the down shift as you grind into his lap. 

when you meet him at the climax you both seem to cling to each other before toppling over the edge. the whirlwind of the descent of your capitulation drawing a shudder from your head to your toes. you melt into his chest, heart thumping at sporadic staccato against the answering beat of his. 

the harsh mixture of your pants doesn't seem like they will ever find an evening pace as it only seems to feed into the humidity of the room. legoshi’s muzzle nuzzles the side of your head as he settles into bone-deep satisfaction, the heavy aftertaste of sexual gratification filling the void of speech. 

sort of.

“so are we starting at the top of the list or the bottom?”

[blushingbaka]

october date hcs

featuring: aran, hinata, kita, and tanaka

✰ a/n: i haven’t had a lot of time to write lately, but i just had to do something including cute october dates, so i whipped these up ! it’s kind of a random compilation of characters, but they’re the ones that just naturally came to me! this was my first time writing hcs, so i haven’t exactly found my style for them... it’s honestly more of a brain dump, but i hope you still enjoy them <3

✰ OJIRO ARAN ✰

⋆ so apparently it’s canon that aran watches old movies and series, so i am fully convinced that he would want to have a night where you two binge classic horror movies !!

⋆ he’s been doing this since forever, so he already has the perfect lineup that he is very stubborn about changing

⋆ he’s all too excited to include you in his little tradition, however, so this boy is fully prepared with popcorn, snacks, hot chocolate, and of course blankets

⋆ even if you’re not really into horror movies, you can’t help but to think it’s worth it when he can’t contain his excited toothy grin as you settle onto the couch

⋆ he starts with his arm draped over your shoulders, but eventually it falls to rest around your waist. he has the habit of absentmindedly rubbing circles into the skin just under the hem of your shirt

⋆ you find yourself watching his face more than the movie. it’s cute how he’s totally engrossed in the movie he must have seen a hundred times, and there’s a small smile that stays on his face the whole night. he gets so into that he forgets all about the popcorn, so you find yourself occasionally feeding him pieces

⋆ if you’re the type to point out the inconsistent plot or the character’s illogical decisions, he’ll immediately shush you and place his finger to your lips, telling you to “just enjoy the movie”

⋆ if you’re actually scared, he’ll smile fondly down at you as you bury your face into his chest and he’ll squeeze your side reassuringly. he’ll be honest and tell you when it’s safe to look back at the screen, and when you lift up your head, he’ll plant a swift kiss on your temple

⋆ you really try to fight it, but you eventually fall asleep. despite falling asleep, you still grip the material of aran’s t-shirt with one hand, which causes his heart to swell with affection. as he looks down at your sleeping form, he can’t help but think how he wants you to be a permanent part of his little tradition

✰ HINATA SHOUYOU ✰

⋆ carving pumpkins !!

⋆ you two had already went on a date to the pumpkin patch to pick out your pumpkins and this boy can not wait any longer to carve it. he whines when you insist on prepping the space with trash bags and such, too excited to get started that he doesn’t care about the aftermath of a mess

⋆ goes in for the pumpkin guts with his b a r e hands, and he tries to persuade you to do the same only saying ‘it feels cool’

⋆ when you finish emptying your pumpkins, you immediately tell him to wash his hands but his teasingly extends them towards you

⋆ “Hinata don’t you dar-“ he does dare. he swipes one hand across your cheek, causing you to scrunch your nose up in disgust. already having one cheek covered with the slimy pulp, you see no reason to not retaliate, so you stick your hand in the bowl you two filled, and throw a piece of pulp in the direction of his face

⋆ your arms end up in a tangled mess as you two continue your cycle of revenge, and the room is filled with your laughter

⋆ after finally calling a truce and cleaning yourselves up, you actually start to carve the pumpkins. It takes forever for hinata to decide what he’s going to do, and your advice of ‘just something scary’ doesn’t work because his immediate answer is kageyama’s face

⋆ he finally settles on a design, but refuses to outline it in pencil first, too eager to start carving. he sticks out his tongue as he focuses on his carving, and you can’t resist placing a kiss on his cheek, which causes pink to dust his cheeks

⋆ he carves with so much exaggerated force, he ends up accidentally cutting off parts he didn’t mean too. looks at you with so much awe when you’re able to reattach them with some toothpicks, and presses an excited kiss to your lips, which causes you to be flustered one

⋆ the night ends with you two cuddled on the couch, his head resting comfortably in your lap as you comb your fingers through his hair.  you can just barely smell the pumpkin seeds you have roasting in the oven, and the room is illuminated by both the television and your jack-o’-lanterns that hinata wanted to keep inside just a little longer

✰ KITA SHINSUKE ✰ 

⋆ kita is more than willing to take you on any type of date you want to go on, but when you mention going to an apple orchard, he can’t hide the glimmer of excitement in his eyes. it’s by far his favorite date to take you on in the fall

⋆ he loves seeing you wrapped up in one of his scarves and placing your conjoined hands in his pocket 

⋆ he’ll whisper little tips to you like how you should pick apples from the outside of the tree if you want the ripest ones. gently scolds you if you just pull the apple away from the tree instead of twisting it upward like he told you. you pretend to not understand so he’s forced to show you by enveloping your hand with his 

⋆ loves how you ask him for his opinion on an apple before you pick it, and you think it’s cute how he inspects every apple again before placing it into your basket

⋆ he gives you frequent kisses on the tip of your nose, and will take breaks where he just holds your two hands in his

⋆ when you have to use the ladder, he always has a reassuring hand on you, ready to steady you if need be

⋆ you pick extra apples to give his grandmother, and fondness fills him when you talk about giving her some of the apple pie you two are planning on making

⋆ when he hears your stomach growl, he’s already looking for the nearest stand selling apple cider and apple cider donuts. he wears a fond smile as he wipes some powder from the corner of your mouth. And when you kiss him, you love the lingering taste of apple cider on his lips. 

✰ TANAKA RYUUNOSUKE ✰

⋆ as soon as september rolled into october, tanaka has talked about taking you to a haunted house, and you can pretty much guess his motives

⋆ he promises you have nothing to be frightened over since you’re with him, and of course you can’t refuse his request

⋆ before you enter, he offers his hand to you, but becomes extremely flustered when you not only grab his hand but also the upper part of his arm, pressing your side to his

⋆ tanaka wasn’t too affected by jump scares and you soon found out why. it was because he was one of those people that sped walked through the experience, peeping around each corner to eliminate the chance for a jump scare

⋆ you chuckled telling him to slow down, which he partly listened to

⋆ gets super defensive when someone pops out on your side, and subconsciously pulls you closer to himself

⋆ he’s that guy that eggs the actors on telling them they’re going to have to do better or that they should go get that fake wound checked out

⋆ when you reach the space containing the guy with the chainsaw, tanaka tenses up, and you thought he was actually scared

⋆ “they must be insane, if they think i’m going to let them chase my s/o” he declares squeezing your hand “i’ll distract them, and you run for it” he tells you squeezing your hand. 

