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saerins · 2 months

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꒰ঌꨄ︎໒꒱ — there’s a lot you don’t understand about what’s going on with sae, but he can say the same about you. question is, once you both find out more about each other, will your growing feelings stay the same?

content: itoshi sae x female reader. fluff/angst. profanity, alcohol, reader is fairly straightforward here, pining, jealousy, misunderstandings. word count: 5.8k

༝༚༝༚ slightly shorter chapter this week ^_^ hehe we’re getting closer to the messier/exciting parts so bear with me heh :) mwah ily guys <3

you’re starting to learn that maybe you can’t get your hopes up with itoshi sae.

a week later, you don’t hear anything from him. you both haven’t spoken since that night he took you out. not that you’re entirely too bothered—it’s a first for you, trying to get to know someone as in-demand as sae. (you don’t count eita because you’ve known him since before the fame.)

it doesn’t help that you don’t really have anyone to talk to about this. you promised sae that you wouldn’t spill, and you’re keeping that promise. somehow, it makes you feel a little warm inside; thinking that there is some sort of intimacy you share with sae that only the two of you know.

besides, even if you could talk to eita about it, you don’t want to.

is it too quick for you to think you might fall for him?

falling for someone isn’t really in your life plans yet, especially after your last and only tumultuous relationship, but maybe itoshi sae is different. he sure seems like it.

the next week rolls around, and you still hear nothing from him. which is fine with you; you’ve resigned yourself to thinking what’s yours will be yours and not to force anything… even if you spend most of your idle time wondering if sae is ever going to post anything on his private account. did he really just create it solely because you asked him to?

you can see that he logs in to it, judging by his icon on that little viewer list in your stories. but that’s the extent to which you see him online. he doesn’t reply, or do anything much. considering his normal account is probably mainly run by his team, you guess you shouldn’t expect too much from him.

still, maybe it’s a little pathetic of you to be wearing his cap so frequently. it’s sort of become a staple piece for you, somehow. to be fair, there’s hardly any dress code in place for you to follow and considering the bulk of your workwear is mostly casual, it fits right into your style. although, after sumi pointed out one day that it’s a luxury brand and that it costs more than you would personally ever spend on a cap (even if you had the means to), you try to wear it less often. (though that seems like a waste considering it was given to you.)

“you know, you gave the boss a really good scoop, enough to last for a few months,” sumi points out during lunch, taking a lick of her vanilla ice cream as the both of you sit out on the roof, escaping the cramped office. “so why do you look so stressed?”

honestly, you didn’t even realise you did. you thought you were being normal, but it has been a while since you had a normal crush on someone, and since itoshi sae is certainly not just a normal somebody, maybe you had been acting a little off, always waiting for a text, a call even, something.

“nothing, i just haven’t been able to get a good sleep lately,” you lie, hoping that sumi won’t pry.

she doesn’t.

“hm, it’s friday today,” she hums, pondering. “maybe you should find a few of your friends, get out, let loose, you know?”

later at your desk, the clock almost striking 5pm, you think maybe you should. because as much as you love your chill friday nights alone (mainly because your mom is barely home on the weekends), you don’t think it’ll do you much good if you keep mulling over the same old thing.

but just as you’re about to go pester eita again, he gets to you first, his timing impeccable today.

there’s an aching disappointment in your chest when you realise sae isn’t going to be there. maybe it’s just the glaring difference between the life of a celebrity versus someone normal like you. his schedule must usually be packed to the brim after all.

whatever, you’ll let him come back to you on his own time. for now, all you want to do for the weekend is to spend it having fun with the guys and settling everything you need to on saturday and spend sunday to yourself.

this possible thing between you and sae, whatever it could be, can wait. you’re not in any rush. at least, that’s what your head tells you.

your heart feels something different.

it’s only the second time you’re actually hanging out with eita’s friends, but you’re not regretting it one bit. even on the day of the event they’d been welcoming to you, and tonight is no exception.

they’re all sat around the wooden table on the balcony, a ton of beer cans and liquor bottles littered across the table. you sit on the long end, on the long chair, right beside eita, sides of your bodies always pressed close together that it makes a glint form in oliver’s eyes.

he’s still curious, not out of concern but just because, about you and eita and sae and how everything is going to tie together. it’s not everyday he sees eita being okay with a girl that close to him and not complain that she’s a bother. it’s also not everyday that sae creates a private account. oliver got bored and saw one day that you were the first person he followed.

you must really be something.

“where even is sae today?” you hear sendou ask, a hiccup following suit. “i finally come over and he’s not even here.”

he’s sitting on your other side, his profile strangely reminding you of the very guy he’s asking about. maybe it’s the way his hair is a lighter shade of pink, maybe even his sharp jawline. his eyes are different though, more expressive, and universally soft somehow.

you remember how sae’s can look soft, his teal eyes turning gentle whenever you try to approach him. but it wasn’t that way when you first met him, that’s a given.

“i don’t know, said he was too tired,” oliver sighs, stretching in his seat.

“wasn’t he just with bianca yesterday?” yukimiya asks, oblivious to oliver’s glee.

it kind of stings, but you stay quiet, the alcohol slowly seeping into your system. you can feel eita leaning against you a little bit more, and his presence has always been comforting, so you let him.

sendou hums, index finger tapping against his near-empty beer can. “is that still going on? how long has their relationship status been a mystery already?”

karasu snorts, nudging sendou on the elbow. “salty just ‘cause you tried to ask her out and she rejected you?”

as you sit quietly and observe, it seems that sendou was once at an event with her too—apparently, he had asked her for her number and she didn’t even want to give it to him. and then a month later she “met sae and was all over him”, according to karasu.

with the exception of eita, who sits quietly beside you, they start a debate on whether or not sae’s finally starting to see bianca in a different light. or, as sendou points out, “maybe they’ve been a thing all along and just hid it really well from everyone.” it’s not exactly something you want to listen to, even if you are the most curious you’ve ever been about a guy, so you block it out from your ears.

but oliver leans forward, resting his chin on the liquor bottle in front of him, staring straight at you. you’ve never really noticed it but his eyes are really beautiful, the different shades of green and purple making him seem ethereal just like that.

“you’re a girl, y/n, what do you think?” he asks you, a lazy drawl in his tone.

mirroring his actions, you bat your eyelashes at him, looking innocent as ever when you answer him. “i think you guys should stop talking about that her behind her back like that,” you say, earning a raise of oliver’s brows in return. he’s surprised, to say the least, but not in a bad way.

it’s not even that you don’t want to hear about her. you’re wantonly curious, especially since you’re beginning to realise your small hint of emotions towards sae, but something tells you that these guys wouldn’t be too kind with their words if you egg them on.

karasu gives you a nod of approval that you miss before he leans back in the chair, whispering to yukimiya, “at least we all know shidou won’t totally hate y/n.” but it’s too soft for you to hear, and you probably won’t even be able to make sense of it even if you did, not with the gradually increasing level of alcohol in your system.

between intentionally drinking to not be a pathetic mess who keeps thinking about her potential love life and having to drink because you’re usually good at drinking games but not when oliver is around with the way he keeps beating you at everything, you happen not to notice a lot of things.

at one point, oliver has replaced sendou next to you, whispering snarky comments in your ear in between games. he’s not the flirting kind, at least not to you, and he doesn’t push your boundaries physically either—he’s more akin to a friend you’d love to gossip with. that’s why you don’t even think much when he tilts his camera towards you, taking a selfie with both you and eita in it.

just a normal picture of friends hanging out, oliver leaning against your legs, propped up on the chair, your own head leaning into the crook of eita’s neck, all of you evidently tipsy from the dazed look in your eyes.

what neither of you notice is oliver’s smirk as he posts the picture onto his private, betting on his target audience of one to see it.

and now, he’ll just have to wait.

one hour later, the doorbell rings and yukimiya’s eyes glance over to eita, comfortable with an arm around you, and he takes it as his cue to open the door. eita’s probably too reluctant to move and he’ll let whoever it is at the door keep at it for hours before he’ll answer the poor guy.

he’s expecting some random food delivery, maybe from karasu because he’s been whining about wanting some chicken with his beer, or maybe even shidou showing up at the last minute from his other party. but this? the person he’s staring at in the eyes right now, is the last person he expected to see tonight.

“wait, i thought you weren’t coming?” yukimiya asks, but oliver’s already shouting from the balcony.

“hey, sae, what the fuck are you doing here?” he asks from the balcony, taking a swig of his beer.

beside him, you hear sae’s name and your head immediately whips around to look at the door. there he is, looking tired as ever but he’s there, in the flesh, dressed in all black, jacket and sweats, teal eyes finding you from all the way across the house.

sae wordlessly walks past yukimiya, the latter following behind him, still shocked that he’s even present. sure looks like sae always means it when he says he wouldn’t come to gatherings like these.

when he gets to the balcony, earning a cock of oliver’s brow, sae tilts his head, “i was invited, wasn’t i? what’s so surprising about that?”

oliver snickers at sae’s blatant avoidance of the question. deciding he wouldn’t get anything out of him anyway, he shrugs and accepts it. besides, he can already see that sae’s too busy trying to calculate if there’s enough space for him to sit beside you, with the way his eyes are scanning your surroundings. maybe it doesn’t help how eita’s so clingy with you, his arm still around you even when you’ve already straightened up.

both sae and eita are just staring blankly at each other, and everyone is aware of it except for you, because your head’s a little dizzy and you’re still thinking whether sae popping up here is a figment of your imagination.

you’re not that drunk, are you?

you get your answer when a shadow looms over your body, the familiar scent of his cologne wafting into your nose. he smells the same he did that night you kissed him.

“what, this seat taken?” sae asks, and you dumbly look down at the small edge of space beside you.

no, it’s not, but you’re probably going to have to squeeze between him and eita if he sits there, no more legroom. you shift anyway, eita making space (albeit reluctantly), the way sae ends up being so close to you enough to send your mind into overdrive. you’re still wondering why he showed up.

you, and everyone else. not oliver though. he knows why. and it’s not like he wants to intentionally make you cough out your feelings but it looks like the other guys who are oblivious to your feelings are steering in that direction.

“no bianca today?” karasu asks, a mocking tone in his voice.

sae doesn’t show an ounce of emotion, though. “wasn’t with her.”

“why not? scared we’re gonna make you two make out again like last time?” yukimiya asks, finally relaxing back in his seat. he says it jokingly, although you know the sentence at hand probably isn’t a joke.

“wait wait wait, you two made out?” sendou asks, incredulous, mirroring your exact thoughts.

a jealousy creeps up your spine, engulfing your alcohol-riddled distractions. some part of you wants to know what it’d be like to be kissed by him. you purse your lips into a firm line, wondering if you were being an accidental homewrecker by kissing him that night.

“it was just a game,” sae responds, making no moves to drink the beer handed to him.

eita pulls his arms away, moving in favour of getting you a drink. it’s not that he even knows anything that’s going on between you and sae, but he can tell by how you’re stiffening up that you’re probably a little affected. he slides a shot over to you, and you down it with ease.

ignoring the way the other guys keep harping on the topic, sae turns his attention to you, flicking the tip of the cap he gave you, and you shift your gaze to look up at him, the small smirk he gives you when you do making your heart flutter again.

why is it so easy for him to do that to you?

“haven’t sold my cap yet?”

you thank the heavens you’re not too tipsy to be normal. “i’m holding out for higher bids, actually,” you quip, grinning. “you can offer one too if you want it back.”

sae hums, head tilted again as he ponders while staring at you. slowly, he leans down to your ear, whispering so only you can hear him, “how much do i have to bid for you to keep it?”

maybe it’s the liquor, but you feel your cheeks heat up. it can’t be his close proximity. it can’t be the way he’s so close that you can see the beating pulse on his neck. it can’t be the way you think you look more intimate here than you should. definitely can’t be the way all the guys have noticed and are giving each other looks.

why does he even want you to keep it? is this some sort of abstract way that he’s using to tell you that you’re not an accidental homewrecker?

you make a mental reminder to yourself to never get drunk in front of sae. you don’t want to end up blurting out some less-than-decent thoughts of yours.

“what’s wrong? too tipsy now to talk back?” sae asks, and you can only pout at him, not in your usual condition to think of smart comebacks. it makes the corner of his lips tug upwards just a little bit more than usual, his hand coming up to teasingly push the cap down further—in that seemingly affectionate way he does.

and maybe it isn’t such a good idea to agree to continue to play games, not when you got roped into never have i ever and karasu, to the delight of oliver, said he has never fucked anyone at this table. seeing that only you and eita put a finger down, everyone can tell there’s probably a complicated history between you and eita. not that you owe them any explanation, though you kind of do feel the urge to tell sae that it was in the past.

you steal a glance at him beside you, the mild look of surprise befallen on his handsome face. you wonder if he thinks badly of you now. you wonder if he’ll think badly of you when he sees what your life is really like. will he think you’re just going to be a stain on his fancy life that it’ll be better off not knowing you?

or maybe… maybe he has a complicated past too. with bianca.

funnily enough, eita loses after yukimiya says he’s never had sex with more than five girls. the disappointing part is you didn’t really get to know anything interesting about sae.

“hey, you feeling okay? you can stop playing if you wanna,” sae tells you later on, after god knows how many minutes have passed and you’re already onto the next game. you don’t even know why you agreed to play two truths one dare in the first place when you know it’ll just be a shitshow for you.

over the course of x minutes, you’d managed to learn many things, some of which being that karasu and eita had shared a girl in bed, that yukimiya dared to do a body shot on oliver, that sae would consider bianca an important person to him, and that you really can’t make up your mind to go big or go home because oliver had just dared you to spend seven minutes in heaven with anyone of your choosing.

of course, you can safely choose eita and trust him not to do anything if you told him to. but on the flip side, you can choose who you really want. even if you’re not so sure he’d want to anymore.

“you can always choose me,” oliver jokes, lifting the mood. although the smirk on his face makes you question it. “i’ll definitely show you a good time.”

while you’re having an internal dilemma, karasu and sendou are in the background teasing oliver for being fake, saying that he shouldn’t be offering that if he’s already interested in miss manager.

but you snap out of it when the irritated sigh you hear out of sae somehow feels like the world is sending you a sign. in some way. you’re not sure if you’re reaching—is he bothered by oliver’s comments? and why does oliver look so smug all of a sudden?

you’re beginning to regret not being sober, you can’t figure this shit out. but what you do figure out is what you want to do. why think so much about tomorrow when the present is right here?

so you don’t pay it any more thoughts, getting up and dragging sae with you by the shirt, ignoring all the commotion left behind by the guys, save for eita who only stares blankly at you as you drag sae into his own room and lock the door.

“oh shit, sorry dude, didn’t mean to—”

“for the last time, just friends,” otoya snaps, cutting karasu off, although not even sendou believes him. for someone who doesn’t even care to treat people nicely, sendou can at least see that eita treats you a fair bit better than anyone else.

in the room, sae can only watch blankly as you stumble over your feet before finally settling on the edge of otoya’s bed. the envious, green side of him can’t help but wonder how many times you’d been here, in his room, with him. though it’s kind of amusing how you chose to bring sae in here now.

from what sae can tell, you’re probably a little more tipsy than you should be in these types of situation, and a part of him is relieved that you’re not here with anyone else. if you were here with otoya, would you be fooling around by now?

“so, thought you were too tired to show up—what happened?” you ask from where you are on the bed, body swaying slightly, eyes threatening to close.

the moment he takes a seat next to you, you lean close, your head coming to rest on his shoulder, and sae has no doubt that you’d already drank a lot before he came. proximity this close, he can smell the shampoo in your hair, can feel how soft it is.

“i couldn’t sleep, got bored, that’s all.”

your shoulders vibrate slightly as you giggle, pulling away, a suspicious glint in your eyes. “damn, and here i thought you came for me.”

even when you’re intoxicated you still have such a smart mouth. sae shrugs, his gaze turning ever so soft, like every time before when he looks at you. there’s something about you that he can’t quite place, something that makes him act so differently than he usually does, and for once he doesn’t hate it. “did you want me to?”

not taking the bait, you keep up your casual demeanour, even if your eyelids feel heavy and you’re about five seconds away from just passing right out on the bed.

“you know, it’s fine to say you missed me and wanted to see me,” you tell him, grin wide as ever, almost infectious. you’re only surviving on liquid courage right now, the way you unashamedly try to flirt. though, if sae isn’t moving away, does that mean he doesn’t mind?

he looks off to the side, pondering for a while before turning back to you with a straight face, “i missed you, wanted to see you.”

for a moment, you feel like your heart might stop.

“is that what you wanna hear?”

almost instinctively, you grab the stray pillow lying on the bed and fling it at sae, earning an amused laugh from him but you barely realise it, too caught up in the frustration that his words were just strung together to entertain you as opposed to his actual feelings.

crossing your arms, you look away, the exhaustion of the day coupled with the dread of tomorrow nipping away at your consciousness. “don’t patronise me, itoshi sae,” you huff, and you miss the way he looks at you with a smile on his face.

will you remember any of this tomorrow? you’re not drunk, but you’re not exactly thinking straight either.

“were you… very busy this past week?”

your question is voiced so softly, almost like you’re afraid to ask, and sae realises maybe he should’ve at least told you he wouldn’t be able to make it as early as he thought he would.

“yeah, i was.”

technically, he isn’t lying. he was back in japan last saturday, but maybe he had been too wrapped up in his thoughts to do anything else.

“with bianca?”

it’s even softer this time, and for some reason, sae’s almost kind of relieved you’re asking. he just doesn’t know what it is.

“no, not really,” he tells you. it’s complicated, and you don’t even have context; he wouldn’t even know where to begin talking to you about it.

you put your legs up on the bed, hiding your face between your knees, and sae’s left wondering whether alcohol really makes that much of a difference. you seem bold, shy and teasing all at once. his hat is still on your head, your thoughts coming out into the open.

“are you… involved with her?” your voice is muffled, but he hears you loud and clear.

a small smile dawns onto his face, safe from your view. he doesn’t really know the implications of you asking the question, but he likes how you don’t beat around the bush. it’s nice not having to constantly guess what you really mean.

and maybe it’s you rubbing off on him, but he doesn’t answer it straight.

“curious, y/n?”

when you lift your head up to look at him, you see the widest smile he’s ever given you, objectively much smaller and way more subtle than everyone else, but it’s a smile all the same and it makes your heart beat faster in your chest.

“yes,” you answer honestly, because you’re not sure when exactly you’re going to pass out but you have a feeling it’ll be soon and eita’s bed is just so soft.

sae is only mildly stunned by how straightforward you are, so he decides to do you a favour. he doesn’t usually like divulging things like this; topics that bring gossip and are undoubtedly going to come back to him if it gets out. what’s more, you work for a sports magazine so you can totally use this against him, but it isn’t even that you’re intoxicated right now, but more so that he feels he can trust you with it.

slowly, he reaches his hand over, and for once he tips the cap upwards a little so he can see your eyes when he tells you, “stupid, i’m not involved with anyone.” is that clear enough for you? he’s not sure why but he hopes it is.

what does he even want with you?

the moment you hear it, you break out into a wide smile, genuine and actually infectious this time because sae feels the corners of his lips threatening to pull upwards even more. what the heck is this feeling?

“really? i’m so relieved,” you exhale, voice a little airy, looking a little too pretty that sae immediately pulls the cap back downwards. “so,” you move on, adjusting it back in position, daring to move closer to him, face so close to his own that he has nowhere else to look except straight into your eyes. “we have four minutes left. will you grant me whatever i want, itoshi sae?”

you have a habit of calling him by his full name. he makes a mental reminder to get you to change that. not tonight though, he doesn’t want you to forget.

it’s weird how he feels around you; why does he feel so overwhelmed yet want more both at the same time? he swallows the lump in his throat, keeping his composure, “depends, you’re pretty demanding, tell me first and i’ll consider.”

“itoshi sae, i’m not!” you refute, punching him playfully on the arm and he has to hold your arm to stop you from falling off the bed. “i don’t know. the guys outside are probably expecting us to fuck or something.”

there you go, unfiltered and he kind of likes it. his fingers are still around your wrist.

but the answer is crystal clear to him.

“no.”

“huh?” it takes you a while to process. given that the only thoughts in your head as of right now are only: what does sae think of you and eita? and bianca is important to him. “what if it was just a kiss?”

he hums, then shakes his head. “nope.”

“wait, am i not pretty enough for you or something?”

you’re whining and sae finds it cute of all things. you have a tendency to misunderstand, so maybe he needs to adjust how he talks to you. he’ll see. but before he can even say anything else, your head falls into his chest, your regular breathing the only sound that fills the room after. he’s perplexed and amused all at once; how did you manage to fall asleep so quickly?

contrary to your thoughts, sae has always thought you were pretty, ever since the first night he met you. even in your private account where you post yourself in hoodies too big for your body and no makeup, clad in sweats—still pretty.

sae sighs, his fingers stroking your hair now that you’re asleep, and whispering in your ear only when you’re not able to hear him.

“if i do that, i think i’ll end up wanting more.” and you’re drunk and that’s not what he really wants.

but he does give you what you ask for, pressing a soft kiss on your forehead.

that’ll have to do for now.

“so, nothing happened?” sendou asks, bored, as sae carries you on his back as he comes out of the room.

you’re passed out and drooling on his shoulder and he doesn’t really care about that.

“it’s sae, c’mon, did you expect something?” karasu laughs, all of them coming in from the balcony because in the seven minutes both of you had spent in the room, it managed to start raining. “maybe if it was bianca, y’know, then maybe.”

sae ignores all their passing comments, choosing to walk over to otoya, “hey, she passed out, i’m just gonna take her home.”

as much as sae isn’t particularly fond of otoya, he’s probably your closest friend here and he doesn’t want him to think he’s just going to take advantage of you.

otoya’s green eyes flicker to the clock on the wall before he shakes his head, speaking softly so the others won’t hear. “nah, just put her in the guest bedroom. i’ll send her back in the morning. you can head back first.”

there’s an irritation that builds up inside him, but sae maintains his emotionless expression, remembering that otoya knows you much more than he does. “i could just—”

“she doesn’t want to go home tonight,” otoya cuts in, a warning glare in his eyes. “trust me.”

suddenly, sae remembers the last time he met you, your swollen cheek and the way your eyes were glazed over. and he wants to ask otoya what it’s all about but this is about you, and he really shouldn’t ask someone else.

“fine,” sae concedes. if whatever’s at home makes you miserable, he won’t bring you there. “i’ll put her in there before i go.”

there’s a lot more otoya would like to ask sae, because oliver’s not the only one curious at sae’s seemingly odd behaviour. he wants to know what exactly he thinks about you, but everyone’s still around and it’s not a good time, so he sucks it up and lets it go for tonight.

as sae puts you down on the bed and pulls the blanket over you, he gets a brief flashback of the night he set bianca down in her hotel room. you’re both so similar, and yet not at all.

and when he’s about to turn and go, your fingers reach out to tug at the hem of his jacket sleeve, almost effectively making sae’s heart leap out of his chest. your eyes are still shut, so there’s no chance you’re actually conscious right now. still, your mouth opens.

