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cloudcountry · 2 months ago

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hello! I was hoping if u can do the ghouls reaction or what they would do if the reader or s/o was kidnapped thank you and have a nice day/evening!!

SUMMARY: while on a mission, you disappear from your partner. how do the ghouls deal with the fallout?

CHARACTERS: Alan, Towa, Taiga, Subaru, Haku.

COMMENTS: i left this a lil open ended anomaly wise so you can read this however you'd like!! thank u for being so kind, i had a lot of fun with this prompt <3

For this mission, it was imperative that Darkwick send the least amount of people possible. The anomaly in question had been observed "disappearing" people who entered its labyrinth in large groups, never to be seen again. The only way to get those people back, some said, was to solve the labyrinth...but Darkwick isn’t certain if that’s how it works. In order to assure the safety of you and the house you were assigned to, only one ghoul is allowed to come with you...

Said ghoul was intent on protecting you and getting to the bottom of this case without incident. He did his best to navigate the labyrinth with the supplies Darkwick had given and the research his house had conducted. It’s dark, the only light offered to your unfit eyes being the candles lining the walls. The bricks press closer and closer to your skin, and you shiver. He notices and drapes his jacket over your shoulders. You thank him softly.

He continues, checking back regularly to make sure you’re still there. His hand reaches for you and you take it, intertwining your fingers.

The second the pads of your fingertips touch the back of his hand, you vanish.

Subaru whips around and stabs at the air behind him with his umbrella, assuming a physical anomaly had ripped you out from his grasp. When he doesn’t see anything, he returns his weapon to his side and makes his way to the end of the labyrinth.

His heart is pounding and he isn’t sure if the information he’s received is correct, especially not after the anomaly had taken you when you were only a two person team. It doesn’t make sense. Darrkwick shouldn’t have sent you here at all, he knows that much—but when he pleaded with the Chancellor to reconsider, he was swiftly denied.

He’s the only hope you have. He’s the only one you can trust.

There’s something he’s missing. There’s something he’s missing.

What if he’s wrong?

Subaru tosses away those thoughts with resolute huff, eyeing the walls of the labyrinth. Rest assured, he will remain calm and see you to safety, so that when he finds you and the anomaly who kidnapped you, he can solve this peacefully.

Taiga doesn’t play these games. You think you can just take the trembling kitty cat he was supposed to look after right from under his nose? No, he knows exactly what’s going on here. It’d be more strange for him to not understand.

He sighs deeply, scratching the back of his neck.

“You can do better than that, c’mon,” he taunts, taking out his gun, “Give me them back.”

And he opens fire.

The walls scream, wailing as his bullets sink into their flesh. He cackles as they scream, wide gaping mouths pleading for mercy from the pain.

“Give ‘em back!” he yells, jamming his foot into one of the contorted face’s eyes, “You want us to leave? Then cough ‘em up!”

If the anomaly knows what’s good for it, it’ll return you to where you belong. As trigger happy as Taiga is, he’s smart, and he’d had a feeling what the anomaly was doing from the start.

Towa turns back around to look for you, confused when you disappear. He mumbles a bit under his breath before flawlessly completing the labyrinth, coming out the other end with an expectant look on his face.

“~~~?”

“...! ~~ ~~~~!”

He has his ways of finding you. Without Haru or you, Towa is dragging his feet though...if nobody is here to praise him, then what is he even working for? He misses you. Knocking on the walls, he politely asks for you back.

“~~~~ ~~~ ~~~~~~ ~~? ~~~...”

Nothing.

Towa puffs up his cheeks and punches the wall hard. The force of it ripples the brick, a chorus of screams echoing throughout the structure. Towa is unbothered, staring dead at the screaming faces that emerge, wailing at the top of their lungs. Darkness falls over the labyrinth, each candle blown out one by one as the wind picks up.

“Where is Dandelion?” Towa asks, voice low and threatening, “I won’t ask again.”

Haku keeps his wits about him, even though you’re gone and he’s stuck gripping the space where your fingers were. He sighs, rubbing his temples before taking a deep breath.

Do not go for the easiest solution. Do not rush things. See it through. What would Subaru do?

And so, he stops. He sits down in the spot you disappeared and thinks, pushing thoughts about you in danger out of his mind. Those kinds of thoughts won't help you now. If only he’d know the anomaly would still target smaller groups, he would have gone in by himself and left you outside—

But that’s not foolproof either, since the anomaly could have a larger radius than he anticipated, and he could never have known you’d even gone missing until he left—

This won’t help you now.

He presses a hand against the wall to push himself up, and jumps when he begins to sink. Tearing his hand away, Haku stares wide eyed at the wall.

Oh.

That’s not something he expected.

Well, this makes this rather easy, doesn’t it?

Alan finds himself tightening his grip on where your hand used to be before letting go, whipping around to face you in hopes that you didn’t crumble from the force of his hand.

When he finds you gone, his heart shudders painfully in his chest. You’re in danger. He made a mistake, it is his fault, and now he has to solve it.

Carefully, Alan turns the corner, eyes darting along the different paths he could take. His feet carry him forward, but he stops. He starts moving again, and then stops.

Why does it feel like he shouldn’t leave the spot where you disappeared?

Trust your instincts Alan! They’re really good!

Your words still find him, even now.

Alan walks back the way he came to the spot you disappeared. Observing his surroundings, he takes note of blood, slipping through the cracks in the bricks.

He knows it when he sees it.

Rushing forward, he crawls his finger into the crack, tearing the bricks away from the wall. He hears the screaming but keeps going, fighting on auto pilot, clawing at the flesh of the labyrinth until his hand grasps yours and he pulls you out of the wall.

#auburn's fics <3 #auburn talks tokyo debunker <3 #tokyo debunker #tokyo debunker x reader #alan mido #alan mido x reader #alan mido x mc #subaru kagami #subaru kagami x reader #subaru kagami x mc #haku kusanagi x reader #haku kusanagi #haku kusanagi x mc #towa otonashi #towa otonashi x reader #towa otonashi x mc #taiga hoshibami #taiga hoshibami x reader #taiga hoshibami x mc

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hainge · 2 months ago

Text

Makeup and fun!

bllk!dads feat:Michael Kaiser, Itoshi Sae, Shidou Ryusei, Yukimiya Kenyu and Chigiri Hyoma a/n: I am in fact so proud of chigiri's one adhabdahbfhj wrote it while kicking my feet it’s also almost 2am </3 productive life

Michael Kaiser

It started off normal.

Michael was on the couch, reading a book with one leg up, while Matilda sat beside him, munching on an apple and staring at him like he might suddenly turn into a movie.

They’d built Legos earlier, some weird-looking castle that had two doors and no windows. Matilda was proud. Michael was too tired to point out the structural flaws.

Then, she disappeared for five minutes.

When she came back, she held a makeup bag.

“Let’s do your makeup,” she said cheerfully.

Michael looked over his book. “Don’t you wanna draw or something?”

“Nope. You sit still. I’ll make you beautiful.”

“…I’m already beautiful.”

“You’ll be more.”

He sighed, marking his page. “I don’t think your mom will be happy if she finds out.”

“I’ll be careful.”

That was a lie. But she said it with such confidence, he let it slide.

Ten minutes in, Matilda had broken the mascara wand clean in half. She gasped, whispered “oh no,” and then used her fingers instead. It was clumpy. His lashes stuck together like tree branches after a storm.

She moved on.

Her tiny hands dug into a fancy compact, blush, probably, and then she scooped concealer with the same finger. She didn’t blend. She smooshed. Right onto his cheek.

“There,” she said. “Nice and red. Like a tomato.”

“Cool,” Michael muttered, trying not to blink.

Next came lipstick. It snapped halfway through the first layer. She shrugged and pushed the broken part into his lips like she was applying glue to a poster.

“I’m so good at this.”

“You are,” he agreed, because lying to your kid was allowed when they were already emotionally attached to the outcome.

Then came the eyebrow gel.

Except it wasn’t gel anymore. She mixed it with something else. Foundation? Water? Guilt?

Whatever it was, it ended up smeared across his eyebrows like brown glue. He scratched his head and instantly regretted it.

And then… the powder.

It slipped from her hand with a soft “uh-oh” and hit the floor like a mini explosion. €45, gone in a puff of shimmer.

They both stared at it.

“Don’t move,” she whispered. “We clean.”

They wiped, dusted, swept. Matilda even used one of his old soccer jerseys to soak up some of the fallout. When they were done, the room was cleaner than before.

They sat in silence. Michael looked like a defeated clown.

Matilda smiled. “You look amazing.”

“Thanks. I can’t feel my face.”

You came home already done with the day.

Work had been hell. Your boss was passive-aggressive, your back ached, and all you wanted was to put on your comfiest sweatshirt and exist in silence for twenty minutes without being needed.

Instead, you opened the bathroom door.

And paused.

The first thing you noticed was the powder. It was subtle, but your trained eyes caught it, the faint shimmer near the baseboards, the slightly off-color grout line.