⋆ tanaka is definitely skilled at drawing attention to himself, and it’s easier than you think to run along the side, avoiding being pursued. you turn around just in time to see tanaka sprinting towards you despite the fact the guy has given up on chasing him. you chuckle as he collides with you and urges you to keep on moving. 

⋆ when you reach the end, tanaka lets out an exaggerated sigh saying, “that wasn’t so bad, was it?” you hug him tightly and press a kiss to his lips muttering a “no.” the boy’s cheeks are blazing !

⋆ it’s gotten colder, and when he notices you shivering, he immediately takes off his jacket to give it to you, claiming your kiss gave him all the warmth he needed

[thepetulantpen]

(More danganronpa stuff! I meant to post this like two weeks ago, but school’s been rough. Another Kazuichi/Hajime fic based on something that’s been in my ideas folder for ages: Kazuichi makes Komaeda’s hand, post dr2. Enjoy!)

“I’m only doing this for you.”

Kazuichi glares, hoping it’ll make him look more serious, but Hajime only looks relieved. It hurts to know Hajime had been expecting him to say no, but he can’t blame him, given the circumstances. 

“I can’t thank you enough.”

“You’ll owe me one.” This seems to have no effect, so Kazuichi adds, “I’m serious! I should be compensated for going anywhere near that creep.”

Hajime fidgets, hand coming up to fuss with hair that’s no longer there. It’s cut even shorter than it was in the simulation; apparently, he was a little hasty in getting rid of Izuru’s style. It was one of the first things he did when they woke up- Kazuichi remembers watching him, and seeing a bit of himself in the impulsivity.

These days, Hajime looks like he’s always towing the line, wanting to be supportive but afraid to be too defensive. Kazuichi knows he's starting to feel like something of a stranger, seeing their simulated friendships as inferior to the history the rest of them share. Not to mention the guilt at his role in… everything, but that's not exactly exclusive to Hajime.

His expression wavers, before Hajime visibly settles on, “He’s not so bad.”

It’s somehow both an understatement and overstatement- Nagito just is, a person difficult to quantify. Beyond crazy, that is. 

Memory is unreliable nowadays, a jumbled mess of school friends, fellow supervillains, and bits of code on a computer simulated island. The lines feel blurred, relief at seeing his close friends alive bleeding into horror at what they’ve done. Their killing game, too, feels fresh. He can’t help but see Nagito’s body when he closes his eyes, or feel the flash of heat from the bomb. The anger, and the sadness, is irrational- which only makes it harder to process.

Kazuichi doesn’t comment on any of that, distracting himself by turning to his work table. It’s newly set up by the Foundation, not quite lived in yet. Not as messy as he likes it.

“I’ll need some measurements, but I can get started.” He grimaces at the thought, having not even considered it when he agreed to this. “You’ll get that, right?”

Hajime smiles, almost laughs at Kazuichi’s expression, but nods. “Yeah, I got it.”

The thought of Hajime holding Nagito’s hand, carefully measuring, crosses his mind and he has to shake his head to clear it. It’s a stupid thing to be jealous of- Nagito is missing a damn hand. Of all the gruesome truths they’ve uncovered, of course there’s one that’ll give Nagito and Hajime an opportunity to hold hands.

Hajime is still hovering in the doorway, something obviously on his mind aside from Nagito. Normally, this is Kazuichi’s place to prompt him, get him to spill whatever it is. As competent as Hajime likes to pretend he is- freaky Izuru powers or otherwise- he’s always been better at getting other people to talk. 

It’s different now- they’ve got a lot on their plates, more than some repressed childhood trauma that’s appropriate to share on a beach. He’s drawing up schematics for his friend’s hand, and he’s not sure he can handle anything heavy on top of that.  

He turns to Hajime, anyway. If something’s bothering him, it’s better if they can both share that weight. “What’s up? You in the market for more shoddy prosthetics?”

“I don’t think you could make anything shoddy if you tried.” He says it offhandedly, without thinking. The confidence in his voice is enough to make Kazuichi pause, but he’s spared having to react as Hajime continues, “Thank you, really. You’re… a good friend, Kazuichi.” 

The unwitting rejection stings, but he raises his hand for a fist bump. “Of course, man. Whatever you need, alright?”

Hajime nods, a mirthless smirk on his face. It’s stretched too thin, like him. Kazuichi doesn’t know if he’s seen him sit down in the last week- always between righting one wrong and another. Chasing down the shadows of a person he never chose to be.

“Don’t know what I’d do without you.”

It’s disproportionately serious, betraying Hajime’s exhaustion. Kazuichi gestures, silently, for him to sit in one of the extra chairs, an excuse and invitation to rest until someone comes to find him. He takes it, grateful, and scoots it to sit right beside Kazuichi.

Their shoulders brush and Hajime doesn’t flinch away.

Kazuichi tries to keep his eyes on the parts, tries not move too much as Hajime leans against him. He tries not to let it mean anything when Hajime starts reaching for tools before he can, passing him exactly what he needs. Certainly doesn’t think about what it means when Hajime starts to doze off- and focuses muttering his response, never mind that Hajime stopped talking an hour ago.

“Without my brilliance? I guess you’d be collectively short of one hand.”

…

A hand, compared to everything else he’s made, is not a complicated ask. It barely takes a week, and that’s only because he tries to make it perfect. He must spend hours in testing, fine-tuning movement and searching for flaws long after he knows there aren’t any.

Not because he cares or anything- only so he doesn’t have to deal with it again if it breaks. 

The procedure to attach it is surprisingly simple; Mikan takes care of it, leaving Kazuichi to wait outside the room. Hajime’s supposed to be here, too, but he’s late- called away for a Foundation summons, which manages to be less appealing than what Kazuichi is doing now.

When it’s done, Mikan leaves, scurrying out with her head ducked down. She doesn’t address Kazuichi, which isn’t particularly abnormal. They’re all dealing with... this in different ways. 

Inside, Nagito is sitting in a chair, watching, nearly transfixed, as the hand responds to him, twisting and flexing. Kazuichi is tempted to just leave now- skip this interaction that he’s been dreading for days- but he doesn’t. Weirdo or not, Nagito doesn’t deserve to be walked out on.