“stay with me?”

sae stills. do you know it’s him? or do you think he’s otoya? either way, you and bianca really are similar, even when you’re not completely awake. so why… why are his reactions so different?

it’s not like he has anything on tomorrow, so it’s really no imposition.

before he knows it, he’s sitting on the floor, right next to where you sleep on the bed, your fingers enveloped in his palm, his head propped on the mattress, his own exhaustion catching up to him.

it’s been a messy week; trying to gather his thoughts about you every single time he’s free, having to talk to bianca and thinking about that, and then coming back just to see oliver and otoya so close to you that it bothers him a little. finding out about you and otoya takes the cake, though.

how special is otoya to you?

the question lingers unanswered as he drifts to sleep, both of you subconsciously finding comfort in the other’s innocent warmth.

the next morning when you wake up, you’re half shocked half happy to find sae where he is, sleeping there peacefully, the previous night’s exhaustion dissipating from his face.

did he take care of you last night? you can only hope you didn’t puke in front of him. that would be embarrassing.

you’d like to stay, wait for him to wake up and talk to him and make sure you didn’t say or do anything too out of line because your memory’s a little foggy, bits and pieces that you can’t quite piece together or even tell if they’re real or dreams.

but you can’t.

you remember what day it is today and reluctantly get out of bed. though, feeling a little cheeky, you quietly grab a small black marker out of the drawer, suppressing a grin as you scribble on sae’s palms, hoping he won’t wake up from this.

a couple hours later, by the time sae gets up, the bed is cold and still undone. it’s already noon, and somehow the first thing he thinks of when he wakes up is you—are you already home? did otoya send you?

but the question that pops up in the forefront of his mind when he sees otoya lazing around on his couch later on is none of that.

and to be fair, otoya has the very same question in his head.

“do you like her or something? y/n.”

otoya is the one to ask, eyes still glued onto his phone screen, typing something out. sae can’t help but wonder if he’s talking to you.

“what’s it to you?” sae asks. he can hear the snores of the other guys coming from otoya’s room.

otoya shrugs. “just curious. she’s my best friend after all.”

there’s a certain possessiveness in the way he says it that rubs sae the wrong way. still, sae supposes that if otoya’s your best friend, he shouldn’t be too impulsive with his words.

“maybe i like her,” sae says, the tension in the air getting thicker.

“in what way?” otoya still hasn’t looked up from his phone.

“same way you do.”

“i don’t know what you mean.”

otoya scoffs, both of them acting coy with one another. “bianca and y/n, huh? busy guy,” otoya sighs, tossing his phone aside and getting up, walking towards sae, hands in his pocket. both of them are staring the other down, feeling the situation out. “i think i suit y/n better, you can have bianca.”

now it’s sae’s turn to scoff, sharp eyes piercing through otoya’s own. “why don’t we let y/n decide for herself, huh?” he quips, before grabbing his car keys out of his pocket and leaving through the front door.

as he settles down in his car and turns the engine on, it’s only then that he realises the black marks on his palm.

thank you ᡣ𐭩

somehow, just one look at it is enough to ease the tension on his shoulders.

you really can do wonders.

extras !

otoya’s hostility towards sae was intentional.

sae didn’t try to wash your writing off—he let it fade away naturally.

if yn was sober, she would’ve not been as straightforward as he was in the room with sae. but she definitely would’ve flustered sae a lot more with her playful personality.

the whole time, oliver was live recounting the events of the night to miss manager, all of which are left on read.

if bianca had been there, sae would have been a lot more cautious about his actions and probably wouldn’t have acted too close to y/n.

random fact #1: otoya plays bass, used to perform in a band back in university. part of how he got so many girls interested in him but he was always with y/n which made a lot of them unhappy.

random fact #2: sae has never really been jealous before so now that he’s feeling it, he’s a lot more sensitive to it than normal people.

taglist! @yuzurins @saeskiss @raphsimp @lust4rin @mxplesyrvp @chieeeeeee @yumekolovesyukimiya @kunirayuna39 @auranny @sereniteav @gskill @saesgrl @riseena @rikijbol @sagejin @shironagi @veecynii

#bllk x reader #sae x reader #itoshi sae x reader #bllk x you #blue lock x reader #bllk x y/n #sae x y/n #itoshi sae x you #itoshi sae x y/n #sae x you #blue lock x you #itoshi sae #itoshi sae imagines #bllk imagines #blue lock imagines #itoshi sae fluff #૪ aeri’s fics !

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kastelixa · 4 months

Text

Instead of posting pointless callouts, use your brains.

tldr: some of yall need to learn what a fucking block button is

Genuinely what is so hard about pressing the block button? Like omg I promise no one cares about your fuckass callout posts or rants. Like some of these people are embarrassing as hell. If you get triggered by shit on the internet, it’s YOUR decision on wether or not you want to interact or block and move on with your life. Like brother, i’m not going to throw a fit and freak out over some post that just so happened to contain weird shit on it. You know what I do? I MOVE ON WITH MY LIFE. Because I got better shit to worry about than some random ass fic on tumblr.

You like ddlg? Cool. Doesn’t hurt me or anyone, I don’t care. You like incest? Good for you! You like noncon? Okay! Like do y’all see how easy it is to just smile and nod? Trust, policing what people post and enjoy, is not going to change shit. It’s just annoying as fuck. People pick and choose, because some of the shit you all consume wouldn’t be considered normal either, going by what you all say.

According to all of your logic, blood kinks, knife kinks, gun kinks, piss kinks, and etc. should not be normalized either. Murder shouldn’t be written about, especially gore. Which is fucking moronic, considering how RE is built on violence and gore. Please, learn how to separate fiction from reality.

Many people are fans of iconic slasher films and horror movies. Michael Myers is a rapist and a murderer. But guess what? No one CARES! Because he’s not REAL. I could go on with so much more examples, but you should get the point by now. Hopefully. Dark content is everywhere, why is it now that it’s weird? Makes no fucking sense.

I get that some of you don’t want your precious white boy’s image to be tainted or defamed or whatever, but trust, Leon Kennedy is not reading these fics nor would he care. ‘He’s not a rapist or into incest!’, well he also wouldn’t call you ‘sweetheart’ or whatever cheesy bs fluff fics contain nowadays. But that’s the whole point, isn’t it? It’s all OOC. We KNOW he’s not a horrible person or an incredibly affectionate lover, but people write whatever they want. And no one’s going to stop them! Not the posts clogging up the tags or the weird asks.

There’s so much more, but the main arguments that keep being repeated are ‘it’s weird’ and ‘if you write about it, you’re probably going to do it in real life’. That take is so fucking stupid I can’t help but laugh. Same bs as white moms claiming their son is going to shoot some place out just because he plays violent video games. The whole point? SEPARATE FICTION FROM REALITY. And if you don’t like something? IGNORE IT? Why are you willingly engaging like omg are you stupid or dumb.

OH AND. ‘kids could see this!’ When will you all learn that no matter what you do, you cannot control what a person sees or decides to interact with. Especially minors. I’m willing to bet half of a smut writers followers are minors. Guess what? People lie all the time, about their ages and whatever else. It’s the fucking internet, of course they do. It’s not the responsibility of the blog owner to take care of children. The most they could do is plaster a big fat MDNI on their blog, that’s it. It’s the job of the parents to control what their kid watches or consumes, and we can’t exactly help with that. So don’t pretend to gaf about minors like omg.

Anyways. I’m too lazy to continue writing like I just needed to say this because some of you are slow. Me and many others are going to continue to write whatever the fuck we want. In conclusion? Block if you don’t like it LMAO. I don’t care about what some rando has to say on the internet.

#🪼☆.thinking #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x y/n #leon kennedy x you #leon s kennedy x reader #leon s kennedy x y/n #leon s kennedy x you #dark content #some of yall r DUMB

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soffpisces · 4 months

Text

enhypen’s reaction to your new piercing!!

enhypen hyung!line x gf!reader

warnings: needles, piercings duh, suggestive for jake’s and hoon’s, kissing, ungodly amount of pet names, uhh touching?, mdni

masterlist

heeseung- lip piercing

“okay baby, close your eyes,” you say to his sitting form on the bed whilst peaking from behind his door. you had called him before arriving at the dorm saying you had a surprise for him, and now here you two were.

he closes his eyes and gives a nervous laugh. “should I be scared right now?”

“maybe!” you tease, giggling while you make your way into the room. “okay. now pucker your lips…”

he makes an unsure face but does it anyway, knowing you wouldn’t do anything to hurt him.

you slowly bring your face closer to his and softly kiss his lips. the ring hugging your lip feels cold as it presses between the two of you.

he audibly gasps at the feeling of something that’s not usually there when he kisses you. pulling away, he takes your jaw and pulls you back so he can get a good look at your piercing.

“baby! is this real?!” you weren’t sure how he would react, but he didn’t seem like he disliked it, at least.

running your tongue over it, you giggle, “yes, silly! it’s not a prank.”

"did it hurt, baby doll?" he's instantly concerned as he thoroughly inspects your bottom lip, lightly pressing on it as he does.

"nah, not really," you mumble whilst he curiously brushes over the ring. "do you think it's cool?"

"oh baby, you're the coolest," he tells you with stars in his eyes and a gentle kiss on your lips.

jake-belly button

to put it lightly, jake was probably more excited than you for your piercing appointment. when you first told him you were planning to get your belly button pierced, he almost bounced off the walls with excitement.

"what do you think about me getting my belly pierced?" you ask him randomly one day, just chilling in his room. he instantly perks up at this, looking up from his phone and looking at you excitedly. you swear you could see his tail wagging behind him.

"baby. i would probably come in my pants." you have never seen him this serious about something... ever.

so, this is how you're here at the piercer/tattoo shop. clenching jake's fist in a death grip, as you lie down on the table.

"i feel so vulnerable right now," you say looking up at him, giggling nervously.

"it's okay, i'm here doll." needless to say, he's not very happy that the piercer is a guy and touchin' on his girl's navel (albeit professionally), but he only glares a few times before focusing on you.

“okay deep breath. 1, 2, 3- and you’re done!” the piercer is already expertly securing the jewelry in place when you realize it’s over.

“oh ouchie- you okay baby girl?” you see Jake’s worried face and notice it’s drained of color. he helps you sit up, and your breath hitches at the subtle pain as your torso moves and the sight of the pretty jewelry in the mirror.

“wow, i love it! i didn’t even feel it!” you say excitedly, admiring your new piercing in the mirror.

the grip jake had on your hand slowly loosens, and you look back to see him almost collapsing onto the piercing bench, looking like he just saw a ghost.

“holy shit, babe. you look so hot”- he says faintly, taking a shaky breath, “but i shouldn’t have watched.”

jay-conch

as jay’s girlfriend, of course you had to get the iconic conch piercing. he was actually the one that wanted you to get it first, though. you had immediately agreed because- what a cute couple activity!

“should i be expecting to pass out from the pain?” you ask him in the car as he drives to the location. your hands fiddled with a random straw wrapper, trying to keep yourself from being too nervous.

“stop looking at pain levels on reddit,” he jokingly scolds you. “you’re just gonna freak yourself out, doll.”

“what if i pee myself or like throw up on the piercer??” you knew you wouldn’t actually, but thinking of the worst case scenarios always takes the edge off.

he laughs at you and pats your leg gently. “if you do, i’m getting it on video.”

for the rest of the ride he placates your whines of worry with loud singing to “highway to hell” by ac/dc… quickly, you regret coming.

the piercer turned out to be a really cool-looking 20-something girl who smelled like weed and strawberries (you digged it). safe to say, you were in good hands, and your nerves calmed down as you all joked with each other.

“alright so, it could bleed a little so i’m just gonna put this cloth over your shirt,” she starts getting the equipment ready, “remember deep breaths and 1,2,3!”

it took every bit of two seconds to get the needle through since the cartilage is so thick, and the whole time you’re squeezing the life out of jay’s hand.

“that’s my tough girl! hurts real good right?” and goddamn, it hurt worse than you thought.

“fuck jay, why’d you put me through that,” you joke to him, letting out your breath.

the mirror is handed to you as she finishes putting the back on, and your eyes light up at the new addition. it looks actually so cute.

“yea, hurts like a bitch,” she starts, “you want me to snap a picture for you two?”

you both nod eagerly and thank her for the piercing and the picture of your two ears side-by-side. the matching jewelry was a perfect idea.

“my little mini-me looks so cute,” he coos, kissing your cheek as you both leave the shop.

sunghoon- back dermals

you honestly felt like hot shit getting these piercings and couldn’t wait to show hoon. although, you weren’t the type to boast about things like this, so you decided to nonchalantly soft-launch your new piercings hoping to get a surprised reaction from him.

for your outfit, you landed on low-waisted fold-over leggings and a slightly cropped shirt. this way, you could be comfortable just going to his dorm but also feel confident he would pay extra attention to your figure.

“so i was thinking we could just play smash bros and whoever loses has to make ramen or we could up the stakes”- there’s an audible pause in his explanation as you both walk to his room. he’s catching you by your hips before you’ve even made it through the door.

“wait- what are these?” his thumbs start caressing the skin around the jewels as he inspects your lower back.

“oh, those? i got them the other day,” you giggle, “you like them?”

“baby. you’re so”- he cuts himself off before he embarrasses himself. does he like them? what a fucking question. he’s going to ruin you!

“you don’t like them?” you pretend to pout at him. of course you knew he was actually popping a boner right now.

“if you don’t get in this room right now, i am going to take you right here, in this hallway.” pfft. does he like them. what a stupid question.

ermmm slowly becoming a hyung!line writer sorry:3 lmk if there’s any warnings i missed!!!

status: geeked and hoping u like this post❤️‍🔥

#enha imagines #enha x reader #enhypen suggestive #enhypen masterlist #enhypen imagines #enhypen scenarios #enhypen fic #enhypen #enha #enhypen reactions #enha fluff #enhypen sunghoon #jake sim #park jongseong #park sunghoon #lee heeseung

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mhsdatgo · 3 months

Note

Since GOT they’ve been using rape and abuse to humble or break a woman/Girl because they aren’t the “right” kind of woman. They don’t ride a dragon or yield a sword. They don’t fight against their period typical role in life that they were born and raised in. They’re not “A guys girl” or the “I don’t have any girl friends, they’re too much drama” types who prefer the company of men to women, who would rather train with a sword and not learn embroidery. They don’t have dialogue that vaguely sounds more 21st century than Middle Ages.

These women are seen as of less value than our little dragon riding, sword and fist fighting tomboys. So they need to be taught that if you had just been more like this or more like that you wouldn’t have been brutalized and abused. The things that were done to you by other people is all your fault and you deserved it.

This show/franchise is not even in the same room as feminism.

👏👏👏 Nothing more to add anon. No lie was told.

The sad thing is, this is not what I got from the books of asoiaf at all. Women's experience was never told in juxtaposition to others. There is no humbling or brutalizing other women as a "punishment" for not being better, more rebellious, or bolder than others. The books tell stories of suffering and that's it. The way shows and fandoms decide to try and force other characters into another one's story for the sole purpose of comparing them so they prove that stanning one means having a moral high ground over another character's stans is the most idiotic thing to ever have happened among fandoms, to say the least. Especially when the two characters in question don't even know each other.

Just look at the way Sansa and Dany are treated in the fandom. Have a shot for every time Sansa in King's Landing is called a tradwife as if this wasn't a girl in middle school trying to survive they're talking about, or for every time she's called jealous of Dany. Imagine if a stranger girl with three dragons cames knocking on your door demanding that you and all of your people and their mama bend the knee to her and you are the jealous one and the villain because you just... Don't? Also, you deserve to be threatened with death when you pose a reasonable question, and you need to take it and be better and shut up. Then you're a "girls' girl" deserving of respect, etc.

We want strong female characters to think for themselves, except when that "thinking for oneself" isn't the same thing as kissing the ground the fan favourite girl walks on.

If only fandoms paid more mind to what makes a character likeable or unlikeable in their eyes BASED ON THE CHARACTER ITSELF, and not on their perspective on their faves, interacting with them would be way more fun. Books/shows like asoiaf/GOT or F&B/HotD aren't places where you just choose a character you like and that's it, she's an icon she's a legend and she is the moment. If it was, it would either be a story for kids or a hell for Mare Sues' fans. As long as you treat asoiaf characters like deities that can do no wrong and everyone else as villains in need of redemption, you should step back and read something else.

This is something that needs to be accepted even between writers and directors, btw. Just look at what F&B was turned into. Girlboss vs Girlfail. Blacks got the Girlboss, the virtuous rightful heir, good mother fine ruler, Greens' got the Girlfail, the rape enabler, the boy mom, the tradwife, you name it.

No, it doesn't matter that the latter is doing everything she can possibly do. She was a piece of shit the moment she stopped toiling behind the former because everyone is meant to be like or kneel before girlboss with dragon. Only then are your ambitions respectable. If not, fuck you, you're nothing. Everything that happens to you is your fault. I'll be in the front seats cheering for when everything you love is ripped brutally from you.

Even when your grown-up son rapes a maid. Even when girlboss with dragon threatens to put your people to the torch because you won't bend the knee.

TL;DR: There's no need to compare/stone certain female characters for being what they are instead of a completely different type. If all of them were tomboyish with swords or feminine with embroidery, it would be boring. You aren't better than anyone for having preferences. Also, learn how to blame men when they fuck up. It's great for the bowel.

#hotd #got #asoiaf #fire and blood #daenerys targaryen #sansa stark #alicent hightower #rhaenyra targaryen

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mushyblushyredhead · 7 months

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DAY 9: Lie ˚✧₊⁎・⁎⁺˳✧༚ (Marvel)

TickleTober 2023 🎃

Presented by @august-anon

Lee!Peter 3

Ler!Doc Ock

Words: 2,400

Summary: Spider-Man’s snarky quips have always helped him out of intense situations. Except when one particular Spider-Man (Peter 3) quickly realizes that his iconic quips aren’t enough to hide the silly weakness he “totally doesn’t have” from a certain eight-limbed, but surprisingly playful, scientist.

Peter 3 hummed to himself as he dangled upside down on one of the infamous actuators of Doctor Octavius. He never thought he’d be casually sitting in the same room with the once notorious villain from Peter 2’s universe.

The three Spider brothers had decided to hang out together earlier that day in the oldest Peter’s world. Except, Peter 2 had forgotten that he had to help assist Otto in the lab that same day.

“Aw don’t tell me you’re secretly helping him build another doomsday machine,” Peter 3 had joked.

The oldest rolled his eyes. “Relax. He’s dropped out of the villain gig for good. I was only supposed to help him sort and organize stuff around the lab, that’s all.”

The youngest Peter pouted. “Awww so what does that mean? You won’t be able to hang out today?”

Peter 2 was about to say something when the younger spiders both gave him their best puppy dog eyes stare. He grimaced. He could never deny his little bros with those looks. “Okay, look,” he finally said with a sigh. “Even though I’m supposed to help Otto today, I guess…you guys can…tag along too? As long as you don’t break anything, I’m sure he wouldn’t mind your guys’ company.”

“Alright!” The younger brothers cheered. “Let’s go!”

Things went smoothly upon arrival. Doctor Octavius was a bit surprised that all three Peter Parkers showed up, but he didn’t mind. While he and his Peter worked away at sorting through cabinets and desk drawers, the doctor let the younger Peters play around with his metal tentacles to keep them occupied.

Peter 1 was having a blast; swinging and dangling from the actuators, and letting them hold and lift him up.

Peter 3, however, wasn’t exactly having the same amount of fun. He simply sat down on a nearby swivel chair, pretending to be occupied with his web shooters. He was still a little unnerved about Doctor Octavius.

Okay, he had to admit, those artificially intelligent metal arms of his were really cool in a way. But they still seemed kind of…scary? Intimidating? The way those pointy claws curled and snapped shut, and the fact that were intelligent with a mind of their own that used to take control of their maker’s mind. Shudder.

It wasn’t until Peter 2 announced for a coffee break, that got the younger Spider bros’ attention.

“I’m just going to grab a couple coffees from Starbucks for us,” he said while grabbing his coat. “Anyone want anything from there?”

“Oooh! Oooh!” Peter 1 frantically waved from his upside down position on the actuators. “I’ll take a mango dragonfruit lemonade! Make it a venti!”

“Got it. Peter 3? You want anything?”

Said Peter hummed in thought. “Umm…a mocha cookie crumble for me. Make mine a venti, too.”

Peter 2 nodded. “Got it.”

The youngest spider chirped. “Wait! Can I come with you? You might need an extra pair of hands to carry all the drinks, heh.”

“Good thinking, little bro.”

“Awesome! Okay, uhh…can you guys let me go?” Peter 1 sheepishly asked the clingy actuators. They whirred understandingly and set him down, and all took a turn to give him a quick hair ruffle.

“You guys need me to come, too?” Peter 3 asked, getting up from his spot.

“Actually…” said the oldest. “Peter 1 and I can handle it. Thanks, though. In the meantime, you can hang back here in the lab. We won’t be long.”

“You can chill out here with Doc’s cool arms!” Peter 1 chirped. “They’re really fun to be around. Super clingy, too, but affectionate.”

“Oh. Okay then…” the middle brother eyed the mechanical arms wearily from the corner of his eye.

Peter 2 wrapped an arm around his shoulder. “Hey, I know what you’re thinking. There’s no need to be afraid or intimidated by him. It’s all good now. I know you don’t know Doc as well as I do or even like Peter 1 has gotten to lately, but this is a chance to get to know him, too. Oh, and don’t be scared about those metal arms of his. They won’t bite.”

Peter 3 rolled his eyes. “Yeah, okay, whatever. Just go get my coffee already. I need my caffeine!”

“Relax, bossy,” the oldest said with a poke to the middle’s ribs. “We’ll be back in a little bit.”

Peter 3 flinched and bit back a smile. It got super quiet in the lab now that the other two left. It was a little too quiet for Peter 3.

Doc Ock noticed how uneasy the middle Peter looked. He gave a little sigh. He must still be intimidated by me. He couldn’t blame the young Spider-Man. He knew he must’ve always looked intimidating to anyone who came across him.

But still, he didn’t want the young Parker to be afraid of him forever. Maybe his Peter’s suggestion earlier about leaving the two of them alone wasn’t such a great idea after all.

Then one of his nearby actuators chirped. Oh, yes. I almost forgot about that. Let’s just hope that what my Peter says about him is indeed true.

The scientist cleared his throat, breaking the awkward silence. “Y’know, you can have a look around my laboratory if you’d like. You don’t have to be confined to one spot.”

Peter 3 nodded. “Yeah, okay.”

Octavius shyly extended a metal tentacle towards him. “Would you…like to have a seat?” I know your other counterparts really enjoy it. Especially the littlest Peter.”

The middle Spidey hesitated or a moment. “Well…okay.” He climbed on top of the extended actuator. It suddenly lifted him up high off the ground. “W-Whoa! What the heck?!”

Doc Ock had to bite back a smile. “Sorry. Too high?” The actuator lowered. “That better?”

Peter 3 nodded. Feeling a little more relaxed, he let himself instinctively dangle upside down from the metal arm. Huh…he had to admit, this was nice. “Yeah. Don’t worry, it’s not your fault. Sometimes I forget those metal arms of yours have a mind of their own.”

The scientists hummed in agreement. “They can be quite a handful sometimes. But in reality, it’s like having four puppies attached to my back at all times.”

As if on cue, the other actuators slithered over to Peter 3, chirping curiously as they closed in. Peter 3 shrunk back a little. “W-Whoa uhm…they aren’t—they aren’t gonna like, attack me or anything, right?”

“Relax, they don’t bite.” Otto paused. “On second thought, technically they do, but you’ll get used to it.”

“Wait, what?!”

“Easy now, Peter,” Otto chuckled. “Before you get alarmed, I must ask…are you ticklish by any chance?”

Peter 3 could feel his cheeks grow warm in an instant. The question caught him so off guard, and already made butterflies fill his belly. “U-Uhhaahm…” he laughed awkwardly, averting his gaze. “Um…n-no..?”