Your heart sank.

Then came the rest.

The cracked blush compact. Your favorite lipstick, snapped in two like a breadstick. Foundation cap missing. Concealer and blush mixed. Mascara, twisted open and dried out. Your setting powder? Gone. Vaporized. You didn’t even want to touch it.

You stood there, gripping the doorframe, jaw tight.

They touched your stuff.

You stormed down the hallway, shoes still on, bag still hanging from one shoulder. No greeting. No preamble. You walked into the living room and-

There he was.

Michael. Your grown-ass husband. Lying on the couch like he hadn’t committed a war crime. Face full of smeared glitter, eyebrows suspiciously sticky, and faint remnants of fuchsia lipstick in the corner of his mouth.

He looked up, blinking innocently. “Hey.”

Your hands clenched into fists. “Michael.”

“Yeah?”

“Why do you look like a rejected Bratz doll?”

He straightened slightly. “Okay, first of all, that’s rude.”

You dropped your bag onto the floor with a thud. “What. Did. You. Do.”

From behind the couch, a small head popped up. “Hi Mommy!”

Matilda.

You exhaled through your nose. “What. Did she do to you?”

“I was her model,” Michael said, a bit too proudly.

“And my makeup?” you snapped.

Michael hesitated. “She… borrowed it.”

“You LET her?”

“She said she’d be careful!”

“She's FIVE, Michael!”

Matilda slowly slid out of view.

You marched into the middle of the room, pointing toward the hallway. “Did you not see the broken blush? The mascara? My €45 setting powder? It’s a war zone in there.”

Michael had the nerve to look slightly offended. “We cleaned.”

“I don’t care if you vacuumed it with a Dyson on holy mode. My entire routine is in pieces.”

Matilda peeked back up, holding a Lego brick like a peace offering. “We made a castle?”

You turned back to Michael. “You know what else you made? A €124 shopping list.”

He winced.

“Oh, and you’re not just replacing the makeup,” you added. “You’re explaining to the Sephora cashier why you need glitter-resistant setting spray and a blush called 'Super orgasm'”

He sighed. “Do I have to say the shade name out loud?”

“Oh, you’ll say it. Loud and proud.”

Matilda tugged at your sleeve. “Mommy… am I grounded?”

You crouched down, voice soft but firm. “Matilda, sweetie, I love you. But if you touch my serum again, I’ll file a restraining order.”

Michael cleared his throat. “Does that go for me too?”

You glared at him. “Michael, if you so much as look at my mascara again, I swear to God—”

He stood up quickly. “Matilda. Shoes. Let’s go.”

“Where?” she asked.

“To sell a kidney,” he muttered. “Apparently I owe your mom half of Sephora.”

Itoshi Sae

Sae should’ve known better the moment Kimiko came into the room with her hands on her hips like a CEO.

“Daddy,” she announced, “I’m going to be a makeup artist when I grow up.”

Sae didn’t look up from the TV. “That so?”

“I already made a lookbook. I call this one ‘Sun Princess.’” She shoved a paper into his face. It was a crayon drawing of a girl with gold eyeshadow and orange cheeks, wearing what looked like a tiara made of eyeliner pens.

Sae blinked. “Looks... bright.”

She nodded. “Yup. And now you’re going to wear it.”

He slowly turned his head. “Come again?”

“We’re trying it. On your face. With Mommy’s makeup.”

Sae closed his book. “That’s not going to happen.”

She squinted at him. “Do you want to hurt my dreams, Daddy?”

“…no"

“Sit down. I already laid out the palette.”

He sighed, like a man heading into war. “Just the eyeshadow. Nothing else.”

Kimiko was already tying a towel around his neck like a cape. “Sure, sure.”

An hour later, he’d lost all control of the situation.

The “just eyeshadow” plan had escalated fast.

“Stop frowning. You’re creasing it,” she scolded, dabbing more gold onto his lids with a tiny sponge she kept calling her “power blender.”

He didn’t dare move.

“I said close your eyes. But not too tight. Ugh, Daddy, this is hard work. I’m building a brand here.”

Sae said nothing. His cheeks were burning, not emotionally, physically. Kimiko had layered on so much blush, he could feel it tingling. Not to mention the bronzer, which she’d called “spicy powder” and generously applied all over his jawline and cheekbones.

“Looking good,” she muttered to herself, smudging one wing of eyeliner with the grace of a chaotic Picasso. One side is snatched. The other is... interpretive.

“I can’t feel my skin,” he said.

“You don’t need to. You’re art.”

He looked in the mirror. Orange undertone. Flamingo blush. Uneven eyeliner. But no products broken. No brushes destroyed. She even cleaned the sponge after each shade change. Honestly? She had technique.

Still. He felt like a baked sweet potato.

You came home to this masterpiece.

Kicked off your shoes, dropped your bag, walked into the living room and just stopped. Your tired brain tried to process the sight:

Your husband. Sitting rigid on the couch. Bronzed to oblivion. Eyeliner tragic. Sparkle highlight catching the light like a prism. And your daughter, hands on hips, nodding at her own handiwork.

“...Sae,” you said slowly. “What the hell is on your face?”

“She’s living her dream,” he deadpanned.

Kimiko spun around. “Mommy, look! He’s the Sun Princess! I even did contour but like… experimental.”

You covered your mouth, trying not to laugh. “Oh wow. Oh my God. Your nose contour looks like… like a lightning bolt.”

“On purpose,” Kimiko said. “It’s called editorial chaos.”

You pulled out your phone. “Hold still. This is going on the family group chat.”

“Don’t,” Sae muttered.

“Say cheese, Sun Princess.”

He didn’t even blink. Just stared, cheeks blazing with artificial color as you snapped five photos in a row.

“I hope you realize this is revenge,” you grinned. “For letting her eat frosting with a spoon last week.”

Kimiko raised her hand. “I approve this revenge.”

Shidou Ryusei

You should’ve known something was wrong the moment the house was quiet.

Too quiet.

No screaming. No running. No Shidou yelling about “epic snack time” or your daughter humming off-key to anime openings. Just… silence.

Until you stepped inside the room you shared with him, and saw it.

The ring light was on. Your makeup bag was open. And right in front of the camera, posed with one hip popped and fake lashes batting like palm leaves in a storm, was your husband.

Ryusei. In full glam.

And beside him, perched on a pink stool like a gremlin beauty influencer, was Shoko, holding a lip gloss wand like a weapon of mass destruction.

They both turned around, eyes wide.

“Hope you gu—” you started, then just froze. “What is going on?”

A beat of silence.

Then: “Welcome back to our channel,” Shidou grinned, glitter highlighter blinding under the ring light. Shoko struck a pose.

An Hour Earlier

They were sitting on the couch, halfway through watching cursed 5-Minute Crafts videos, when a tutorial for “Easy Lip Gloss in 60 Seconds” played.

Shidou squinted at it. Something in his brain clicked. Telepathically, Shoko gasped beside him.

They locked eyes.

“Let’s do a GRWM,” Shidou said.

“Yesssss,” Shoko whispered. “Get. Ready. With. Me.”

“Camera?”

“Charging.”

“Lighting?”

“Ring light from the closet.”

“Angle?”

“Front-facing and flawless.”

“Makeup?”

“…Mommy’s drawer.”

They fist-bumped.

The transformation was chaos, but organized chaos. Shoko, a menace with a mission, directed him like a six-year-old Spielberg.

“Okay Daddy, sit still. I’m doing the liner.”

“Sharp enough to kill a man?”

“Sharp enough to stab my opps.”

“Hell yeah.”

She narrated everything in a dramatic little Voiceover. “Okay guysss… so like, first we’re priming…what's primer again?…wait nevermind.”

Ryusei couldn’t stop grinning. He even helped her blend the concealer like a pro. Who knew he had technique?

And then—

“Time for the… the bonze,” Shoko announced proudly.

“Bronzer, pumpkin,” he corrected.

“Yes, that.”

She smeared it directly on his nose, no mercy. “DAMN, sweetie,” he said, wheezing.

They tried lashes. Took three tries. The glue got on his eyebrow. He may have lost some dignity but they made it work.

“Okay now do the final pose,” Shoko directed. “Look over the shoulder, then wink.”

Ryusei turned slowly to the camera, lashes flapping like moth wings. He winked. Then fake gasped.

That’s when you walked in.

Back to Present

You just stood there, blinking at the sight: Your grown-ass husband, with fuchsia blush, eyeliner wings that could lift a small bird, and lips shimmering in your limited edition gloss. Your daughter looking like she just conquered the runway.

They looked back at you with identical wide, guilty eyes.

“…Is that my Charlotte Tilbury lipstick?” you asked.

“Allegedly,” Shidou said.

“Those are my fake lashes,” you added, stepping closer.

Shoko giggled. “They’re Dad’s now.”

You blinked at them, speechless.

