#those beiges with the blues and white towels

[dead-rabbit-comics]

this photo has bewitched me

the crimes committed when painting over steve harris face i have no excuse

[gffa]

Sometimes I get defensive about those house decor posts I see going around where people say that the neutral colors/black & white sleek look is "soulless" and they want to bite, kill, rend, and destroy for getting rid of the color in their homes. Setting aside that people should be allowed to do whatever they want in their own homes, let me tell you what "color" means to me: Everything in my life was a different color. Every room had every color crammed into it. Which sounds like, oh, that must have been a pretty rainbow effect! It wasn't, none of these colors were meant to go together, it's a hot pink plastic shoebox set on top of a dark brown folding table holding three wildly different shades of brown hand towels, some cornflower blue notebooks, and orange pens. It's burnt orange shag carpeting in the living room and hallway, with slate blue chairs, and a white tv tray loaded up with bright yellow pill and cornflower blue bottles and pale wood bookshelf next to dark brown folding table next to pine-colored dresser next to medium dark wood nightstand, all of those that fake material with the sticker made to look like wood, not actual wood. It's lime green countertops and dark beige flooring with one faded yellow wall, one off-white wall, and one faded mint green wall. It's a pine wood mimicking kitchen table with gold trim that's a sticker not actual wood, combined with one black rolling chair, one maroon and oak chair (not actual wood), and one gray upholstered chair. It's a robin's egg blue frayed blanket tossed over the red-and-black walker in the corner, which is also loaded up with the dark green and dark blue exercise bands. It's white and beige pieces of paper plopped everywhere. And all of these colors are faded so they're not really even pretty on their own, it's just a mishmash everywhere. All of this together in one house and that's just a fraction of it, it's a constant clashing of colors and, if there was a foot of space against the wall available, it had another dresser, nightstand, or bookshelf shoved into it. I look at some of these colorful homes that people love and I think they're beautiful and I get so much joy out of people in their homes loving their surroundings! But I will never be able to live in that kind of color for myself again without being heartsore about it. I've gone for a neutral palette now that I'm making the design decisions, I'm choosing white walls (admittedly with a little bit of a blue undertone that you only notice when it's picking up other things' colors), black trim, and gray/white/black/brown reclaimed wood flooring. I picked out a gray/white/black comforter to throw over the bed with a black headboard and black + gray pillows. I'm getting some subtle green accents to put in the room, the guest room has been going with a pale yellow theme (to accent the black/white/gray/grown colors), I'm not eschewing color all together, but those bright, overwhelming colors are not what makes my soul sing. Neutral colors are not a soulless choice on my part, it's the first time in my life that I feel like it's finally clean, that I can breathe properly. You could scrub down a room with seafoam and forest green colors and have it so clean you could lick the walls and I would still have to go outside and take a moment to gather myself together if I had to live in it, because for me "color" means messy and I've had an entire lifetime of mess. I love when people put bright orange or bright green on their walls, that rocks and I will come over and genuinely tell you how beautiful it is, because I understand that it makes your soul sing. But understand that, in turn, having sleek, subtle colors makes my soul sing in a way that's just as genuine.

[angelfishofthelord]

haunted, like every other holy thing

for @horrornaturalevent week 4 swap prompt: haunt

Alternate s9. Cas is captured by angels as soon as he falls. He's different by the time Dean and Sam and Charlie find him.

CW: food, vomiting, body horror

It’s almost six weeks after that hospital phone call that Dean finally sees Cas again. He’s been mentally preparing himself that Cas isn’t going to look the same: he’s human now (as if the body will be physically warped from the enormity of that transition), but he’s also been held captive by angels. Dean has tried hard to stop himself from picturing what they might be doing to him. He’s kept the predominant vision in his mind of a Cas who is alive.

And he isn’t wrong.

Cas stares up at him and Sam and Charlie (who’s breathing heavily, shakily, right by his ear). His blue eyes are a washed out hue, not even brightened by the contrast of the dull iron bars he’s peering through. The ex-angel is crouched in what looks like a huge kennel for one of those short-haired, bad-tempered type dogs. A Rottweiler or Great Dane. There’s a plastic water bottle with a small tube tied with wire to the top of the cage. Something a hamster or parrot would sip from. Patches of beige trench coat and white shirt fabric are stuck so tightly with the grime all over Cas’ body that it looks like his clothes have melted into his skin.

Charlie is trying her best not to cry when she slips an arm around Cas’ waist to steady him as he crawls out of the cage. Dean figures he probably hasn’t walked in weeks; he’s trying to stand as firm and proud as he can, but his ankles are protesting the reality of the situation.

All three of them end up supporting him in a strange sideways gait back to the car, like some fucked-up three-legged race.

Sam grabs a water bottle and a towel and Dean skims his hands over Cas’ body, looking for open wounds or infected lesions. He’s so severely underweight that Dean is afraid to press on his protruding bones and hurt him. Dean exhales slightly when he finds no noticeable injuries (bruises litter his body like weeds in a garden, but he’s not bleeding anywhere). They can skip a stop at the hospital and take him straight back to the Bunker. Back home.

Charlie sits in the backseat and unwraps a piece of cold French toast from the diner that morning and rips off small pieces to give Cas. Something Sam said about not letting him eat or drink too much at first or it’ll be a shock to his system. Cas figures each morsel of bread between his dirty fingertips before slowly pushing it between his teeth.

The angels who did this are nowhere to be seen. Dean temporarily puts out the fire in his chest that’s burning for justice. They’ll find the bastards when Cas is strong enough to eviscerate them with his own two hands.

+

Charlie makes chicken soup from scratch, with a whole real chicken. Dean is almost fascinated to watch her pull the rubbery skin off the bulb-shaped legs and crack the ribcage open with a knife. Sam adds cilantro, diced potatoes, carrots and celery to the stock. Dean gazes at the magical process for a few moments longer before going to see if Cas is finished his shower.

Cas is sitting on the edge of the bed in the infirmary, wearing just his boxers, elbows on his knees.

Dean tries hard not to react visibly to the sight of his emaciated body. Cas’ ribs stick out from under his skin like metal wires. His toes look more like a Halloween costume fixture than actual toes. There’s no amount of loose fabric from oversized t shirts and sweat pants that can hide the way his collarbone juts out or the sunken hollows around his eyes.

He feels so small when Dean helps him pull a sweater over his head. Like Dean could move too brusquely and his entire skeleton would collapse. “I’m sorry,” Dean murmurs over the swish of knitted strands.

Cas pulls the sweater sleeves over his wrists and then leans into Dean. His elbows burrow into Dean’s belly like the hilt of a sword ramming into his gut. (It’s hard to breathe.) Dean hugs him closer anyways.

They all sit and watch him try the chicken soup. Like it’s some potion that will cure all, the way storybook grandmothers always promised it would.

Cas grimaces and holds his nose while slurping the first spoonful. Charlie laughs softly and tells him its just smoke from the heat. It won’t hurt him. He doesn’t look very appeased but he lowers his hand for the next sip. His expression relaxes slightly and he says he likes the smell of the cilantro. Sam smiles hopefully.

Then Cas’ lips suddenly curl upwards and his eyes wide in horror. Before Dean can ask why he’s shoving back the chair and spitting something out on the table before stumbling backwards. His knees are knocking into each other hard, hands fumbling frantically against the wall he’s sliding down.

The three of them jump up at the same time. Charlie grabs the bowl, exclaiming how there’s nothing wrong with it. Sam goes to Cas’ side to help steady him and Dean stares at the offending thing sitting in a pool of thick saliva next to the spoon.

It’s just a chicken bone.