He settles in the chair beside Nagito, gesturing to the hand. “I’ve got to show you how to take care of it. Maintenance, or whatever.”

“Ah,” Nagito smiles- a normal smile, by his standards, “I’m honored.”

Good to see coming out of the simulation didn’t fuck him up too much- this is about par for the course. Kazuichi just nods and gets to work, glancing up to make sure Nagito understands what he’s saying, more or less. Nagito still apologizes too much, which becomes an obstacle every time Kazuichi has to correct him. It turns explaining the mechanics of the hand, which parts need adjusting and which need regular replacements, into a grueling process.

He really is an air-head, when you get right down to it. Past all of the hope stuff, past all of the luck, he’s a regular guy. He’s not even so painfully insecure, in his best moments. 

It’s almost easy to see why Hajime likes him so much. 

At times like this, it feels like it did in school, simple friendships with no despair-laced strings attached. Hajime not being a part of that equation is a strange inconsistency. The thought that he never properly met Hajime- just Hajime, not Izuru or a computer’s impression of him- makes his head hurt.

“It’s good to see you and Hajime are still getting along,” Nagito says, apropos of nothing, “You spent a lot of time together, on the island. I know he enjoys your company.”

He sounds oddly deliberate, not like the steady stream of nonsense that Kazuichi tends to filter out. It cuts through the haze of his half-concentration on the conversation. “Huh? Yeah, I mean, of course.”

Nagito stares at him, dull grey eyes unyielding, before he smiles, again. “This hand was a favor for Hajime, wasn’t it? I’m sure he appreciated that.”

He sounds almost nagging this time, like he’s trying to get at something in particular, but it’s the words that catch Kazuichi’s attention. Kazuichi looks up sharply from where he’d been checking the spare parts, now labeled and boxed up.

 “It wasn’t just for Hajime, you know.” Kazuichi rubs the back of his neck, trying not to cringe. “I wouldn’t leave you without a hand.”

“I wasn’t doubting your goodwill.” He waves his hand- the real one- dismissively. “Truly, I look up to you. Your devotion to Hajime-”

“It’s not that,” Kazuichi talks quickly, as Nagito’s face starts to fall, “We’re friends. After everything we’ve been through- you think I wouldn’t help?”

Kazuichi bites his lip, half to keep himself from saying anything else. He’s not a perfect conversationalist, but he never imagined he’d outpace Nagito in making a conversation awkward. He shouldn’t have stuck around. Nagito could’ve figured out how to adjust the grip himself, couldn’t he? 

“Oh,” Nagito pauses, genuinely surprised, and stops short of whatever else he was going to say, “in that case, I’m lucky to have such incredible friends.”

The word sounds strange coming from Nagito- too hesitant, like he’s only trying it out. It’s not the first time they’ve called each other friends, but it’s the first time after the world ended; which, even for Nagito, makes a significant difference.

“We’re all here for you. For each other.”

Kazuichi winces, but it has the desired effect of making Nagito smile. Though it doesn’t look like he entirely believes Kazuichi, the expression a little forced, he figures it’s the best they can hope for. 

“Right,” Kazuichi stands, abruptly, and makes for the door, “I’d better get going.”

“Wait, Kazuichi-“

He yanks it open before Nagito can finish and finds, standing in the doorway with his hand half-raised to knock, Hajime. He’s got a knowing look on his face, barely concealing a smile.

“Making friends?”

Kazuichi scowls, trying to look as threatening as he can- which is to say, not very. “Not a word.”

Hajime brushes it off easily, switching places with Kazuichi to sit with Nagito. He relaxes when he does, tension disappearing from his shoulders as Nagito waves to him with his new hand, metal creaking softly.

“Sorry I was late. Makoto is finalizing some of the details and- it doesn’t matter. How are you feeling?”

“I’m great.” Nagito looks like he means it, lighting up at the sight of Hajime. “Kazuichi’s been great company. I see why you like him so much.”

Kazuichi steps back, getting the impression he’s no longer a part of this conversation. He keeps his head down and pretends not to notice as Hajime laughs at something Nagito says- too quiet to hear from the doorway. Hajime looks up as he leaves, but Kazuichi only gives a brief wave, leaving them to their own devices.

It feels vaguely like being left behind, even if he’s the one walking out.

…

It’s a few days later, on the beach, when he dares see either of them again. 

He refuses to admit that he’s avoiding anyone- he only happens to not run into them. It just so happens that he spends the majority of his days locked in his lab, with a Do Not Disturb sign up, listening to the sound of disappointed footsteps approaching, pausing, and leaving. 

And, just once, the click of Nagito’s heeled shoes and an extended moment of hesitation- the shadow remaining at his door for a minute, at least- before it, too, leaves. 

It’s not jealously. It’s just... weird, being around people he calls friend. Even after all this time, he feels like he can’t quite get it right. 

Especially with Hajime. For multiple reasons. 

He’s here now, despite that, because if he doesn’t leave the lab, he thinks Hajime might send in rescue parties after him. It should be embarrassing that he’s partially hidden behind a palm tree, creepily watching Hajime and Nagito from a distance, but it’s not the weirdest thing he’s done, even excluding his time corrupted by despair- hell, even excluding all of their time in the killing game.

Kazuichi smiles softly as he watches them, Hajime’s grin bright and Nagito looking less miserable than usual. The shadows they all carry dissipate in the steady sunlight, the rock of waves suspending them in a limbo on this island, far from where the rest of the world can reach them. 

Nagito says something Kazuichi doesn’t catch that makes Hajime frown, and he waves his hand- the new, metal one- in Hajime’s face, clearly teasing. “I know you do.”

“Nagito,” Hajime is laughing as he tries to catch Nagito’s hand, “Nagito, come on.”

“I wouldn’t say I’m an expert, but,” Nagito lowers his voice, so Kazuichi has to take a few steps closer to hear him, “subtlety isn’t one of your many talents.”

Hajime opens his mouth, like he’s going to argue, just as Kazuichi steps forward, intentionally scuffing his shoe against a rock- feeling, for the first time, guilty for eavesdropping. At his footsteps, Hajime whips around, something suspiciously like a blush on his face. 

Hajime glares at Nagito, who pays him no mind in favor of greeting Kazuichi, cheerfully, with, “What great luck. Hajime was just looking for you.”

The beanie, a few minutes ago, had felt silly while on the beach, under the constant sun. Now, he’s grateful to have something to fidget with. He pulls it lower, as if that’ll hide him.

“You always know where to find me.”