Then you started laughing, really laughing, because what else could you do when your husband looked like a drag queen who'd been coached by a sugar-fueled child?

“Pose again,” you said, pulling out your phone. “I’m not letting this go undocumented.”

Shoko threw up peace signs. Shidou did the duck lips. You died a little inside, and lived.

Yukimiya Kenyu

The house was calm. The kind of calm that only happened when the laundry was folded, the sun was setting, and the soft sound of your snoring floated from the couch nearby, finally getting the nap you'd been threatening to take all week.

Yukimiya sat on the bed beside a basket of warm clothes, folding neatly, rhythmically, while Emi matched socks and chatted like a little bird.

“daddy,” she said suddenly, “can I do your makeup after this?”

He paused mid-fold. “Hmm… I don’t know, sweetie. Mommy doesn’t want anyone near her vanity.”

She tilted her head, already pouting. “But I got all A’s on my tests.”

He exhaled, long and slow, but smiled. He was a weak man for his daughter, especially when her bangs fell over her eyes and her lip wobbled.

“Fine,” he said, setting the shirt down. “But we have to be quick. And we cannot—cannot—destroy anything.”

“Deal!” she beamed.

They tiptoed toward your vanity like two burglars in a heist movie. Emi took it very seriously. She had laid out each product like surgical tools. Yukimiya helped her sort everything, identifying brushes and palettes like a trained professional.

“Okay, this is foundation. Use the sponge gently. Don’t drag it.”

“Yes, Papa.”

“This is for your cheeks. A little goes a long way.”

“Yes, Papa.”

“This is highlighter, but—oh. You already opened it. Okay.”

By the time she was done, he looked like a K-pop idol. Skin glowing. Blush soft and natural. Lashes curled and coated delicately. His lips were still untouched, waiting.

“Now lipstick, Daddy,” Emi said with deadly calm.

“Wait—be gentle with that, the twisty part is—”

PRESS.

Too late.

She had shoved the lipstick halfway into his teeth with full first-grade determination. The tube cracked sideways under the pressure, smearing bright coral across his chin.

“…Sweetie,” he whispered, frozen. “Oh no. Oh no no no-”

“What’s wrong?”

“You broke Mommy’s favorite lipstick.”

Emi gasped. “Oh no. We were doing so well.”

“Ken…”

Both of them stiffened.

Your sleepy voice cut through the silence like a horror soundtrack.

You stepped into the room, blinking through your post-nap fog. You rubbed your eyes and froze.

There he was.

Yukimiya Kenyu, crouched beside your vanity. Eyes sparkly. Cheeks glowing. Coral lipstick half on, half under his mouth. Your daughter standing next to him, looking like she’d just murdered Barbie.

“Are you with…” you squinted harder, “what the…”

Yukimiya smiled with all the grace he could muster. “She got all A’s.”

You stared at him.

Then at your lipstick.

Then back at him.

“…You better pray that wasn’t my favorite-”

You blinked. Took a second look.

“…Actually, you know what? I always hated that shade. Looked weird on me. Makes sense it ends up working on you, of course.”

Yukimiya raised an eyebrow. Emi beamed.

“We slayed Mommy,” she said proudly.

You sighed, rubbing your face. “Yeah, yeah, you slayed, whatever. But next time? Ask me first.”

Yukimiya held up a tissue in surrender. “Noted.”

“I need coffee before I decide how mad I am.”

Yukimiya mouthed “thank god” and immediately started wiping his lips with a tissue. Emi was already trying to hide the broken lipstick under the table like a criminal.

Chigiri Hyoma

The night started peacefully.

You were out with your friends, finally letting yourself breathe. A girls' night, long overdue. You left the twins with Chigiri, who had promised you nothing catastrophic would happen while you were gone.

Promises are just... words, really.

8:43 PM – Chigiri's Living Room

“UNO,” Chigiri said flatly, dropping a +4 on Mayu with zero remorse.

Mayu’s face crumpled. “…Not fair.”

Himari let out the most dramatic sigh in the history of sighs. “I’m bored. Can we do something else?”

Chigiri leaned back against the couch. “Like what?”

She looked around. Scanned. Calculated. And then, there it was.

Your mascara.

Sitting innocently on the coffee table. Taunting fate.

“Makeup,” Himari declared. “On you, Dad.”

Chigiri didn’t even flinch. “Not a good idea.”

“Daaaaaad.”

“Not a goooood ideaaaaa.”

“If you don’t let us, I’ll tell Mommy about the vase you broke when you kicked the ball inside the house.”

He paused.

“…Fine. Fineeeee. But both of you get one side. We’re splitting my face. Equal rights.”

9:12 PM – The War Zone

Chigiri sat cross-legged on the floor, every cell in his body screaming, “This is how legends die.”

Mayu, gentle and focused, handled the left side of his face with unexpected grace. She actually blended.

“Good job, Mayu,” he mumbled.

Himari was on a different planet.

“Noooo, don’t move, you’re gonna ruin my art!”

“Why does it feel like you're stabbing me?”

“Beauty is pain, Daddy.”

And then, suddenly-

“...What are you drawing?”

“Nothing.”

Pause.

“Is that-HIMARI--”

“SHHHH.”

She had drawn a dick on his cheek. In eyeliner.

Where a blush contour should be.

“Where did you even learn what that is?!”

“I have bros in my class.”

1:34 AM – The Aftermath

When you walked through the door, the house was oddly quiet. The lights were low. Peaceful.

You tiptoed to your room and found all three of them curled up in your bed, the twins tucked under each arm of your very unconscious husband.

But something glinted under the dim lamp light.

You leaned in.

"...Is that..."

You squinted.

"...Is that a dick on your face?!"

You slapped his shoulder in a harsh whisper. “Bae… babe. Babe! Wake up!”

“Huh—wha—” he blinked up at you like a stunned deer. “What time is it?”

You pointed furiously. “What. The hell. Is this?!”

He wiped his cheek lazily and only smeared the eyeliner more. “Himari’s creative?”

You stared at him, then sighed and walked to the bathroom. Looked down at the toilet and...surprise! there there was your mascara, floating.

The Next Morning – Breakfast Table of Regret

You sipped your coffee, staring across the table at your husband.

He sat on the opposite end like a man on trial, face wiped clean but soul permanently stained.

“So,” you said flatly. “Want to explain why my mascara was floating in the toilet like a drowned rat?”

Chigiri cleared his throat. “In my defense… she was threatening me with blackmail.”

“And the eyeshadow mixed with concealer?”

“Himari was blending ‘like the YouTubers.’”

“And the eyeliner art?”

“…She said it was anatomically accurate. I don’t even know what that means anymore.”

You rubbed your temples.

In the corner, Mayu and Himari giggled over their cereal.

“Next time,” you muttered, “I’m hiring a babysitter. One with armor.”

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gf2bellamy · 5 months ago

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hii!! i hope you’re well, i read some of your fics and just wanted to say you’re so talented and i really enjoyed reading them :) i also saw your requests are open and i actually have one if that’s okay?

could you maybe write a fic for isaac lahey where he and reader aren’t together but for a while they’ve had feelings for each other (both are too shy/awkward to admit it + reader is maybe scott’s sister). reader and isaac somehow get stuck in an enclosed space and reader has to calm isaac down after he has a panic attack and almost attacks reader. after she helps calm him maybe they confess to each other and it ends with something wholesome? idk it’s up to you!

im soo sorry if this is too long lol and feel free to ignore this request if you’d like <33 thank youu :)

stuck — isaac lahey

pairing: isaac lahey x fem!reader ( no use of y/n ) content warnings: isaac's dad , panic attack , isaac attacking reader , a/n: thank you so much for your request !! i felt so bad for him during this scene in s3 :( hope you enjoy this ( and i hope it's not too long ) <3

You were doodling absentmindedly in your notebook, your pen scratching lazy patterns across the page.

You shouldn’t have been doodling—especially not considering the reason you were sitting in detention in the first place.

Mr. Harris had been very clear during chemistry class: “Stop defacing your notes with meaningless scribbles, or you’ll be spending your afternoon in this very room.”

And yet, here you were, stuck in detention because you’d gotten lost in your little drawings instead of paying attention to the lesson.

To be fair, you were pretty sure Mr. Harris had it out for you anyway. He’d been holding a grudge ever since Scott had terrorized his class last year.

Your brother had an uncanny ability to escape the consequences of his actions, which unfortunately left you to deal with the fallout.

You glanced up from your notebook and shifted in your seat, letting your eyes wander over the room.

It wasn’t exactly bustling with activity—there were only a few other students scattered throughout. One of them caught your attention immediately.

Isaac Lahey.

He was sitting a couple of seats in front of you and to the left, his curly blonde-brown hair slightly messy as though he’d run his hands through it one too many times.

He stared down at the blank sheet of paper in front of him, looking like he was trying very hard not to fall asleep.

A small smile tugged at your lips.You lowered your gaze back to your notebook, trying to refocus on your doodles, but you couldn’t help yourself. Every so often, you glanced up, sneaking another look at him.