“Hm. Your hesitance and the color of your cheeks says otherwise.”

Peter 3 awkwardly rubbed at his face, as if that would wipe away his blush. “W-Well I’m not hesitating. So…yeah. A-And I’m not ticklish, either.” He scoffed. “I mean, why would I be, right? That’s just not something that really works on me, y’know?”

Otto nodded. “I know, Peter. Which is why I’m gonna do this.”

Peter 3 suddenly squeaked like a mouse as he felt a jab to his side. “AaHHEAA!” Another squeeze, this time to his other side. The culprit? Two sneaky actuators. “Whoa, hey, d-don’t get any ideHAA! HaHAHeheheyyy! Nohohoho!” This time, both curious actuators simultaneously nuzzled against Peter 3’s sides.

The tallest Spidey was starting to lose his balance so he hopped off the metal tentacle. But as soon as he touched the ground, all four actuators surrounded and hovered over Peter 3, their claws teasingly pinching and wiggling in the air just above him.

Peter 3 squeaked and curled in on himself. His arms wrapped around his torso protectively. Air tickles always drove him crazy! It made his spider tingle go off over and over, which made the fuzzy feeling of anticipation even worse!

“Oh, and another thing, Peter,” Doc Ock’s voice cut in. “Your other two partners in crime explained to me how you’re still hesitant to be around me. I don’t blame you, boy. I now I can look very intimidating, but you don’t have to be afraid of me. I can be very fun to be around with, y’know!” He smiled over the sound of the tall Spidey’s cackles.

Peter 3 couldn’t answer properly with his mad giggling and squeaking. He couldn’t believe how teasy and casual the scientist was being! Okay, maybe his other spider bros were right about one thing: maybe he didn’t have to be intimidated by Doc Ock anymore.

But still, he couldn’t shake off the feeling like he had been set up. His question was immediately answered.

“I was also told by my Peter that the best way I could warm up to you was through silly play like this,” the scientist emphasized his point by having two metal arms squeeze at the boy’s ribs. “Since you love to play round and laugh. His words, not mine.”

“WhaHAAAhat?! I-I knew you guhuhuys were uhuhup to somethiHHEEE!! Something eheeHEE—evil when you were tahahahalking!”

“Why, I did no such thing,” Otto innocently answered. “I’m simply trying to show you how friendly and warm I can be. You, on the other hand, have brought this upon yourself by lying to me!”

“WhahAHAt?! I nehehever lied!”

“Mhm, did so. You lied about being ticklish, and I will not tolerate any liars in my lab!”

“B-Buhuhut I wahahasn’t lying! I-I swear!”

“Then lift your arms up.”

“W-Whahahat?!!”

“You heard me. Lift your arms up. If you aren’t ticklish like you say, then clearly this shouldn’t affect you, right?”

“Riiiihihight?”

“Well, then go ahead.”

Being ever so stubborn, Peter shook his head and wrapped his arms even tighter around his torso. “Noho wahahay! I knhohohow what you’re gonna do!”

Otto couldn’t help but laugh at the flustered Spider-Man. “Good lord, you must be extremely ticklish to be this jumpy and giggly.”

“I-I aham nahahahat!”

“Another lie right there! That’s it, now you’re going to get it!”

The four actuators descended onto Peter 3, two grabbing his wrists, making him screech. “NAAAAHAHAHAO PLEASE!”

The scientist actually jumped back at he sudden reaction and quirked a brow. “Too much? I’m sorry, I’ll tone it down if you’re too overwhelmed by this.”

The metal tentacles pulled away like nothing had happened. Otto stole a quick glance at Peter 3, and was sure his heart was going to melt at the sudden look of shock and disappointment on his face.

Was he…pouting?

“Something on your mind?” The doctor asked with a soft grin.

“U-Uhmm….I-I hhhmmffhh…” the flustered Spider-Man averted his gaze and fumbled with his hoodie sleeves. “Y-You don’t—you didn’t have to…necessarily stop…”

“Oh? Is that my cue to keep going?” The metal tentacles were back, pinching the air above Peter 3’s sides.

“W-Whoa! Watch ihihit with those thihihings! A-And what? Keep going?” Peter’s 3’s face flushed as red as a cherry. “You couuuuld if you wanted to…” His lips suddenly curled into a cheeky smile. “But you’re wasting your time ‘cause I’m not even ticklish!” He stuck his tongue out and made a run for it as soon as the actuators descended on him again.

Otto shook his head with a smile at the Spider-Man’s cheekiness. His Peter warned him about how stubborn Peter 3 could be when admitting something like being ticklish. But he also said that was just Peter 3’s silent way of asking for more tickles or to keep going as he always provoked the other person instead of asking for it; he was just too shy to ask the dreaded question.

Otto had his metal tentacles make a grab for him again, resulting in Peter dashing for the door. He, of course, didn’t make it and was once again grabbed and pinned by the actuators. “What is with you lying to my face? You’re literally giggling and squirming already and I haven’t laid a finger on you!”

Peter 3 just shook his head, sputtering more giggles as his blush darkened and reached the tips of his ears. “I-Ihihit’s your freaheeheeheaky arms! Make them stohohop thahat!”

The older scientist was confused at first, but quickly caught on when he saw his actuators hovering over the boy’s body, the claws teasingly wiggling and slowly lowering and pulling away at the last second. “Ohhh I see. You can’t stand anticipating tickles, can you?”

Peter 3 stuck his tongue out in response.

“My goodness, you just have quite the attitude today. I’m guessing you don’t want me to go easy on you then. For that extra lie, you’re getting all four actuators!”

“W-Wait huh? What does that me—HEEEEEEheahaHAAAAAhaha!!” Peter 3 didn’t have the time to finish his sentence because all four metal tentacles attacked him at once. One was squeezing at his ribs, another shoved under his arm, another scribbled at his belly, and the last one was trying to get at his kicking feet.

Despite not being restrained at all, Peter 3 made no real attempt to get away. He just laid there on the floor, squirming like a worm on a hot sidewalk, and cackling like a hyena.

“AaaHAAAAhahaeheAAAAheeHEEEEEEHEE!! HeeheHEEEEheHAAAAhaha!!”

“Interestingly enough, you’re not making much attempt to get away. I don’t even have to hold you down with my extra arms!”

“ShsHDHSHshuhuhut uhUHUP!! AAAAAHH! Wahahahait!! NAAAAAAHAHAHAO!! EEEEEEK!!”

“Oh? Is this a bad rib of yours?”

“YEHEHEHES!!” Peter 3 shook his head madly. “T-Thahahat one’s off limits—NAAAAAAHAHAAA!! N-Not there EHEEEHEHEEE—either!!”

Octavius shook his head with a chuckle. “Is there any part of you that isn’t ticklish?”

“I-I d-HAAAAAAHAHAA don’t knoHOHOW!! *snort*”

“Dihihid you just snort?!”

“N-NOHOHO—*snort!*”

Unbeknownst to them, two figures were watching the playful spectacle from the slightly ajar door.

Peter 1 giggled behind his hand. “Peter 3 does sound like a hyena!”

Peter 2 lightly shushed him. “He sure does. I’m just glad Otto took my advice after all when we left. Well played with you too, little brother; tagging along with me to get those two alone.” He ruffled the younger spider’s hair.

Peter 1 squeaked happily at the touch. “Hey, you don’t think Peter 3 will get mad at us for doing this to him on purpose, do you?”

“Nah,” Peter 2 shook his head. “You know how much he secretly loves to be tickled. Besides, this way he won’t be afraid of Doctor Octavius anymore just like we all once were. Despite the scary metal arms, he really does have a soft playful side.”

THE END (*´꒳`*)

#tickle fic #spiderman tickle #tickletober 2023 #augtickletober2023 #sfw tickling community #sfw twords #marvel tickle #ticklish!spiderman #lee!peter3 #ler!doc ock #marvel fluff #tickle fluff #mushy writes stuff #mushyblushyredhead #spider bros

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teenidlegirl · 20 days

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꣑୧ ݁.﹒𝓜𝐄𝐄𝐓 𝓜𝐄 𝓗𝐀𝐋𝐅𝐖𝐀𝐘 .ᐟ

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐟𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐞𝐧 ┆ 𝐬𝐞𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐩𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐬

ઇ ˚ ݂ ֹ ꒰ miguel o’hara 𝓍 fem!civilian!reader ꒱ ! ۟ ׅ ♡

˒ ♡ ៸៸𓂃 𝒔𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒚 ˖ ׁ ⁩ .ᐟ since the aftermath between you and miguel, you went your separate ways. occupied with work and other shenanigans but the heartbreak still lingers.

˒ ♡ ៸៸𓂃 𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒏𝒕 ˖ ׁ ⁩ .ᐟ angst, post-heartbreak, hurt/no comfort, swearing, mentions of past character death, a filler tbh

꒰ previous chapter ꒱ ⋅ ꒰ masterlist ꒱ ⋅ ꒰ next chapter ꒱

it’s been three days since you last saw miguel. three days since he basically told you to fuck off, get the hell out of his life. three nights of endless teary nights he caused. those salty tears were all because of that fucking asshole who broke your heart.

“i should never have met you.”

that phrase plagued your mind; an endless nightmare. you can’t believe he said that. it was a stab to the heart. a heart that would always beat fast for him. you truly believed he cared about you, liked you at the very least. but now he admits he regrets meeting you? that broke your heart because you actually liked for him. cared too much for him. shit you were developing feelings for that bastard but now that was thrown out the window.

a man who you weren’t even in a relationship with broke your heart. when you broke up with your ex, you didn’t cry as much over him like miguel.

that proves how much you care for miguel.

well, cared for because now you’re not friends anymore. nah that’s a fucking lie. deep down, you still care for him no matter what. that’s what hurts the most, you still care for that asshole.

those daily visits to your apartment, finding him on your balcony and inviting him in, stopped. and goddamnit you miss it so much. how brightly you would smile when he’d land on your balcony. watching daisy get excited with her cute poofy tail wagging when she sees him. those little chitchats you two would engage in while sipping on coffee or munching on whatever pastry you recently bought. god just thinking about those memories makes want to you bawl your eyes out (you already have been).

why does it hurt so bad when it shouldn’t have?

why are you still moping about some guy who pushed you away?

except… he wasn’t just any guy.

he was someone you deeply cared about. someone you trusted wholeheartedly. someone who visited you and hung out with you over some coffee or snack. someone who gifted you your favorite flower. someone who wouldn’t take no for an answer and practically begged you to let him repay you. someone who opened up his past to you because he trusted you. someone who pulled an all-nighter just to make sure you slept okay after experiencing a near death experience. someone who cared about you.

fuck — it hurts so much.

honestly, you want to go find miguel and tell him ‘to go fuck himself’ for making you feel like this. but, that would only make things worse. only add more salt to the already fucked up wound.

other than moping around and crying, you drowned yourself into work. can you even say drowned since you actually drowned, at least almost? hell yeah because dark humor is the best humor. you went back to work like nothing happened. luckily everything happened over the weekend so you didn’t miss days. although, your coworkers and even your boss noticed a change in your demeanor. quiet, pessimistic, gloomy. no iconic sassy or sarcastic remarks. you’re one of the funniest people in the company, everyone would always laugh at your jokes or remarks. laughter would fill the room. but now it was just silence. people were concerned, including your boss. one day he called you in and asked what’s going on. you simply said it was a family issue. he sensed it was something more but he didn’t push the subject further. he suggested giving you some time off but you kindly declined and insisted on working like usual. not only is your boss a smart man but he cares for his employees, especially you since you’re one of his best. but he also knows you’re stubborn so he accepted but encouraged you to not overwork yourself and take breaks.

and you did followed his advice. when you returned home, you indulged in your hobbies. you got back on track with your bullet journal, writing down events and filling in trackers for certain topics. you did some coloring in your big coloring book of mandalas while listening to music. played video games with your online friends. go on walks with daisy at the local park. doing things you enjoy as an attempt to forget how shitty the past week has been. while having fun and enjoying your time, miguel still lingers in mind.

not only him but your other spider friends. you miss them terribly, especially hobie. you can’t visit them since you destroyed your watch and you don’t wanna drive there. one thing you regret is not having a method to contact any of them. maybe you shouldn’t have thrown your watch but you didn’t want anything that had connections to miguel.

except for that white tulip.

it’s slowly deteriorating but remains in the vase on your nightstand. every time you wake up, you stare at it as the memory of him giving it to you replays in your mind. you smile each time at the cute memory.

the heartbreak still lingers. no matter what you do, miguel is always on your mind. sometimes you wonder how he’s doing, probably yelling a lot and is a total mess like you. the thought makes your heart ache but what could you do? the bastard wanted this to happen. it’s his fault; his cause.

but like mentioned before, you still care for him.

and it fucking hurts.

━━━━━━━━ ִ ۫ ꒰ ♡ ꒱ ۫ ݂ ━━━━━━━━

three days of fucking hell.

three days of torment and regret.

he fucked up for a second time and it hurts way more this time. he hurt you again and miguel hates himself for it, causing you pain. guilt and regret consumed his entire being like a poison fruit, consuming up his already broken heart. he lost you for a second time and possibly he lost you forever.

he had let you go to protect you.

protect you from himself.

protect you from the dangers of his life.

miguel couldn’t bare losing another person he cared about. he couldn’t lose someone again. he couldn’t lose you. but he did, just not in that way. pushing you away was the only way you’d be safe, away from him and the dangers that surrounds his life. superheroes and civilians aren’t meant to be together. to be a hero, there has to be villains which equals to danger and endless violence. when you get close with a hero, whether you’re their friend, relative or lover, you’ll always have a target on your back. villains will strike the hero’s heart, their weakness: loved ones. miguel lost one, his beautiful daughter. whether she was from a different universe, she was his daughter no matter what. his whole world suddenly taken from him due to his actions. his poor gabriella vanished from his hands, crying out to him before disappearing forever right in front of his eyes.

grief and pain consumed his heart, only black with no remaining love inside. just pure self loathing. every spider-person suffered great losses, it’s part of being a spider-person, the canon. miguel’s was a different level of loss; by his own hands. that’s why he shut himself out, closed off close connections with anyone, refused to allow himself to be vulnerable with anyone. concealed his heart, locking it with a chain from allowing others to open it.

but look what happened with you.

you unlocked his heart, making him feel vulnerable. making his heart flutter every time he saw you, that beautiful smile or laugh of yours. those sassy remarks that he always enjoyed, even if he rolls his eyes or grunts. being with you made him feel happy, safe and vulnerable. it’s like a warm feeling that he wants to stay in and never leave. miguel never believed he would experience those feelings again.

you made him feel those things. you made him feel love once again. you made him believe in love again.

and yes, miguel fell in love with you.

but the fear of losing you betrayed everything, consuming his already fragile mind. it was one of the most painful decisions he made, letting you go in order to protect you. letting go of his heart.

sometimes, heroes don’t get a happy ending.

miguel still watches over you through the same monitor of your apartment building and street. those scarlet eyes following your tiny figure through the screen, filled with hurt and guilt. even in separate paths, he still looks out for you and protects you from afar. the only way he can still see you, even if it’s through a screen. miguel will always look out for you.

your protecter from afar.

ᡣ𐭩ㅤㅤ ݁. 𝓣𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ˖ ࣪ ༘ @loser-alert @keepitreal001 @iamperson12280 @nostalgicdaira @flordelalunas @oharasfilipinawife @cho-coquette @lavenderslemonade @palesatan @awkward-d3rs3-dr3amer @lilscast @beanieboy23 @dorck26 @kakabskbskdnd @4crew @deputy-videogamer @36namey @sin4tra @holographicang3l @migueloharasoulmate @darlingz99 @opalesquegirl @freehentai @rinverse @colorfulbluebirdpainter @razertail18 @shadowzena43 @undf-stuff @miatjie @leshasnolife

#꒰ ˖ ࣪ . 𐙚 ⊹ ꒱ — 𝓜𝐄𝐄𝐓 𝓜𝐄 𝓗𝐀𝐋𝐅𝐖𝐀𝐘 .ᐟ #miguel o’hara x fem!reader #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel o'hara x fem!reader #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o’hara x you #miguel o’hara x y/n #miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara fanfiction #across the spiderverse #fanfic series

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disabled-dean · 4 months

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Asterism of an F-Series Ford Pick Up- 17k

Now with BELOVED amv by @butch--dean 🖤

Summary: When you've been to hell, desire is isolating and ugly.

Or: Cas drives his truck for a case and Dean is exceptionally horny about it.

“Once on a hunt when he was a teenager, Dean had been caught too close to an explosive when it had gone off. There had been the moment when the projectile hit, and the moment when it had detonated. And just before it had, there had also been a moment when he had believed that maybe it wouldn’t.

He had thought about that moment for years, over and over again, until something else had taken its place. And the way that that moment was quiet, the way it was still- that is how this feels. To lie beside Cas in the bed of his truck, their shoulders barely touching.”

Follow @deancastruckwip for bonus content <3

Ten Minutes From Home [Lebanon Coda] WIP 30k

We've truly come a long way since the iconic:

"Physically restraining myself from writing a coda fic for Lebanon, where John stays over at the bunker, Cas comes home in the middle of the night & there's tension between him and Dean over whether or not they will still share a room, and then 29-year-old Mary has to sit through Thee most homophobic breakfast with her dead ex-husband, closeted son, and his common law married, ancient eldrich boyfriend."

This fic is a deep dive into some of the juicier elements of Lebanon, including- justice for Mary Winchester and her rich internal life, the intricate dance constructed around Dean's homosexuality and John's neglectful/abusive parenting and the impact of the Michael arc on Dean and Cas' relationship. Also features: recovering!alcoholic dean, a staggering amount of risky bunker sex, biblically accurate sibling interactions, and studies on objectification. Also Sam is practicing witchcraft as a treat, and I put that guy in eating disorder recovery (because he fucking needs it) <3

Haven't started posting this one! But you can follow @lebanon-wip for excerpts, inspo, and bonus content <3

An Easier Softer Way WIP 38k

Recovery!natural. Injured after the hell rescue goes wrong, Dean ends up disabled and living in a small rural town in Eastern Washington. With Sam fucked off to god knows where and without the fight to distract him, Dean has nothing left to focus on but his burgeoning sobriety, and persistent dreams of hell.

Set in the arid low-lands of the river valley, surrounded by apple orchards and twisting irrigation canals, Dean becomes convinced he can see a great beast stalking through the hills bordering the town. The same beast he has dreamt of since returning from hell, the same one he can sometimes feel beside him when he knows that he’s alone.

Walking the line between grief and reality, isolation and community, Dean has to pull together what's real and what isn't as he adjust to his disability, and finds faith that he is capable of building lasting relationships and creating a life for himself worth loving.

Also eventually Cas shows up, and they save the world.

He’s still debating just getting the fuck out of there when a women at the head of the long table clears her throat, and starts to read from a laminated print out. The edges of Dean’s vision blur out a little. He has to leave. He has to- the woman is still reading. Dean tunes back in in time to hear, “-At some of these we balked. We thought that we could find an easier, softer way. But we could not." Here, the speaker pauses, and Dean feels like she looks right at him. But she doesn't. She just gives the laminated sheet a little shake, clears her throat and continues, "With all the earnestness at our command, we beg of you to be fearless and thorough from the very start.” And no one could ever call him a coward. So he stays.

Honestly the most plot I've ever worked with (and very deeply personal) so this one could be a while. @aneasiersofterway for inspo, vibes, and bonus content.

#my work #spn fic #destiel fic #deancas fanfiction

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bisexual-horror-fan · 5 months

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"No Place Like Home." Leslie Vernon X FEM! AFAB! Reader.

Okay! So the amazing and wonderful @applesontheground wrote me a Leslie Vernon fic for my birthday and I adored it so much I didn't want it to end. She encouraged me to continue it, and so I did just that, and then she joined in and kept it going, and it became this beast of a collaborative piece that ended up being thirteen thousand words. It started off as being just for me, and true while it is still very self-indulgent, it's turned into something for all of you as well! I hope you enjoy!

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Rating. Explicit. Length. 13K. Leslie Vernon X FEM! AFAB! Reader. She/Her Pronouns. Warnings: Reader Is A Killer Obsessed Freak. Banter. Drinking. Murder. Blood. Gore. Ropes. Restrained Reader. Threats. Reader Kinda Wants To Die But Not In A Suicidal Way. Canon Aligned Meta Talk. Man Handling. Vaginal Fingering. Cunnilingus. Blow Job. Messy Oral Sex. Throat Fucking. Cum Eating. Scar Worship. Many Feelings. Vaginal Sex. Multiple Orgasms. Overstimulation. Raw Sex. Cream Pie.

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You understood that it was a joke to begin with.

Living in a rural area, there were a lot of empty spots between the bricks that made up Glen Echo. Most of it was the usual urban legends and small businesses that just didn’t keep up with a world changing around it, turning to joke about it amongst themselves.

To you, though, there was something comforting and endearing about the pace. You were a bit of a way from home out here but found yourself filling those gaps and making the best of it. At the end of the day, being somewhere new had its moments that paid in turn for the shortcomings it could put you through.

Simply being “attracted to the area” was only half of a lie; you had shown up because of research on the mythos. You could admit that you even looked into it a little too much. The idea of the enigma who nested in the area – a man that fabricated his whole being just to relish in the spilling of unsuspecting blood – was utterly fascinating. You could find the Photoshopped news clippings and chase almost laughable clues sitting around town for days if you didn’t have a day job to occupy you.

Even remembering the life outside this Autumn night, silent and swift as a cat under a new moon, was something you finally decided to release from your attention. Halloween was no time to worry about a day job, and with that you began dawning your costume. Think like the woman you dress as, you told yourself with a smug grin to the mirror. The iconic blue and white dress fell into place on your body, resting on the midway point between your thighs.

Prudes would call it too short, and company you meshed with way better would tease that it’s far too long. It didn’t help that you wore accents that drew attention to your legs on top of that, those knee-high socks with laced hems and the ruby red slippers, which had a taller heel for an accent.

Life beyond the fantasy you were basking in was far behind you, tightening the red bows that kept two well curled pigtails hanging down behind your ears. With a touch like that, only the thickest of skulls wouldn’t know who you were.

Leaving home, following that yellow brick road that lead out of the small confines of the shabby town and into the rural space, you soon caught up with similarly dressed heathens who were raising their flasks and opened cans of alcohol to you, recognizing you were part of the pack that was heading to the supposedly haunted orchard as part of some middle finger to the belief that anyone smart enough to live out here would abstain.

The possibility had been mentioned that he – a walking spirit or man that pulled the strings as quickly and seamlessly as he did steal souls, whatever he did – would find everyone there, and he would not like what he was seeing despite the high spirits.

“Then what?” A girl expertly stepping along the uneven road beside you, a little too tough to be dressed as Princess Peach, but you quickly digressed because she wore the white elbow-length gloves well.

“Then, we become history.” Someone up the road replied, “Immortalized as the idiots who tried to party with Leslie Vernon.” Putting a fist up, you saw the blue and white Letterman jacket he was wearing had a few rips in it, and that his face was painted a ghoulish grey and rooted with purple veins along his jawline to accent it. Something about him seemed eerily familiar, but then you considered it could be something generic, very plain in the visage of an undead high schooler that the Halloween stores would sometimes parade for the uncreative minds. The fact he was holding a bottle of Jagermister only made you squint a little harder before centering your thoughts back to the road beyond the crowd again.