Hajime raises his eyebrows, glancing once at Nagito- who, judging from his shrug, isn’t much help. “I wasn’t sure you wanted visitors.”

“I never mind seeing you.” It’s as if flashing neon signs reading AWKWARD blind him for a moment as he backpedals, “Uh, whenever you want to hang out, man. Never too busy for you.”

“We should,” Hajime interrupts, before Kazuichi can spiral deeper. “Hang out, I mean. Just me and you. If you have time.”

Kazuichi looks over to Nagito- or, the empty spot where Nagito was. There’s a footprint in the sand and, in the distance, he spots the flash of a coat as Nagito trips over rocks on his way to beat a hasty retreat. It’s hard to tell whether Nagito has been taking lessons from Peko, or if Kazuichi’s skills in observation are worse than he thought. He’s not sure whether he wants to thank him or curse him for leaving them- maybe he’ll decide based on how much a disaster this ends up being.

Hajime is watching him expectantly, not as surprised by Nagito’s escape act. 

“Not a lot going on right now. Besides, you know, the apocalypse.”  It’s hard not to be nervous, even if Kazuichi can’t pinpoint exactly why. He can feel a tangent coming on, forces himself to stop before he says something he’ll regret. “I’ve got nothing but time.”

Hajime shuffles a step closer and looks down, not meeting Kazuichi’s eyes. “I’ve missed you. I know that’s stupid, since we’re both on the same island, but-“

“I know what you mean,” he says, quietly, cutting him a break, “I think.” He hopes he knows what he means- hopes it means what it means to him.

Hajime looks up, mismatched eyes studying him. It’s not as disconcerting as he imagined it might be.

After a moment, Hajime glances away again, breaking eye contact. “Do you want to go now? There’s food in the kitchen. It’s nothing glamorous, but,” he shakes his head, smile a little sheepish, “I guess I’m not very good at this, even now.”

He’s clearly doing something right, but if Kazuichi could figure that out, he would have a lot easier time responding. He’d probably even say something more eloquent than, “Sounds great! Lead the way?”

It doesn’t make a difference. Hajime looks delighted, like Kazuichi had said anything else. It’s a warm feeling, to see Hajime smile even when he’s barely done anything to deserve it.

Hesitating just a step, Hajime turns back to Kazuichi and holds his hand out, offering an unsure smile and no words to the silent gesture. Kazuichi takes it before he can change his mind and lets himself be pulled along, nothing on his mind but this moment, the sun, the waves and Hajime.

They can make something new here- hands and hope and a life no longer broken into half-remembered pieces. It’s a new start, after the world and their lives have been burned away a few times over. A second or third chance. Best to stop counting, at this point.

It’s only fitting that they begin again on a beach. This time, he’ll be aiming a little higher than “soul friends”.

[vibing-and-writing]

A Grove of Trees

A/N: hi!! Apologies for my inconsistent posting but life has been a crazy time recently!!! Anyways, here is the piece I will be submitting for @gingerwritess​‘s writing challenge for the prompt “a grove of trees”. Congrats on 4,000 bby!! I hope you enjoy this fic!!

Warnings: N/A (just witch tingz) 

Summary: When Bucky is sent on a stakeout to investigate ‘suspicious activity’, he meets someone unexpected instead.  

Witch!Reader X Bucky Barnes 

The day Fury told him he would be doing a stakeout, Bucky could feel the back pain coming already. Sam could call him an old man all he wanted, it still wouldn’t change the fact that Bucky hated stakeouts. Specifically stakeouts like this one that involved staying in a tiny hut in the woods, watching a cabin that has had, according to Fury, “suspicious activity” going on inside. Fury had refused to tell Bucky what “suspicious activity” had been happening, only that some of the plants of the cabin’s garden looked like something out of another realm. The plants overgrown, scoring the walls and fence of the garden, but well-loved by what seems to be a woman who only comes out once a month. Bucky found it hard to believe that one woman in the middle of the woods had caught the attention of SHIELD, so much attention that he had to be sent on a stakeout but nonetheless accepted the mission with a promise of a month-long vacation by the end of it.

It was two days into the stakeout that Bucky suggested he sneak into the cabin, but Fury strongly suggested against it saying “It’s too risky with how little we know.” When Bucky had asked about a background check on the woman, Fury said that not even their high-tech cameras could capture more than an extremely blurry picture, so blurry it couldn’t be traced. It was mysterious, to say the least, and by day three Bucky had just about had it. With a near-constant combination of a headache and back pains, Bucky was done. Putting his Avenger status to good use and a small argument with Fury, Bucky stood at the door of the cabin with strict orders to only engage if absolutely necessary. 

Bucky’s eyes settled into a glare, assessing his surroundings with expertise. The worn door has sigils and signs written with different colored chalk in a language he can’t recognize, but he goes to knock on it either way. Before his hand can touch the wood, the door swings open with a gentle whoosh. Hiding his surprise with a frown of his lips, he walks into the area with trepidation, senses on high alert. The cabin looks lived in, glass jars stand proudly near the windows, more sigils drawn on the sills. A counter is near the back of the cabin, a small cash register makes it home, with a tip jar and bell next to it. The walls are nearly filled to the brim with jars with different labels, some saying ‘protection’ or ‘luck’. Dried herbs are strewn on the rafters of the ceiling, filling the room with almost too many aromas as Bucky holds back a sneeze. Two signs near the cash register say ‘don’t see me? ring the bell!’ and ‘please don’t steal’, both seemingly hand-drawn with uneven smiley faces. Bucky walks closer to the counter with bated breath, his shoulders un-tensing without his permission as he rings the small bell. 

The twinkling of the bell seems to make the cabin come alive as Bucky hears a muffled voice come from below him. “I’ll be right up!” Bucky doesn’t bother hiding his surprise when he hears the voice. Hearing some crashes and stomps his shoulders tense up again, but he nearly jumps in surprise when he realizes his back and head don’t hurt anymore. 

There is a flurry of movement from behind the counter, a small creek being heard from what seems to be an opening in the floor. Bucky takes a step back as a woman stands in front of him behind the register, a bright smile on her face. Bucky goes to speak before he’s interrupted by the woman. “Welcome to Grove Of Trees, how can I help you?” She says it softly but with an air of confidence as if she already knows why he’s there. Heat starts creeping up his neck and cheeks, but not because of the lack of air conditioning. This woman is beautiful, though he tells her later that it’s not enough to describe her. Bucky had seen plenty of beautiful women in his 100-something years, but none of them shined as she did. Her lavender sundress only enhanced her features, the flowers in her seemed like they belonged there. Putting on his signature ‘scary face’ as Sam called it, he tries to think of something to say to her. Her expression seems to change from investigative to understanding as her eyes widen slightly. 