What you didn’t know was that Isaac had been doing the same thing.

From the corner of his eye, he kept catching glimpses of you. The way your brow furrowed slightly as you concentrated on your sketches.

The little smile that appeared when you were amused by something you’d drawn. Even the way you absentmindedly twirled your pen between your fingers was... distracting.

Suddenly your name was called.

Mr. Harris’s voice cut through the silence, making you jolt upright in your seat. Your pen froze mid-doodle, and you instinctively flipped the page of your notebook to hide your sketches.

“Yes?” you asked cautiously, meeting his gaze.

“Go to the library and fetch the chemistry textbooks for the next class,” he said, his tone curt and impatient.

You blinked, relief washing over you as you realized you’d just been handed a golden ticket out of this stuffy detention room. The idea of not having to sit here for another hour doodling under Mr. Harris’s scrutinizing stare sounded like heaven. Plus, you were pretty familiar with the chemistry section of the library. It was tucked away in a secluded little corner, practically hidden inside a small room at the back—a quiet sanctuary.

“Sure,” you said quickly, already pushing your chair back.

But just as you stood, Mr. Harris started listing the books he wanted you to retrieve. You stopped mid-step, growing more and more horrified with each title he rattled off. By the time he finished, it sounded less like a list of books and more like a complete inventory of the chemistry section itself.

You stared at him, wide-eyed. “How am I supposed to carry all of those?”

Mr. Harris raised an unimpressed eyebrow, as if he found your question completely irrelevant. He stared you down for a long moment, and you weren’t sure if he was about to start yelling or simply assign you an extra hour of detention for questioning him.

Finally, he glanced around the room, his gaze landing on someone behind you.

“Lahey,” he barked, his voice sharp. “Go help her.”

You turned your head, just in time to catch Isaac blinking in surprise. He looked as if he’d just woken up from a daze, his blue eyes wide as he processed what Mr. Harris had just said.

“Uh... sure,” Isaac muttered, standing up.

You bit the inside of your cheek, unsure whether to be annoyed or amused by the turn of events.

On one hand, the idea of spending time with Isaac Lahey—someone who had a habit of making you feel inexplicably flustered—was nerve-wracking.

On the other hand, there was no way you could have carried all those books by yourself, so maybe this wasn’t the worst outcome.

Isaac slowly walked over to where you were standing, his hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans.

You exchanged a quick look with Isaac before heading for the door. He followed close behind, the heels of his sneakers making soft noises against the tiled floor.

The two of you walked in silence for a few moments, the quiet only broken by the faint echo of voices from other classrooms.

You couldn’t help but sneak a glance at him from the corner of your eye. He was tall and his curly blonde-brown hair looked almost golden under the fluorescent hallway lights.

As you stepped into the library, a shiver ran down your spine. You rubbed your arms, mumbling, “Geez, it’s freezing in here.”

Isaac, who was just a step behind you, glanced around and replied casually, “They probably left the window open. It’s the wind.”

Reaching the secluded room where the chemistry books were kept, you fished the key Mr. Harris had begrudgingly handed you out of your pocket. The lock clicked open with a small metallic sound, and you pushed the door wide.

“I’m gonna be honest with you,” you began, stepping inside the small, dimly lit room with Isaac trailing close behind. “I don’t remember the names of half the books we’re supposed to get.”

A soft chuckle escaped from him, low and warm, breaking the stillness. Your heart gave a little stutter at the sound, and you silently cursed yourself for how easily his laugh could affect you.

What you didn’t notice, though, was Isaac pausing briefly as he stepped into the room, taking a deep, steadying breath. The walls felt like they were closing in already, the tightness of the space triggering a familiar sense of unease. But he wasn’t about to show that—not in front of you.

He clenched his jaw and forced himself to focus on you instead, the way your fingers skimmed the spines of the books, while concentrating on finding the needed books. It was enough to momentarily distract him from the panic threatening to claw its way up his chest.

“Well, that makes two of us,” Isaac finally said, attempting a joke. His voice came out steady enough, laced with a light teasing edge as he scanned the shelves.

You rolled your eyes, though the corners of your lips twitched upward. “Great. So, between the two of us, we’ll definitely manage to fail this task.”

“Confidence is key,” he quipped, earning a small laugh from you that made his chest feel a little less tight.

The two of you fell into a rhythm, moving to opposite sides of the cramped room as you worked. Your fingers brushed over the rough edges of old chemistry books, occasionally pulling one out to glance at the title before replacing it.

For you, the silence was pleasant. For Isaac, it was suffocating.

His gaze kept flicking back to you, as though anchoring himself to the sight of you could keep the memories at bay. The shadows in the corners of the room seemed to press in closer, threatening to drag him back to dark basements and locked doors, but every time his breathing quickened, he’d force his eyes back to you.

You must’ve felt his gaze because you glanced over your shoulder, catching him mid-stare. “You okay over there?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah,” he said quickly, too quickly. He cleared his throat, pretending to focus on a random book in front of him. “Totally fine.”

You squinted at him, not entirely convinced, but let it go. “If you say so.”

As you turned back to the shelves, Isaac silently cursed himself. He needed to get it together. The last thing he wanted was for you to see him like this—on the edge of unraveling over something as simple as a small room.

The door behind you groaned faintly, drawing both your attention. A sudden thud echoed as the heavy wooden door swung shut, making you jump.

“What on—” you started, spinning around to face it.

Isaac froze, his pulse spiking as the sound reverberated through the room. His throat felt dry, and for a second, he couldn’t move.

“Is it... locked?” you asked, stepping toward the door and jiggling the handle. It didn’t budge.

Isaac’s jaw clenched as he stared at the door, his mind racing. He stepped forward grabbing the handle.

“It’s locked,” he confirmed, his voice tight.

“Well, that’s just perfect,” you muttered, turning to face him. “Guess we’re stuck until someone finds us.”

Isaac didn’t respond, his hands flexing at his sides as he tried to steady his breathing.

You frowned, stepping closer to him. “Hey, are you sure you’re okay?”

“I’m fine,” he said quickly, though the edge in his voice betrayed him.

“Isaac,” you said softly, tilting your head as you studied him.

Isaac’s hands were on the door handle, pushing and pulling with increasing desperation. The sound of the metal creaking under his grip filled the small room, making your chest tighten.

“Isaac,” you repeated, your voice steady but edged with concern. He didn’t seem to hear you, his breaths growing harsher, each exhale shaky and uneven.

You took a step closer, trying to figure out how to snap him out of whatever was happening. That’s when you noticed it—his eyes. The faint, eerie glow of gold that had replaced his usual blue.

Oh no.

“Isaac,” you said again, your voice softer now, but still firm. He kept wrestling with the door, his claws just starting to extend. You felt your heart start to race.

He was slipping.

Tentatively, you reached out, your fingers brushing against his arm. “Isaac, it’s okay—”

Before you could finish, his head snapped toward you, his glowing eyes locking onto yours. He moved faster than you could react, grabbing your wrist. You gasped, pain flaring as his claws pressed against your skin.

“Isaac, stop!” you murmured, trying to keep your voice calm even as his hold tightened. He wasn’t himself—not entirely—and you needed to tread carefully.

But he wasn’t letting go. He stepped forward, forcing you backward until your back hit the shelves with a dull thud. The books rattled from the impact, and you felt your heart lurch.

“Isaac,” you tried again, louder this time, your voice trembling as you looked into his eyes. His fangs were visible now, and his expression was feral—more animal than human.

You swallowed hard, panic bubbling up, but you forced yourself to stay steady. “Isaac, it’s me,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

For a moment, it felt like he didn’t even recognize you. His grip on your wrist was unrelenting, and you could feel your pulse pounding against his claws.

“Isaac, listen to me!” you said, your voice stronger this time. “You’re not in danger. It’s okay. You’re okay.”

His eyes flickered, the golden hue dimming slightly before brightening again. You could see the battle playing out in his head—his human side wrestling with the wolf.

“You’re hurting me,” you said, your voice strained but steady. You bit down on your lip to keep from crying out, the sharp sting in your wrist growing harder to ignore.

Isaac’s glowing yellow eyes bore into yours, unrecognizing, primal. You tugged lightly, trying to free your hand from his grip, but his hold was unrelenting.

Your lip trembled under your teeth, and you bit down harder, trying to focus on anything other than the ache radiating from his claws.

“Isaac,” you said again, your voice breaking slightly. “Please, you’re hurting me.”

The words seemed to hang in the air, cutting through the haze in his mind. His glowing eyes faltered, flickering between gold and blue as realization began to creep in.

His grip loosened—first slightly, then completely—as if he’d been burned. His claws retracted instantly, and he stumbled back, his expression shifting from feral to horrified in a heartbeat.

“Oh my God,” he breathed, his voice shaking. “I—I’m so sorry.”