It was a joke to begin with, but you were still finding yourself wanting to believe it. Almost as if you wanted the party to be at real risk despite the blanket of calm everyone had draped over it, additionally nursing with booze and jokes. Surely, there would be a twist from him to combat the weak one that these costumed groups thought they were pulling.

He can’t deal with all of us, right?

You found yourself needing to take a deep breath at the thought that in your wildest fantasies that he somehow could.

After passing a fence down the trodden path, the air around you was wordlessly shifting. As though it was on a cue from where you were standing, trees were clearing from the sky to allow a half-moon to illuminate the dirt road before you, and somewhere in the lump of unclear horizon sat the dilapidated Vernon farmhouse. Bunches of yellow and rouge apples rest within the first trees that you were passing, a signal you had made it to the orchard.

A breath pulled tight into your chest; eyes as wide as you could make them while you continued to peruse, to listen to every little noise outside of the murmur of people. The Jager man offered you a drink from the cooler that they were lugging out with the rest of the crowd, and after fiddling through the soggy ice, your hand secured a vodka shot between index and middle fingers while the rest of your hand found the rim of a canned pre-mixed drink. He then said something in a pompous tone, but it was otherwise unintelligible to you, so you just laughed it off to go back to soaking in the sight before you instead.

Even after basking for a good portion of the party’s setup, you still weren’t done. You decided to give it a rest, be a little more social. It was the omniscience embedded within you to realize how you looked, staring wistfully into the orchard surrounding the clearing that everyone was gathering in, not interested in any person at a Halloween party. Too suspicious, and despite knowing there were no tricks up your frilly short sleeves, you were aware no one else knew yourself as well as you did.

You began striking up conversations to avert any of the oddly placed suspicion that might have been drummed up, complimenting costumes as the two drinks you had snagged were put down between giggles and conversations about what kind of final girl was the best kind You fell elbow-deep in bringing up a classic archetype, the movie buff who called plot twists and elements that would play out in their own story before they happened, someone locked eyes with you. You didn’t stop, of course, but held the stare from across the party as you went on.

“Please, where would we be without those dudes half-baked and quoting The Creature from the Black Lagoon? They’re the ones painting the picture for the rest of the clueless victims.”

You couldn’t quite pinpoint what about him really excited you. First off, the thrill of him being the Scarecrow and unintentionally matching you passed as you failed to recognize the shape worn on his mask, and the absence of straw in the torn holes of the rest of his getup was only a final nail in the coffin of your hopes. He was just…some mope-mouthed zombie, or a haunted doll.

The people you had been speaking to were well into buzzed territory, taking the lull in your conversation to go stumble into another aesthetically appropriate chat circle while you waited for this new acquaintance. He continued to wade through the crowds that you had been standing off to the side from, and finally piped up as soon as he could be heard from behind everything.

“Looks like you forgot Toto.”

You snickered at that, and shrugged, “Yeah. None of my friends’ dogs wanted to do it, sorry.”

He made an amused noise at that, then pointed to the drink in your hand. “Want me to grab you another one?” You shook your head, grimacing a bit, “No, no. I’m still working on this, and besides- Even in stoppers, not a great combination to keep drinking with these shoes on.”

“Even in what?” He stooped a little to hear better, and you demonstrated it by walking perfectly stable along the uneven terrain, wading off the dirt clearing everyone was gathered in to show off a pair of high heels in all their red, glittery glory on forest brush. “Heel stoppers. They keep me from sinking in all this mud and dirt around the property.” He whistled a bit as you did a fancy little turn, accenting the agility they provided, and he complimented, “Pretty smart. You do that just for parties?”

You bit your tongue, smiling as you walked back over and admitted, “More to just keep in the race should I need to run.” The inquisitive glow to wide eyes suddenly narrowed, and he scoffed, “Run from what? It’s pretty harmless out here, save for those dudes who won’t stop saying they’re gonna climb the roof. It’s gonna give out the second any weight gets put on it…” He faltered, arm shooting out to the farmhouse like it was obvious from where the both of you stood, “Looks that way, anyways.”

“That’s what you think, dude. Do you know where you are right now?” He was silent; merely staring on at you, almost through you. You smiled and elaborated for him, “The Vernon Farm. Leslie Vernon’s resting place?”

He scrunched his eyes and hummed, “Can’t say that’s ringing a bell. Enlighten me.”

You felt as though the words couldn’t fall faster from your mouth, crafted into the same story you loved to tell the locals (as if they weren’t native to the area that it all started in, hearing the tall tale since they were in grade school).

“Isn’t that fucking ingenious?” You paused partially through the story on how he had committed a few murders within a span of the last three years, part of you trying to steady yourself as you realized you had spilled your guts to a man whose face you hadn’t even seen, “He’s up and coming still, but I think he’s taking a lot of cues from the greats of these serial killer types. I mean, morally abhorrent, but I’m no snob to that.”

“Wow.” He looked away in a rather brisk motion, but seemed amicable to the subject, “It sounds like you’re really banking on this dude to be some kind of mastermind.”

“Please.” You shrugged, “I mean, these murders that happened over three years seem pretty real to me. Whoever, whatever’s been utterly elusive on a rural farm for so long – still Vernon as we see him – he absolutely knows about stuff like this coming on the horizon. I can see it already, it’s so practical now that I have my actual eyes on this place.” You pointed up to a tree you had been perusing, “There’s an electrical wire trailing up this tree, perfectly on the outskirts of the crowd where someone can – no, will run towards it if they get spooked. Seriously, doubt anybody in our group put that up there, it’s not covered in all these goofy Halloween decorations.” His own eyes slowly trailed up your arm, catching on an exposed tattoo before briskly tearing away to see what you were talking about, following your pointed finger.

You then gave the unimpressed tone right back, “That’s going to do something. Electrocute someone, take power to something that’s even more gruesome. It’s too high off the ground to be some sort of cutting wire, right?” His eyes went back down, sizing up your confident expression with a halfhearted blink, “Pretty sure whoever, whatever Vernon is, has more than rocks in his head. Fueled by more than just hearsay, ghost stories…”

Finding humor in your almost asinine explanation, you found this was better timing than anything that’d come afterwards. You were surprised he was even still standing in front of you, as you figured you may as well introduce yourself, still caught in a starry-eyed smirk. You offer up your name.

He shook your hand nicely and replied, “Nice meeting you. I’ll let you in on mine after the party.” Finding it almost bold in nature, looking to fulfill some type of promise with that reveal, you blew him off. Rolling your eyes, you asked, “Sure. Then what can I call you until then?”

Still holding your hand in a mockingly polite way, he mulled, “Just call me the wizard himself. … Or the Scarecrow. Whatever works for this costume, Dorothy.” Taking his hand out of yours, he flicked one of your pigtails while pulling away slightly, just enough to leave you able to recall the subtle warmth from standing beside him as something so much stronger just mere seconds ago.

He had glanced at your arm again, so you decided to keep the topic going. “If you can’t tell, I’m kind of fascinated by these slasher types.” You gave him a good view of your tattoos, and his eyes traced over it, silent at first but the approval shining through in a thoughtful roll of his neck as he took in the entire picture again, every detail having soaked in through painted eyeholes.

“You know, I didn’t take you as someone who saw so much in a dynamic like that. The killer and his final person, I mean.” He carefully crossed his arms, like he was letting this creepy façade rest its head for a moment as he speculated, “Almost sounds like you want that for yourself, or at least to see it for yourself, straight out of the movies and the stories.” You smiled unapologetically, and although it sounded like you were playing along it was spoken in earnest, “Oh, do I.”

He stared off into the tree line with you for a beat, and hummed, “A girl like you really seems to chase after that, stick around in places where it can’t help itself.” You rolled your neck a little, adjusting in the scratch of the costume, as alcohol started permeating on your tongue a little heavier. You admitted, “Can’t help being such a go-getter with this. I almost live for it, which means I have to die for it too, I guess.”

“Go-getter.” The words themselves felt like they could be sarcastic when he echoed them back to you, but something earnest coated his voice as he suddenly affirmed that, “You’ll find it. It’ll find you. One or the other.” A hand came up, grasping at an imaginary subject in front of him as he spoke in even more earnest. “Ghost stories or not, something about that attraction. It’s palpable…magnetic, even.”

He then pulled a handle from his pocket, and you soon saw from the size of it that it hadn’t been inside, but rather sitting right in plain view over the top. The stranger shrugged rather peacefully. “It’s like the two can’t keep away from each other.”

That blade didn’t look plastic. You raised an eyebrow; it didn’t even look chrome; it was chipped in certain spots and narrow in a way that fake weapons just couldn’t emulate. Wear and tear made marks like that. You got one more look at his mask, a few second thoughts shutting you up well and fine.

“I’m keeping that promise, by the way. We’ll talk a little later. Can I count on you?” he asked, friendly enough as you merely nodded, trying to act like you were thinking before the nonverbal answer. He slid right past, not towards the crowd, but into the shadows of the apple orchard that surrounded the farm. No one even looked twice at the noise, so minor that it was easily blamed on the wind, should you not know better.

“Oh.” You spoke to yourself, staring down at your drink, “Oh, now that just isn’t fair.”

What in the fuck was he doing?

You felt the rope constrict tighter, one of his long arms stretching over one shoulder to take the other end towards your back. Silent, you merely matched his own lack of words because you were more confused than terrified. Maybe even a little let down.

This was how you told him you had wanted to go, at the hands of some dude like him, and he isn’t even killing you.

Between the small talk by the tree and reuniting with him now, to say you had been put to the test to be his victim would be an understatement. Between the classic straggler at the party who disappeared for far too long only for a severed arm or head to turn up to people hanging from the rafters of the farmhouse or in the trees, everyone had scattered, herded together by the supernatural entity of Vernon, and picked off to the best of his abilities. The ones he hadn’t been able to physically get a hold of got caught, you had noted when you ran by that wire and saw someone electrocuted at the foot of the tree it was wrapped around.

What do you know? I was fucking right.

Securing the entire hog tie, he suddenly lifted his haunches from you. Before you recognized he was gearing to leave, that was it. Turning onto your back and haphazardly sitting up, ignoring how your dress rode up slightly in favor of looking through the trees, he had slipped off again like the ghost that he was trying to emulate. You almost wanted to holler at him: The fuck is THE Leslie Vernon doing taking live captors? Is he getting bait? Playing with the food before consuming it?

Pondering had honestly brought you to a comfortable seat on the dirt beneath your backside, not caring if it was starting to pour into the backs of your socks, or even accidentally slip under your skirt, peppering your bare thighs before you readjusted with a huff. You had a hunch, one that finally helped your dry throat find its gloss and find its voice again.

“Not gonna lie, you’re kind of screwing this up.” You called out, and he emerged from the dark, like he knew your own speculations that would come to the light, much like himself: He couldn’t run off yet. Still saying nothing, he tilted his head to one side. It was impossible to tell if he meant it in admiration or disbelief. Regardless, you heard a shuddering breath behind his mask.

“You know,” You crossed one ankle over the other, calming the pulse between your legs, “I always assumed you’d want to keep this brief. Especially if I’m not your final victim.” He made a beeline back over to you, crouching to one knee. Instead of an unnerving whistle or hiss, he gave you an honest mutter in disbelief. “Please. For you?” He asked, and you curiously let him go on, “If anything you’ve told me tonight is true, about yourself and about your passion for what I’m doing, I almost want to ask for permission.”

A hand came up, sans his weapon but nail just as pristine, as he ran feather-light tracks over the outline of the tattoo resting. “I mean, you weren’t lying about your commitment to this sort of lifestyle. These all look pretty real to me.”

“Rub a little harder, even.” You dared, looking down at the primed muscles stretched on the back of his hands, “I don’t mind if you need to prove to yourself that I’m the real deal.” The pristine curl suddenly became lighter, intimidated even as it fell away, and he quickly digressed.

“It isn’t about that, the sweet honeypot at the end of every horror movie. I always thought it had something more to do with the journey, the planning…” He swung the sickle, breaking through the itchy rope and not courteous enough to keep it from catching threads from your dress. He gasped, “I’m a lot like you, in that I will admit it’s nice, but…I want this whole event to be special, you know?”

Pausing, his eyes scoured your body for a couple seconds before his two hands, the curved blade falling in his lap to give way for nimble fingers pulling the rest of the rope apart, taking it from your body and letting it fall along with the weapon. Still, most of it fell to your own lap. Looking at each other, the sigh practically tumbled from behind the mask. Whether it was relief or exhaustion, neither of you cared to label it. He almost seemed put off by something, squinting at himself more so than anything about you or what you were doing.

Then, with the same hands, he pushed the mask up over his face. Seeing him, not the mirage he had been flowing through the entire evening like water vapor, he smiled through a painted on frown. It had been an accent paint, it seemed, something to abscond in case the wooden face didn’t fool a wandering eye. Everything was smoke-colored and smudged over his expression, beginning to get sweat through, and somehow making the smile lines in his face more prominent simultaneously. It was as though you could see everything and nothing at once.

“Special,” You echoed, “I know what you mean. I know exactly what you mean, Leslie.” You cocked your head at the sound of his name on your lips, “Can I call you Leslie?”

“Absolutely. Think we’ve both earned the right to be friendly with each other.” He answered with a harmless nod, and just as swift as he had stripped down to the man that he was, he was shoving you backwards with the heels of his hands. “I honestly don’t know why you’re asking. It’s so clear you knew to use my name long before-“ He framed your arms against the dirt, pinning both the extremities, “we ended up here.” You let your head fall back, the earth supporting heavier realizations as you simply murmured, “Yeah, maybe I did.”

He shifted, as though physically feeling you would do something about this. Rough denim pulled against your bare leg, and even if you could attempt to fix your skirt, you knew you were far past the point of wanting to. Anyone who could see either of you was dead, or rather you could notice from the peripherals of your stare into his own that there was a body nearby.

Whether or not it had been intentionally turned away from the two of you, that was something you enjoyed leaving up to the imagination. You couldn’t even register before he collided into you a little too hard, his hand slipping in a pure excitement that made it hard to keep steady when he was on top of you the way that he was.

It made the fact you talked about the things that you would do about your interest in him all the more diabolical, eyes snapping open and looking past his short dark hair that had been styled by accident to stand on end from how he had removed the mask. You told all of that to his face.

When he finally pulled back, he peered down with an almost euphoric, electrified look to his eyes. “Sorry. I get a little antsy – and you probably knew that, too.” You had no idea what he was talking about until the slow ooze of blood went over the cupid’s bow of your lip. “You’re fine, they happen easily.” You almost coughed through your speech, laughing at imagining just how dishevelled he had you in a matter of a few movements, a few touches that were far from the only ones going forward.

He flicked the sickle, and you watched some stray streaks of blood fall into the dirt, permeate into a diabolical splatter of what you could assume to call mud. “…Listen, we can discuss this away from the rest of the…the party, maybe?” He asked breathlessly, and when you nodded once again leapt off of you with the same pace, the same ethereal ability.

“Well,” You let a string of bloody spit fall from your mouth, as ruby in color as your lipstick and as your shoes, letting him pull you back up by the back of your neck and suddenly hoist you off the ground. You didn’t move as he hefted you over one shoulder; rather, you turned your head and asked, “So, let me just ask this. You’re not gutting me? Stabbing me? Not even slitting the throat, letting me go out in a more iconic fashion? Where the hell are we again?”

Leslie stopped. Readjusting you, the loose threats of your dress along with your soft hip pressing into the side of his neck, he straightened the skirt over your backside with a lingering hand and hummed, “I’ll put it like this: you are not in Kansas anymore.”

Your hands rest on his back, not for lack of support, or fear that he’d drop you, but just because you could, he was right here and he was letting you. Through rough thermal material you could feel how firm he was underneath, defined muscle definitely present, fabric slightly damp from sweat and whatever else from the effort he’d expended this evening thus far. Your nose hadn’t stopped bleeding, a slow drip, he was still carrying you away, somewhere, and you watched as stray drops fell to the ground, bright red standing out amongst dark and loose dirt, like a farewell to the rest of what the party had originally thought it had got itself into. In all honesty, they all assumed it was what it was: a joke.

This was no goddamn joke, tangible as the flexing back underneath your palms.

It’s quiet for a moment, your mind is whirring, wandering as it always is, and watching the faint blood trail, dressed as you were, perched on the monster himself’s shoulder?

It’s like something out of a fairy tail in a way. The big bad wolf and the little red victim, but instead of a trail of breadcrumbs leading to a gingerbread house, it’s a pathway marked with blood mixing into the earth, and it’s leading to-

A glance around, gaining your bearings. It clicks as soon as your eyes leave the ground. The Vernon farm house.

Oh, this is what he had in mind. He wants to bring you inside.

You would have been fine getting anything from him, you would have let him fuck you back there in the dirt and loved every single second of it, but apparently he had other plans, better plans.

You love who he is, and more importantly, you love who you are.

Furthermore, you have no illusions about yourself either, and certainly no shame. You would have let him do all manner of things in the cool evening air and under the light of the moon, no less than ten feet from a body that he himself had brought to the ground. He deemed you worth more, better than a nasty fuck in the dirt- No. He thinks what you are going to do together is better suited under a roof, in a proper bed.

He thinks you are worth that extra care and effort, and he thinks you deserve the Vernon home’s comfort, warmth, safety…

You suppress a laugh as the word safety floats through your mind. He takes you inside, barely mindful enough to close the door, but enough to give the needed privacy. Up the stairs, you have to stifle another giggle, his shoulder driving up over and over into your sternum inadvertently. He doesn’t even care to notice, let alone say anything about it – especially since you seemed to be thoroughly enjoying yourself. Into the closest guest room, he slings you off of him and onto the bed.

The idea that you are safe with Leslie fucking Vernon is, laughable, hilarious, and yet – seemingly and inexplicably – true. He looks like he is too excited, like he doesn’t know what to do first.

You jump into action, knowing the role deserves such from both parties. You reach out to him, propped up on one elbow, your other hand is open, a move of your fingers, a small invitation to join you on the surprisingly plush surface, it certainly beat the dirt outside (mythos ingrained couldn’t make it any more pleasant after all). He takes you up on it, starts to crawl onto the bed, it’s not as slow as before, as if now that he’s experienced it once, he is craving to be on top of you again too much to not rush it, and soon enough he is.

You revel in his weight on top of you again, your hand that was previously reaching out touches down on the back of his neck, you sink further into the mattress with a sigh. You speak, you ask, “How are you feeling?”

“How am I feeling?” He asks, and you nod once, “Yeah, after everything, we kept you pretty busy tonight, running around, you feeling tired yet, Vernon?”

A shake of his head, small smile, addressing him by his last name is fine too it seems, good to know. He tells you, “No way, not at all.”

“No?” The question is innocent in tone, but not in what you hope to gain from it, and he says, “You have no idea the stamina I am capable of.”

“Show me?” You asked, tone thoroughly hopeful, almost offended by the notion you’d underestimate him. Still, you wanted him to make you understand, and not only that, but to not stop until he was sure you understood.

The implication is obvious, the motives clear, yet he still tilts his head a little and asks, “And just how should I do that?”

He’s being so fucking coy about it, he has to know how endlessly attractive that is to you. You fight the urge to grouse, a playful musing of, must you do everything is left unsaid.

Hand on the back of his neck moves up, fingers slide through short dark hair and thread slightly, twist as much as they are able, and you use that to tug him down as you move up so your lips meet. It’s fitting you suppose, there has to be a point where this happens, right? A shift in your dynamic. He’s still instigating, doing the set-up, but you can’t be stock static forever.

That isn’t the point, it isn’t your role. It isn’t any fun if he’s the only one doing the moving, otherwise you might as well just be one of the bodies abandoned in the dirt outside, chilling and succumbing to the elements as you two lay here.

The flavour of him hits your senses due to the union you’d just forced, mostly it’s salt and the paint he wore. It doesn’t taste like any normal make-up you’d ever worn, but it’s him, just as much as the light apple you managed to gain a sense of was. The idea of him taking a small break and eating from the orchard on the job is weirdly endearing, if not a bit funny, but there are better things to focus on. Mostly like, where the fuck did he learn to kiss like this? Was he this good, were you this hard up, or was it everything else? The tension, the build up, the chemistry or as he so succinctly put it earlier, the magnetism?

Either way, you simply cannot bring yourself to care as he settles in closer to you, body more flush to yours, really letting you soak up the feeling of him on you, letting it consume you more easily not just into him, but the moment itself.

The rhythm and ease, back and forth, push and pull, inhale and sigh, your lips part more, and then you’d realized something vital just now, in your haste to kiss him you’d honestly forgotten about the fact you were still bleeding. You pull back, about to apologize, but that look in his eyes makes you stop again, shining in the low light of the room. The words die a quiet death on your tongue, lingering there before being buried with the taste of iron on your palette.

He doesn’t let you, his hands are on you now, too. Your grip loosens while his tightens, another shift with one hand in just about the same place yours was on him, the back of your neck. His mouth stained differently than before, more red like yours was, and he says, “Not yet.” before leaning in to take further.

He is getting bolder, more confident, dare you even say a needier edge to this, the thought passes through your mind, How does he like it? He definitely knows himself and what he’s doing. Also, how long had it been for him?

When was the last time he had someone in his bed, kissed someone, touched another person without the express purpose and idea being violent fanfare? Clearly you are not the first, no way anyone is this capable on their first go with no previous experience to back themselves up, but when was the last time he had penetrated a warm body below him in a different sense? It sends a thrill through you, weeks, months, fuck, years? The very idea certainly made you feel special.

You’d been returning his affection this whole time, matching him in enthusiasm and pace. You wanted to ask, to know, but should you ask right this second when his mouth felt so good slotted against yours? You could talk more later. Right now, your body is betraying what you really crave: a move of your hips against his, a grind upwards, and you feel with perfect clarity how much this is getting to him too. The friction is good but nowhere near enough, the move is repeated twice more, and it just gets better, it makes you want to go further at the warmth that is blooming inside as well as kick off your sparkly heels and shed much more clothing than just that. Something eager, like how he had collided so harshly with you just prior to this, was rushing to the hilt. Practically gagging on its leash, the seams of your panties rubbing you to near pain before anything even passed the barrier of clothing.

Again, maybe you were just that predictable. His hand tracing from the waistband of your skirt to glide along the socks, his mind was going straight to those heels. You crease your brow slightly as you feel his fingers stick past the spot where the shoes still wedged fast to your foot, and without taking his mouth off of yours, he pushes one of them off. Then, the other with a similar urgency to his movement, the same brisk shuffle of the other hand. When you glance down, he’s holding both of them in one hand, caring not to throw them to the floor but rather set them gingerly by the foot of the bed.

“Those shoes got some thought in them,” He commented when he saw where your eyes had been, “I respect the craft, so I’m not here to wreck those heel stoppers.”

“Well, that decides it,” you say in a serious and emphatic tone, with your brows still pinched together, "I have to blow you."

A laugh, small and shocked, before he asks, "Right this second?"

"Do you have a better or more appropriate time in mind, Leslie?" You say it teasingly and even after you expounded earlier about all the things you would do, even after proving your devotion to the supposed “cause”, it was as if he still didn’t believe you to back it up and be so forward. He had a lot to learn about you.

In the interest of continuing to be forward, you lean in that direction, sitting half up to meet his now kneeling position he took when removing your heels, hands are back on, setting to work on his overalls as you say, “I think I can pencil you in for around four pm next Wednesday if that suits you better?”

“Lots of jokes from you right now-” He starts, and you laugh, as if he didn’t open with one himself earlier, didn’t set the tone, the snaps undone you tell him, “Trying to keep the mood light, it was getting pretty hot and heavy there for a minute.”