+

Cas keeps biting his lower lip. Dean doesn’t know if it’s a new habit or not (he never got see Cas as human before the torture). He tells Cas to stop whenever he sees it, but it clearly happens when he’s not around, and frequently, because Cas’ lip is starting to look like a discolored strip of raw meat and dark blood stains.

Charlie buys different flavors of lip balm online and has Cas try each one to find the kind he likes.

“Put it on whenever you want to bite it,” she says, buying several extra tubes of Burt’s Bees so he can put one in each pocket of his clothes.

She keeps buying things for him. She tells Dean she doesn’t know what it’s like to be human for the first time, but it’s gotta require lots of things you never needed before. Dean doesn’t think miniature hand sanitizers, waterproof phone covers, or a matching pillowcase and duvet set is going to help Cas forget that he was tortured for weeks by his own siblings, but he lets her do it anyways.

Sam reads books on dieting and How to Help Your Ex-Angel With a Very Picky Appetite Gain Weight.

Foods Cas refuses to eat include chicken wings, hamburgers, hamburgers, hot dogs, and hamburgers.

Dean tries not to be frustrated with Cas. It’s only been a few weeks. A few weeks of watching at Cas’ haunted figure wobbling around the Bunker and knowing there’s nothing he can do to fix it. He can’t even cook for him, which is normally his winning move in mother-henning the infirm back to life.

Foods Cas likes to eat includes cereal, milk, and bread. Chocolate bars and French fries were soundly rejected.

Dean wonders if part of the angel’s torture was to give Cas the best fast food ever so he’d develop an aversion to it for the rest of his life.

It’s almost six weeks after that hospital phone call that Dean finally sees Cas again. He’s been mentally preparing himself that Cas isn’t going to look the same: he’s human now (as if the body will be physically warped from the enormity of that transition), but he’s also been held captive by angels. Dean has tried hard to stop himself from picturing what they might be doing to him. He’s kept the predominant vision in his mind of a Cas who is alive.

And he isn’t wrong.

Cas stares up at him and Sam and Charlie (who’s breathing heavily, shakily, right by his ear). His blue eyes are a washed out hue, not even brightened by the contrast of the dull iron bars he’s peering through. The ex-angel is crouched in what looks like a huge kennel for one of those short-haired, bad-tempered type dogs. A Rottweiler or Great Dane. There’s a plastic water bottle with a small tube tied with wire to the top of the cage. Something a hamster or parrot would sip from. Patches of beige trench coat and white shirt fabric are stuck so tightly with the grime all over Cas’ body that it looks like his clothes have melted into his skin.

Dean almost topples the cage over in his frantic attempt to get Cas out of there.

Charlie is trying her best not to cry when she slips an arm around Cas’ waist to steady him as he crawls out. Dean figures he probably hasn’t walked in weeks; he’s trying to stand as firm and proud as he can, but his ankles are protesting the reality of the situation.

All three of them end up supporting him in a strange sideways gait back to the car, like some fucked-up three-legged race.

Sam grabs a water bottle and a towel and Dean skims his hands over Cas’ body, looking for open wounds or infected lesions. He’s so severely underweight that Dean is afraid to press on his protruding bones and hurt him. Dean exhales slightly when he finds no noticeable injuries (bruises litter his body like weeds in a garden, but he’s not bleeding anywhere). They can skip a stop at the hospital and take him straight back to the Bunker. Back home.

Charlie sits in the backseat and unwraps a piece of cold French toast from the diner that morning and rips off small pieces to give Cas. Something Sam said about not letting him eat or drink too much at first or it’ll be a shock to his system. Cas figures each morsel of bread between his dirty fingertips before slowly pushing it between his teeth.

The angels who did this are nowhere to be seen. Dean temporarily puts out the fire in his chest that’s burning for justice. They’ll find the bastards when Cas is strong enough to eviscerate them with his own two hands.

+

Charlie makes chicken soup from scratch, with a whole real chicken. Dean is almost fascinated to watch her pull the rubbery skin off the bulb-shaped legs and crack the ribcage open with a knife. Sam adds cilantro, diced potatoes, carrots and celery to the stock. Dean gazes at the magical process for a few moments longer before going to see if Cas is finished his shower.

Cas is sitting on the edge of the bed in the infirmary, wearing just his boxers, elbows on his knees.

Dean tries hard not to react visibly to the sight of his emaciated body. Cas’ ribs stick out from under his skin like metal wires. His toes look more like a Halloween costume fixture than actual toes. There’s no amount of loose fabric from oversized t shirts and sweat pants that can hide the way his collarbone juts out or the sunken hollows around his eyes.

He feels so small when Dean helps him pull a sweater over his head. Like Dean could move too brusquely and his entire skeleton would collapse. “I’m sorry,” Dean murmurs over the swish of knitted strands.

Cas pulls the sweater sleeves over his wrists and then leans into Dean. His elbows burrow into Dean’s belly like the hilt of a sword ramming into his gut. (It’s hard to breathe.) Dean hugs him closer anyways.

They all sit and watch him try the chicken soup. Like it’s some potion that will cure all, the way storybook grandmothers always promised it would.

Cas grimaces and holds his nose while slurping the first spoonful. Charlie laughs softly and tells him its just smoke from the heat. It won’t hurt him. He doesn’t look very appeased but he lowers his hand for the next sip. His expression relaxes slightly and he says he likes the smell of the cilantro. Sam smiles hopefully.

Then Cas’ lips suddenly curl upwards and his eyes wide in horror. Before Dean can ask why he’s shoving back the chair and spitting something out on the table before stumbling backwards. His knees are knocking into each other hard, hands fumbling frantically against the wall he’s sliding down.

The three of them jump up at the same time. Charlie grabs the bowl, exclaiming how there’s nothing wrong with it. Sam goes to Cas’ side to help steady him and Dean stares at the offending thing sitting in a pool of thick saliva next to the spoon.

It’s just a chicken bone.

+

Cas keeps biting his lower lip. Dean doesn’t know if it’s a new habit or not (he never got to see human Cas before the weeks of torture). He tells Cas to stop whenever he sees it, but it clearly happens when he’s not around, and frequently, because Cas’ lip is starting to look like a discolored strip of raw meat and dark blood stains.

Charlie buys different flavors of lip balm online and has Cas try each one to find the kind he likes.

“Put it on whenever you feel like biting your lips,” she says, buying several extra tubes of Burt’s Bees so he can put one in each pocket of his clothes.

She keeps buying things for him. She tells Dean she doesn’t know what it’s like to be human for the first time, but it’s gotta require lots of things you never needed before. Dean doesn’t think miniature hand sanitizers, waterproof phone covers, or a matching pillowcase and duvet set is going to help Cas forget that he was tortured for weeks by his own siblings, but he lets her do it anyways.

Sam reads books on dieting and How to Help Your Ex-Angel With a Very Picky Appetite Gain Weight.

Foods Cas refuses to eat include chicken wings, hamburgers, hamburgers, hot dogs, and hamburgers.

Dean tries not to be frustrated with Cas. It’s only been a few weeks. A few weeks of watching at Cas’ haunted figure wobbling around the Bunker and knowing there’s nothing he can do to fix it. He can’t even cook for him, which is normally his winning move in mother-henning the infirm back to life.

Foods Cas likes to eat includes cereal, milk, and bread. Chocolate bars and French fries were soundly rejected.

Dean wonders if part of the angel’s torture was to give Cas the best fast food ever so he’d develop an aversion to it for the rest of his life.

keep reading on aO3

[not-a-bot-just-blind]

Pretty description of Kris Dreemurr’s eyes because I had nothing better to do

Their dark hair often shaded their face. It was something that everyone around them had grown used to. For a brief stint, their mother had tried to encourage them to tie their hair back. Her ideas were subtleish, but also still more obvious than they could have been. Buying ribbons for them, asking them what’d happened to their old headband, teaching them how to towel wrap their hair when it was wet to keep it off of their neck and shoulders.