“Oh, so you’re the one that they called…,” she trails off with uncertainty. She even gets on her tippy toes to throw a glance over his shoulder, her eyes questioning as they land back on Bucky. Bucky looks at her slightly bewildered, his senses feeling dulled and on overdrive at the same time. “The one they called?”, he asks, thoroughly confused. The woman shakes her head, fixing her face with a small smile as she starts grabbing some vials from one of the many shelves. “Nothing for you to worry about, I’ll just have to consult the cards again, you know how finicky they can be,” she says, voice sounding similar to the bell he’d rung when he got here. Trying to ignore the calm feeling invading his senses, Bucky tries to think of the things he does know: this woman is a potential threat, this appears to be some sort of shop, and this woman is… glowing? “Mhm, yeah, for sure,” he replies with a nod, trying to sound like he understands what this mystical woman is talking about. The woman grabs a small teacup from behind the counter and a tea kettle (where she got it from he has no idea) and starts pouring some of the liquids from the vials. When Bucky gives a slight raise of his brow, she gives him a small quirk of her lips. “Your back and shoulders are tense, no? This tea should help relax you a bit,” she says, her voice soft and calm. While her voice draws him in like a siren, Bucky tries to keep his senses on high alert, reminding himself this woman is a threat. 

“Thank you, but that’s not why I’m here,” Bucky says, trying to keep his face from relaxing too much. Her expression seems somber at that, the room seeming to lose a bit of its luster, and he feels his heart sink. Bucky soldiers through the air of disappointment. “I’m investigating some suspicious activity in this area.” Her expressions seem to go from bad to worse at that, her brows furrowing, the warmth in her expression fleeting. 

Looking Bucky up and down, her eyes widen a bit in recognition before she starts putting away the vials again. “Fury sent you here didn’t he? Blessed be, how many times do I have to tell him I’m not going to be his next Avenger,” she says, grabbing more vials before waving her hands in various directions. The plants seem to stand at attention, many of the herbs on the ceiling floating gently into her hands. Her motions are quick and agitated, brows furrowing more as she continues. “How dare he, after I was kind enough to send him and his stupid lab a sample of my plants, which are my mother’s by the way, for him to send me another agent.” 

She stops her rant to look at Bucky then, who is stood in a bit of awe and confusion a growing trend as her expression softens. “At least they sent a cute one,” she mutters to herself, unaware of Bucky’s super hearing. Bucky’s blush makes its home from his ears to his neck, the woman’s words affecting them more than they probably should. She slides the teacup closer to Bucky, expression calmer as more light filters through the cabin windows. “You might as well drink it since it’s been brewed. I’m sorry to have wasted your time,” she says, her expression apologetic, if not a bit embarrassed. 

Bucky snaps out of his confusion then, mentally cursing out Fury for making him do a stakeout for no reason, especially when the woman was clearly not interested. “‘S not your fault, Fury doesn’t normally take ‘no’ for an answer,” Bucky says gently taking the cup in his gloved hand. She gives a small huff then, her expression growing less exasperated. “He likes to think I don’t notice those cameras flying around, but I just don’t need that responsibility. I’m just a flower girl in the woods,” she says, her hands blindly grabbing a vial before bringing it up to her nose. Bucky looks at questioningly before she tips the vial in his direction, a distinct smell of eucalyptus wafting at his nose. “I don’t know anything about flowers, but I can see why Fury wanted to recruit you,” he says, his shoulders relaxing as he lets the aura of the cabin envelope him. She looks at Bucky questioningly, her eyes shimmering. “Why do you say that, handsome agent?” Her tone is a bit mischievous, her smile growing. Bucky lets his lips quirk into a smile as the blush returns to his face, his heart thumping in his chest. “We don’t have anyone on the team who is like you,” he says genuinely. The room seems to get a bit brighter, but she looks disbelieving. “Don’t you have the Scarlet Witch?”, she proposed. Bucky gave her a very obvious once-over, wondering how this woman didn’t know she was the most vibrant being he’d ever seen. Wanda was an amazing person but Bucky’s instincts were telling him this woman was more than what he’d seen today. “You seem to be more than just a flower girl in the woods,” he replied, the blush still present on his cheeks. Her eyes move away from his, her hand fiddling with the vial as her face grows flustered.

Suddenly her eyes widen and her posture stiffens, the room brightening as if a light bulb had been turned on. “Oh this makes much more sense…” she says to herself. Bucky looks at her questioningly before she straightens her back and looks at him directly in the eyes, narrowed but not maliciously. Learning from the past couple of minutes, he resigns himself to the fact that this woman will probably never make full sense to him. Many emotions show quickly over her face from confusion to surprise to understanding. Seemingly settled, she looks at Bucky almost appreciatively. 

“You can tell Fury he’ll see me very soon,” she says, her voice confident. Bucky stares at her for a moment before replying tentatively, “You’re not joining just ‘cause Fury is pressuring you right? You don’t owe him anything.” Shaking her head she gives Bucky a soft look, her posture relaxed but sure. “No, you could say I have a good feeling about being an Avenger,” she says, a smirk on her lips. Bucky stares at her for a moment, trying to figure out this enigma of a woman. A sigh escapes his lips as Bucky looks at her consideringly, “If you say so.” Turning his body to leave, he feels something warm touch his hand. His head snaps towards the source, the woman now a couple of inches away, no counter between them. 

“I’m assuming I’ll be seeing you again,” she says, the contact bringing back the blush to his cheeks. Bucky tries to get rid of the haze in his head, struggling to get back any semblance of control as his heart beats loudly in his chest. “I hope so,” he replies, his voice too eager for his liking. 

She gives him a sunny smile, her eyes crinkling, and nose scrunching as she drops her hand from his. Before Bucky can be disappointed at the loss of touch, she says, “Have a good day, handsome agent.” All coy and happy, Bucky couldn’t help but smile back, the blush on his cheeks coming back full force. Continuing towards the door, all he can muster is a small wave before he walks out into the woods. 

Not far from the door stands a very smug Nick Fury, complete with a SHIELD jet waiting behind. Bucky’s smile drops from his face, a frown taking its place. “Mission completed Sarge, time for that vacation,” Furt says, his tone overly cheerful. Feeling his headache coming back already, Bucky points an accusatory finger at Fury. “Why would you send me on a useless stakeout when the woman was clearly uninterested,” he asks, already having an inkling to what the answer is. Fury gives him a small nod before replying, “She ended up saying yes didn’t she?” He says it as a rhetorical question, but not without promptly waking into the jet. 