You instinctively cradled your wrist, wincing at the dull ache left behind, but your focus stayed on him. His face was pale, his eyes wide with guilt and fear. He looked down at his hands as though they weren’t his own, flexing his fingers in disbelief.

“I didn’t mean—” His voice cracked as he stepped back again, putting more distance between the two of you. “I didn’t want to—”

Isaac sat down on the floor, his back against the cold bookshelf, his head buried in his hands as he tried to steady his breathing. His chest heaved, and his fingers gripped at his hair like it was the only thing holding him together.

You winced slightly, feeling the remnants of pain in your wrist, but you pushed it aside, focusing on him.

He was far more important right now.

You slowly took a step forward, feeling the pull in your chest to comfort him, to reassure him that it was going to be okay. Without thinking too much about it, you lowered yourself down beside him, sitting carefully on the floor.

Isaac’s eyes slowly met yours, his face pale and his expression still full of guilt. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled, his voice rough.

His gaze dropped to your wrist, where his marks still lingered, faint red lines, like a reminder of what had just happened. “I hurt you...”

His words trailed off. His breath hitched, and you could see how deeply he regretted it. The self-blame was eating at him, his shoulders slumping even more as he shook his head. “I’m so sorry...”

You carefully leaned forward. “Isaac…” you started softly, your voice gentle, steady. “I’m okay.”

His eyes searched yours, filled with doubt. "Are you?" he whispered, his voice barely above a breath. He was so torn, and the weight of his concern for you was written across his face.

You scooted a little closer, now sitting in front of him but close enough that you could feel his warmth.

“Yeah,” you nodded, your voice firm, even though you could still feel the tremor in your own chest.

Isaac looked down at his hands, his fingers trembling slightly.You gently reached out, placing your hand on his arm, hoping the contact would ground him.

He didn’t pull away this time.

He looked up at you then, eyes softening as they met yours.

“I don’t know what happened,” he confessed quietly, his voice a little broken. “I—I lost control, and I thought—God, I thought I was going to hurt you. I didn’t want to hurt you.”

“I know you didn’t,” you whispered. You couldn’t help but reach out, gently brushing a strand of hair from his forehead. “You’re not that person, Isaac. I know that.”

He stared at you for a moment, his expression slowly shifting, as if something inside him was beginning to break free. The tension in his shoulders relaxed, just a little, and the intensity in his eyes softened.

“I don’t want to hurt anyone,” he murmured, his voice a little shakier now. “Especially you.”

Your heart skipped a beat at his words.

The silence that fell between you two was no longer uncomfortable but filled with unspoken understanding.

It wasn’t until Isaac cleared his throat that the moment seemed to shift, something in his demeanor changing. “You know… I’ve been meaning to tell you something.” His voice was quiet, almost hesitant, but his eyes never left yours.

You looked at him, your heart starting to race.

“What is it?” you asked, voice soft.

Isaac seemed to take a deep breath before he spoke again. “I... I like you. I don’t just mean as a friend, or... whatever this is. I—” He broke off, his cheeks flushed with embarrassment. “I think I’ve liked you for a while now, and I never said anything because I didn’t know how to—”

He stopped himself, his words fumbling as he tried to figure out how to make sense of what he was saying.

“I like you too,” you said before he could finish, the words tumbling out before you could second-guess them.

Isaac’s eyes widened slightly, and for a moment, he looked almost unsure if he had heard you right. Then, a soft smile crept onto his face, and your heart skipped a beat. It was shy, hesitant, but real.

“I really like you,” you repeated, this time with a little more confidence, feeling the warmth spread through your chest.

Isaac’s eyes softened as he processed your confession. The tension in his face slowly faded, replaced by a warmth that seemed to radiate from him.

A gentle smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, and for a moment, you thought it might be the first real, carefree smile you had seen from him in a long time.

You smiled back, your breath finally slowing as the weight on your chest lifted.

After a few moments of silence, you shifted, moving closer to him without really thinking.

Without saying a word, you gently rested your head against his shoulder. It was a small gesture, but the way Isaac’s body stiffened at first, as if unsure of what to do, made you smile softly.

But then, he relaxed. His breath seemed to steady, and you felt his shoulder shift slightly as he adjusted to the new closeness.

He didn’t pull away. Instead, he let you stay there, his warmth spreading through you like a quiet reassurance.

His hand, which had been fidgeting nervously in his lap, slowly moved towards yours. It hovered for a second, unsure, before his fingers gently brushed against yours.

You smiled to yourself, squeezing his hand lightly, the action as comforting for you as it seemed to be for him.

Isaac shifted just a little, turning slightly toward you, his head leaning ever so slightly closer to yours. You could feel his breath on your hair, soft and steady. I

"I'm glad you're here," Isaac murmured softly, his voice almost a whisper.

You smiled, your eyes fluttering closed as the weight of the day, the tension, and the worries drifted away. "Me too."

And for a while, you just stayed there, sitting in the dim light of the small room, head resting on his shoulder, hands intertwined, finding comfort in each other’s touch.

#isaac lahey #isaac lahey x reader #isaac lahey x you #isaac lahey x y/n #isaac lahey fluff #isaac lahey angst #teen wolf x reader #teen wolf #teen wolf x you #teen wolf fanfic #teen wolf fanfiction

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sweet-as-an-angel · 2 years ago

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Miguel’s Reaction to You Calling Him a DILF

Warnings: Implied Smut, Dominant Miguel, Profanity, Use of ‘Daddy’, Lyla Trying Her Best <3, Fem Reader.

Despite spending every day with Lyla, an absolutely chronically online AI, Miguel knows little in the way of internet jargon.

Thus, this term - DILF - is one he’s never come across before. Namely because Lyla has never seen it fit to implement it into a conversation.

But, when Miguel overheard you calling him your “Favourite DILF; just a gorgeous, scrumptious specimen,” he had to ask Lyla to translate for him.

Miguel swore he could see her eyes widen, her brow stiffen and crease.

“It’s…it’s — uh — well…”

Lyla scratched the back of her head, her stare sloping off to the side — away from Miguel’s cattish stare. Her teeth gritted, a gateway, a preventative measure to ensure your safety and wellbeing. The only barrier between your open secret and miguel’s discovery of it.

“Oh, come on, Lyla,” Miguel crossed his arms over his chest, as if to inhibit the anxiety starting to bloom there. He doubted that you’d ever bad-mouth him, especially given how close the two of you were, but Lyla’s apprehension was starting to spark some doubts. Regardless, he persevered, kept his stare hard and neutral. “It can’t be that bad.”

“It..it means…” Lyla sighed, pinched the bridge of her nose beneath her glasses. She didn’t look up at Miguel, instead finding you in her mind’s eye and cursing you. And wishing the best for your safety.

“Dad I’d like to fuck.”

She came out with it, the words almost poisonous and sour on her tongue as they passed through. And the fact that she’d had to say them to Miguel of all people didn’t help.

At first, Miguel didn’t think he’d heard Lyla correctly, his posture and face remaining unchanged in the fallout of his discovery.

It was only after three seconds passed, four, five, that he truly heard — understood — what Lyla had said.

“Oh.”

A warmth bled across Miguel’s face, a creeping blush hidden only by the console’s yellow hue. Without another word, Mifuel turned tail, unfurling his arms, unravelling to his broadest potential. He began his descent, his destination clear as day in his mind’s eye.

Lyla’s’s eyes widened further, almost bulging from her head. She called, stammering: “(Y-Y/N) probably didn’t mean it! Not like that! So-so don’t go too hard on ‘er, okay?”

Miguel searched the entire facility for you, his face a concoction of emotions nobody (save for yourself) had ever seen before, thus making his mood indecipherable to all that were not you.

He eventually found you, isolated, in a room. Practically begging for what was to come next. He slipped inside, closed the door behind him.

You turned and smiled, sensing Miguel’s presence; the impression of authority.

“Hey, Miggy!” you chimed, eyes crescents. You turned back to checking off your stock list, paying little heed to the shadow advancing on you.

“Playing innocent, I see,” Miguel’s voice swooped and glided as the greatest bird of prey does, coming to stand mere centimetres behind you, his warmth at your back; a dark sun.

“I thought you’d be at home, caring for our child.” His hands came to sit on your shoulders, heavy and large. For a second, you were befuddled, believing Miguel to be spinning you a riddle. Then, realisation. Your heart dropped; you knew Miguel could feel it. Oh my God, Lyla.

“We…don’t have a child, Miguel,” you laughed, humourless and breathy. You knew you had to play your cards right. Carefully. Miguel gave a heavy, brief chuckle.

“Not yet,” he squeezed your shoulders, hands slipping down the length of your arms, the feeling of spiders creeping along your skin. “But seeing as you’re so keen on calling me daddy, I see no harm in pretending.”

His lips came to your neck, pressing deceptively soft kisses there.

You were frozen, though a fire stoked within you. One you couldn’t bring yourself to put out.

“After all, I am your DILF, aren’t I?”