“Are you complaining about some good, solid sexual tension?” He asks as you tug the denim down. You admire the way the dirty off-white material is stretched across his arms and torso, eyes linger while your fingers abandon the straps, settling into the openings near his hips to get it the rest of the way off. “Never, just don’t want you to blow your load too fast, you know?”

“Be honest.” He implores with a smile, and you shrug, eyes break away as you say, “Maybe I want to make this last a bit longer, don’t want to rush something I’ve been wanting for so long.”

It is honest. You want to savour it, especially because who knows if this is a once in a lifetime offer that will expire after tonight. Perhaps the sun will rise in the morning, then proceed to set on whatever is between you and him right now.

You push the thought aside as easily as you do the rest of dark muddy blue fabric with his help, no time to think about all of that when you have this right now. Enjoy the moment as it happens, for what it is, or regret it forever. Either this is the one and only, the possibilities as infinite as the entire evening felt, or the hopeful first of many, and in either scenario your full attention is deserved.

“That is something I can completely understand.”

You’re sure he can. Tossing the clothing on the floor with much less care than he gave to your shoes, you notice his current state and ask, “Woah, commando under there, huh?”

“Freedom of movement is important. Gotta stay aerodynamic with all the running, chasing...” He points out, and your hands come up. “Never said it wasn’t”. Verbally, you reply, “Fair enough.” That doesn’t put you off, the idea of him doing this so unencumbered wasn’t bad at all. You reach out again, hands help him with his shirt, and he is more than amicable but at the same time points out, “You are still awfully dressed.”

“You know you can do something about that, anytime you want to.” Making your own point in a similar tone that he did earlier, but before he can start to worry about removing white and blue checkered frills, you are much closer. Hands on his shoulders, another kiss not stolen, but willingly given.

If the excitement you felt when making out fully clothed before was good, him bare under your exploring hands was incredible. You are torn between the feel of his mouth on yours and how the planes of his skin under your careful palms. He had some good scars, ones you would be getting a much closer look at if you weren’t so consumed with how his tongue was working into your mouth. Lower and lower, fingers trace until you are down past his ribs over a particularly gnarly scar on his side that makes him tense. A small breaking apart, lips hardly lifting from his as you ask, “You good?”

A hum of acknowledgement with a nod as you trace over it again, you think this is it, you think this is the big one he got from Her and you are touching it, evidence of their bond and connection, foraging your own private moment with it.

You don’t linger, you don’t want to make him uncomfortable but from the way he is breathing you don’t think he is bothered by it, you think he’d let you do more to it and maybe later you will.

For now your hand is concerned with going lower, thumb slipping over his hip bone until you find what you really want, a fleeting thought of empowering yourself makes a smile pass your lips briefly before you kiss him again, swallowing up the gasp he lets out from the firm grip you take.

Christ, this was going to be good, you could tell, but you can make it better still. You break away to lean down a bit, spitting into your palm before taking back your position, your hand is gliding much easier. You think of putting your mouth to better use. You don’t want to use just your hand; can anyone blame you for wanting to satisfy an intense oral fixation, something that made you hit the ground running at the drop of a dime? Not only that, but you were good at it, and you wanted to show him just how good you could be. To see what reactions you could draw from him when your fingers dig into his hips and pull him in close and down your eager throat made a mantra clear as day cross your mind, almost blinding you as you felt yourself tense slightly in anticipation.

Stop thinking, start doing.

You make the move, sliding lower on his body. More passes of your mouth, brushes of your lips, quick pecks placed as you travel down, admiring as you go and your hand never stopping. The look on his face made him seem that he was merely allowing it, but as he got more sensitive to each meeting of your mouth against his skin, his posture was starting to slack.

Jaw to neck and neck to shoulder, his shoulder to chest and his chest down his stomach and fuck, you see it: the edge of that brutal scar. You lick your lips quickly, and the pure impulse pushes you to lean in. While tightening your grip on his shaft, your tongue licks up along the length of the raised tissue. He responds as if he’s been electrocuted, a choked sound that was desperately trying to abscond itself made you clench the empty space between your legs. It seems you took him by surprise yet again. Thank God for the hand you have on his opposite side while you work him over, or he might have just toppled right off the bed.

You let the underside of your tongue pass over it once more on your way down until you are finally stomach down on the sheets, right where you need to be. After all, previous thoughts of knowing where Her story ended and yours began was a line you were willing to dance along.

The hand on him slows as you make that first contact, you start with a kiss, something soft and akin to reverent. It’s just to kick it off, but quickly the experimenting turned to knowledge, then knowledge to want. You’re quicker now, and a hungry mouth opens as you take almost half in one go. A light moan around your mouthful, lips close and with the seal formed you suck deeply.

Some people might be grossed out by the taste of him after a night's activities. You are not one of those people. The tang of him is strong, and it is very welcome. The taste of him and heavy weight on your tongue along with remnants of the drinks from what felt like an entirely different night ago made you grind your hips into the mattress as you bob back once before driving down again – harder, taking more.

A hand finds your hair along with a quiet curse, a half smile can be heard in his tone, “Shit, you’re eager, huh?”

Eyes glance up through your lashes, along with a nod that doesn’t stop your pace. You merely slow for a moment, fingers on his hip squeeze, and you use that to draw him closer. You are going to take him to the base and swallow around the head of his dick, even if it suffocates you. Forcing your head down is easy, taking him deeper is no issue, you are plenty motivated, a straining of your neck as you keep leaning, hand pulling him towards you until finally you achieve your goal.

It took a few rocks back and forth, a minute amount taken more each time, until your nose is buried in trimmed coarse hair. Another moan reverberates out of you, somewhere deep in your throat and then up his shaft. Nails bite into his hip as you move him back a hair, and you suck down a deep breath through your nose before your lips are locked once more around his base.

You suck, your tongue moves in slow lazy circles on the underside of his shaft as an opener, yet you still listen as his breathing pitches, becoming laboured. You take the chance and give a strong swallow.

He lets out a groan, the hand in your hair threads, and he tugs, “Fuck-”

That is what you need to hear. No, that is what you live for. A telling tone, rough and faltering into something less confident. It was almost like he was vanquishing that idea, and letting it go where it needed rather than where he saw to fit. You swallow him again, and another sound pours out from above you. You repeat yourself with another swallow, a sound to match once more, and you throb.

Finding some guarded clarity for a second, he then says, “You know you, ugh, you don’t have to do all this.”

Brows quirk, and you move back, pulling him out and noting how he’s dripping in your spit. Your hand locks onto him tightly as you move seamlessly, not breaking stride, and you squarely look up. “I thought you were smart.”

He laughs breathlessly, eyes hard to see from a half confused and half pleasured grimace before he questions, “What?”

Your opposite hand comes up, thumb dispatching the spit that had slipped out, while you maintain eye contact. You tell him, “I’m not doing this to impress you, Leslie. This is just how I like to do this, or else… What am I doing here?”

You lean in and slip the head back between your lips. You suck again, his head tips back as your hand works his shaft in tandem with your mouth and then a few pumps later pop him back out, finishing your previous train of thought, “This? It’s just as much for me as it is for you. Trust me.”

You set back to work, hand slows, and you work him back into your mouth, sucking indulgently all the way, a blanket of bliss taking over. Fingers are loose around the base of his shaft, and you bob your head up and down. The rhythm is casual and easy, you are just having fun with it at this point.

Like the loosening grip on control, he seemed more than happy to let you play. It gave him the time to have what you said linger on his mind.

A minute later, he then let his head fall back down and asked, “What do you mean, it’s just as much for you?”

You didn’t want to stop, so you think you can show rather than tell. Your hand that wasn’t holding him in place while you continue to fuck your mouth with him slips down. A hand goes up your skirt and into your underwear, finally giving reprieve to that wall that kept the last of hidden details from what was before both of you.

Fingers slip down, and you are soaked.

You pushed two into yourself, and gasp as much as you can with him in your mouth. You rock back and forth, fucking yourself on your fingers, and God, that felt so good. You linger for a moment before your hand is pulled out and held up, still shivering from the inside out from its protrusion. His fingers catch your wrist, and he brings it closer to see them slick, a mess running down them and strings of arousal breaking apart when you splay your fingers.

Undeniable evidence of just how much this particular act does for you.

You’d hoped he would understand, and he does. Synchronicity is further bliss, so much so that you have this much of a read on him. It was something more satisfying than just grazing the books, the articles written capturing mere glimpses of him. For fuck’s sake, he has your fingers in his mouth. He sucks and tastes you, and apparently likes it so much he moans (not in a dissimilar fashion to how you did upon tasting him.)

Fuck, you had it so badly for him.

You hadn’t wanted to stop. Urges to keep going until drool was trailing down your chin and neck were throttling you, and you were a breathless mess who was somehow even wetter by the end of it. Looking up, it was becoming clear that he had other plans. It’s shown on how his face once again grew dark, similar to what you had seen when the mask had come off. Eyes fixated on your face, taking in features with a few restless heaves of his shoulders, a still ocean in his expression as he thought for another second.

“You want to know about me?” He asked, smiling as he let go of your wrist. “Let’s scratch that. This business is a lot about improv, if you didn’t already know, and here comes an improvised thought.” He readjusted, finding some footing in the way he was kneeling, and he leaned in a little more – to a point where you could smell yourself on his breath. Another grind against you, he shuddered out the words.

“Let me get to know a little more about you for a second.”

You were frozen in place, merely humming in response as he suddenly turned his attention lower. With a smoothing motion, your skirt rode up your hips along with the heels of his hands, pushing it like something in his way, which you suppose it is.

Suddenly, just as quick and almost erratic as he had been the more he was enjoying himself, enjoying this, and enjoying you – he was off the bed for a split second. You didn’t watch, just waited, made yourself more comfortable, because it was a pattern of his to come back when he did that. Your mouth feels tragically empty at the loss of him, but you have a good feeling whatever he is about to do will more than make up for it.

“God, they’re the same color as the slippers-” He lamented for half a second, speaking of your red panties he had revealed when he moved your skirt out of the way, but as soon as he had left he was back. Something cold slid underneath the fabric of your underwear, and with a thoughtful turn to rest on a small edge between your skin and the elastic made you realize what it was.

How did you not see that coming? He held it with a steady hand, a semblance of trying to keep some control with something so sharp, as he caught his breath. Pulling upwards in an almost savage motion shattered the otherwise serene, quiet moment.

“Sorry if you were thinking about wearing those again.” He shrugged, no remorse in his tone. You chuckled at that and replied, “You think I’d get rid of them even after that?” As you finished the rhetorical question, you saw him holding them in an iron grip with the hand that didn’t have the sickle.

“Not what I meant.” He said the obvious aloud, and in a quick move of his arm he threw them out of sight, “Good luck finding those again.” You scoffed, head falling back on the bed as you lamented, “Will it be as hard as learning your na-”

He cut you off again, this time with a hand feeling your entrance with the same careful precision he had given with the weapon. It was your turn to shudder, fingers curling in response to the feeling almost immediately as you got your last word out, “Naaaame?”

“Everyone knows my name.” Leslie reminded you, “At least, around here. I’ve done a great job with making it all common knowledge, but…” You stared with lidded eyes as he finally let the middle finger pass your walls, unable to keep the expression of a surprise that broke the final assumption that you couldn’t feel this wet, this hot. Neither of you could keep talking, awe striking both of you from making the connection.

The moment overtakes, there is one thought that breaks through the haze, lingering in the now mostly empty space of your mind, “Leslie Vernon is inside of me.”

To be fair, he always has been it seems, once you learned about him, it was like he set up camp in your mind, your heart – fucking Hell, into the very marrow of your bones, he took root, curling around your spine all the way up your brain stem. It’s like an infection, poisoning you, making you sick.

You never wanted to get better. If this is what being ill is, then you want to be staying under forever. He’s been in you in every way but a very physical way, but now?

As he almost totally withdraws his middle finger and then adds his ring finger next, he has broken that last barrier, and you need to hold on for dear life to keep yourself from spiralling out. You writhed slightly, trying not to clench your legs and prevent him from doing what he needed to. He started to pump a few times, but it was growing too much again. That same face falling over him like a blanket, he ducked down. His fingers felt incredible, but his tongue was something that made an involuntary gasp come with an inhale, then a shaky cry fall from you with an exhale.

He was mute, focused with a furrowed brow as his mouth merely ghosted, then settled into where he felt fit best. One lick up through your folds had him deciding quietly that he needed to get more comfortable for this, wanting as much of you exposed as possible. Fingers leave you and his hands lock onto your hips. He tugs you down as he moves, showing his strength, no matter how you had made him look weak in full view. The reminders he could do anything he wanted prompts a small moan to slip out.

He has his knees to rough hardwood, your legs remain splayed, and he gets to it.

You’d thought about this very thing often. It had been an impossibility, a complete pipe dream to be taken by his mouth, but here he was turning the thoughts into one hell of a reality. There had to be a figure that he was rather good at that, even outside his other work. You look down the length of your body to see those weathered hands resting atop your thighs, his eyes closed and that mouth of his getting into a rhythm of doing some frankly criminal things, neck muscles flexing in the process.

His tongue was eager but minded its pace, going from bottom to top, hole all the way up and over straining and hyper sensitive flesh before repeating the action. It made you tense with a quick inhale as your body became taut, the easy simmer of pleasure from the first contact. The tension and tease of a rise upward culminating in the bright burst of feeling that hits when he passes over your clit, to then the leftover buzz when he pulls away briefly to drop back to do it all over again.

It’s wonderful, it’s maddening, and before you could even hope to start to put together the thoughts to form a sentence to complain he knew, somehow he knew just when to move on. His mouth becomes much more focused, the movements are drawn out and unhurried. Very comfortable, light brushes of his tongue over your twitching bud through the hood make your body respond in kind, unable to remain still. You are so perfectly worked up, it is like you can feel every move, no matter how miniscule with rough palms holding your legs in place during the times they jerk more heavily, and a rough stubble scraping against the edges of your inner thighs. His lips, soft, slick and pliable – they’re phenomenal.

He’s intuitive. You knew this going in, but he is paying very close attention and realizes that gentle passes of his tongue are doing more than something firmer and with more pressure, the real winner though? Using his lips to, not even suck really, more he was just using them to provide smooth gliding and very wet friction, the heat and careful attention is doing you in, the amount of touch is perfect, the pleasure it hoists upon you is near overwhelming.

It’s like a kiss, honestly. A filthy, completely mind-bending, make your knees give out if you were standing kiss, but a kiss all the same. It’s intense, passionate, makes your head spin and fingers twist into the sheets harder. You aren’t even aware of the sounds you are making as your thighs squeeze his head, pitched moans and cries, out of breath and broken praise and encouragement that spills forth without thought. It’s quiet, whispered out hushed over the wet sounds of his mouth as he worked, “Leslie-”

You sound wrecked as you tell him, somehow finding the words to utter, “-jus-just like that-” and he does as asked, keeps the stride. In moments, it has you begging, a weak and pathetic plea of, “-don’t stop, ple-ase, fuck!”

He hums in acknowledgement, and that makes your legs move involuntarily again with a gasp. One of his hands lifts off your thigh, but you are much too consumed with the seal of his lips around your clit, the quick passes of his tongue and the pressure building steadily to notice his hand moving. The loudest moan of the night is torn from you when his hand is back between your legs, those same fingers taking up the same space they occupied before.

You are even wetter by this point, the two fingers slide into you with no resistance at all and at first? He doesn’t do anything with them, he just allows himself to sit inside, let you use him as something to clench on, to feel the effect he is having on you, the flex and pulsing of your walls. Within another minute of your breathing getting worse, more pleas that somewhat resemble words but fall short, that is when he curves them, curls them up and with one pass he finds it, the rougher and spongier tissue and he presses.

You choke out the first half of his name, a cry of, “Les-!”

His mouth is still providing that light and simple stimulation, exploiting how sensitive and easy you were, but his fingers decide to be steady, relentless, consistent presses to that same spot over and over.

You were done, gone, fate was sealed, right on the precipice and nothing was going to stop it from happening, as inevitable as him and you ending up here, you were going to come.

Words were not needed, as if you could form any right now. He knew, all too aware, with lips around your clit and two fingers deep inside you. Your eyes slip closed, brows are creased, and you are trembling; that bad habit of yours creeping up again, so totally consumed with feeling and sensation, on the bleeding edge of what might be the biggest orgasm of your life that you are not currently breathing. Holding a lungful of air in, your form taut and your body rife with tension. In that wonderful plateau of fantastic torture of that compact moment before it all hits, the space prior to the world splitting and your mind going blank from pleasure. He is consistent and that is just what is needed to slip over and finally fall.

The first natural reaction is to let out that breath you’d been holding in, as the string snaps and the pressure begins to unravel you, an unsteady exhale that is broken in the middle leaves you, a sharp gasp back in. The sound you let out could be read as his name, it is like it starts off with the “Le-” sound and then instead becomes a chorus of this breathy sound, not a laugh, but close enough. It seems that way because of the open-mouthed smile that has taken over your face. Losing control of the breaths that followed after, you let yourself tumble through an ether of forgetting who you were, who he was – you just knew there was a connection feeling one hell of a hot flash, a touch between one another that could fuel your interest for lifetimes.

You squirm and shift, his fingers were still pumping in and out of you, the other hand on your hip, holding you firmly in place, so you couldn’t wiggle away, making you feel every second of it as he feels it from his side too, every twitch and clench. His tongue has slowed, light passes over your clit still caught between his lips, keeping the stimulation going is vital, ensuring the most feeling out of your peak but still managing to not overwork you.

You don’t think you can adequately describe how good it feels, but you can’t describe much of anything when you are totally thoughtless like you are right now. It takes a while for the feeling to ebb and slow and eventually stop, and you to return to yourself. Your breathing returning to some semblance of normal was still a ways off yet. You felt weak, boneless and helpless. You barely notice him lifting his mouth or his fingers slipping out of you, the only acknowledgement of the loss of contact a short exhale and your eyes starting to open, you feel the movement of him before you register the sights, eyes taking a moment to refocus.

How could you even begin to describe the look on his face at this moment? Eye’s alight, chin wet, grin on his face and teeth partially exposed, you’d think the look he wore was one full of mischief and promise of what is to come, pure unadulterated excitement for what is next. You think your own face is betraying your own true emotions as well, and you are positive that yours match his, if anything you think you have a much more distinct tint of want. When he adjusts, between your legs, hands hooked under your knees and grinding himself against you? That shows that you are more than ready, more than wanting. The small smile that was on your face, playful and light, drops as his shaft cuts through you, sliding up over and through your folds, the head of him passing over your clit, and it steals your breath again,

Another movement of his body against yours, of his hips slotting against you, has you sucking in a hard inhale, and the next move to rush the exhale. Head tipping back, a hushed call of his name for the who knows how many-th time tonight. Enveloped by a thud that brings his hips into yours, a cover of heat that fills your entire body and makes you nearly lose grip of the bed underneath you as you adjust to the push.

Your vision is fixed on the main point of contact between you and him, of him hard against you, soaked, it felt much better than it had any right to. In the frenzied process of him eating you out your costume has gotten even more messed up, the hem of the skirt pulled higher, you are glad for that, more skin on skin contact is always good of course but with the blue and white out of the way there is no worry of the view being obstructed.

The visual was stellar, his breathing was matching yours and that makes you tear your gaze away up to his face. Your eyes catch his, your breathing is pitched and in sync, chests rising and falling and staring into each other, it escalates further without direct communication. His body moves a tad lower, your hips angle, and then he is lined up just right, slick tip leaking pre-cum prodding at your more than prepared hole. It takes less than ten seconds for you to be telling him in a half annoyed and hurried voice, “Do it already Verno-”

You don’t get his last name out. A hand suddenly comes up from where it had been placed lower on your body to find a hold around the base of your neck, pushing the muscles on either side together. It was something secure, helping to keep your head angled up, but also a reminder of who needed to stay in control. Especially catching the glimpse of his eyes, elusive as ever. If you hadn’t been far too down this rabbit hole, you’d want to bargain that. Truly, who was pushing whose buttons?

His own face changing, a setting of his jaw, eyes harder and committing to focus on yours. He takes, slides home fucking finally and fills you to the hilt. You don't cry out yet, instead opting to make a sound akin to a strangled whine. Hands reach out blindly, unconsciously, wanting to cling to something, to him, a desperate attempt to ground yourself using his body as the means to an end. Your nails scrape against skin as he moves back, taking half of himself out before forcing back in all the way, changing the previous sound to a gasp and that sound, is what changes all of this, really sets it all in motion. Like he knew you had doubted the control within him, and that just made you all the more palpable to what came.

It isn’t tentative or nervous, confidence is gained quickly, it feels right, correct, a give and take that has you and him not working against each other but instead with one another. His hands lock back around your waist, you arch closer, a flick of your tongue against his throat, tasting the salt of his skin has him driving into you deeper, and so it goes. You are trying to hold on, literally, while you adjust to the stretch of him as well as the gravity of the situation, Leslie-fucking-Vernon is inside of you right now, holding you, fucking you.

How the Hell are you meant to cope with this? You hoped, but weren’t even truly sure he was real until you met him, and now a good roll of his hips had you moaning something close to his name. You’d wonder what your life was, what it had turned into, but why would you question such a good thing? In fact, where you would be and go after this was as far from you as it possibly could. You, instead, in a very healthy move by the way, lean closer still, lips brush the shell of his ear, nearly chest to chest you ask quietly, rushed, “Fuck me harder?”

You are met with a simple and single word, hummed out in a tone that tried to find some sort of sharp edge of condescending but falling just short of fascination instead, “Demanding.”

There was a brief reposition, making sure both of you were ready for some goddamn finale that this night deserved. He’d more than proven his strength to you by this point, and yet you still find ways to be amazed by how he shows it to you, in the sheer force he exerts as he complies with your needy request. It’s good, more than good, but you know it could be better still, the mental stimulation was incredible alone, just a little more was needed. His grip on your waist is keeping you right where he wants, holding you firmly to the mattress, but you do what you can, what you need, feet finding some purchase on the sheets, a slight bending of the knees and you, or rather he, found it. The reaction is immediate and obvious, the moan you were midway through is choked, a tremble that nearly rivals the first ones that wracked your body when he made you cum with his mouth and your own mouth clamping shut. Thighs squeezing his hips and your soaked hole clenching around him tighter, he doubts the hint could be more obvious if it was a neon sign flashing in his face.

Doesn’t mean he still wasn’t going to be just a bit of an asshole about that, mostly, because he knew you got off on that kind of thing. He holds in you, a purposeful grind that stimulates you both inside and out, a pathetic sound tries to break out as your eyes shut, and he asks, “You okay?”

You nod, short, curt, he isn’t relenting, another grind but this one ends with him pulling halfway out before filling you completely again, this time you can’t stop the moan that slips out, “You sure? You are being awfully quiet.”

Before you can try to conjure a reply or attempt to defend yourself, he stops playing around, no more easy but devastating grinds he is back to the previous pace he was setting. There is no true reason to be holding back, who was going to overhear you? The corpses outside? It was laughable, further still, you couldn’t shut up now, not with how he’d locked onto just where you needed him. The litany of moans and gasps might be embarrassing if you weren’t currently drowning in pleasure, you are very unaware of much, just focused on the fact that you needed this feeling to continue, it was overwhelming in the best possible way. Nails biting into his skin and your eyes locked on his, hardly able to process any visuals, you can hear his voice again over the heaving breaths and skin on skin.