Eventually though, she’d given up on it, well aware of the fact that they could see—pun acknowledged—right through each attempt. They supposed she liked to see their eyes because they were the one part of her child that even slightly resembled her. Everything else though?

Even if they weren’t a human being raised by monsters, the differences would have been obvious. Their mother and brother had white hair, while their father’s was the color of the buttercups he often grew in his shop. Theirs was dark brown with the barest hinting of red undertones. Their family’s fur was white, and their skin was soft beige. Their parents both towered over even most other monsters, and their brother wasn’t far behind. Meanwhile, they hadn’t even reached 5.5 feet yet.

But their eyes?

Perhaps the resemblance was part of the reason why they kept them hidden. Not to separate themself from their family, but to keep that small part for themself. To tuck it into their heart like a secret note passed between friends in class. The warm, fierce carmine seemed inhuman, if only slightly, and that single word had ingrained itself in their brain from the first moment they heard it.

Most humans, they’d read online once, had one of four eye colors. Blue, green, hazel or brown. Colors like black, gray, amber and violet were rare, and ones like white, pink and red were nearly unheard of. That was something they liked about themself physically. It distinguished them just enough so that they could feel that they even slightly belonged.

In the Dark Worlds too, they’d found out. Whether it be in Castle Town, Card Kingdom or Cyber City, their eyes never changed. Always bright, always fierce, always red. Always theirs.

It was something they had control over too.

Most things these days remained outside of their hands, including those very hands. Their back often ached from the ramrod straight posture they were made to hold, their expression most often resembled a blank, emotionless mask, and they found themself running often despite never having been especially athletic. From their hair to their soles, their body seemed often to belong to somebody else, to that thing, that heart, that tried to make them resent the color of the one thing about themself that they liked.

They were stubborn though, and the creature knew it. They would not be stripped of themself completely. Each thing they could do on their own, they did. They made overly emotional speeches, they protected their friends, they jumbled the charms on a letter bead bracelet. They closed their eyes to not see Asriel’s room, they forced out confidence that didn’t exist when they were made to flirt, they tried to bully the puppet master into letting them eat moss.

And their eyes stayed covered.

The one thing that Kris Dreemurr liked about themself would remain theirs.

[wardenred]

Sapphic September 1: Portal Fantasy

A maybe excerpt, maybe AU from a YA novel I swear I'll finish someday.

I sit cross-legged on the bed, wrapped in a cocoon of towels and blankets, and I can’t believe this is really happening. Everything is so ordinary. The flowers and the white picket fence behind the window. The soft electric light from the lamp on Claudia’s desk. The cat sleeping on the hamburger-shaped beanbag in the corner. The closed laptop, the bookshelves, the Lego clown grinning at me from the nightstand. The pale beige wallpaper in the gaps between indie band posters. Everything here is fabric and wood, messy and cozy. A forgotten dream of a place. I barely recognize it.

The door hinges groan softly, and my attention immediately snaps to the source of the sound. Claudia tiptoes in, carrying a large steaming mug, her lips pursed tightly in concentration. She’s wearing an oversized blue shirt and those bunny slippers I bought for her as a joke. It’s weird to see them still so new. So fuzzy. Just like her sleep-tousled hair.

Everything about Claudia is exactly as I remember her. That can only mean that I’m hallucinating, or dreaming, or under the influence of yet another toxic brew. Because it makes no sense, does it? Something must have changed. Her hairstyle. Her weight. Anything.

The mattress dips as she perches carefully on the edge of the bed. She offers me the mug. “Here. I even found a pack of marshmallows.”

It takes me a moment to figure out how to react. “Thank you.” My voice is hoarse, barely recognizable to my own ears. I clear my throat. Take the mug. Stare into it. Melting blobs of marshmallow float over the chocolate foam, like wave crests on a muddy brown sea. The heat from the mug seeps into my palms. The drink smells like home.

Claudia clears her throat. “So,” she says, “do you want to tell me what happened?”

And I do, so much, but I don’t know what I can tell her. All I know is I’m so grateful she wants to know. That she has let me in. Recognized me.

How is she still the same?

“I…” I draw a breath, and the marshmallow waves shift when I let it out. “Maybe it would be easier if you, um, asked specific questions?”

“Specific questions,” she repeats slowly. “Well, I don’t know, Sarah, let’s see. My girlfriend disappears without a trace for the entire weekend, then shows up in my back garden in the middle of the night, soaking wet and completely out of it. Gee. I don’t even know. I think my most specific question at this point is, What the fuck?”

I open my mouth to answer, and then her words register with me. One word, to be exact. Weekend. My hands go numb. The mug tilts. A few brown drops land on the pastel tartan comforter.

To think I was seriously worried if she still lived in her parents' house and had the same room there. The entire way from the lake, there had been one thought in my mind: Claud may have left for college by now.

One weekend. Jeez. How?

"Sarah." Claudia leans forward and places a hand on the side of my knee. I can barely feel the touch through all the blankets, but I still soak in the warmth of her presence. "Seriously. What happened? I was worried sick. I thought—" She swallows. "I thought you were abducted. Like Sammy."

"Sammy was never abducted," I say automatically.

But I was. Abducted, or kidnapped, or stolen away in the night—whatever words I choose, they won't change the ugly truth of what happened.

"Did you talk to Sammy?" I blurt, before she can ask anything else. For half of my unwanted adventure, Sammy had been the one person I thought of most. Surely my twin will come looking for me. She's the only one who can. And besides, it's her fault. And she is my twin. 

"I tried," Claudia says with a grimace. "I went to your house on Saturday, to see if you've been home. She... wasn't exactly forthcoming."

I swallow. Sammy doesn't like Claud, I know, but. But. There's something about this that makes the tangle of anxiety and fear in my gut tighten up further.

"Could you... elaborate?"

She frowns, and I hate that I'm putting so many sad, hurt expressions on her face. I want to be the reason she smiles. The person who makes her eyes light up and sparkle like the pond waters in the twilight, when all the stars are out already reflecting in them. All this time—all this weekend, apparently—I've been thinking about her smiles. The happy and open ones when she's having fun. The small smug ones when she wins a prize, or gets a compliment for a job well done, or gets singled out in a group for her accomplishments. The soft, hazy, sleep-painted ones in the mornings that she reserves just for me.

"To be honest," Claudia says slowly, and I push myself to focus, "I would much prefer it if you answered my questions first. But, okay, whatever. She was acting super weird. She tried to convince me you came straight home with her after Pete's party, like she was taking me for a fool. Then she said you were asleep. Then she just kept repeating I was unwelcome and overstepping and you would hate me for poking my nose into your business—"

"I would never!"

She squeezes my knee through the blankets, and finally, there's a hint of a smile. "Anyway. Eventually, your Grandma showed up and took over, and then I somehow ended up eating pancakes with Sammy and her on your back porch. That was... not even the weirdest part, to be honest."

Pancakes. My throat tightens. I can't help but remember the last time Grandma sat me down for some oddly shaped pancakes. Right after I first realized Sammy was lying to me about where she'd been all summer. Right when I got close to the truth about the Veil and the Other Places for the first time, only to be shoved in the opposite direction.

"What... what was the really weird part?"

Claud's dark green eyes harden. "The one, I guess, where I left your house utterly convinced that I saw you leave the party with Sammy. That you may or may not be going away to visit some non-existent relatives, but that's none of my business. That you and I have in fact broken up because you did something so terrible I'd better not even try to recall it. And I just walked around believing all this bullshit until I cracked my journal open in the evening, so please, Sarah, will you explain to me what the fuck is going on?"