You bit your lip, eyes squeezing shut as Miguel’s hands slid to your waist, pulling your back to his front where you felt something thick and large and bulging against your tailbone.

“A baseless accusation, don’t you think ?”

Your breath shuttered. “I didn’t mean it as a bad thing—“

“It doesn’t matter how you meant it. What matters is it’s inaccurate,” Miguel spoke with a stoic logic you’d seen one too many times. He pulled you to him, tighter, closer, his heart pounding against your back.

“But, luckily for you, I’m in a giving mood. I’m not going to punish you for your little transgression. Instead, I’m going to give you an out.” He descended upon your skin again, nipping it between his blunted teeth, the threat of his fangs in your periphery.

“What…what’s that?” You almost didn’t want to ask, your heart creeping up your throat as if to muffle your words.

Miguel’s hand slipped from your waist, sliding sharp fingers down the expanse of your back, leaving trails of goosebumps. You felt his hand come between where the most prominent part of himself and you connected, his knuckles digging into the small of your back. He ran a hand over himself through his suit, palmed himself. His eye twitched. “You just have to be a good girl and lay down and take whatever I give you until I say we’re done.”

His grip on you tightened. You could feel how dark his gaze had become, weighing heavy on you like a robe.

You said nothing – could say nothing.

“Now, you wanna say that again,” his voice was muffled by your skin, his kisses becoming wetter, languid. He pushed himself against you, taking you by the hips and pulling you so he caught you just right. You spied his eye twitch in the reflection of the filing cabinet across from you as you cracked an eye open, a steady redness overtaking Miguel’s stare, his lips turning up at the corners, revealing his fangs.

“Or are you gonna keep that pretty little mouth shut and make me into a real daddy ?”

Reblog for more content like this! It helps creators like myself tremendously and it is greatly appreciated :-)

Masterlist Masterpost

Yandere Masterlist Juicy Original Content <3

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violentdelightsandviolentends · 2 years ago

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Honey Girl. Chapter Four.

Chapter One. Chapter Two. Chapter Three. Chapter Five. Chapter Six. Chapter Seven. Chapter Eight. Chapter Nine. Chapter Ten. Series Masterlist. The Playlist.

Chapter Synopsis - You and Bucky deal with the fallout of Cora's reveal. What's that saying? If you love something, let it go...

Pairing - Dad'sBestFriend! Bucky Barnes x Female Reader - soulmate au

Age Rating - 18+

Warnings - cursing. angst. alcohol consumption.

Word Count - 5k

Author's Note - i can only apologise that this chapter took a little while!! my life is at a super weird place rn, so i'm just trying to find the time when i can. words cannot describe how incredible all of your support is for Honey Girl. the fact you all reblog and comment and send me asks means the world to me. love you all so much.

as always, reblogs, comments and feedback (even anonymous feedback) are immensely appreciated!! your reblogs are the only way to circulate my fics, which keeps me going <3

Masterlist. Inbox.

You can't breathe.

It's like all of the oxygen has been sucked out of the air, leaving it dry, brittle, sterile. Your lungs are burning, scratched like sandpaper. The backyard is spinning, like teenagers at a roller rink - all flashing lights and endless rotations.

You haven't taken your eyes off of Bucky, and he hasn't taken his eyes off of you. If you were thinking more logically, you'd probably realise that you've been staring at each other for too long, and it's starting to look a little suspicious. You don't care.

Your ears are ringing. It's like there's been an explosion, and you're scattered amongst the debris. Smoke, flames, rubble. A catastrophic detonation in your parents backyard.

A gentle hand on your shoulder snaps you back to reality. The music is still playing, everyone around the table is still conversing, the house still stands. No explosion here.

"Sweetheart?"

It's your Mom, clearly sensing your distress. She probably thinks you're upset with her, for telling Cora. You are, but that's not what's causing the pain in your chest.

"Come inside with me, baby girl. Let's get away from the noise for a second."

She grabs your hand and pulls you out of your chair, still none the wiser to the magnetism preventing you from breaking your gaze that's locked on Bucky's. She practically drags you inside, the cool air of the kitchen waking you up.

"Sweetheart, I am so, so sorry. Cora overheard the conversation we had earlier. I thought it was good news, so I didn't think to ask her to keep it private."

She looks like she's being eaten alive by guilt. Your bottom lip quivers, your eyes well up, and before you know it, there are warm, salty tears dripping down your cheeks.

"Hey, hey. What's the matter?"

You sit down on the tiled floor, back pressed against the cabinets. Curling your knees to your chest, you try to stifle your sobs.

"Everything's such a mess, Mama."

She drops to the ground, gathering you in her arms. She holds you as tight as she can, rubbing soothing circles into your back and whispering comforting words in your ear. Eventually, she pulls back to look at you.

"What's the matter, baby? I thought Stella's call was a good thing - that you'd be excited to go back to California."

You take a shaky breath before replying.

"It's just... I think - I don't, it's... it's so complicated."

She traces her fingers over your cheeks, your eyebrows, your nose. She dances her fingertips over your face, as if she's committing it to her mind forever. It brings back warm and cosy childhood memories of her doing the same thing to help you sleep. The two of you would snuggle up against all of your pillows in bed, tucked up and safe. She'd lie with you until she was sure you were dreaming, before kissing you on the forehead and sneaking out.

"Talk to me. We can figure it out. We always do."

"It's not that simple. I just... there's a lot going on, I guess. I thought it'd be an easy decision, but it isn't, and it's all I can think about, and it's eating me up because I'm so scared I'm gonna do the wrong thing -"

You cut yourself off with a sob, resting your head on your knees.

"I knew there was something bothering you, sweetheart. Why didn't you come and talk to us? Even if we can't fix it, we can listen."

"I thought I could handle it. I thought I could figure it out on my own."

"You don't ever have to carry stress like this on your own, baby girl. Ever. You hear me?"

You nod and lean into her, letting her rock you in her arms on the kitchen floor.

"I'm sorry again, about Cora. She means well, you know she does."

"I know. Doesn't feel like it sometimes, but I know."

A pause.

"Okay, sweetheart. What are we going to do now? Whatever you decide, we'll support you."

"Your Mom's right," your Dad says from the doorway. "Whatever you choose, we'll be right alongside you. No matter what."

He strides over to join the two of you on the floor, sandwiching you between him and your Mom.

"If you need help packing up and moving, we're here. If you need us to create an elaborate lie to tell Stella, we're here. Either way, you've got us."

You smile at him gently, leaning to rest your head on his shoulder. Regardless of what happens, you have two parents that love you more than anything in the world. That has to count for something.

"You wanna rejoin us outside, or are you too tired? No one will blame you if you go home."

"I think I'll go home," you murmur. "I don't wanna face any more questions for today."

"Bucky's just gone too. Said something about an early morning tomorrow."

You inhale shakily at the mention of his name. You know you'll have to face him sooner or later.

Your Dad stands and grabs your hands to help you to your feet, before doing the same to your Mom. They both hug you tightly before walking you out to the front door.

"Promise me you'll call if you need anything. Anything."

"I promise, Mama. Don't worry about me. I'll be okay."

"Do you want one of us to walk you home?"

"No, it's okay. I think I need the air."

"Love you, baby girl."

"Love you too. Both of you."

✵ ✵ ·　 ✵ 　　 * · ✵

You're halfway home when you decide to turn around. You need to talk to Bucky.

It doesn't take you long to figure out where he is. You can feel in your chest that he's close by, that he hasn't strayed far. He hasn't gone home, though. The Universe is pulling you in the opposite direction.

The beach.

You spin on your heel and start walking down the road, picking up pace as you go. You can feel rain in the air, threatening to spill from the clouds at any given moment. Before you know it, you're running, sprinting along the sidewalk in the direction of your soulmate.

You get to the small boardwalk and look out over the sand. The sky is grey as concrete, cold and unforgiving. You spot a figure in a worn brown leather jacket by the shore, and you know instantly. It's him.

You march onto the beach with your shoes still on, wrapping your arms around yourself to act as a shield from the wind. You left your jacket at your parent's house, too eager to get out of there in a hurry. The rain is suspended in the air, never quite reaching the ground. You know it's only a matter of time before the heavens open.

"Bucky!" you yell, practically bounding across the sand. "Buck!"

He doesn't turn because he hears your voice. He turns because he suddenly feels like he can breathe, which he hasn't been able to do for the last hour. He knew you were there before you shouted his name.

"Bucky, please!"

He spins on his heel and stops walking, waiting for you to catch up with him. You're sprinting, panting as you reach him. The ocean waves crash against the shore, dangerously close to his boots.

"Buck, just let me explain," you choke out, trying to catch your breath.

You finally stop running and look at him. He looks broken. His hair looks like he's pulled his fingers through it repeatedly, tear tracks staining his cheeks, lips bitten red. You've never seen him upset like this. It's the worst thing you've ever witnessed.

"There's nothing to explain," he begins calmly, trying to keep a lid on his feelings.