His question makes you realize he was responding to you speaking, brain on autopilot it’s sluggish but catches up. You are connecting the dots through the context clues of his words, his near saccharine and condescending tone and question of, “Yeah? Right there?”

Makes you come to the fact that you must have been letting out a surely pitiful chorus of, “Ri-right there, right there-”

You lean in further, hoping if you debase yourself further still he’d continue, he’d see this through, he’d make you break apart as strongly and beautifully as he did before. “Yesss-”

You were not far off at this rate, perfectly worked up and so sensitive.

If the build up before could be described as a slow climb of a staircase, you’d say this one is more akin to an elevator ride that you can feel in your stomach, a rushed ride to the top but one you wouldn’t dare dream of complaining about. The height feels as though you were on top of the world all the same, where nothing could reach you quite like the view would. Looking to him, you concurred it was just as breathtaking. You don’t need to tell him, again, everything else about your body language and the fact he is stuffed to the hilt inside of you tells him you are nearly there.

The state of being stuck in that lovely frustrating plateau was nowhere near as long as the first, from near the edge, to on it, to thrown the fuck over happened faster than you thought possible. He helped you, continued to hold you, fuck you through it and wring every ounce of pleasure he can out of your spasming cunt. The come down isn’t easy because he simply is refusing to let up, even when you try to pull back a bit, adjust, he isn’t having it, hands slide from your waist to under your legs, resting behind your knees. You can’t escape, he holds your legs closer, pressing them down, he abuses you further, enjoying how you reacted to the intense over stimulation.

You find your voice again, use it for something more than moaning incoherently, “Leslie-fuck, please, ease up-”

A minute shake of his head, his grip under your knees tightens, a hard swallow he tells you firmly, forces out, “You can take it.”

You clench around him again, another pulse of heat races through you. “Oh my God-” You gasp out, he’s right, for him, you could and would do just about anything.

You try not to be crushed under the intensity as you look up at him, and that’s when it hits you, the uneven pace of his breath, thrusts becoming more erratic, he’s close himself and the prospect of him reaching his own end buried inside you is unbelievably exciting. One more word is grit out, “Almost-”

In your fervent excitement, you nearly cut him off, begging for it, “Do it.”

You don’t plead for him to not pull out, you don’t wrap your legs around his hips, you want him to make the choice himself, willingly, craving him to take that leap and that risk with you. Your streak of good luck has not yet run out because he does just that, another slam of his hips into yours, and he cums, holds mostly still, the force of it makes him shudder with your name on his tongue, and you feel near endless pride at that. The shudder of his shoulders completes an already perfect picture, something that would linger like cobwebs in your head.

It’s quiet now, no more noise from the bed or from your bodies against one another, just heavy breathing, and you aren’t in a rush to go, but slowly you do untangle. Your hands slip away as do his, legs are back on the mattress, and he slips out of you, the mess that follows that action staining the sheets and thankfully not your hiked up costume. He falls beside you, and you aren’t sure what to do from there, is it weirder to want to cuddle up with him or to not?

The same question about whether you should leave is on your mind but, he answers both, an adjustment, an arm around you as he sighs out, “You already ran enough earlier, you can stay a while.”

You let your eyes close as you get comfier and do just that, he might be a killer but he’s courteous enough to let you get a few hours sleep in his bed before you go.

Even as you began the long walk out, you still weren’t quite sure what to do to cope with meeting Leslie Vernon. Even waiting until the Sun was up to let yourself be known to the world again, a new soul forged from a night you couldn’t even begin to explain to others – let alone rationalize to yourself – didn’t do much for your mind, bogged with a confusion that only knew one thing.

You had enjoyed it despite all that had happened. It still touched your skin, scents still held in your costume, and stepping onto the uneven earth again, you then concurred you knew two things.

You still had the heel stoppers on.

Traversing the uneven road back towards Glen Echo. They were doing their job fairly well, albeit the muscles in your legs were singing another kind of song, straining at any sign of a bend or a shift in your weight. Scanning the surrounding area, you were nearly left thoughtless – because speechless was well and achieved, sitting like a plug in your throat.

There was no one left. Presumably all of the people who had come with you were dead – or left in a state of hopeless confusion just like yourself. For them, it’d be time to put together the facts on what had really happened that night.

But for you? It was the time to paint alongside Leslie’s own fantasy. You had spoken with him about what to say, where everyone had gone, and what had exactly happened to you. It was as gorgeous as the rest of his work, and something you felt rather unique to be touched by, to know the truth behind the…

Behind the mask.

The feeling you were being watched was well weighted on your shoulders, and there was something ever so taunting about knowing when you turned around or tried to meet it, there would be no way to talk to him. Leslie was an open book – you could even call him an open heart, but he also had a job and a name to keep pristine and mysterious as it had been when you had entered the domain of the Vernon orchard.

You considered it a little funny, then a little unexplainable. That just made the thoughts tread foggier water. Part of you wondered if it had even happened, knowing that it didn’t sound serious as you kept telling the story to yourself while walking home. He had given you something straight out of a fantasy, and you then concurred that was his specialty, wasn’t it? There was a solemn recognition that you were going to be the only one that should hear about it.

Still, you then shifted, feeling that there were no longer panties under the dress, (he ended up being right, you couldn’t find them, unsure if they were genuinely lost, or he stole them). That was no joke.

#I TOLD YOU I WAS WORKING ON SHIT BEHIND THE SCENES #Leslie Vernon X reader #slasher x reader #BHF writing #MWAH #This was such a long project #Such a labor of love #I hope you all enjoy it as much as Ri and I did writing it #My GOD #I know shes a long one

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tedcicle · 4 months

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Official Palcove Propaganda Post

[ID: Text with a fire effect that says "WATCH PALCOVE NOW" in red capital letters. /.End ID.] Now you may be asking... Who?

Palcove is both the name of the iconic duo of Ted Nivison (of Rainforest Cafe/Margaritaville/400mg edible fame) and Charlie Slimecicle (professional gay sex roleplayer, at least that's what he should be known for) and the area they lived in during their brief time on EpicSMP (a modded SMP created by, uh... *cough* Matt SuperMega *cough*. You can hazard a guess as to why this SMP didn’t really take off.)

Okay, why should I care?

I shan't lie and say EpicSMP is like, crazy good, or a hidden gem, or YOU NEED TO WATCH THIS — really, it's basically TekkitLive but there's way more people on it. It's a largely forgotten SMP, overshadowed by more popular and successful SMPs that happened before or around it. (OriginsSMP, for example.) There's a bunch of interesting duos trying to start their own businesses, and while nothing happened happened, at the end everybody died, which is interesting to think about. (Actually, wait... yeah, it’s just like TekkitLive.) But it was fun. There were some good bits, some light roleplay, and enough seedlings of a plotline to get an average viewer Andy like me invested in. There was some kind of season 2, but it never took off. I'm sure MCYT fans are accustomed to the disappointment of non-existent fandoms, unfinished stories, or lacking narratives by now (Shadow of Israphel was my first heartbreak, but maybe yours was something else). Another one wouldn’t hurt, right? Why Palcove specifically? Well, as a former SMPLiver— (I am escorted off the stage to a chorus of boos) I just really like Ted and Charlie's dynamic. They’re the perfect comedy duo. Charlie works best when he has someone to bounce bits off of, and Ted knows exactly how to pick up what Charlie is putting down and elevate it to the next level. (The adverb and adjective bit in the first VOD had me DYING.) Story-wise, Charlie had a satisfying character arc. He’s a pivotal character and I liked how he plays off of Schlatt and Swagger, too. Not to mention, this is the last time Ted has uploaded or streamed any Minecraft content... I miss him, chat. Also, it makes me happy. Isn't that enough?

Well, okay, you got me interested. How do I watch?

I'm glad you asked (even if you wouldn't fucking say that, I don't care). Firstly, a primer. Sometimes we start a new thing, but it ends up not being to our liking, and that's fine. Maybe you want to walk around and see how it fits before you commit. That's fine! All I ask for is 14 minutes of your time. That's like, 4 songs.

youtube

This video is the first day edited down into a nice, palatable, taste-tester, courtesy of unknown energy on YouTube. It's so nice and cozy and comfy, it's the equivalent of a mug of hot chocolate curled up in an armchair with a warm blanket wrapped around you. As for continuing, I highly recommend starting with Charlie's POV. It's probably who you're most familiar with, and he bothered to edit down his streams (even if the videos are like, an hour long). If you like listening to men argue and make the unfunniest jokes imaginable, then definitely try the full VODs. All of these have been archived by the channel EpicSMPVods.

Charlie's POV Episode 1 | Episode 2 | Episode 3 VODS Day 1 | Day 2 | Day 3 | End of S1* Ted's POV Episode 1 (Yes, he really only did one episode) VODS Day 1 | Day 2 | Day 3 | Day 4 | Day 5

*This VOD is Swagger's POV, as Charlie didn't upload the finale at all, and the VOD of it either doesn’t exist or wasn’t archived. The relevant Charlie section starts around 15 minutes in.

And if you want more of the story, well, Swagger has one of the most comprehensive EpicSMP POVs.

Final Thoughts

Like many other “stream only” SMPs, a lot of content regarding them simply gets lost and forgotten. There's plenty of reasons why EpicSMP wasn't very successful (in-depth analysis post pending). I’m just glad that not only did Palcove exist, but it's archived. It just so happened to survive against surmountable odds and even have what I consider a satisfying narrative ending (in-depth analysis post pending). And I’m insane about it. And everyone else should be, too.

[ID: Text with a fire effect "WATCH PALCOVE NOW" in red capital letters. /.End ID.]

#storm in a teacup #epicsmp #ted nivison #charlie slimecicle #palcove #described #id in alt #fuck yeah accessibility!!!

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frostironfudge · 1 year

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Labyrinth - Bucky Barnes - Chapter IV

Summary: labyrinth (noun), a complicated set of paths and passages, through which it is difficult to find your way. Bucky and You would do anything for Steve and Wanda, your respective best friends. In an attempt to avoid a tradition Steve and Wanda come up with a lie involving their best friends. A lie, that involves building a labyrinth. Bucky and You begin to build but will you two find your way out or be caught in it?

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader, (Modern AU)

Word Count: 12.2k || Dividers: @firefly-graphics

Warnings: chapter contains 18+ moments, minors DNI, fluff, angst, swearing, fake engagement, sexual innuendos, bucky (he's a warning), sweet moments, sorta miscommunication, smut, dirty talk, oral (f and m receiving), making out, praise kink?

Main Masterlist || AO3 || Fic Masterlist

Sunlight filters through the windows, casting a dreamy gleam over the bedroom. Bucky peers from the bed as the dust specks float in random patterns, colliding and then settling.

The polaroid of the accidental kiss remains on his side table. He stares at it, then his hands cover his face. Palms warm, he sighs against them. The feeling of your wrists still burns like embers.

The way your breath felt over his lips and jaw. The look in your eyes as the pupils took over, darkening your gaze. Your throat bobbing, swallowing down the last bit of your refusal. He knew the two of you would have kissed.

The warmth of your thighs, his admission in Romanian was safe. You didn’t know the meaning. His own mind questioned his mouth having its own mind. In the depth of his heart he knew, he knew you were sunshine.

As the alarm rings, his heart tells him something that unnerves him — maybe you still are sunshine.

The day slips past him, work taking focus. Heart conspiring against his mind replaying his momentary loss of cognition over and over. Each time your lips moved closer than he remembered. Never touching him, no. It drove him crazy.

He stares at the invite and sends Yusuf the questions you had forwarded in the morning wanting to know dietary requirements and allergy information. Yusuf sent back a compiled list at the end of the day, with his heartfelt excitement and thanks written across the paragraph.

Bucky forwarded the email to you. His eyes study the profile picture of your email. Your picture beams brightly at him.

The little envelope icon has an unread notification. His heart does a somersault seeing your reply.

What is wrong with him? It's just an email.

From Y/N:

Dear Mr. Barnes,

Going through the list, there aren’t major requirements, just one couple is vegan and another two require gluten free. I think brownies should be okay? Or do you think cookies will be a better hit?

Best Regards,

Y/N

Bucky finds his mouth sour slightly at the mention of brownies. The entire ordeal still left a bitter memory in its wake.

Though those were the best fucking brownies he had eaten in his brownie eating lifetime.

He stares at the email, for a moment more and decides to humour you with a reply.

He’d reprimand himself later.

From James:

Dear To Be Mrs. Y/L/N-Barnes,

Brownies sound okay, it’s up to you. Cookies hmm, I think maybe not? Becca did love those mini cakes you made, wouldn’t that be easier to replicate in vegan and gluten free batches and be less of hardwork for you?

Regards,

Mr. Barnes

Instantly his phone chimes, you’ve texted him.

Y/N: Mrs. Y/L/N-Barnes?

Bucky: I had a feeling you wouldn’t forgo your last name in favour of mine.

The typing dots appear.

Bucky: plus that was my work email.

The dots disappear for a few moments.

Y/N: You made a point about the mini cakes, it’s easier to pull off.

Bucky: I’ve been known to be right, you can admit it, no one would know.

Y/N: your ego would and we can’t have it inflate further.

Bucky laughs.

John pauses outside his cabin.

Staring at Bucky.

Bucky: It would like to inflate as much as yours, sunshine.

Y/N: I can hear your condescending tone.

Bucky: missing me so much that you’re conjuring me?

Y/N: at least i’m not giving myself an adrenaline rush to do so

Bucky: Is that a ‘new moon’ reference?

Y/N: You know about ‘new moon’?

Bucky smiles again. John texts on the office group chat. Disbelief colouring his face. Bucky Barnes smiling and not perpetually scowling.

Bucky: I can hear your scepticism, now.

Y/N: Are you missing me so much that your mind is conjuring me?

As if you ever left my mind. He thinks, then stares at the chat.

A flurry of murmurs has Bucky look up, his brow raised at Yusuf, Darcy, John, and Woo standing with surprise coating their faces.

He stands setting his phone down and they scramble like headless chickens.

Yusuf and Darcy however remain behind and a little unnerved.

“Did you all need something?” Bucky’s tone is calm. He watches Jimmy and John peek from behind the end of the hallway. Not a really good hiding place.

“Oh nothing just,” Yusuf looks at Darcy.

She taps her foot, “Oh yes, I um, Yusuf the Boss Man here just wanted to tell you we’re going to have a celebratory pizza day tomorrow!” she beams at him.

“We are?” Yusuf’s brows furrow then he rectifies his surprise into a firm decision, “We are!”

“Yes, so we just wanted to know what pizza you wanted, cause bulk order so a day prior.” Darcy smoothes the wrinkles in her jacket.

Bucky’s sharp blue eyes observe all of them, “I don’t have a preference.”

“Cmon the thought of free pizza doesn’t make him smile but his phone does?” John clamps a hand over his mouth.

Darcy and Yusuf both wince. Jimmy begins to slowly back away, “Oh that's a call from my office.”

“From the floor above? Impeccable hearing Jimmy.” Bucky glares at all of them, Woo stops in his tracks, slowly turning.

“Was it Y/N? Making you laugh?” Darcy questions, all of their faces turn hopeful to know.

“I have work, deals won’t close by knowing about me.” Bucky turns around heading into his office and shutting the door.

Before lifting his phone he looks up, all of them scurry away. He shakes his head, you’ve sent him pictures of mini cakes. Delicately frosted and they all look delicious.

Y/N: I think the base flavours can remain the same, but I can’t decide on the frosting style, because those will help differentiate between the 3 types I'm going to be baking.

Bucky: You want me to pick?

Y/N: Well yeah, it's your event, you need to make a good impression and this will help. Food is the key to people’s hearts.

Bucky: right, is that how you won Beck over?

Shit, shit, shit, shit. It’s read before he can undo it.

Y/N: Yes, I allegedly seduce the rich men I want with my desserts. Can you pick the frosting or do you want to ask if he cheated on me because I stopped baking?

He frowns at the message, nothing in the chat warranted that kind of reply. Briefly his mind flashes back to what his mother said, he bites his tongue. Maybe he struck a nerve?

Bucky replies to the flower pattern for normal ones, swirls for vegan and roses for gluten free.

Y/N: If I need any other information I'll text you.

Bucky: Don’t hesitate.

Then Bucky un-sends the message.

You stare at the ‘don’t hesitate’, before it disappears. Your fingers twitch, wanting to smack him for his little comment about Beck and partially know how his stubble feels. You stare at yourself in the distorted fridge door reflection.

“Shut it.” You whisper to yourself. Angry that all you can think about is being pinned against the said device. Grabbing the coffee you’ve made you head to the desk to resolve the issue from work.

Going behind your boss’ back feels crappy but you needed to know what was wrong with the code. Maria had just given birth to a sweet little baby girl with her wife Natasha and was acclimating to the new addition.

Yelena was new to the team, the others were non cooperative and frankly uninterested to write a new code from scratch.

The meeting was in session when you joined in, Yelena and Maria beam at you and the others scowl. As you’re sharing the screen to view the old code with everyone when Christina scoffs in disbelief.

“What is it?” Maria asks and then you see it too.

“The major code has been changed.” Yelena observes, “The final edition Y/N showed me and ran was different.”

“Did you purposely do this?” Christina sneers, your answering glare is enough to have her morph her face to a neutral expression.

The entire team stares at the screen. A flurry of thoughts make way to the forefront of your mind.

“When I asked her for the code she refuses and then when I ask the client they send this, its uneditable so it went edited from the company’s end.” You explain.

“I asked for it too, I thought she just has an issue with you, but it seems she doesn’t have the version you sent her.” Maria adds.

“Do you know the company policy for code that doesn’t work?” Yelena questions, pulling up the contracts and sharing them on the screen.

“New designs and codes are charged twice if the host site is foreign to our base site or if the code does not work and the client fails to inform within the first 24 hour period.” She reads, “If the client has either issue and does not inform the company with a three week advance notice then they will be charged triple the amount as penalty for developing a new design code.”

Maria makes a displeased sound, Christina hums.

“Well at least we have the finished code, I say we copy, paste and send.” The latter chimes, stifling a fake yawn.

“What?” Yelena’s expression morphs into a glare, “We’d be swindling the client blind.”

“Can we talk to Viper?” You prompt, they remain silent.

“We could have the conversation during the meeting on Friday.” This idea is also met by silence. You sigh.

“Just prepare the code.” Christina argues, Maria and Yelena both look towards the screen in disagreement. You watch out of the corner of your eye while your palm takes the weight of your head.

“Y/N, you're the team leader, this is your call.” Maria reminds you, you want to hate her for the reminder. You can’t though.

“Put it to vote,” You pull up the poll feature, majority votes for talking to Viper during the meeting and you sigh. The remainder of the meeting goes smoothly as more designs are discussed and the two other pending projects have headways made upon them.

Compiling an update list you email it to Viper CC-ing your team so everyone knows what is going on. You close the laptop lid just as your phone chimes.

“Hey Wan.” You laugh as she runs though the house.

“Oh my god! Oh my god.” She gushes then cheers happily, holding up a piece of paper that is blurry.

“Um I can’t read–.”

“Email! Now.” She narrows her eyes at you, catching her breath.

As you open the email she still squeals, you laugh wondering what it is and then you see it.

“Oh my god, indeed.” You agree with her seeing the attachment.

“WE’RE DOING THE BACHELOR AND BACHELORETTE TRIP BAYBAY.” She sing-songs, “Dance.” Wanda instructs, you push back your chair.

Mimicking her dancing which could be a reminder of the way you two danced at every house party Wanda made you crash, which wasn’t great but the two of you always had a lot of fun.

“Now, pack cold weather stuff because we are going to Aspen!” She drags out the destination name and you laugh admiring her.

Bringing out your planner you note down the dates so that you can avoid baking commitments and take a leave from work.

“Friday. You’re coming over.” Wanda settles on the bed.

“The trip is two months away, we can’t pack now.” You chide with a laugh.

“Nooo, not for packing to spend the night having a sleepover, I’m kicking Steve out for you.” She laughs, her hair swaying as she vibrates with excitement.

“Well you need to un-kick him, I’m busy on Friday.” You hope she doesn’t pry but you know she will.

“Oh, is it a date? Tell me everything.” She claps her hands, you shake your head causing her to frown.

“Remember, I told you I ran into James at the bookstore?”

Wanda nods.

“A colleague of his saw us and blabbed, his boss invited him for a family dinner thing so I have that…” You shrug.

“You’re helping him?” Her words harbour the disbelief your own mind and heart hold when you said yes to go with him or think about the dinner.

“I just, it's his work…” You trail off for lack of other reasoning, “We had decided this would not impact our professional lives.”

Or a reasoning you just didn’t want to face.

“Do you still have feelings for him?” Wanda blurts, her eyes observant on any and every reaction you give to the statement.

You want to tell her fuck off, but your heart feels that familiar jolt that only happened for Bucky–James, he’s James to you.

“Oh baby you do; don’t you? Why don’t the two of you talk it out?” She suggests, your face blanches.

“It’s been so long, I just, Wan, I thought the world of him and even today he just, he’s going to always think of me as a gold digger.” You lay on the sofa, the phone propped up by a bottle of water.

“Okay don’t talk, fuck it out? Steve did say he stopped sleeping with his old friends with benefits a month ago. Maybe…” She raises her hands in surrender when you glare at her for the insinuation.

“I don’t think it would be helpful to either of us.” You look back to the ceiling, but your mind takes you back to how he felt above you. Pressing against you but never with all his weight. The way his lips felt, the bottom one had a corner spot, worried as though he had a habit of biting them. His hair tickling your jaw when he leaned around you during the pretend cooking date.

“Y/N?” Wanda claps her hands loudly and you sit up, blinking away his thoughts.

“Sorry, I just,” You look away, “So when do we have to pay for the Aspen trip?” you divert the topic.

“Steve’s working out the finances, we’re hoping to cover the accommodation and food. So excursions and flights will be divided per passenger.” Wanda smiles, “I know it might be hard to cover up so don’t worry I have savings and–,”

“You mean the wedding dress fund you started when you met Steve Charming-Blue-Eyes-Wanda-Wants-To-Sink-In-Them Rogers?” Your brow raises her skin flushes.

“Oh and not to mention, Steve Wanda-Wants-To-Sink-On-That-Dick Rogers.” Your teasing has her groan but her flush only intensifies and you laugh.

“Shut the fuck up.” She glares at you.

“Steve Wanda-Wants-To-Do-It-In-The-College-Library-With-You Rogers.” You laugh again as she raises her middle finger and you raise yours in response.

“Fuck you.” She sneers, you pout.

“Steve will be sad.”

“I don’t like this side of you.” She complains whining at the teasing.

“Okay, okay, no more Steve Insert Middle Name Rogers.” You raise your hands to show her your sincerity. Wanda narrows her eyes observing you for any lies then nods. Satisfied.

“Although–,” You smirk as your next teasing comes about.

“You say one word, I'm spilling the beans to Bucky about your little crush.” She warns, you gasp, a hand on your chest.

“How can you?” You scoff, to add dramatic flair, then you clear your throat to return to your original mission.

“Bucky Please-Kiss-Y/N-In-The-Rain Barnes.” Her expression is smug as she observes the telltale sign of you being flustered. She laughs.

“Bucky please-lift-Y/N-up-like-those-weights-at-the-gym Barnes.” her laugh cackles as you sink your burning face into your palm.

Her list goes on and you groan.

“Okay–,”

“Bucky Y/N-baked-brownies-to-get-into-your-heart Barnes.” It’s a second later she realises what she said, you try to keep your expression neutral but Wanda sees the glimmer dwindling.