Bucky heaves a sigh before looking back at the cabin. Focusing his ears he can hear more clangs and crashes, the vibrant woman inside doing God knows what. A smile takes its place back on his face, his heart beating faster at the thought of seeing her again.

[erikthedead]

entry #4

Started reading FYODOR DOSTOYEVSKY’s ‘Notes from the Underground,’ and I just got into the second half of him rambling and reflecting on his behaviour in detail. I never would have thought a Russian man from the 19th century would make me feel a little bit less alone in this world (or at least the ‘character’ delivering the narrative). Yet the more I read about what goes on in peoples’ heads the less insane I feel, or at least comforted by realising that everyone is a little bit insane, as long as they’re being honest. Should that be comforting? I feel like that should actually be disturbing, but I kinda like being disturbed. The bit that struck me to get writing about myself was how he recurringly mentions this need to be seen and heard and be a noble member of society, but flip flops between that and a state of isolating himself and being a recluse, ashamed by how his own face looks. I hope I’m interpreting it right, as I’m not so sure I’m smart enough to fully understand everything the man was trying to convey. The whole thing reads as him trying to make sense of himself, if anything. But if I am right in that, I can totally relate, and it causes me much distress as it seemed to have tormented him too.  His way was to throw himself into busy streets and bars, never feeling comfortable with it from what I’ve read, and possibly did it on purpose to feel uncomfortable, because he was getting bored with the current discomfort of isolating himself in his room with his books. That’s the interesting thing about it, he never once says he ‘leaves the comfort’ of his own home, like you’ll hear many well-adjusted introverts say. People who are content on their own. He obviously wasn’t content, he was bored, sick of his own brain, he tells us how he would break down into tearful fits from some sort of mental anguish that he tried to escape from through consumption of literature. I do exactly the same thing with media of all kinds, not because I ENJOY spending time with myself and my things, but because it helps me COPE with it. I am so envious of consistently introverted people who relish in their alone time. That SHOULD BE ME. All the same, it annoys me to death when someone complains about being ‘stuck in the house’ all day when they want to go out and mingle and see the world, because that is too exhausting a thing to wish for compared to creature comforts and solitude, surely. Both of them irritate me because I’m jealous of their seemingly consistent understanding of themselves, their desires and what makes them content on a regular, general basis. I’ve been trying to hard to figure out my own. I’m twenty-six now, yet I still feel juvenile as hell. I still feel like a child that goes up to the next thing that catches its eye and wants to ask, ‘can I have a go?’ And of course, to an innocent child, you let them have a go, without any expectations. You don’t get that luxury as an adult. You are expected to choose, commit, KNOW what you want. But again, I can’t help but think this isn’t me being special, that everyone probably feels this way, you certainly hear it from a lot of old people who humbly state that they are still always learning and discovering new things. Then again maybe they miss the point. Discovering things is fine, all the time. Learning is appreciated and encouraged. But actually changing or choosing not to change (both can be bad, right?), that is unsettling. We’ve given up good and evil for behaviourism and yet still people like me, Fyodor and to name a few other people I relate to when I read their autobiographies, Russell Brand, Stephen Fry, Steve-O (oh yes I compare myself to the greats, in all my unheard mighty feats), people like us can’t even get that right. Creative, expressive, bipolar people. People with big heads and sensitive souls, I’d say. Although I connect deeply to people like this I’d never want to be around them for too long. I know their torment and quite frankly my own is enough to contend with. There is a feeling of ‘pay attention to me but leave me alone.’ ‘Love me more than anything but don’t care too much about me because I’m bound to hurt you or make a fool of myself.’ Actually, in Notes from the Underground, Fyodor talks about man’s unconscious desire to smash up something he has been building, because he is unconsciously terrified of what to do what he has completed it, and Brand actually mentions this quite a bit in his Bookywooks. How he’d personally reach a level of fame and notoriety but then sabotage it, fearing the peak or what comes after – the come down. I hope I’ve interpreted these guys correctly, because it does make sense to me. The only thing that really sets me aside from these guys is my utter lack of ambition. At least in these peoples’ hypomanic states they were achieving something. What do I do? I’m the classic, slightly mentally ill underachiever that never sticks to anything. The sheer magnitude of my unconscientiousness could be used as an example of how not to be during a Jordan Peterson lecture. My downfalls were not self-sabotages, conscious or unconscious for the first half of my life. The rest you can blame on me, that’s fair enough, but puberty hit me early and like a train, and all that meant was I was spotty and got a bullied a bit, but that didn’t excuse me from performing well in my exams and essays. I was predicted to come out with some of the top grades in the whole school. I even started finding my confidence and standing up for myself to bullies after a few years adjusting to adolescence. Then my mother died suddenly one night from an overdose when I was fourteen, and my whole world flipped upside down. Like an anime main character backstory right there. It wasn’t perfect beforehand, anyone who knows my whole childhood situation will agree, but I had a bloody good chance up until she died. After that, I became nihilistic, rebellious, promiscuous and generally self-destructive. ‘How would your mother feel if she could see you now? She wouldn’t have wanted this.’ Oh how I wish I slapped anyone that said this to me. How dare they even try to assume what she would have wanted, having never known her. Of course, I said it to myself all the time, I still do sometimes, but I have that right. The rest of you don’t. Hah, rights. What a joke, even as I try to be dominant through typing to imaginary figments of the past and the future, I’m not even convincing myself.