Her journal. Can it really be so simple? Would any record of pre-enchantment events suffice, or is it all about the power of the written word? I file the thought away for later. I inhale, exhale, exhale again. The steam from the mug curls lower against its rim. I take a few sips and set the rest on the nightstand, then scoot closer to Claudia.

"This is going to be really hard to believe," I warn, my chin on her shoulder. "But I swear I'll only be telling the truth. I should have told you the truth a long time ago."

And then I explain it all: about the Veil, and where Sammy went, and where they took me. If I make it a little too long-winded, it's just because I'm afraid to stop talking too soon.

If she does think I'm crazy, I'd rather not know for as long as possible.

[vamp-tsp]

hello, uh ik i hardly ever post but schools been hectic and kicking my ass so yeah... i've been feeling this... sense of creativity and i wanna try out something different, so im just gonna try writing out a story in a way which whatever comes to mind. part two will be posted maybe now or later, i dont rlly want critique rn so if u have any, i'd love to hear it in another day, thanks! -radio

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the wall and the flower.

Chapter 1 - Unfortunate Encounter

Summer. People my age love this season, the season of sunscreen and beach towels, skate parks and holiday break... but me, Sidney (Sid) Wright hate it. And it just so happens on the summer I bump into Spencer Fisher.

I spend most of my summers at home. As one does, though usually reading. Reading whatever I brought with me to my parents beach house during the summer, usually something by Alice Oseman. Alice is my favorite author, she portrays teenagers in a way that is so accurate yet still so whimsically.

I decided to go out for some iced coffee at my usual cafe and I can read some more there. So, I go over to my wardrobe and throw on my usual outfit. A simple white t-shirt, a light blue short sleeved button up, and beige cargo shorts. I slip on my vans checkered slip-ons, grab my phone, headphones, and wallet from my bed side table then make my way downstairs and out the house.

Luckily the cafe is only a short walk away from my house so I sigh in relief and I can save some time bearing the hot breeze of summer as I walk. Then, a familiar voice calls.

"Oy!! Sidney!!"

God, I hate when people call me that. My parents are hippie activists who believe in names having no assigned gender, I don't really care that they are but why did they have to name their kid Sidney? It doesn't suit me one bit. So I tell people to call me Sid.

"Erm... hello??"

I responded, feathery and softly. In which he responded, inching closer to me by the minute in a familiar animated and crisp tone.

"Sidney!! mate, I haven't seen you all summer! where have you been?!"

And there he was. The guy I dreaded to see all summer, Spencer Fisher. With his fluffy black tuffs, teal or was it blue? heavily braced teeth, and droopy but yet still obviously cheerful hazel eyes. Spencer is not at all a bad person, he's actually quite well-liked at school and studious. But, he's just too overly energetic and peppy. He's nothing like me, people describe me as this quiet and mediocre guy that you might see in the hallways of school probably listening to some underground band from the 70's or whatever. But Spencer Fisher IS the Heather of Conan Gray's song Heather. He is everything I'm not. So I don't really get why he always tries to talk to me at school... and at this moment. I sigh heavily,

"Uh... at home..? where else would you expect me to be?"

"Ah I see! I don't know, at the library??" he chuckles to himself, "so where you headed, Siddy?"

Siddy. Siddy? God, can this guy get anymore annoying? I don't understand why he hangs out with me but I just have to endure it, I don't wanna seem rude.

"Oh... um... Coffee Roasterie."

His face light up, smiling widely and he cheers,

"No way... really!? I am too!! can I come along?"

Great. Just fantastic. You have got to be joking me, I just wanted to get my latte and finish this chapter of Radio Silence by Alice Oseman and I can enjoy the rest of my afternoon.

"Okay, not like I have a choice do I?"

He snickers, "Nope! so, what you up to these days mate?"

He's one of those lads at school where he calls everyone mate, plays some type of sport, and all the girls and guys are obsessed with him.

"I... uh..."

I don't know what to answer. What if he calls me some sort of loser for just being at home all summer? I mean he never has but you'll never know from someone like Spencer. He waits patiently as I finally answer,

"You know... just some reading... a bit of blogging... and stuff... and... yeah."

There was a pause. It lasted a bit too long for my liking but the silence was quickly filled when he adds,

"Ah! I see, gosh I'm jealous! you have it so laid-back. Though, we all have our own private hobbies don't we? Personally for me, I've been having training. Swimming! I mean..."

Swimming? I have never heard of him being interested in swimming but before I could ask, we arrived at the cafe. We walked in and went over to the line as he continues,

"Yeah I swim back stroke, I usually have land training when I'm not in the water on the weekends, week days after school is usually swim practice. I'll admit, it gives the worse body aches and chlorine scented hair but pretty fun to be honest."

He talks a lot. Spencer Fisher is known for his chatterbox, he's also known for his lisp. He tends to bite his tongue when he pronounces the letter s because of his braces. I've heard him talk about how he hated his braces and to be honest, I wasn't sure whether to agree with him or not but nonetheless he's always smiling.

"Oh I see, that's pretty cool actually, wouldn't expect that from you."

"You're a man of few words huh, sid? gives me the urge to tell you a secret but I'm not sure whether I should or not."

Is he saying I don't have any friends to tell them too or is he implying I'm too quiet or timid to tell anyone? because either way, I don't like it.

"Well... it's on you, I don't... really have anyone to tell it to."

"Seriously?! well here goes!"

He leans in close to my ear, his hot breath hitting the tip of my ear and he puts his hand over to my ear to direct his voice to my ear as he says,

"Actually, I'm really into-"

But before he could get a word in that actually made context, the cashier clears her throat implying for us to order. Interrupting us, thank god. But part of me wonders... what is he into? He flinches and darts his eyes towards her direction as he puts his hand down and says,

"Oh! sorry, I'll have an iced caramel macchiato! and you, sid?"

"Just an Iced chai latte please."

The cashier nods, saying

"Okay, that will be 9.99 please."

Spencer nods and he grabs his wallet from his pockets as I do too, but before I could pay for mine he already handed it to the cashier as he says clearly,

"Sid. We'll get going now, thanks."

Which catches me by surprise since he used my name for both of our drinks. But, before I could get a word in He shoots a look at me saying,

"Come on, let's not hold up the line! let's go find a table!"

And just like that, I found myself hanging out with Spencer Fisher at my usual cafe on a saturday summer afternoon. I thought to myself, what could possibly go wrong?

- TBC -

[lindsaywesker]

Good morning! I hope you slept well and feel rested? Currently sitting at my desk, in my study, attired only in my blue towelling robe, enjoying my first cuppa of the day. Welcome to Too Much Information Tuesday.

School doesn't test your intelligence, it tests your memory.

Venustraphobia is the fear of beautiful women.

A tiger’s tongue is so coarse, it can lick flesh to the bone.

People who get angry easily are more likely to overestimate their intelligence.

‘I’ before ‘E’ except when your foreign neighbour Keith receives eight counterfeit beige sleighs from weird, feisty, caffeinated weightlifters.

Not once in the Humpty Dumpty nursery rhyme does it mention that he’s an egg.

Nomophobia is the fear of being without your mobile phone or losing your signal.

Erotomania is a psychological disorder where the sufferer has delusions that another person is in love with him or her.

Some restaurants in China actually lace their foods with opiates to keep customers coming back.

Your mind spends about 70% of its time replaying memories and creating scenarios.

Instead of "Once upon a time …" many Korean folktales begin with "Back when tigers used to smoke ..."

In 2013, a man bought a house next to his ex-wife just to install a giant middle finger statue for her to see every day.

One Direction once got kicked out of a hotel owned by Donald Trump because they wouldn't get out of bed to meet his daughter.