“Chip, I’m so sorry.” She sits up grabbing the phone, “I got carried away.”

“It’s okay, I need to get over it.” You shrug, “So can I tell you about my boss being unreasonable and my team member being a greedy person?”

Wanda nods, the two of you settle into conversation, the topic of Bucky remains forgotten.

Your heart still clenches when you think of Bucky briefly while Wanda uses the restroom mid conversation. You pat over your sternum, trying to soothe the distant ache of what could have been.

Friday evening rolls around much quicker than anticipated. You’re placing the final touches on the gluten free cakes as your doorbell rings. The final cake goes in the box and you cross check if every box is labelled and every mini cake has a skewer indicating V for vegan and GF for gluten free and N for No changes.

You try not to dwell on the meeting and its outcome. You could deal with that later. You would deal with that later.

You open the door, Bucky stands there, you hadn’t spoken to him since the nosedive conversation. You take him in, a navy shirt and pants. He’d brushed his hair back but they were slightly dishevelled as though he’d been running his fingers through his hair.

You open the door further allowing him to come inside.

For a moment Wanda’s words of wisdom make their way to your mind, as he makes his way inside.

Pleasantries aren’t exchanged but you hear his sharp intake of breath, then a soft curse. You frown, nothing was burnt in your apartment. Deciding not to dwell on it you return to the kitchen a final pass through over the boxes.

Bucky leans against the doorway of the kitchen observing you. Your apron had your baking company’s name on it. The outfit you were wearing was a deep violet top with cut outs at the shoulders. The black jeans clung to you in a way that had his eyes refusing to look elsewhere.

Forcing himself to look at your face, he pauses, noticing the smears of the buttercream on your cheek. As Bucky moves towards you, you pause, still fiddling with the piping bag tip.

The warmth of his thumb greets your cheek, he swipes at it. When he pulls his limb away you notice the buttercream on his thumb.

“Oh um,” You reach for the tissues, as you hold them out he only brings the digit to his lips, tongue swiping at the cream and his eyes close momentarily. You pause, breath caught in your chest.

“Burnt caramel?” He hums as you nod. He’s moved closer, so you have to look up to meet his eyes. Another swipe of his thumb on your other cheek but lower than before near the corner of your lips. Your skin heats, how did you miss those smears?

He repeats the same action, bringing the stray frosting to his lips. Eyes trained on you. You gulp, tongue moving over your bottom lip.

“Should be careful, sunshine.” He murmurs. Your gaze falls from his darkening eyes onto his pink lips. The corner of his lips twitches up in the slightest. Amusement is what you recognise.

Then they turn into a frown, “Why aren’t these your boxes?” He takes in the plain white packaging.

You take the moment to step away from the heated atmosphere, “It's your night, I don’t want to have the business’ promotion on there.” You shrug, Bucky’s jaw tenses.

“Go get your stickers. The ones you put for the cookies.” He instructs without room to argue.

“James, it's alright.” You try to brush it off but he only narrows his eyes at you then raises a brow. You move to argue again but he raises a hand.

“Use it to network, these are families. You can expand to them and you consider dietary requirements too.” He explains, “I understand why you chose to not use your boxes and labels but you should.”

A warmth manifests in your chest, the little part of your heart that was aching for you to remember and recall everything about Bucky and your scattered feelings tried to wrestle its way out. The way he sounded so supportive, you had wished for that from a partner. It is what you need right now.

“If I didn’t support your endeavours what kind of fake fiancé would I be?” He questions and the wrestling of your heart stops, ice cold water pours down your spine. Of course it isn’t genuine. He’s playing a role.

You nod curtly, blinking several times to keep yourself and your emotions in check.

“I’ll um, I’ll get the stickers…” Excusing yourself from the kitchen you leave Bucky, staring at the refrigerator.

Bucky wills himself to trace the path of your steps because thinking about you pinned to any surface by him was making his blood circulation head to his dick.

He knew this would be a good opportunity for you to showcase your skills plus families would have requirements for baked goods on and off.

You return with the stickers and he watches as you place one on the centre and one along the opening edge to seal the boxes.

“All done.”

“Okay, we can leave in five minutes so you can finish getting ready.” Bucky leans against the counter, fiddling with the sticker paper. You observe him for a moment then head into your room.

Checking your appearance and hair once again, and you double check for smears of buttercream on yourself. Everything seems clear.

Your purse is accounted for as are your keys, bits and bobs. Heading back you open up the tray to keep the boxes from shaking too much.

“We can head down, I’ll keep the folding tray in my car.” You look at Bucky through the doorway. He picks up a box placing it on the tray and then the remaining two you begin to open the door pushing out the tray.

“Wait.” Bucky walks towards you, hand on your shoulder to turn your back towards him.

His fingers ghost over your lower back, as you feel him tug on the apron undoing the knot.

Where is your goddamn brain? You wonder.

Bucky breathes evenly, though the gesture seems intimate. Arms move around your waist, he tugs the material up till the loop of the neck is out. When your hands move to smoothen your hair they collide with Bucky’s as he does the very same thing, smoothing any strands out of place.

“Thank you.” Your voice is slightly out of breath but laced with emotion. He needs to stop doing these heart flutter inducing things.

“You’re welcome.” He murmurs, then clears his throat.

The boxes are gently transported to the backseat, you keep them in place and Bucky holds up straps which would keep them stable but now pressed.

“No speeding tonight.” He says solemnly as you return from stashing the tray in your car.

“Unfortunately.” Your smile is sad, he chuckles drily.

The drive was mostly silent, apart from your occasional question about Alpine or his boss and the family. He didn’t ask you much just how work went and you prided on saying ‘fine’ without it sounding as though it was a blatant lie. Which it was but he didn’t need to know that. Yet. Your mind adds.

Walking up to the doors was slightly challenging but Bucky took the majority of the boxes leaving you with one. He slowed down his usual pace and you couldn’t help but laugh at his sort of waddle.

“Don’t laugh.” He warns, you can’t help but giggle more.

“You look like a penguin.” You comment.

“I am not a penguin.” He grumbles, still waddling, “I’m trying to not let your babies fall.”

“You even sound like a penguin protecting their egg.”

“It would be our egg then, since penguins mate for life. Newsflash you’re a penguin too now, Sunshine.” He grins at you, satisfied with having you be a penguin as well.

You humour him by waddling too, coaxing a laugh from him.

“No it’s this way, you will make our egg touch the ground.” He shows you his careful waddle.

“You’re right,” you match his pattern.

The two of you waddle along the sidewalk to keep the babies safe and waddle up the driveway. Bucky shakes his head at you when you stick your tongue out at him just as Yusuf and Muneeba open the door with bright smiles.

Bucky chuckles as you school your features, into a smile and greet them. The couple laugh with endearment and warmly welcome you into their home.

“Here you can set these down, oh they look absolutely delicious.” Muneeba admires the cakes from the transparent top as Bucky sets them on the small table.

“This is the infamous Mr. Barnes and his fiancé, Y/N.” Yusuf introduces beaming, “And if I’m not wrong she baked these delicious looking cakes for tonight.”

You find yourself smiling happily, “I did, I bake part time, and even um cater for events.”

Muneeba smiles, “Well Kamala’s school always has something or the other going on and the events that happen. I will keep you in mind.”

“That would be great, thank you so much.” Bucky chimes, his hands move to your shoulders, helping you take off your jacket, you find he took his off while you were speaking.

“It would be, I hope you all enjoy these.”

The older couple smiles, guiding you all through the house when a flash catches you and Bucky by surprise.

Kamala grins as the polaroid loads. You and Bucky exchange a knowing glance.

“Hi I’m Kamala, resident photographer of the house.” She bounds up to the two of you, “Is that the cake for tonight, oh they are so cute!”

You chuckle, “yes, they are, oh Bucky has a keen interest in photography maybe you could ask him questions?” you look towards him, he presses his lips into a thin line.

“Really? Would that be okay?” Kamala busts out the puss-in-the-boots-eyes, Yusuf laughs.

“If i can’t say no to those, no one can.” He chuckles.

Everyone turns to Bucky, his cheeks tinge pink.

“I, sure, we can, let me just set these down?” He raises the boxes slightly and you all are led into the kitchen. You take the boxes from him to allow him time to speak to Kamala. Muneeba helps you with setting them into trays that would fit into the fridge to keep the cool till dessert time comes up.

Yusuf excuses himself to attend a call.

As you observe him from the kitchen he’s got two cameras in his hands and is explaining several things to Kamala and answering her responding questions.

“Yusuf says he’s a hard worker.” Muneeba draws your attention away from Bucky.

“He is, the drive that he has shown over the years is commendable.” You smiled at her, you were proud of Bucky it was hard not to be, given his financial background or what you knew bits and pieces from Wanda and Steve.

Bucky’s resilience and drive were, still are one of the things you admire about him.

“Have you been together for a long time?” She questions closing the fridge.

“Oh um, I have known him for seven years, we only got together a year ago and he proposed six months ago.” on instinct your gaze moves to the ring.

“That is more of a wedding band than an engagement ring.” she says, you try not to let it rub you the wrong way.

“It’s beautiful.” She adds, your face morphs into shock.

“A lot of people comment on the diamond size, don’t they?” She holds out her own hand, a gold band with a diamond similar to the one on your ring harbours her hand.

You smile at it, “It’s gorgeous. What's the story behind it? If you don't mind me asking?”

Muneeba smiles, “He bought it with the first commission he made. Tradition would have it he hands the first bit of his own money to his parents as a thank you but Yusuf ever the charmer went and found this, back in our hometown.”

“And then I walked miles and miles, to return to her home and ask for her hand in marriage.” Yusuf enters the kitchen, an arm wrapping around his wife’s shoulders.

“And my Father almost kicked him off of the house’s roof for his insubordination.” Muneeba laughs, head resting on his shoulder.

“Luckily my brother knew what I was up to and saved me.” Yusuf chuckles, “My parents weren’t happy about my ways but one look they took at my light and they were in love too.” He kisses her forehead, she laughs, lightly swatting his chest but her hand remains there.

Their gazes intertwine and your heart lurches wondering when would you be able to share such a look with someone.

“Are they telling you the story?” Kamala’s voice and camera flash announce her presence.

“They are, they're really cute.” you grin at her and there is a flash opposite to you, your eyes meet blue.

Bucky only observes you for a moment before handing the film camera back to Kamala.

“Now there are about 29 pictures left on it, have fun with it and we can go to get it developed, if your parents agree if not I’ll get it done for you.” There is a ghost of a smile on his face, when he makes his way over to you.

“It's nice to see you in your element.” You offer, the corner of his lip twitches upward. Your hand reaches towards his hair a stray thread stuck, you pull it away. Tucking his hair back.

Your nails softly scratch at his scalp, as your hand moves to feel the softness of his hair more, it’s grown out further, the back almost brushing his shoulders.

Bucky closes his eyes, leaning into the small totem of affection.

“If Y/N accompanies I’ll come along with you. She seems cool.” Kamala brings the two of you back to the present.

Bucky doesn’t like how your hand is no longer there. Your thumb traces your fingertips as if the sensation isn’t already committed to memory.

Bucky looks towards Yusuf and Muneeba, they chuckle.

“If the two of them don’t mind and you are mindful of school work.” Muneeba instructs pointedly.

“You can come to the office after school, meet Mr, Barnes there.” Yusuf adds, smiling when Kamala cheers and rushes to hug them.

You smile, Bucky’s hand wraps around your waist, you try to keep your surprise minimum. Leaning into his side. It is an act, he’s acting.

Bucky’s heart beats louder when you lean into him. His gesture had come naturally.

As Yusuf and Muneeba head to the front of the home to welcome the arriving guests, Bucky realises something when you shift from him while you two also head into the living room. Kamala shows you the polaroids while keeping you away from him. He’s close enough but his body wants you closer.

He already began to feel the absence of your warmth.

“There he is!” Jimmy Woo cheerily greets Bucky with those hugs that men do, Kamala begins taking her pictures. The remainder of his family walks in, his husband and their two kids.

“Hey Jimmy.” Bucky greets back, “Lang, haven’t seen you in a while.”

The older brunette chuckles, “You’ve been hiding someone a while, Barnes.”

His daughter beams brightly at Kamala pulling her away from you.

Bucky shakes his head, “Well let me introduce you.”

You stand to the side watching Bucky interact with his co-workers. He then turns to you holding his hand out. You move over to him, taking his hand in your own.

“This is my fiancé, Y/N. Y/N, this is Jimmy Woo and Scott Lang, that is his daughter Cassie with Kamala, Mina is Jimmy’s oldest and Akira his youngest. Steven is his partner.” Bucky explains.

“Hope is on her way, caught up at work.” Scott explains, “She’s my girlfriend.”

You greet everyone, Mina and Akira are the sweetest little munchkins. They ask about you.

“Do you have a favourite flower?” Akira ponders, just then Mina beckons her towards Kamala and Cassie.

“Well I quite like orchids, a while back I was obsessed with Roses.” You explain, she smiles and then scurries away with her sister.

“I think that's the cool kids table.” You joke, Bucky hums.

“I think we can set your plate there, Sunshine.” He teases.

“You’d need to be next to me, if they certify you uncool we gotta rethink this, Mr. Barnes.” You squirm and let out a soft squeak as his digits dig into your side in a warning tickle.

Bucky pulls you closer to him, your hands rest above his own. Jimmy and Scott both look at you two as if scrutinising your every move.

“Hello Everyone.” Yusuf walks in with another family and Muneeba is speaking to the women.

“Jimmy, Scott you both have met the Siddiquis and Singhs.” He directs their attention, Jimmy and Scott nod moving ahead for greeting.

“Ah Scotty boy, ready to lose again?” Mr. Siddiqui teases, shaking his hand, Scott’s skin flushes as he laughs scratching his neck.

Bucky watches the interaction as you look up at him. His demeanour is suddenly tense. Hands tightening on your waist. You pat his hand, he gazes down at you.

“You alright?”

Bucky nods at your whisper, “Socialising isn’t a strong suit.”

“I’ll fake feeling sick if you want me too.” You grin feeling his chest rumble at your joke.

“James, this is Altaf and Meena Siddique, his sons Ali and Faiz.” Yusuf gestures, Bucky moves forward but keeps his left hand intertwined with yours as he shakes their hands.

“This is Ikbir and Harleen Singh, their kids, Bij and Jasmin.” Yusuf continues, Bucky shakes their hands.

“This is my fiancé, Y/N.” Bucky lightly tugs on your hand, you step forward and Meena and Harleen both engulf you in a hug, one by one.

Yusuf explains what work they do and Bucky asks them questions which you note leave them impressed.

“So Y/N, what do you do?” Altaf questions, taking a sip of the lemon passionfruit tea drink that Steven and Jimmy brought as their part of the potluck.

“I’m into web designing as well as I have a side business of baking.” You explain, sitting down on the chair near Bucky.

It almost seemed like a big family gettogether, the kids playing off to one side, the adults discussing various topics and catching up. The food was arranged buffet style along the edge of the living room.

Occasionally one or the other person would leave the group to make their plates for the starters.

You take a glance at Bucky’s plate as you stand, he’d been loving the little chicken seekh Muneeba had made, you smiled seeing him fiddle with the skewer and his gaze moving to the table.

You make your way over and take the last chicken seekh, and one piece of the other starter. Heading back to the group Bucky passes by, he clicks his tongue seeing the seekh plate empty.

“Something wrong?” You ask, he sighs filling in on the other starter.

“No, nothing, their discussing design wanted you to be there.” He explains without turning.

“Okay.” You head back to your place.

The topic flows and Altaf appreciates your inputs, Bucky returns a minute later. When Jimmy distracts him with a work quip that has everyone in stitches and Bucky shaking his head in disbelief, you place the seekh in his plate.

Bucky’s brows furrow when he looks down at his plate. Your plate is empty and he did see the seekh on your plate. When he looks towards you, you’re in a discussion with Jasmin about college majors for keeping several options open.

The thought of you taking the seekh for him has his heart do the endearing somersault. Bucky’s feeling a rush of emotions at the small gesture not understanding why this piece tastes even better but he savours it.

“Alright.” Aamir claps, drawing everyone’s attention, “Now since our bellies are slightly full and the main course is Meena Aunty’s butter chicken biryani. We have to get onto our next segment.”

You and Bucky exchange a glance.

“The mini game night.” Tayesha declares as everyone hoots.

“Should we be worried?” Bucky chuckles, Aamir laughs then he seriously looks at the two of you.

“You should.” He deadpans, then laughs.

“Alright, the first game is individual, you need to find the hidden teddy bear.” Tayesha shows the image of the furry bear on her phone.

“It is hidden on the ground floor only.” she adds as everyone scurries.

Bucky and you remain seated.

“Do you not want to win?” You ask scanning the places that are resulting in disappointment.

“Oh I know where it is.” His expression is neutral.

“Where? I want it, it’s a cute bear.” You feel the competitiveness kicking into gear.

“Now, now, it’s an individual challenge, Sunshine.”

You huff, shifting away and trying to find the bear yourself. Bucky remains calmly seated all through the search. To the credit of everyone the game lasts five minutes before all give up. Then Bucky stands heading to the chair where everyone had placed their coats and bags.

He turns with the bear. Aamir and Tayesha begin the applause and everyone joins in, you glare at him. As he rises from his bow, he gives you a wink.

“Now, hand the bear to your partner.” Aamir breaks his victory.

“Why?” Bucky frowns, “I won it.”

“For her.” Tayesha laughs, “If she would have won it would go to you.”

“Yusuf, he’s reacting like you.” Ikbir laughs, patting Yusuf’s back. Everyone breaks into laughter.

Bucky hands the bear to you as he sits down.

“Aw, we can share him.” You have the bear boop his cheek.

Bucky grumbles, Scott laughs at his ire. Hope chuckles as well.

The charades round resulted in the kid’s team winning against the adults. Bucky and you were put on their team since you both were the youngest entries into the family dinner. No one realised how easily Bucky and you flowed around each other.

Responding to one movement of each other.

You beam at Bucky, as the prizes are slabs of chocolates. Bucky watches you hug the kiddos and laugh with them. He wonders if this would have occurred earlier on had six years ago not taken place. Would you two have a deep understanding that would result in beating Steve and Wanda at game night instead of it always being boys v. girls?

In which it would be set that you would go against Steve because you two would be at each other’s throats over the littlest things.

Jimmy pats on Bucky’s shoulder. He turns to answer.

“Hey.”

“I can see why you chose to keep it under wraps.” Jimmy smiles seeing you admire the drawing Akira made earlier.

“Steven and I wanted to enjoy our little buble too.” He smiles fondly towards his husband.

“Steven is really competitive.” Bucky chuckles, Jimmy joins in.

“Honestly all through high school we tried to one up the other.” He recalls, Steven looks at him at that point hearing the conversation.

“I beat you for valedictorian. Even at Harvard, at the top of the class, this man is always behind me.” Steven’s face flushes, Bucky wonders why.

“It’s because I wanted to stare at his great tush.” Jimmy winks at his husband who only flushes more.

“Academic rivals to husbands.” Bucky returns his gaze to you, you’re smiling up at him and it reminds him of sunshine after a cloudburst.

“Yes, so there is hope for every type of story.” Jimmy smiles at Bucky.

“Soare (sunshine).” He hears himself whisper to you. You pick that very moment to look up at him. When your gazes lock, there is a smile on your face. Bucky’s heart does that stupid thing again.

Then your gaze moved behind him. Tayesha was handing everyone white boards and markers.

“Alright last game before the main course.” Aamir announces.

Then requests the couples to face each other in a lineup, they have under a minute to hold the small white board above their heads and draw their partner or person opposite to them to the best possible degree. The closest resemblance wins a secret prize.

Bucky faces you, lips pressed into a thin line.

“Scared, Puffin?” You tease.

“Puffin?” He raises a brow.

“That is your nickname. You have one for me.” You shrug.

“Puffin? Of all things?” Bucky’s eyes harbour his offence and irritation.

You only shrug, it irks him more.

“Think better, Sunshine.” He rolls his eyes, then looks towards Aamir and Tayesha as they begin the countdown.

“Nah, I’ve made up my mind.” You say as the whiteboard goes above everyone’s heads and they look at their partners.

“You like your nickname, I don't.” He urges, beginning to draw.

“Lets see, Puffin. Also I do not recall ever saying I liked it.” You bite back a grin as he huffs, rolling his eyes.

The air is frantic and humours as everyone begins to doodle weirdly shaped humans. You yourself try to replicate Bucky to the best of your ability.

Bucky’s gaze is trained on your face, the angle at which they are drawing is odd at best. He makes a last thirty second decision to redraw. You don’t look at his whiteboard too focused upon getting that little freckle near his cheek in the right position.

The timer resounds and everyone has to one by one display their drawings. Scott and Hope had one of the closest resemblances and you felt your chances dwindling.

Then Bucky turns his drawing and all everyone aws loudly, your gaze lifts to his whiteboard. He’s drawn the sun, given it a face and a smile.

Your cheeks set ablaze with the flush.

He drew you as sunshine.

Bucky keeps his features schooled watching your reaction to the drawing. He didn’t realise everyone would gush over the adorableness of it. He just went with his heart.

“James Barnes trying to woo everyone here.” Aamir comments, earning laughter.

“You’re just jealous you didn’t pull that off.” Tayesha teases him.

“I take great offence in that, meri jaan (my life).” He narrows his eyes at her, but then she breaks out into a smile.

“Sap.” She chuckles.

“Only yours, meri jaan.” Aamir reminds her, kissing the back of her hand.

“That means my life right?” You ask Kamala, she nods.

Bucky observes the longing glance you give the couple. A wistful sigh and then you fiddle with your own whiteboard.

The attention returns to the remaining people, your drawing earns some laughs. Somehow Bucky’s hair turned into devil’s horns and Scott and Jimmy insisted that is how Bucky was in the office. A ruthless devil with a devil may care attitude.

Bucky rolled his eyes, giving them a glare but he agreed to the sentiment.

Kamala went around taking polaroids of the couples holding their drawings and random shots on the film camera Bucky set up for her.

The conversation breaks off into small groups during the main course and all the delicious food has your stomach in knots over if your desserts would have the night end on a good note.

“Y/N, would you like to set up now? I have place cards ready to signify gluten free and vegan.” Muneeba questions and you follow her into the kitchen. Bucky trails after you, knowing the trays are several.

“Oh James, we can handle it.” You almost bump into him when you stop.

“Will be easier to get the trays out with three people.” He shrugs, grabbing two trays of normal ones. Making his way out.

Muneeba smiles at you, handing the gluten free ones you make sure to place them away from the normal ones and vegan ones, you even prepared a gluten free and vegan hybrid one incase anyone had stricter requirements. She herself takes on the vegan tray.

It takes two trips but all the trays are out. You move to the side just wanting to observe.

Steven leads his daughters towards the gluten free ones. Adoring their excited expressions as the kids tuck into them their wide smiles ease your nervousness.

Bucky watches your hands fidget as you begin to get nervous. He wonders what causes the response. He knows the reviews you get are stellar, you should be confident in this skill.

Your nerves don’t ease when Bucky approaches the table, taking a smaller plate and placing two mini cakes upon it. You watch him walk over to you, just as he is a few feet away he begins the waddle again.

When he hears you laugh he resumes a human gait.

“Puffin.” You deem yet again much to his dismay.

Wordlessly he hands you a spoon, but then using his own spoon he brings the bite to your lips.

“Eat, it’s good, you’ve done great, everyone is loving them.” He taps the spoon to your bottom lip.