The inconsistency, of my desires, my attitudes, my cognitions, my emotions and ultimately my behaviour is what pains me. I would rather be a complete abolition that was sure in himself than be like this. What’s even more frustrating is that it’s not that uncommon for people to be like me in that sense, but they just go with the flow with it, seemingly unaware of their inconsistency, and become incredibly defensive when you point it out. It’s understandable, I get defensive with myself, which could be an early sign of schizophrenia, who knows, time will tell. At the moment though I am without doubt an anxious, depressive, inconsistent muddled mess of a person, and even the HOPE for my future self comes and goes in powerful forms. I have the grandiose fantasies of being interviewed by people because I’m just that interesting and my achievements are that remarkable, and I also have the sheer terror while preparing to talk to the shop assistant when I’m buying something. Oh yeah, buying things, that’s a tricky one for me an’ all! The trick with me is not to give me too much choice, because if I have I will never decide, or I will make a silly last minute decision or pick the third thing after debating with myself for ten minutes between choosing from the first and the second. Not only indecisiveness, but impulsiveness plagues me. Not just buying things I don’t need, or don’t even want yet because I haven’t finished the last thing, but even charitably so. I saw a stranger E-begging by chance and decided to send him money. I have no idea why. Am I just a good person? I don’t have enough money for myself, and even if I do have some to spare, that should go to others who have helped me financially before a stranger on the internet. Maybe I’m not a good person, and I just did it to cleanse myself of some feeling of shame or guilt for wasting money on myself. As well as the positive fantasies of my future where I am destined to greatness through nothing other than my own conviction and virtues, I have the other vision in the crystal ball that shows myself destitute and addicted to hard drugs, homeless or institutionalised, ultimately suicided. Addiction and suicide run through my veins afterall, and I’ve been close to becoming the 3rd generation of my bloodline to go out by my own hand. The decently sized scar on my arm from a self-inflicted slash that was intended for my neck, that nearly severed my nerves and would have left me with a malfunctioning left hand had I gone any deeper. Sometimes I look at it and feel ashamed for doing it, for trying to throw away my beautiful, special life, and other times I look at it and feel ashamed for missing my real target, my consciousness. I battle with my consciousness a lot, I try to minimise it through drink and drugs or healthy mental exercises, distract it with my media, sublimate it through writing and drawing, but rarely do I get peace from it. Then other times, I count my blessings and praise the universe for bestowing onto me just the ability to think and feel and be a person. Neither approach to life is crazy to me, what’s crazy to me is not being able to bloody pick one and settle on it for more than a couple of days at a time. Like Fyodor describes his character going out into a busy bustling area in his urges to be part of society after a stint of isolation, I will go out some weekends and do the same, but that’s only a more recent, probably more healthy advance in my development than what I have been doing for a long time which is going online to provoke and debate people with my thoughts and opinions, and sometimes cheeky insults. I really resent when people who know me call it ‘trolling’ when I go off on these episodes. Trolling to me is when you put something out there that you don’t actually stand by, but you know will get a reaction out of people because you’re bored and want to mess with people. Now fair enough, there’s a lot to be said for that last part, but I have no reason to say things I don’t really think/feel/believe when the things I say genuinely are enough to upset people on their own, things I sincerely believe are correct. I’ll feel ever so right and convicted during these online tirades, then the next day want to delete all my social media and wipe my name from the planetary database. Perhaps I could just delete my existence while I’m at it. Seems like my self-doubt and my self-assuredness play equal part in my misery, because like everything else, I can’t choose one. The same happens if I go out and meet new people on the weekend, I’ll exchange numbers and add people with all intention of meeting up in the future, only to ghost them afterwards. I don’t know why.

[shimmertrapped]

I’ve Got You - Stiles Stilinski x Reader (1/?)

Summary:  After being rescued from an unknown enemy, Y/N and Stiles grow closer whilst dealing with trauma and a lingering threat.  (post-high school AU where Scott, Allison, Stiles, and Y/N are roommates)

Characters: Stiles x Argent!Cousin OC (Reader), Scott x Allison

Word Count: 2011

A/N: quarantine got me reverting to my Teen Wolf obsessed days so here is a fic i’ve been working on for fun!  my main focus is the characters so please excuse any vague/inconsistent plot details lol.  POV changes are indicted by *’s!

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Stiles hovered behind Scott, watching as his friend threw their foe against the far wall.  Scott looked over his shoulder at Stiles, fangs bared, and said, “Go find her, Stiles!  I’ll take care of him!”

That was all the permission Stiles needed.  He simply nodded before tearing off down the hallway behind them.

The walls that blurred past him were barren. His target lay straight ahead - an imposing metal door at the end of the long hall.  Stiles winced as the slash he had received in his shoulder blade stretched with his movements, but he did not slow.

He reached the door in no time and skidded to a stop, fishing inside his pocket for the key ring he had swiped earlier.  He glanced from the heavy-looking padlock on the door handle in front of him to the keys and attempted to choose one that looked like it might fit.  Hands shaking furiously, Stiles shoved the key into the lock, but when he tried to twist it, he was met with resistance.  Cursing, he picked out a second key. Same result.

“Come on,” he said through gritted teeth.  He selected a third key and willed it to work.

It did.

Relief like he’d never known washed over him as the key turned seamlessly, the insides of the lock tumbling before it opened with a satisfying click.

Stiles slammed the handle down and shoved his whole body into the door, practically falling into the room as it opened.

And there she was.  She was standing, body braced as if she were prepared for someone other than him to enter.  Her long hair was limp and her skin was wan but it was her and she was alive.

Her legs nearly gave in as she breathed,  “Stiles.”

“Y/N!” Stiles rushed forward, grabbing her by the elbows to steady her.  He helped lower her to the ground and kneeled in front of her.  “It’s okay, we’re gonna get you out of here.”

She seemed to look right through him, her gaze unfocused.

Stiles, still grasping her pale, bare arms, assessed her for any sign of injury.  He swallowed down the building lump in his throat.  “Are you hurt? Are you - ?”

“No,”  Y/N said, her voice distant.

“Okay, hang on, I’m going to get this off you,” He said, grabbing for the lock on the chain around her ankle, his stomach roiling at the sight of it.

“Are you real?”

Stiles’ attention snapped back to her eyes then, and his heart broke in his chest at the hopelessness and disbelief he found there, heard in her question. 

“Yes,” Stiles said hurriedly.  He lowered himself so they were directly face-to-face.  “Yes, look at me, I’m right here.  Scott and Allison too.  We’re gonna get you out of here.  You’re safe.”

When he saw her nod weakly, he hunched back down to survey the ring of keys in his hand once more. 

“Your shoulder...” Y/N’s voice came out as barely more than a whisper.  “It’s bleeding.”

Stiles glanced back at himself and indeed saw where his hoodie had torn, revealing a bloodied gash beneath.  He turned back around.  “I’m fine.  Don’t worry about me.”

He managed to successfully undo the lock on the first try this time and then, as gently as he could, he slid the shackle from her ankle, tamping down the rage that flared inside of him at the sight of it and the raw, red skin it left in its wake.

Stiles looked back up at Y/N.  “All right, are you ready?  Are you okay to walk?”

Y/N nodded again, and Stiles hoped he wasn’t imagining that her eyes seemed clearer now, more present.

“Here,” He extended his right arm to her.  Y/N wrapped her fingers around it and let him raise them both back up to their feet. 

And then together, they fled without another look at the wretched room behind them.

*

“Y/N!” Allison cried as they approached the jeep parked behind the decrepit building.  She embraced her cousin, tears springing from her eyes.

They stayed like that for some time, Y/N’s face stark against Allison’s dark hair.  Stiles watched them, overjoyed to see the two reunited, but simultaneously unable to help but wish he were the one holding Y/N. His heart stuttered however when her eyes fluttered open and fell on Stiles’.