You can't make the same mistake twice. The second time you make it, it's no longer a mistake, it's a choice.

Google makes about $40 billion a year in ad revenue, which is more than CBS, NBC, ABC, and FOX combined.

Gym treadmills and stationary bikes can have 7,752 times more bacteria than a home toilet seat.

Cannabinoids (the active ingredients in cannabis) are naturally present in human breast milk.

People who spend money on experiences rather than material items tend to be happier.

Men who ejaculate at least 21 times a month may have a 20% lower chance of getting prostate cancer than those who ejaculate 4 to 7 times a month. Crack on!

Membership of the Royal Bastards Society is open to anyone who can prove illegitimate descent from a king of England, Wales or Scotland.

On March 5th, 2023, Lynyrd Skynyrd guitarist Gary Rossington died. All seven members on the 1973 Lynyrd Skynyrd debut album are now dead.

In the eighties, the FBI formed a fake company and attempted to bribe members of congress. Close to 25% of those targeted accepted the bribe and were convicted.

The Monkees named their first movie ‘Head’ so that, if they ever released a second film, it could be marketed with the slogan, "From the guys who gave you Head."

The 'stitch' that runs along the bottom of a man's scrotum is the 'scar' of what would have been a vagina. That's where the labia fused together when male hormones kicked in during embryonic development.

Vincent Gigante was a mafia boss who, for 30 years, wandered Greenwich Village in his pyjamas mumbling incoherently to himself, in an elaborate act to avoid prosecution. They called him The Oddfather.

The small Peruvian town of Santo Tomas celebrates ‘Takanakuy’ every December 25th. Men, women and children settle grudges with fist fights. Then everyone goes drinking together, ready to start the new year with a clean slate.

On March 13th, 1919, a letter from a New Orleans serial killer said he would kill again at 15 minutes past midnight but would spare the occupants of any place where a jazz band was playing. That night, every dance hall was filled to capacity and no one was murdered.

During the early 1960s, a chimpanzee named Lucy was raised as if she were a human daughter by a psychotherapist and his wife. She ate food using cutlery, wore clothes, enjoyed magazines, enjoyed drinking gin, could sign 250 words and tried to masturbate with a vacuum cleaner.

In 1913, Sarah Rector, a 10-year-old black girl received a land allotment of 160 acres in Oklahoma. The best farming land was reserved for whites, so she was given a barren plot. Oil was soon discovered there and she became the country's first black millionaire.

Okay, that’s enough information for one day. Have a tremendous and tumultuous Tuesday! I love you all.

[hopsonsdesignstudio]

From Drab to Fab: Revitalize Your Bathroom with These Captivating Color Ideas

The bathroom is often one of the most neglected areas of the house when it comes to interior design. While we meticulously plan the color schemes for our living rooms and bedrooms, the bathroom is often left in a state of disarray, with dull, drab colors dominating the space. However, it is important to remember that our bathrooms deserve just as much love and attention as any other room in the house. In this blog section, we will explore the transformative power of color and provide you with captivating color ideas to revitalize your bathroom, turning it from drab to fab in no time. 1. Calm and Tranquil: Embracing Cool Tones Cool tones are an excellent choice for creating a calm and tranquil bathroom environment. Shades of blue, such as sky blue, turquoise, or navy, evoke a sense of serenity and relaxation. These colors also mimic the soothing hues of water, making your bathroom feel like a peaceful oasis. Pairing these cool tones with white fixtures and accessories will create a fresh and timeless look that will stand the test of time. Consider adding a pop of contrasting color, such as a coral or yellow accent, to add visual interest and prevent the bathroom from becoming too monotonous. 2. Energize and Refresh: Embracing Vibrant Colors If you're looking to inject some energy and life into your bathroom, vibrant colors are the way to go. Bold and bright hues, such as sunny yellow, fiery red, or tropical green, can instantly revitalize a dull bathroom and create a lively atmosphere. These colors are particularly effective in small bathrooms as they can make the space feel larger and more spacious. To prevent the bathroom from feeling overwhelmed by color, opt for a white or neutral backdrop and use vibrant shades as accents through accessories, towels, or even a statement wall. 3. Timeless Elegance: Embracing Neutral Tones For those who prefer a more understated and classic look, neutral tones provide a timeless elegance that never goes out of style. Shades of white, beige, and gray create a clean and sophisticated atmosphere, allowing for versatility in the choice of fixtures and accessories. These colors also provide a great base for incorporating pops of color through artwork, plants, or textiles. If you want to add a touch of warmth to your neutral bathroom, consider including natural materials, such as wooden accents or stone surfaces, to bring texture and depth to the space. 4. Playful and Whimsical: Embracing Pastel Colors Pastel colors are perfect for creating a playful and whimsical bathroom that appeals to both children and adults alike. Soft shades of pink, mint green, or lavender can instantly transform your bathroom into a charming and enchanting space. Pastels work well with both modern and vintage-inspired designs, adding a touch of sweetness and nostalgia. Pair pastel colors with white or light gray walls to maintain a light and airy feel. For added visual interest, consider incorporating playful patterns, such as polka dots or stripes, through shower curtains or tiles.  The Power of Color in Bathroom Design The bathroom is a space that deserves attention and care, just like any other room in your home. By embracing captivating color ideas, you can revitalize your bathroom from drab to fab, creating a space that reflects your personal style and brings joy to your everyday routine. Whether you opt for calming cool tones, energizing vibrant colors, timeless neutrals, or whimsical pastels, the power of color in bathroom design is undeniable. So, unleash your creativity and transform your bathroom into a sanctuary that delights and inspires.

                                           Get your Free Guide Revealing the 3 Trade Secrets of Top Bathroom Remodeling Pros

[homeremodelingservices]

7 Amazing and Creative Ideas for Bathroom Remodeling in Las Vegas

Bathroom remodeling is a fantastic opportunity to enhance the functionality, aesthetics, and overall appeal of your space. In vibrant Las Vegas, NV, where style and luxury go hand in hand, it's essential to embrace creative ideas that transform your bathroom into a haven of relaxation and elegance. In this blog post, we will explore seven amazing and innovative ideas for bathroom remodeling in Las Vegas. From luxurious fixtures to stunning tile designs, these ideas will inspire you to create a bathroom that embodies the spirit of Las Vegas while providing the comfort and tranquility you desire.

Spa-Inspired Retreat

Transform your bathroom into a spa-inspired retreat where you can indulge in relaxation and self-care. Incorporate features such as a freestanding soaking tub, a rain showerhead, and a built-in bench or seating area. Install dimmable lighting and add candles or soft lighting fixtures to create a soothing ambiance. Consider integrating natural elements like stone accents, wood textures, and plants to bring a sense of tranquility and serenity to your spa-inspired bathroom.

Glamorous Hollywood Style

Embrace the glitz and glamor of Las Vegas by designing a bathroom inspired by Hollywood aesthetics. Incorporate luxurious materials such as marble countertops, crystal chandeliers, and ornate mirrors. Install vanity lighting fixtures that resemble those found in dressing rooms. Consider a vanity area with a Hollywood-style makeup mirror and ample storage for your beauty essentials. Create a show-stopping focal point with a statement bathtub or a walk-in shower with custom tile work.

Modern Minimalism

If you prefer a clean and minimalist look, opt for a bathroom design that exudes modern simplicity. Choose sleek, geometric fixtures with clean lines and minimalistic hardware. Use a monochromatic color palette with neutral tones or bold contrasts to create visual interest. Install wall-mounted storage solutions to maximize space and keep the area clutter-free. Consider frameless glass shower enclosures and floating vanities to enhance the open and airy feel of the bathroom.