"There is, Buck. There is. I... Cora overheard me confiding in my Mom, telling her about a call I'd gotten, from a classmate at culinary school. It was just an offer - I haven't accepted anything! I never meant for you to find out like this, I swear. It's all just... it's all so fucked up."

He looks at you in disbelief.

"No, you know what's fucked up?" he asks, raising his voice. "Finding out that my soulmate is moving across the country from some alcoholic suburban mom at a dinner party!"

You've never heard him yell before. You don't like it at all. You gather yourself before replying calmly, determined to keep you emotions under wraps.

"I've been trying to find a way to talk to you about it, but I didn't know where to start. How do I even begin to explain any of this?"

"Maybe, I don't know - 'hey, Buck, I got a call and I'm thinking of moving thousands of miles away for my dream job,' would be a good place to start?"

"It's more complicated than that. I was trying to protect you."

"Protect me from what?"

"From blowing your life up for me!"

You stare at each other for a minute, both of you unblinking.

"What are you talking about?" he croaks out.

"You'd drop everything for me, Bucky, and I can't let you do that. You've worked too damn hard to let it all go."

He's dumbfounded, for a moment. Not because he doesn't understand. No. He's realising that you're right.

"I knew that if I told you straight away, you'd have persuaded me to let you come with, and I would have said yes. And then you'd regret it, and you'd resent me, and we'd be over before we've even begun."

When he doesn't say anything, you continue.

"The thing is, Buck, the selfish part of me would have happily invited you along. Me and you, in California, running a bakery? That sounds like a fucking dream. But I have to listen to the other side of me, the selfless part. And that part is telling me that you have worked too damn hard for too damn long just for me to take that all away."

You feel droplets of water on your face, and for a moment, you wonder when you started to cry again. Then, in the deep distance, you hear a crack of thunder. The rain begins to pour, both of you caught in a storm in more ways than one.

"You don't get to make a decision like that for me!" he finally responds, yelling to be heard over the downpour. "We're supposed to talk about these things! To figure them out together! That's what soulmates are - we're a team!"

"I can't think rationally around you, Bucky! It's like all logic goes out the window. I'm just so overwhelmed with-"

You stop yourself before the word comes out, but you both know what you were about to say. He feels it in his ribcage, the surge of emotion from you.

"-with how I feel about you. You're my forever, Buck, and I feel like -" a sob wracks through you, shaking your frame. "-like I've fucked it all up already."

Your tears mix with the rainwater, trailing down your cheeks. You watch as Bucky fights with himself, internally battling his feelings.

"You're not the only one fucking it up," he chokes. "You repeatedly told me we had to take it slow, but I just... couldn't help myself. I've never felt for anyone what I feel for you, and being away from you for even a minute is fucking torture. I moved us too fast, and now look where we are. We've become the equivalent of a married couple in a couple of weeks. No one can handle change that sudden."

"It's not.. none of this is your fault, Buck. I kept something from you, something big. I know it doesn't matter now, but I want you to know how hard it's been to not tell you. It was killing me."

"I felt it," he murmurs shakily, willing himself not to cry. "In my chest. You were so torn up about something, and I just couldn't figure out what it was. I should have pushed you more, but I was worried I'd push you away."

Your lip trembles as you watch him bite his own anxiously.

"I'm so scared, Buck," you whisper. "I feel so lost and so confused and like nothing makes sense."

"Me too," he whispers back, eyes never leaving yours. "I'm fucking terrified. Our worlds have been turned upside down."

"Is it... is it supposed to be this hard? Everyone makes it sound so easy."

"I don't know. Maybe the Universe heard that we were anti-soulmate and decided to be super tough on us. Cosmic karma, or something."

You choke out a laugh through your tears. The rain has plastered your clothes to your body, the salty wind chilling you to the bone. Without thinking, Bucky takes off his jacket and wraps it around you, unable to watch you shiver any longer.

"What now?" you ask quietly. If he wasn't standing so close, he wouldn't have heard it.

"Let's get out of the storm," he suggests, nodding his head towards the path home. "We can talk some more somewhere warmer."

You sniffle and take a deep breath, willing yourself to get it together. Bucky surprises you by linking your hand with his, warm fingers intertwining around yours.

He doesn't let go the whole way home.

✵ ✵ ·　 ✵ 　　 * · ✵

Bucky takes you to his house.

You haven't been here since before your Tethering. You walk in the door, and your knees threaten to give way.

It's overwhelming.

Everywhere - everything - smells like Bucky. His scent clings to every fabric, every upholstery, every room. There's pictures scattered across the mantelpiece, his handsome face staring at you wherever you go. The house is warm, cosy, and just so Bucky it makes your heart ache.

You walk over to the fireplace, taking a closer look at the array of frames adorning it. There's one of your parents and Bucky smiling, sat out on his lawn last summer; another of Bucky and his team of mechanics, stood proudly outside his garage. A small black frame catches your eye. You pick it up, and your breath hitches in your chest.

It's a picture of the two of you on the deck of his boat, the day after you found out you were soulmates. The wind is blowing your hair, billowing your shirts, sun beating down on your skin. You're both beaming at the camera, bright and blinding, completely content.

You're holding back tears as you put it back in it's original place.

"My favourite picture," he murmurs from somewhere behind you. "We look happy."

"We were happy," you whisper. Then, quieter, "We will be again."

A pause.

"You want something to drink? Coffee, cocoa? Oh, I have that tea you like, the apple one?"

"You do?"

"Yeah. I, uh, bought some last time I went grocery shopping. In case you stopped by."

"Tea sounds good. Please."

You stay stood in the middle of the living room while Bucky puts the kettle on the stove, worried that your wet clothes will ruin his couch. As if he's read your mind, he pops his head around the door.

"There's a load of fresh clothes folded on top of the dryer. Grab whatever you want, dry off a little."

You wander into the laundry room, sorting through the pile. You find a t shirt with his garage logo on the back in big, white letters.

J.B.B. Motorcycles and Automotives.

The blocky, bold font swirls across the black material. You run your fingers over it, tracing the curves and spikes of the typeface. It's something you've seen him in a million times. You inhale deeply as you slip it over your head, revelling in the way it smells like him. You grab some boxer shorts and slip those on too, glad to finally be warm and dry.

Bucky loses his breath when you walk into the room. He's never seen you in his clothes before, and for good reason. He's about to have a goddamn heart attack.

"Tea is on the coffee table," he chokes out. "I'm gonna change, and then we'll talk, yeah?"

You nod gently, settling into the cushions of his couch and tucking your legs underneath you, mug warming your hands.

When Bucky returns, he's in sweatpants and an oversized hoodie that you want to burrow yourself into. He takes his place, careful to put a little distance between you. Far enough that you're not touching, but close enough that you almost are.

"I'm sorry," you whisper. "I'm not good at this."

"Neither am I," he smiles gently. "It's my first time having a soulmate."

"Mine too," you laugh softly.

It floors you, his ability to always be able to comfort you. It's like a superpower, the way he always knows what to say or do to put you at ease.

"I think we got a little ahead of ourselves," he begins, careful to keep his voice low and deliberate. "I keep forgetting that we have forever. Literally. I was so eager to rush into this with you because I got excited. Don't get me wrong, I'm still ridiculously excited, but I'm realising now that our version of 'slow' wasn't slow at all."

"This whole Tethering thing makes everything so intense. There have been times where I honestly thought I was going to drop dead if you didn't kiss me."

"The feelings mutual," he chuckles.

You lace your fingers with his, never breaking eye contact, before addressing the elephant in the room.

"What am I gonna do about California, Buck?"

Your voice cracks just saying the word.

"Stella needs an answer, and I've upset you, and my parents are clueless, and I just - I don't know what to do. Tell me what to do. Please."

"I can't tell you what to do, honey," he soothes, running his thumb over the back of your hand. "And I'm not upset. I was, in the backyard... but I was mainly just blindsided. I kinda get it, you not telling me. I'm not sure what I'd do in your situation either."

"I just feel like both decisions are wrong. I can't win."

"Hey, hey. Look at me, pretty baby."

Bucky cradles your face in his warm hands, forcing your eyes to meet his ocean blue ones. You have to focus on his words, so you don't get lost in the waves of his irises.

"At the end of the day, it's completely your decision, and no one in the world can change that. But-"

He takes a deep breath, and continues.

"I think that you'll regret it every day for the rest of your life if you don't take the incredible opportunity that's been offered to you."

You take a second to process what he's telling you, your mind running at a thousand miles an hour.

"Are you... you're... are you saying I should take the job?"

"Like I said, it's your decision, but... yes. I'm saying you should take the job."

Your eyes well with tears, and you bite your lip to stop them from escaping. Inhaling carefully, you put your hands on his chest, feeling his steady heartbeat under your palms. He's calm. He's sure. He's collected enough for the both of you.

"What about us?" you ask, barely above a whisper.

"Like you said, baby. I'm your forever." Buck leans in, resting his forehead to yours. "We have time."