But the moment was over before it had started as Scott, too, appeared from around a corner.  He spotted them.

“Y/N, thank God!” He ran over, stopping next to Allison, who finally stepped away from her cousin, but still held onto her hand.  

Scott caught Stiles’ eye then and gave him a grim look.  They needed to get out of here.  Stiles cast a wary look behind them.  “Guys, we should go.”

“Right,” Allison said.  Then, to Y/N,  “Come on, let’s get you in the car.”

The four of them headed for the jeep, Stiles jogging ahead to open the rear passenger seat door.  Allison led Y/N, who moved slowly but without any sign of a limp, or worse.  She winced however when she went to step up from the foot hold to get into the jeep's elevated seats.  She wavered slightly, but Stiles was there in an instant to grab onto her elbows once again.  “Woah, I've got you.”

He helped her up and stayed close as she slid into the seat, buckling herself in as Allison moved to climb in next to her.  When he saw that they were settled, Stiles shut the door and walked around the jeep to get in on the driver’s side, Scott already in the seat to his right.

The four of them drove away in near silence, Stiles’ eyes darting to the rearview mirror to glance at the girl on the passenger’s side the entire way home.

*

That night, Y/N’s body felt alien to her as she sat in her fresh clothes, unused now to the soft fabric and scent of laundry detergent.  The chair she sat in was off, too. Too plush.  In so short a time, she had forgotten how it felt to be comfortable.

“Here you go,” Allison returned then, setting down a steaming mug of tea on the kitchen table in front of Y/N before sitting in the chair opposite her.

“Thanks,”  Y/N said, wrapping her hands around the warm cup.  The sensation grounded her.

“Are you sure you don’t need to go to the hospital?” Her cousin asked her for the third time since returning home.

Y/N nodded.  “He never physically harmed me.”

Allison’s eyes were grave as the unsaid meaning hung in the air around them.  No, her captor hadn’t laid a finger on her.  Rather, he seemed to draw his gratification from the psychological damage he inflicted on his victims.  The isolation, the deprivation...

It was why when Stiles had barged through the door, like an angel with the light of the fluorescent bulbs of the hallway surrounding him,  Y/N hadn’t been sure whether she had fallen asleep without realizing and was dreaming, or was awake and hallucinating.  Because she had begun to hallucinate.  After... Well, she had lost track of the days early on, but at some point during her captivity.  She hadn’t wanted to believe it was really him, only to have her hopes shredded when she came to and found herself alone again.

Especially because in the few times where she wasn’t trying to escape and instead let herself simply wallow, it had been him she thought of.  Stiles and his constant jokes, his warm, amber eyes... It had helped her through the darkest moments.  She had desperately clung onto the memory of his face, terrified to forget it because at times she truly believed she might never -

Y/N forced herself to snap back to the present. She was here, in the house that she had been living with Allison, Scott, and Stiles for the past seven months.  She raised her mug to her mouth and took a sip, allowing the warmth of the tea to soothe her thoughts as it coursed through her.

“I still think we should get you checked up,” Allison frowned.  “But I guess we can go tomorrow.”

Y/N didn’t bother arguing.  She knew if the roles were reversed she would likely insist the same.  Instead, she finally asked the question that had been on the tip of her tongue for the past few hours.  “Allison, how did you guys find me?”

"Well, we had Scott along with Derek's whole pack searching the entire city for your scent... But we came up short.” Allison said grimly.  Her expression grew thoughtful as she set her mug down.  “It was Stiles, really.”

Y/N sat up a little. “Stiles?”

Allison turned somber again.  “I... I don’t think he slept all week.  I mean, we were working overtime too, but...  I guess he found a way to decrypt the IP address of the e-mail Scott received, and he didn’t leave his room until he finally managed to crack it last night.”

Y/N looked down at the table, her mind whirring with mingling feelings of overwhelming gratitude and guilt.  

She looked back up however when Allison reached across the table to place her hand over hers. As if reading her mind, her cousin said, “I’m not telling you this to make you feel guilty.  Never feel that way.  I just thought you should know.  I think he really -”

Allison didn’t get to finish her sentence however as at that moment, Scott and Stiles came through the front door, returning from their meeting with Sheriff Stilinski. Scott came to stand next to Allison, placing a hand on her shoulder, Stiles trailing behind.   Y/N stared into her swirling tea.

“How'd it go?” Allison asked, looking up at them.

"We filled them in," Scott said. Then he looked to Y/N, his face apologetic.  “You’ll need to make a statement.”

“But you can do that whenever you’re ready,” Stiles rushed to say.

“Of course,” Scott said.

A phone buzzed then, and Scott reached into his jacket.  He glanced down at the screen and swore.  They all looked to him in alarm.

“What is it?” Allison asked.

“It’s Derek,” Scott said.  “Allison - he needs our help.”

“Both of us?” Allison’s eyes darted to Y/N.

Scott seemed hesitant to give any more details, but his eyes conveyed the urgency.

“Will you be alright?” Allison asked, turning to Y/N. 

She could feel all three of them watching her.

“Go,” Y/N said.  “I know Derek wouldn’t ask if it wasn't necessary.”

Allison pursed her lips.  “We’ll be back as soon as we can.  If you need anything, call me.”

Y/N looked to Scott and saw an internal battle - him not wanting to rush Allison away at such a sensitive time, but also knowing they were racing a ticking clock against whatever or whomever Derek was up against.

“Go,” Y/N repeated.  Then she glanced at Stiles who she found was already looking at her.  “I’ll be fine.”

“Okay,” Allison said, then again, more to herself, “Okay.  Let’s go.”

Scott looked relieved but said, “We’ll be back as soon as we can.”

“Good luck, guys,” Stiles said.

With that, Scott and Allison hurried out the door, pulling their jackets on as they went.  And then it was just Y/N and Stiles.  A memory came back to Y/N at that moment and her eyes widened.  She blinked up at Stiles.  “Your shoulder - did you get it patched up?”

Stiles waved a hand nonchalantly.  “Yeah, it was nothing.  I’m fine.”

Y/N looked at him, slightly skeptical. And then, as he took a step forward into the light, she saw the dark shadows under his eyes. She frowned. “You look exhausted.”

Stiles ran a hand through his messy dark hair.  He said, seemingly reluctantly, “I guess I could sleep.”

Y/N sighed.  “Me too.”

Stiles gave her a resigned look.  Then, he nodded behind him.  “C’mon, let’s head up.”

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posted April 29, 2020