Desert Oasis

Incorporate the desert-inspired beauty of Las Vegas into your bathroom design by embracing a desert oasis theme. Choose earthy colors like sandy beige, warm terracotta, and dusty blues. Install a rainforest shower head and create a waterfall feature for a unique bathing experience. Incorporate natural elements such as stone accents, succulent plants, and pebble flooring. Consider adding a touch of luxury with a freestanding copper bathtub or a custom-designed vanity with a desert-inspired pattern.

High-Tech Haven

Bring the latest technology into your bathroom to create a high-tech haven. Install smart features like voice-activated lighting, temperature-controlled shower systems, and mirror-integrated touchscreens. Incorporate Bluetooth speakers for immersive music experiences while you relax in the bath. Consider installing a smart toilet with features like heated seats, automatic flushing, and bidet functionalities. Embrace the convenience and luxury that technology can bring to your bathroom experience.

Vintage Charm

If you appreciate classic aesthetics, opt for a vintage-inspired bathroom design. Choose fixtures with elegant curves, such as a clawfoot bathtub or pedestal sink. Incorporate vintage-inspired tile patterns, such as black and white hexagonal tiles or subway tiles with contrasting grout. Install vintage-style lighting fixtures and ornate mirrors. Add charm with antique-inspired accessories like towel racks, soap dishes, and faucets. Consider a freestanding vanity with intricate detailing to complete the vintage look.

Eclectic Ecstasy

Embrace your creativity by designing an eclectic bathroom that blends different styles, colors, and textures. Mix and match patterns, materials, and finishes to create a visually captivating space. Combine modern fixtures with vintage-inspired accessories. Experiment with bold colors and unexpected combinations to make a bold statement. Incorporate artwork, unique lighting fixtures, and eclectic decor items to add personality and character to your bathroom.

Conclusion

Bathroom remodeling in Las Vegas, NV, presents an opportunity to infuse your personal style and creativity into a space that reflects the city's vibrant energy. Whether you prefer a spa-inspired retreat, a glamorous Hollywood-style bathroom, a minimalist oasis, a high-tech haven, a vintage charm, an eclectic design, or a desert-inspired sanctuary, there are endless possibilities to explore. With these seven amazing and creative ideas, you can transform your bathroom into a captivating and functional space that elevates your daily routine and adds value to your home. Embrace the spirit of Las Vegas as you embark on your bathroom remodeling journey and let your imagination run wild.

GI Construction offers a range of creative ideas for bathroom remodeling in Las Vegas, allowing you to transform your space into a personalized sanctuary that reflects your style and meets your needs. Whether you prefer a spa-inspired retreat, a modern and glamorous design, a desert oasis, a contemporary elegance, a vintage charm, or a smart and functional bathroom, GI Construction has the expertise and vision to bring your ideas to life. With our commitment to quality and customer satisfaction, you can trust GI Construction to create a bathroom that not only enhances your daily routine but also adds value to your home.

[ashiemochi]

aphrotitty - 58 ☢

✠ Aphrotitty ↳ Don’t do anything stupid ↳↳ does something stupid

~~ pairing: OC x Leon S(exy) Kennedy. ~~ genre: fluff, a slice of life, angst, gore at some point, smut/suggestive themes ~~ word count: no

NOTE: ✠ = time skip ✠✠ = switching povs/characters

☢ Warning: mentions of zombies and blood/gore, going into shock, suggestive/strong language, leon and so ah finally going on that promised dinner date.

prev -> next

Her family have witnessed So Ah being anxious and excited for dates before, but never like this. The second they arrived back at the Watergate Hotel, So Ah practically ran to her room. Being in love can make you do stupid things.

Like telling your best friend and assuming they’d be normal about it.

It was around thirty past five when So Ah had gotten out of the shower, hair up in a towel bun and her robe kept her warm as her feet pattered to her open suitcase next to her bed. She was in a hurry. It’s been a hot minute since she had been on any date and despite having everything she needed in that suitcase, she didn’t know what to wear.

It’s a steak house, so she didn’t have to be so formal – right?

Who fucking knows?

This was her first time in Washington DC. She didn’t have a single idea how steak houses here are compared to the ones back in Seoul. Well, when you’re in need, you can only ask someone who owns a boutique and has some sort of a fashion sense.

At least better than yours.

So Ah swiped her phone from her table and went through her contact lists before tapping on her best friend’s number and pressing it to her ear. It rang a few times before a familiar voice came through.

“Heya sweetcheeks! America’s treating you well?”

“So far – listen, no time to waste. I’ve got a date in less than two hours and I really don’t know what to wear.”

“Ooh! Is it with that Leon guy?”

“Yeah...” So Ah trailed away, shocked as if now realizing that she’s got a date with him, “I’ve got a date with him!”

Her best friend burst into laughter as So Ah smiled like an idiot, “Okay, okay, what do you have?”

“Uhm...” So Ah rummaged briefly through her attires before clicking her tongue, “A bunch of skirts. Wait, you packed my luggage.”

“I did?” The girl on the other questioned confused then chuckled, “Aah, I guess I did, yeah.”

“Where’s my black skirt? You know, the one with the belt.”

“Oh, fuck no, you are not wearing that!”

“What? Why not?!”

“Since I’ve met you, that skirt has been on you more than Ji Dae ever has!”

“It’s – that’s... Uncalled for.”

“Listen, I, your dear friend Kim ChoHee, have packed the most beautiful dress for this very occasion! Go on, try it!”

“Ah, really? What dress?” So Ah perked up, switching to her other suitcase that held only dresses.

“It’s the one in the pink case.”

“Okay, found it.” So Ah said, pulling up the case and pressing her shoulder against her phone to free her other hand for unzipping the dress case.

It was a knee-length beige mesh beading dress with a collar choker of the sort made by small pearls. It made So Ah aw audibly and ChoHee giggled.

“It’s adorable! Was this one of your designs?” So Ah asked, removing it from the case to lie it down on the bed.

“Yep! I’d recommend wearing it with that pink cardigan you’ve got. I think it’d go well.” ChoHee hummed in satisfaction as she sounded like she was eating something.

“Okay, you’re a life saviour, honestly.” So Ah sighed in relief, heading back to her suitcase to take out the cardigan she was sure she saw before and began searching for underwear, “Wait...”

“What?”

“I can’t find my underwear set.”

“Which one?”

“The baby blue one. It had those cute little white hearts, remember?” So Ah pressed on, still pushing and shoving clothes aside, “You got them for me on my birthday.”

“Ooh, yeah I remember them! I took them out.”

The girl froze, “You what?”

“I found the black one in your closet so I switched them out,” ChoHee said nonchalantly and So Ah gasped in disbelief.

“Why would you do that?! Those were my favourite pair!”

“You think my simping ass will handle seeing an exclusive lingerie by Minx’s Body being left behind for some cheap ass blue set?”

“Cheap?! You bought it for me!” So Ah exclaimed, feeling a bit panicky again, “And you forgot to take the price tag off! Sixty thousand won (around $50) is not cheap!”

“Oh my god, just wear the damned thing!” ChoHee groaned childishly, “It’s not like he’s going to see you in it anyway, right?”

“It’s just...” So Ah pouted, sitting down on the edge of her bed, “Blue is his favourite colour.”

The line went quiet for a bit, confusing So Ah as she glanced down at her phone to check if the call had dropped but it was still ongoing.

“ChoHee?”

“... BITCH, YOU WANT HIS DICK THAT BAD!?”

“NO!” So Ah yelled, her face heating up as ChoHee laughed till she began wheezing on the other side, “It’s just – blue is a cute colour! He has a good taste! And – and they’re comfortable too!”