Your lips part as Bucky feeds you, you watch as his gaze darkens, his tongue moving over his bottom lip when your tongue swipes at the bit of buttercream on your top lip.

This goes on, he feeds you bite after bite. Your heart hammering in your ears at the intensity of his gaze. Your eyes fall to his hands in search of respite but you get none, he had rolled up his sleeves and his tattoo was on partial display and the way his hands are your body remembers the feel of them.

Imprinted teasingly on scarce areas of you.

“Hear them?” His baritone is deep, bordering on sultry.

The room fills with hums of happiness and praise that leave your cheeks aching and warm at the smile that graces your features.

Bucky swipes at the small portion of buttercream at the corner of your lip. Bringing it to his own lips. The sound he makes has you swallow. That hum of appreciation. Your mind wanders and you pause the thoughts of what else would taste so good for him?

“Oh we have to have these for the next PTA meeting.” Harleen declares.

“Y/N, these are really, really good.” Muneeba adds, everyone declares their agreements.

“Thank you.” You grin, looking up at Bucky wanting to share this moment.

“Told you.” He watches the way you light up and the earlier nervousness dwindles away.

“Honestly with the two of them having Celiac its so difficult finding good gluten-free goods, do you do more?” Jimmy pipes up, you nod.

He beams and turns to his daughters if they would like more cakes.

“Barnes, you have to have your girl send her menu to everyone at the office.” Scott’s mouth is full and Hope laughs. Cassie giggles as her dad grins with his mouth covered in frosting.

“I agree, son.” Yusuf calls out.

You smile at all of them, your heart feeling full.

You turn to find Bucky but he’s heading towards the kitchen. You know he wasn’t done with the cake. Did he even eat it?

Bucky stands staring down at the little cake. Everyone was praising it rightfully. The buttercream frosting was delicious each time he tasted it. His mind wondered about the way you taste. He groaned, he needed to keep the filth out of his mind.

“James?” Your voice has him turn.

His eyes move over you, almost protective.

“I’m okay.” You assure him, “Just wanted to check up on you.”

“I’m fine, just feeling a little full.” He sighs, he still struggled based on what Brock had told him you said, maybe he should just ask you.

“You did enjoy those chicken seekhs, I bet Muneeba would give the recipe.” You try to not let him not eating the cake affect you but it does, it still did.

“Did you get any orders?” He distracts the two of you.

“There are some inquiries.” You look back out as there is laughter in the living room.

“Come back out?” You request, offering your hand.

“In a moment.” He stares at your hand, not missing the slight shake before you retract it.

“Okay, Puffin.” Your voice wavers, but you turn heading towards the guest bathroom.

He’s just playing along, he doesn’t want anything to do with you beyond public displays.

Your mind urges to remind your heart. Your heart brings up the soft moments shared through the night. Disallowing your mind to ruin them.

Staring at yourself in the mirror was never great, you had been avoiding it all night. The confrontation with yourself. Wondering if your ethical integrity bit you in your ass?

Bucky re-enters the living room, he does end up eating the cake. It wasn’t as delicious as the brownie but he loved it. The way you made flavours work was something he knew was a skill and asset.

His frown deepens when he still can’t locate you.

He catches Hope’s gaze and she points to the guest bathroom, he walks over.

Before he can knock he hears a quiet sniffle.

Your hands grip the counter, you try to keep quiet. You don’t need to cry in the midst of such a happy event that makes you wonder when was the last time your family ever did something like this?

The water runs as you do your best to hide evidence of breakdowns and tears. Over the years you had gotten good at it.

Bucky leans against the opposite wall waiting for you to come out. Has he upset you? Were you not enjoying the night? You seemed alright.

The lock clicks and you step out. Bucky observes you, not a trace that you were crying. If he hadn’t heard the sniffle he wouldn’t have guessed you cried.

“Oh, Puffin, hey.” You smile at him.

“Sunshine.” He acknowledges.

“Sorry I realised my mascara turned clumpy so it took a while to get my lashes looking decent, again.” You walk past him but his fingers wrap around your forearm pulling you back. He has you between the wall and him.

“James.” You chastise looking to the side, anyone would walk in and see the two of you.

“Sunshine.” He gazes down at you, caging you in, a mischievous smile.

Your hands rest on his chest. Warmth seeping into your palms.

“Anyone could see—,”

“Let them.” The tip of his nose brushes along your jaw.

“James.” Your voice is breathless, you feel his stubble graze over the spot beneath your earlobe.

The soft sigh you make sinks into his blood. He repeats the action. The sound amplified.

“Prettiest sounds.” He praises, you feel your nipples harden and clit pulse.

He shouldn’t ask, shouldn’t ruin this stolen moment.

“Why were you crying?” He whispers.

You tense, “I-I wasn’t.”

“I heard your sniffle, Sunshine. It isn’t of any use lying.” His hand moves from your waist to your jaw making you look into his eyes.

“It’s nothing important.” When your gaze shifts his grip tightens you look back into his storming blue eyes.

“It is important.” He presses, fingertips now stroking the skin of your jaw.

You close your eyes, the gesture already fueling the inferno that craved affection to process everything. The weight in your chest tightens you don’t know how long you can keep this up. You felt genuine happiness through the night. You don’t want it to crumble.

Bucky watches you, even with your eyes closed he realises you’re struggling with something. He doesn’t understand why he’s so adamant to know what is wrong. Why does he want to fix the issue?

“C-Can we discuss this later?” You hate how weak you sound, “I don’t want to ruin how the night is going.”

“Alright.” Bucky gently releases you, the air changes.

The thick tension dissolves and Bucky finds he can breathe slightly easier. You look up at him, he moves his gaze away from you that very moment.

“We should head back.” You move towards the bathroom again, giving yourself a once over.

Bucky says nothing, only nods.

As you both walk back to the living area, you reach for his hand. Bucky intertwines your fingers with his giving a light squeeze.

The Singhs are the first to leave when you spot bags in almost everyone’s hands you wonder how Muneeba was able to to package the food for everyone after the feast.

As the families begin to leave the conversation dwindles, Mrs. Singh takes your number and texts you from the car about an upcoming order she would like you to cater.

Bags are thrust into yours and Bucky’s hands Muneeba grinning brightly. Yusuf smiles as they walk you and Bucky to the door.

When Yusuf doesn’t shake hands with Bucky but envelopes him into a hug and a pat on the head. The same pink tinge takes over his features, tendrils of his hair brush his cheekbones and you feel yourself admire him yet again.

When Yusuf turns to you with an unreadable expression you wonder breifly if you messed up in some way.

“Thank you for coming.” He says, the same head pat and a hug from Muneeba engulfs you.

“Can you both adopt me?” You chuckle, trying not to let the emotions get to you.

The couple laughs, “Consider yourself already family , Y/N.” Yusuf smiles as his wife nods.

Bucky watches how much those words mean to you, part of him hating how deceiving you two were being. You look up at him. Bucky leans forward, his lips brushing against your temple.

Your free hands intertwine yet again as the two of you walk back to Bucky’s car. Once in the quiet familiar background you find yourself deflating.

“Thank you.” You look at his side profile, illuminated by the streetlights.

“For what?” His expression is neutral.

“You could have made up a reason to not attend, but you didn’t and well, while I feel bad lying to them. I, I had fun, I felt like it was one big family. That I was a part of it.”

At the stoplight Bucky looks at you, “Thank you for coming along.” He says nothing else as he begins to drive as the lights turn green. You study him for a few moments more before turning your gaze away onto the road.

“Also Puffins aren’t Penguins, Sunshine.” He speaks up nearing your apartment.

“I know.” You giggle.

“We established penguins.” Something within Bucky commits the sound of your laugh to memory.

“I know, Puffin.” You tease, he huffs.

“Why?” Blue eyes flicker to you.

“Because ‘penguin’ is too long to say.” You shrug.

“Oh so is length an issue for you?” He smirks, “It shouldn’t be.”

You lick your lips, “Shut up, you’re puffin.”

“I refuse to be anything other than a penguin.” His right hand moves off the steering wheel to emphasise his point. He turns the wheel with the palm of his left.

“Okay, so then,” You will yourself not to lose your train of thought, do not look at those forearms.

“Then?” He sounds smug.

Those fucking forearms.

“Then,” you look at his face, “Puffin is code for penguin.”

“What?” He makes a face, nose scrunched and his dislike dripping .

“It’s a nickname, when I say puffin, you will know I mean penguin.” You explain laughing at his irritation.

“Sunshine, that isn’t right.”

“What would you prefer? It’s either a puffin or a baby penguin?”

“Nestling, yes.”

“Chick, the most commonly used term is chick.”

He stays quiet, two fingers resting over his lips as he contemplates his choices.

You only grin.

Bucky grumbles under his breath.

You grin wider.

“I’m sorry, what was that, puffin?”

“Wipe that grin off your face, Sunshine.”

“Nope, I don’t think I will. Puffin.”

“I’m only allowing it since I know you mean penguin.” His hand returns to the steering wheel.

“Was that so hard?”

“Extremely.”

“Aww, little troubled Puffin.” You chuckle, he pulls into the parking of your building.

His phone chimes, he ignores it.

As you move out of the car he retrieves your bag of food. Locking the car he walks over to your side.

“I’m walking you up.” He explains in a tone that leaves no room to protest.

You nod, walking with him.

Bucky’s phone chimes several times in succession.

“It could be important.” You urge, he glances at the notification tab.

“It’s pictures of the night, from Yusuf’s phone. Kamala sent the ones she took across and some videos.”

“That’s nice.” You smile, retrieving your keys, you walk ahead, a part of you doesn’t want to open the door. It had been so nice not fighting and no animosity.

Bucky wonders why the evening passed by in a blur. Though he had been hoping for it to be this way. He didn’t like that the time together was ending.

You open the door, he waits for you to let him inside.

“Come on in, Puffin.” You smile at his grimace, “It means penguin, lose the frown.”

Your chastisement earns you the loss of his frown but no smile.

As he sets down the bag you move to empty it offering him a bottle in exchange. His phone chimes again, he opens the device. More images, then a series of texts from Steve. He frowns.

Steve: Hey, you’re out with Y/N tonight right? Keep an eye on her.

“You really enjoyed those chicken seekhs.” You comment on seeing the box of them.

“They were good.” He doesn’t look up as he speaks.

Steve: I know you might be busy but don’t say anything that results in a fight. Wanda said she’s had a really tough evening.

Bucky replies back to Steve asking what is wrong.

Steve: She got fired, there was some issue at work, a coworker ratted her out for speaking to the client since a few of them suspected the boss to be lying to the client. She was going to fire the entire team but she took the hit on herself.

Bucky: Has she gone crazy?

Steve: a teammate just gave birth, it almost reminds me of you standing up for May to get equal pay at your old job.

Bucky: Steve, the estimate you sent for the trip, how is she? Her rent even? And I did not get fired, I threatened to quit.

The typing bubble appears.

You place the box into the bag to give it to Bucky.

“You can take these, you like them more–,”

“You got fired? Why didn’t you say anything?” He cuts you off.

You purse your lips, “Steve asked you to check in?”

“Sunshine, if you had so much going on we could have avoided going.”

The usage of the nickname in a non teasing context has you pause.

“James, I have savings and I already uploaded my CV to job portals. I was fired, yes, but the boss was looting the client and Christina is a two faced bitch undermining me as team leader and she spoke to Viper before the bloody meeting. I couldn’t stand it. She threatened to fire my entire team and Yelena just joined in and needs to pay for her education, Maria and Natasha just had a baby. I have baking and though it isn’t much I can get by, plus freelancing.”

Bucky just stares at you, “You’re incredibly–,”

His phone rings on the counter, Shaina’s name displays across the screen.

There is a jolt in your chest, it’s around ten, he wasn’t supposed to stay. He looks up at you. You stare at the phone, trying to understand why you feel as if your heart has a crack. None of this is real. None of tonight was real. Not a single thing. Maybe he even lied to Steve about not seeing Shaina.

“You should go.” You sound cold even to yourself.

“Sunshine, I–,”

You push the bag against his chest, his palm holds it there.

“I told you it was okay for you to see other people, we’re just doing this for their parents and now your boss and co-workers. I’m sorry if you have to keep her under wraps, I know you probably want–,”

She calls again, cutting you off.

“I cut it off before that night.” He explains, you shake your head.

“James, I’m no one. You don’t need to explain. I just think I would like to be alone.” You lie, you want nothing more than for someone to be there with you.

His jaw clenches at your words then he nods.

You walk till the door, your hands shake on the door knob. When you shut the door behind him resting your forehead against the wood the sobs you were holding inside bubble over.

Bucky pauses at the sound, hand reaching for your doorbell.

The phone rings again and he cuts the call trying to send the message to Shaina.

He walks to the elevator and down to the car, his movements mechanical. He reads through Steve’s messages.

Steve: And you did quit even though it would be to be set back by a year at Kamal.

Bucky: Shaina called in front of Y/N.

Steve: oh, didn’t you cut it off way before the date that was avoided because of your fiancé strategizing with Y/N?

Bucky: yeah

Steve: how did she respond

Bucky: she said it was okay for me to see her, she apologised for having Shaina to be under the radar, then she said she didn’t need my reasonings because she was a no one.

Steve: I can see where she’s coming from, Beck’s entire relationship, at least what Wanda and I know now… It was pretty ugly.

Bucky: She’s not a ‘no one’.

Steve: Did you tell her that?

Bucky stares at the five words, his or Steve’s he doesn’t know. He’s out of the car, retracing his path to you. Impatiently he waits for the elevator tapping his foot. Pressing your floor several times to have the doors shut. His large strides have him outside your door in no time.

The incessant knocking irritates you. You wipe your eyes and blow your nose before answering.

“Did you forget something, Puffin?” you ask him, he crosses the threshold, shutting the door behind him as you shuffle backward.

“You aren’t a no one, Sunshine.” He tells you, wills you to listen.

“James.” Your throat tightens, his left palm cups your cheek.

“You are not a no one.” Bucky repeats, his right hand moves to your waist, pulling you closer. Your hands move to his shoulders.

Before you can say anything you feel his lips brushing over yours, you tilt your head. Meeting his lips. The kiss turns greedy, both of you wanting to taste the other. The taste of caramel stays upon his tongue.

Bucky hums into the kiss, when your hand moves to his hair, nails softly scraping over his scalp before tugging him closer. His tongue moves along your bottom lip, you tug on his bottom lip, sucking upon it as he groans against you. Fingers brushing along your neck heading down your body.

He lifts you up, turning so you’re pressed between the wall and him. You preen as you feel him grind against you. You nip at his lips again, the kiss growing more primal. Bucky’s hand moves under your shirt, having you arch against him.

You pull away for air tugging on his lips, his mouth latches to your neck in search of spots that will make him hear your pretty sounds. You whimper as he locates the spot on your neck. He nips at the flesh. Your hands paw at his shirt, trying to unbutton his shirt wanting to feel more of his skin.

“Are you clean?” You whisper, biting on your bottom lip. You didn’t want to ruin anything, but you had to ask.

“Got tested a month ago, clean bill of health.” He answers, looking right into your eyes.

“I’m clean too.” You tell him.

“Never hesitate to ask.” He reminds you, “Or to stop me, or say no.”

You nod, his thumb traces over your kiss bitten lips. Hearing your sigh he gives you those half smirks that you’ve read about. Lips back on yours, hands squeezing your flesh. You whimper into the kiss. Bucky pulls away, wanting to hear you.

“Let me hear those pretty sounds, Sunshine. So fucking gorgeous.” His voice is deep, almost ravenous.

He grinds against you in sync with his stubble brushing over the spot on your sternum. He draws out a moan from you, louder than before. He pulls your top off. Mouth tracing the now exposed top of your breasts.

“Good girl.” His praise has you arch yet again, your hips bucking searching for more friction.

“James,” Your fingers dig into his shoulders, “Need, need more.” you moan yet again as he teases you with another grind of his hardened length against your aching core with his stubble teasing your skin.

“Bucky. You’re going to be screaming Bucky tonight.” He seals his words with a promising kiss.

He lets you unbutton his shirt, your lips on his neck, you feel him growl as your lips ghost below his Adam's apple. Pushing his shirt off your palms trace over his arms. Bucky watches you admire him, he moves a hand one by one to keep you propped up as he gets rid of the shirt.

“You’re beautiful.” You whisper, meeting his eyes and pulling him in for another kiss. His palm cups your cheek yet again, you lean into his warmth. Into him.

Setting your trembling legs down he sinks to his knees.

A thin ring of blue surrounds his pupils, as he watches you through hooded eyes unbuttoning your jeans and pushing them down your legs, he licks his lips in anticipation looking at your soaked panties.

“Sunshine, are you this eager for me?” He teases, helping you out of your jeans and then the panties. He kisses his way from your calf to your thigh. Your right leg is placed over his shoulder. He bites down on the flesh of your mound, tongue tracing down from the apex to your clit.

You moan as he sucks upon the flesh. His stubble brushing over your folds.

“Fucking divine, Sunshine.” He moans, your fingers tug harshly on his hair.

“Bucky,” Your hips seek his tongue every time he pulls back.

Bucky moves his tongue through your folds, lapping at the arousal he caused, his tongue flicks over your clit, your mind begins to melt into mush. Ever so often he moans, the vibrations drawing sparks along your spine.

Bucky, Bucky, Bucky.

You find yourself being drawn towards the edge.

“I know, Sunshine.”

You look down at him as his fingers tease your entrance, his lips glistening, stubble coated with arousal. His skin flushed. His warm breath fans over your slick folds, he sinks one finger into you. The digit thick as he pumps his finger, Bucky groans as your walls clench around his fingers.

He watches your chest rise and fall with your gasps, he lazily moves his finger, curving over your walls in search of the spot that would make you fall apart. He adds another finger to his thrusts.

“F-fuck! Bucky!” You moan as his fingers brush along your walls. He latches his mouth onto your clit. He continues his thrusts right over the spot that had you cry out angling his fingers that his middle finger grazes over and over.

Your moans grow louder, thighs shaking around his face and your knee flexes further, drawing his body closer. Your scent engulfing him, mind, body and soul being devoured by you as he devours your weeping core.

“Bucky I’m–,” The orgasm hits you breaking off your warning words and coating him in your arousal, Bucky’s responding moan makes you cry out. Teeth nip at your clit making you jolt, his fingers stay buried lazily tapping over that spongy spot.

Drawing aftershocks from you he grins wickedly when his mouth pulls away.

Your eyes fall to half mast when he licks his lips, “Even better than your desserts, Sunshine.”

Your brain melts into a puddle.

“This might just be my favourite.” He licks his fingers clean next, slowly he moves your limb down, supporting your weight. You swallow thickly as the orgasm dies down, skin heating as you take him in as he stands.

Sweat lightly coats his body, a flush spreads across his chest. Your nails have left little indents into his shoulder.

“That was,” Your mind searches for your vocabulary.

He chuckles, the laugh rumbling in his chest, “I know, I feel the same.”

“But I didn’t do anything–,”

“Oh you did plenty with the way you responded.” He assures, pushing a stray strand of your hair back.

“Can, could you sit on the couch, Puffin?” You try to sound not too dazed.

“Why?” He raises a brow.

“Because I want to taste you too.” your hand moves down his chest, over his abdomen the muscles lightly flex under your touch.

“Fuck.” He mutters you undo the button, slowly dragging the zipper down. Your eyes trained upon him. Bucky groans when you palm him.

“Sunshine.” he says breathlessly, you meet his eyes.

You reach up to kiss him, tasting yourself on them. Your hands push at the pants, they fall to the ground Bucky steps out of them. Aimlessly while kissing you walk forwards, having him back towards the couch. He bites down on your lip harshly when you palm him yet again.

Your index finger grazes over the trail of hair under the waistband of his boxers. Bucky groans, your thighs clench at the sound. He helps you in ridding himself of the last bit of clothing. His hands reach to unclasp your bra, discarding it as well.

You take in his length, fingertip tracing the vein to the slight curve, a bead of precum coats him. You lick your lips in anticipation. Just as you shift to kneel, his hands prevent you from doing so, he moves to where his pants are, retrieving them and folding them in half onto your hardwood floors.

Bucky sits on the couch, his cock hitting his abdomen, you move to your knees.

His girth and length both impressive, his hand comes to caress your cheek, “Take what you can.” he whispers softly.

You say nothing, leaning closer, licking a stripe from tip to base and back up. Your palms on his hair covered thighs to support yourself.

Bucky moans when your mouth wraps around him, slowly taking him in halfway then back up, your tongue swiping on his head. You repeat the motion, taking him more and more, till your nose grazes his pelvis, you moan around him.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” He moans, his hips lightly thrust, you whimper, eyes tearing up, “You feel so good.”

You cup his balls, massaging them, his hips buck again, “Y/N, if you keep doing that, I'm not going to last.”

You pull away from him still massaging his balls, squeezing them.

“Who said I want you to last?” Your voice has a rasp and you smirk then take him in all the way, moaning around him. His hand grasps your head. You control the pace but his grip begins to tighten.

You increase your pace, both on his length and your teasing touches turn longer, a little harder. Bucky finds himself climbing towards euphoria, his skin flushed and breaths frantic and when you look up at him. His cock in your mouth he keeps his eyes open, watching you take his seed as he cums in your mouth.

The salty taste has you humming, he grips your head to stop you from moving as he cums but you want to have his orgasm last, so you grab his wrist. Continuing till he hisses and his cock begins to soften before you let go of him.

“That was…” Bucky breathes hard, eyes sparkling anew.

“I know, I feel the same.” You smile at him.

Bucky reaches over to your side table grabbing the water bottles you keep there. He opens one and gives it to you after he has you sit up on the couch. He then opens one for himself, chugging it in half.

He contemplates before speaking, “I hope you aren’t expecting more, I didn’t exactly carry protection.”

“I don’t have any on me either, I think it’s okay.” You shrug, he nods.

“Good.” he clears his throat looking back at the bottle.

“I know this probably doesn’t mean anything.” You tell him, he looks up at you quizzically, you continue, “It's fine if it's a one off, I don’t expect anything from you, Puffin.”

“What if I don’t want it to be a one off?” He says, you stare at him.

“Are you proposing a fake fiancé with benefits?” You ask, he nods.

“Can I take the remainder of the weekend to think about it?” You request.

“Ofcourse, if you need longer that too.” He assures, standing up and retrieving his boxers. He hands you your discarded clothes as well.

On opposite sides of the room you put your clothes back on. He watches you turn to face him.

“Text me once you get home?” You request he nods.

You walk him to the door once again.

“I meant what I said, you are not a no one.” He repeats at the threshold.

“Puffin.” You say in warning.

“Sunshine.” He matches your tone.

“I’ll text you.” He breaks the gaze lock you both were in, this time you watch him enter the elevator and head down before closing and locking your door.

AN: ooooh 12k words and i loved each of them, i know it probably got super long in the middle but i just had so much fun exploring the khan family dynamic and giving the reader a happy family memory. also mr barnes how can you say “Bucky. You’re going to be screaming Bucky tonight.” and not expect us to scream into the void? let me know what you all thought!! thank you for reading!!!!!

tagging: @slutforsexyseabass @elle14-blog1 @sxnshinebxcky @sebsgirl71479 @pandaxnienke @stevesmewmew @tfandtws @povlvr @tanyaspartak @maggiejackson3 @brodymarx @ladylee76 @buckymcbuckbarnes @stickyjudgeturtleghost (strikedthrough if unable to be tagged)

taglist open!!

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