"All the time in the world."

You connect your lips to Bucky's softly, testing the waters. He kisses you back with so much feeling, tears slip from your lashes without warning. He's crying too, emotion mixing with yours, dousing you both.

You pull away and wrap your arms around him, curling yourself into his chest. He holds you as tightly as he can, knowing this will be the last time for a long time.

"So you'll go."

"I'll go."

"And I'll stay."

"You'll stay."

"And we'll be okay. No matter what, we'll be okay."

You and Bucky fall asleep in each others arms, cherishing the feeling of home one last time.

✵ ✵ ·　 ✵ 　　 * · ✵

The happiness is starting to seep through.

You're devastated to be leaving Bucky behind, but you're trying to look on the bright side. Sunny beaches, new people, your dream job. If you think about the positives for long enough, the Bucky sized hole in your chest hurts a little less.

You're packing up your bookshelf when your phone rings, scaring the life out of you.

"Bitch!"

You know who it is instantly.

"Hi, Lacie."

"Where have you been? Why didn't you answer my text from last night?"

"Shit, sorry. I've been packing. What's up?"

"We're going out tonight. Not just us - all the girls. We're throwing you a goodbye party!"

You groan inwardly, massaging your temples with your fingers.

"A party? Lace, I don't need a party."

"Babe, you do. You really do. It'll be fun! I thought you'd be excited!"

You take a deep breath, and remember what you've been telling yourself. Focus on the positives.

"Okay, fine. Where? What time? What should I wear?"

"I knew you'd say yes! Come to my place at like... six? We can get ready together, like old times! And wear something sexy."

She doesn't wait for you to argue, just hangs up the phone. She knows you too well.

You know it'll be good for you, to see your girlfriends - but the thought of all the goodbyes you're about to say breaks your heart a little more.

✵ ✵ ·　 ✵ 　　 * · ✵

"Okay, what the fuck is going on with you?"

You're sat cross legged on Lacie's living room floor, sharing makeup that's scattered across the coffee table. You sip your wine for a moment, trying to come up with an excuse. It's no use.

"I don't know."

"Bullshit."

You turn to look at her.

"What?"

"It's bullshit, babe. Something's going on. You've been given your dream job, and you're moping around like you just got broken up with or something. Why aren't you happy?"

There's no malice in her voice, just pure love. She adores you. You adore her. She's the one person with an outsiders perspective on all of this. So, you cut the act.

"I had my Tethering."

Silence.

She's processing.

"What?!"

"Yeah."

"When? Who? Where? How? Oh my God what is happening? Why didn't you say anything? Fuck, I'm gonna cry. I'm so overwhelmed right now, I'm so happy for you! Wait... are we not happy?"

"It's... complicated."

There's a lump in your throat, but a levity in your heart. A weight has been taken off you. Telling someone the truth has made you feel a little lighter.

"Who is it, babe?"

You take a deep breath, and look her in the eyes.

"Bucky."

Her jaw drops.

"Your... your Dad's best friend Bucky?"

"That's the one."

"Oh. My. Fucking. God."

"Yeah."

"Holy shit."

"Yeah."

"This is complicated."

"Yeah."

"Aw, babe."

She pulls you in for a hug, not caring about the makeup you're smearing across her shirt. You cling to her as tightly as you can, savouring your best friends comfort.

"Does anyone else know?"

"No. We decided not to tell my parents for a while."

"Shit. No wonder you've been so sad lately. You're moving across the country, away from the one person you're supposed to be near."

"It's really hard," you whisper, tears threatening to spill.

"I can't even begin to imagine," she murmurs, holding you close. "I wish you'd told me sooner. We could have talked about it."

"I know," you sniffle. "I thought I could handle it on my own, but I really can't."

"You're not on your own, okay? You have Bucky, and you have me. You can always talk to me about this stuff. God knows I talked your ear off about Cameron."

You laugh softly, thinking back to that day that feels both like yesterday and a million years ago.

"Where is he tonight?"

"Out with his boys. It's good for us to spend a few hours apart."

You smile at the happiness that's radiating off her. She's glowing, beaming in all directions.

"Thanks, Lace. I love you. You know that right?"

"Of course I do. I love you too. So much," she leans forward to kiss your cheek. "Now let's have one hell of a last girls night, shall we?"

✵ ✵ ·　 ✵ 　　 * · ✵

You've lost track of exactly where you are.

You know you're downtown somewhere, in one of the bars. This one smells like wood and whiskey, lowlit and smoky. You hit the cocktail bar first, then the one covered in leopard print, then the monochrome pink one. Now, you're here.

The six of you are sat at a booth, high heels tangled and legs intertwined under the table. The wood is sticky with lemon wedges from tequila shots, salt scattered across the surface.

"If you find any hot west coast men, will you send them my way?" Reese asks, nudging you with her shoulder.

"And if you find any hot west coast women, will you send them mine?"

Everyone laughs, the scent of perfume filling the air.

"Rosa, what happened to Aubrey? We liked her!"

"Caught her kissing my ex girlfriend. So now they're both my ex girlfriends."

"Jesus Christ."

"Man, that's rough," Lacie giggles next to you.

The other girls continue to talk about Aubrey's infidelity as Lacie leans to whisper in your ear.

"Have you said goodbye to Bucky yet?"

You nod.

"Yesterday. I stayed the night, we fell asleep together. Said our goodbyes in the morning. It was awful."

"Love you," she whispers, squeezing your hand under the table.

"Love you too," you reply, squeezing back.

"There's a table of super hot guys over there," Maggie observes, tilting her head in their direction. "Maybe we should conveniently dance that way in a little while."

You don't bother to look over, knowing that none of them will compare to your soulmate. The other girls seem interested, though, so you smile along with them.

"Babe," Sam hisses, kicking you under the table. "There's a hot guy at that table, three o'clock, that keeps staring at you."

You glance over, and your heart stutters in your chest.

Bucky.

His blue eyes pierce your soul, even from across the room. For a moment, it's only the two of you, all the noise forgotten.

You're snapped back to reality by Sam.

"Fuck, he's hot. If you don't want him, I do."

"You should talk to him," Lacie suggests quickly. "Why not, right?"

She's practically pushing you out of the booth, high school wrestler style. In another life, you think, she would have made a good football player. All five foot four of her.

You walk past his table, eyes still locked on him, and towards the bathrooms. You know he'll follow you. You walk to the end of the hallway and out of the door, into the fresh night air.

You feel him appear before you see him. You lean your body against the wall, head resting on the cold brick. Bucky stands in front of you, shirt stretched across his shoulders gorgeously.

"Hi."

"Hi, honey baby."

You smile softly at the nickname.

"What are you doing here?"

"I got dragged to a boys night. What are you doing here?"

"I got dragged to a girls night."

He laughs, and all the tension melts from your muscles.

"Thought we said our goodbyes. I didn't think I'd see you again before I left."

"Me too. But you know the Universe. It hates us."

"Cosmic karma," you whisper.

The two of you stand down the alleyway, looking at each other carefully. Neither of you wants to spook the other person. You'd processed your leaving, said your emotional goodbyes. And now he's here, standing in front of you. You don't want to have to do it all again.

"I should probably get back inside, before the girls get the wrong idea."

"Baby, I followed you to the bathroom. They've already got the wrong idea."

You chuckle, kicking at a rock on the ground.

"Yeah. I don't know how I'm gonna explain this."

A smile. A pause.

"I'll let you get back to your friends, then."

You lean up to press a kiss to his stubbled cheek.

"Bye, Buck."

"Bye, pretty girl."

You push off the wall and walk away towards the door. Suddenly, a warm hand wraps around your wrist, yanking you into a solid chest.

Bucky kisses you like a man possessed. There's nothing gentle about it - just pure, unadulterated passion. It's all teeth and tongue and nipping and biting, neither of you willing to be the first to pull away.

He walks you back into the wall, pushing you against the rough brick. You hike a leg up onto his hip as he grabs your thigh to pull you closer, desperate to feel all of you. Your hands are in his hair, around his neck, tangled in his collar, his shirt, his belt loops. Anything you can get your hands on, you grab.

A distant chorus of cheers break you out of your lust fuelled haze. A bachelorette party walks by, one of the women winking at you as they go. You and Bucky take a step away from each other, straightening out your clothes and fixing your hair.

"Promise me you'll call me if you need anything," Bucky murmurs, leaning to rest his forehead on yours.

"I promise," you whisper, almost against his lips. "Goodbye, Bucky."

"Goodbye, honey girl."

✵ ✵ ·　 ✵ 　　 * · ✵

The salty ocean wind whips through your hair, sun beating down onto your skin, some upbeat pop song humming from the radio. You keep your eyes glued to the road in front of you, begging yourself not to look back. You know if you do, you'll turn the car around and run straight back into Bucky's arms.

Let the happiness seep through, you remind yourself, gripping the steering wheel.

Let the happiness seep through.

tag list part one -

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