“Jesus, fuck!” ChoHee chuckled and let out a dreamy sigh, “Just wear the black one – I promise you he’ll love it. It’s from Minx’s Body too. No one can resist them.”

“It’s not like that!”

“Be safe! Love ya!”

The line disconnected, stopping So Ah from weakly trying to defend herself – was she really trying to get into Leon’s pants?

No, no, bad So Ah! It’s the first official date – you don’t even know if he has someone else in his life.

That thought visibly deflated the girl, dropping her phone onto the bed and covering her face in frustration, “Yeah... Maybe it’s just dinner after all...”

✠

Just as she applied the last touches of perfume and lip gloss, her phone dinged, notifying So Ah of a text.

Leon S(exy) Kennedy: Hey, I’m down in the lobby.

Grabbing her purse after slipping on her long warm cardigan, she left her room and began making her way to the elevator whilst texting him along the mini-journey.

She wasn’t going to lie that the butterflies have returned – more powerful than before that even her hands were trembling in both excitement and anxiety.

Picasso next door: I’m coming in a min!

✠

“Oh, fuck me.”

Out of anything she could’ve said, that was unexpected – really. Imagine being attractive and knowing you are. It’s so unbelievably powerful and unfair. There he was, in all of his glory, leaning his back against his black Porsche with one hand on his phone and the other stuffed into his trousers’ pocket.

Holy shit, he’s wearing that blue suit.

Leon didn’t seem to have noticed her frozen form just yet and it wasn’t like So Ah made noise or anything to indicate her arrival; he looked like such an eye candy. So, she took her time to admire Adonis Leon a bit more.

Leon was always confident and it was the first thing she noticed about him. Arrogant too but maybe that was what caught her attention more. The subtle – not so subtle – flirtatious comments, those sharp eyes, the cheeky teasing smirk, the smile and dear God, when he laughs?

If heaven was a sound, she was sure that was it.

Snapping out of her entranced fangirling moment, her fingers gripped onto the edge of her sleeves tightly for something to hold as So Ah’s clicking heels brought his eyes up to her from his phone. And Leon grinned.

FUCK, he’s HOT.

“Took you long enough.” Sexy Leon said, putting his phone inside his blazer and he pushed himself away from the car as she stood in front of him, a blushing mess.

“Sorry, I uh... The elevator was full so I had to wait for the next one.” So Ah lied before plastering a wide toothy smile to reassure him and herself that she indeed was telling the truth – which she wasn’t.

Leon’s smile turned into a smirk and his brows shot up, nodding as he spoke “Oh? That must’ve been a pain.”

Remember that part about him being scarily perceptive?

Yeah, Leon saw her make her way down the lobby before she noticed him. He knew she was lying and he knew why but he’ll just let her think she was safe from his teasing.

“Yeah – so, shall we go?” So Ah wanted to get rid of the growing tension and find something else to stare at other than his stupidly attractive face.

And the author wasn’t going to reveal that Leon too was entranced by the ethereal being in front of him. No, the author wasn’t planning on mentioning that even his heart was beating harder than it usually should.

Nah, he was good.

“Yeah, come on.” Leon opened the car door for her like such a gentleman, offering her a smile that the only word she could describe it would be: loving.

“You wore the suit.” So Ah chimed as she set her leg inside the car and he chuckled lightly.

“You look beautiful too, buttercup.”

✠

The drive was filled with chatter and occasional laughter as they talked about their day. Leon was on his coffee break at the DSO when Hunnigan reminded him that his coffee breaks are ten minutes – not an hour. He really hated those paperwork and writing reports were annoying at this point.

With So Ah, today’s check-up was fine – great even. No signs of corruption and her abilities were still as sharp as ever. One thing she hated – but didn’t mention – was how they’d test her abilities. They’d cut her skin, going deeper and deeper whilst calculating how fast it all heals up. She still felt the pain and she knew if Leon were to find out, he’d probably be mad.

Probably.

Having reached the restaurant, So Ah thanked Cho and all the Gods that existed for her outfit’s choice. The building from the outside looked formal and the inside was just as elegant. The reserved table was named Mr Kennedy but the woman at the desk ushered them both to the table with a smile and ‘Right here, Mr and Mrs Kennedy.’

Leon was unfazed.

So Ah was dying in a blushing mess – though unfazed on the outside.

After being seated and given the menu along with a small basket of freshly baked pieces of bread, the woman left and So Ah took the time to scan the place.

It was massive and the most reoccurring colour palette would be white, gold, and oak brown. Fancy colours. Each table had candlelit in the middle, setting the perfect romantic mood. It looked absolutely wonderful inside and lucky for her, the table Leon had chosen was next to the window.

Lucky for her because now she’s got a reason to dart her eyes out to avoid his sharp intimidating but warm ones.

After talking about anything a bit more over wine and having their drinks menu switched to the meals one, they mutually went silent to scan the menu – though So Ah’s eyes were on him.

It just hit her. It’s been six months since she had last seen him. Most of her updates were coming from Chris but seeing Leon eye-scanning the menu right in front of her was clearly a lot more different from the BSAA operator’s words.

Leon’s stubble was the same, if not a bit shorter yet still kept clean. The bags beneath his eyes were slightly more prominent – which she couldn’t blame him.

She wasn’t entirely sure if she did a great job hiding hers; six months of having to deal with the aftermath of that outbreak and traumatizing night terrors – So Ah was surprised she didn’t lose her sanity.

His chestnut-ash blond hair was still as attractive as ever – if not even more. You know the whole parted from the side with the side bangs long enough to cover his eyes, making his side profile drool-inducing. Leon’s hair was also noticeably slightly longer than before. It covered his ears too – in fact, it gave him a subtle mullet.

Mullet daddy you mean–

“So, what are you planning on getting?” Leon asked, looking up from his menu only to see her awe-struck dreamy eyes and she blinked, cheeks blazing then glanced down at the menu. He stifled a laugh at her stammered-flustered combo of words.

“Oh-oh, uhm – hmm, they all look so good. So, uh –”

Leon propped up his elbow onto the table and leaned onto his palm with a tilted soft grin – he caught her admiring him as always. It was only fair to do the same.

Really, it’s been half a year – and Chris was this close to blocking Leon’s number if it weren’t for the whole ‘friends-through-sister’ thing. To him, So Ah didn’t change a bit.

She still looked soft as ever, exerting shy energy towards anyone. Her hands still shake slightly for being out in the open for too long and away from the confines of her safe bed.

Leon didn’t know if he had gotten good at picking up the smallest details but he could see that cute little mole on her bottom lip line. A similar one was on her left eye’s waterline.

Add that with the scattered freckles, she was dreamy. Her lips were still as plump as ever, naturally holding onto a small but visible pout as she’d talk. He’d be lying if he said that he didn’t wonder if they felt just as soft.

It did make him think; was there someone waiting for her in her hometown?

“Hello, are you two ready to order?” Their waitress, Claudia, asked politely, holding onto her notepad and pen.

The confused lovers both had a similar question in mind as the waitress began writing down their orders.

Does she have someone back home?

✠

Dinner went by smoothly with the meals being so godly-good that So Ah was close to asking for a second plate. Leon kept the conversation going and intriguing, knowing her timid self would run out of energy very soon.

But unbeknownst to him, So Ah was far from that. She was having fun hearing him talk and chuckle at his own witty jokes. In the past six months, all she felt was pain and anxiety, but this was a nice change.

Leon seemed perfectly fine to her.

Just as the last laugh faded, the atmosphere around them went quiet – the good kind. So Ah had a content smile on her lips as Leon returned it but his eyes trailed down to his empty plate. The girl was observant to an extent.

She wouldn’t notice someone sneaking up on her but she could sense a change in demeanour in anyone. Leon was no different. She knew something was clouding his mind but she didn’t know what it was exactly.

Unless it was someone.

Oh fuck, that just makes this entire dinner awkward. She didn’t want to be a Cathy.

“Uhm, Leon?” So Ah’s whisper instantly got his attention, furrowing his brows at her sudden nervous state – well, she looked nervous before but this was a different kind of nervous. Her fingers were wringing the napkin to keep them busy and her eyes wouldn’t meet his.

“Yeah?”

“Is – well – are you seeing anyone?”

Leon blinked at her before scoffing lightly with a quirk of his lip, “No. Are you?”

So Ah wasn’t going to admit his answer made her giddier than ever. Instead, she held a straight face but anyone could see the relief in her eyes.

She shook her head with a small smile, “Nope.”

“Is that why you’ve been nervous this whole night?” Leon asked, tilting his head and her eyes widened for a moment.

“What? No, no.” She forced out a laugh to lighten the mood and he only raised his eyebrow, silently telling her ‘I don’t believe you.’

Or ‘You suck at lying.’

Both work.

“Sweetheart,” Leon coaxed, reaching for her hand across the table to gently reassure her, “What’s on your mind?”

She glanced down at his hand – man, I definitely have a thing for hands. LOOK AT THEM–

“So Ah?”

“Oh, uhm,” So Ah internally cursed at her thirsty mind as she spoke, “Maybe it’s just me but, uh, you seem... Out of it?” She ended the last bit in a questioning tone.

Now it was his turn to be confused.

“Out of it?” Leon repeated, his brows knitting in the middle more than usual and she continued.

“This night is great and I really am having fun.” She instantly said, hoping she didn’t just offend him or call him boring – which he wasn’t; “But you look like you don’t want to be here...”

Leon straightened up at this; seriously, is this the same oblivious So Ah or did the virus do something to her eyes?

“So Ah,” He exhaled and she just assumed the worse; this is it. He’s gonna call me ugly then dip out. Should’ve worn my lucky blue bra – I swear Cho is going to di–

“I’m content with you and this dinner is the best I’ve ever had.”

–LIVE ANOTHER DAY!

“Then... What’s going on?” So Ah asked, curious, “Do you have to leave early or something?”

Leon shook his head a little before squeezing her hand tenderly with a smile, “No, if I could spend a lifetime with you, I would. It’s just... Remember back in that underground lab? Before you...”

Fell.

So Ah furrowed her brows in confusion and slight ache at the memory, “Yeah, what about it?”

“Well, I –”

“Here’s the check, sir.”

Leon barely looked at it, pulling out his wallet to give his card to Claudia before returning his hand back on So Ah, not even giving her a chance to offer to pay for her meal. She chose to stay silent, closing her mouth when Leon seemed conflicted.

“Leon, you really don’t have to apologize for anything that happened back then.” So Ah whispered, “None of it was our fault but Frederic’s.”

“No, it’s not that – look,” Leon plastered a kind but tense smile, “How about dessert?”

She blinked, gesturing slightly to where Claudia had just left, “Uhm, okay but–”

“Not here, sweetheart – back at my place.”

Oh.

“Oh... Okay.”

✠

The drive to his place held a different atmosphere than the one going to the restaurant. The radio was no longer blaring some 90’s playlist that Leon owned; it was quiet – only the gentle humming of the Porsche’s engine filled the air around them.

That and people’s addiction to slamming the horn the millisecond the light turns green.

It wasn’t until her phone chimed, cutting the silence like a knife. So Ah jumped a bit, not expecting any other noise and Leon’s lips twitched at that as she checked her phone.

Don’t forget your pills unless you want your hands to become the embodiment of a vibrator!

Cho was the worse at setting alarms for So Ah.

“What’s up?” Leon asked, curious at the girl’s silence as she rummaged through her purse, hissing slightly under her breath.

“I forgot to bring my pills.” She muttered, visibly irritated but worried when she couldn’t find them.

“Pills?” Leon glanced at her briefly from the corner of his eyes before returning them on the road.

“For my anxiety...” So Ah’s tone held a dash of shame, making Leon furrow his brows at her.

There was no shame for having some sort of an anxiety disorder but he guessed she thought it was a bad thing.

“Can we stop by a pharmacy real quick? I swear it won’t take long.” So Ah requested, looking at him with such embarrassed and apologetic eyes.

She knew the reason why they were heading home wasn’t for actual dessert. He wants to tell her something and it seemed important enough to cloud his mind off of dinner for a good while. She felt bad for her involuntary stalling – she really didn’t mean to forget her meds.

If anything, he’s the one to blame. If his blueblue eyes weren’t clouding her mind back at the hotel, then she wouldn’t have forgotten them.

Ah – who was she kidding?

She loved his eyes.

“Yeah, sure. More time to spend with you.” Leon teased lightly to ease her up.

Which worked like a charm as it always does.

✠

As Leon slowed to a stop in front of the pharmacy, he turned off the ignition and So Ah unbuckled her seatbelt.

“You sure you don’t want me to come with you?” Leon asked for the second time in the past five minutes to which she nodded again.

“Yeah, it won’t take long.” So Ah gave him a smile before getting out, gently shutting the door behind her then walked towards the pharmacy.

A soft sigh left Leon’s lips without even intending to as he watched her enter the store and he leaned back against his seat with an incredulous huff. Then his ears reddened.

Leon was with her.

She was with him.

Not togethertogether but it still made Leon smile like an idiot.

With So Ah, the girl went to the middle-aged pharmacist who looked up from her magazine through her reading glasses.

“Hi, I’d like to refill my meds.” So Ah softly requested, offering her the prescription paper to which she took, noticing her slightly trembling hands.

Silently, she went to the shelf behind her chair as So Ah let her eyes scan out of her nervous habit. She hated new surroundings. It all made her more so on edge – and she hated it.

Yuck.

“Xanax, right?” The pharmacist asked to be sure and she nodded.

“Yes, please.” So Ah answered, already opening her purse for the price as the lady set the box onto the glass table in front of her and she gave her the money, “Here you go.”

“You’re Han So Ah, right?”

Fuck.

“Uhm, yeah...” So Ah said, unsure about what to expect from the kind-eyed woman.

“I know you probably get this a lot,” She said with a gentle smile, “But my daughter is alive because of you.”

So Ah’s eyes widened in surprise as the pharmacist opened her wallet to take out a small photo of a five-year-old girl who held a beaming toothy grin.

“She was out in the yard when it happened... The cops told us what to do...” She frowned, recalling the men’s yells and shouts of ‘just shoot her, she’s gone!’

“But I couldn’t hurt my baby girl, so I hid her in the basement. I don’t know what I hoped for but after the vaccine was distributed, I just felt so happy.”

So Ah watched her eyes well up with happy tears, stunned as she gave her a grateful smile, “Thank you, Miss Han. Thank you so much.”

For the past few months, all she had received were death threats and got accused of killing and breaking apart families. It was a daily thing for six months and nothing had made her feel guiltier than ever. It was Hell. So, seeing a person almost crying in happiness that she saved her daughter.

It was surreal. And it made her eyes sting faintly.

So Ah smiled sympathetically, setting one hand on hers kindly, “No need to thank me at all, ma’am. What’s her name?”

She sniffled, wiping away her tears with an embarrassed look on her face, yet she still held that smile, “Rory.”

“I’m happy Rory’s all well. No one deserved to go through that.” She reassured, “And I promise, we’ll be trying our best to prevent things like this from happening ever again.”

“Do you regret it?” A new voice hissed behind her, jolting the girl and she turned to face the source.

It was a raggedy looking man with hair sprawled up in chaotic directions. His hand was hidden behind his jacket as he kept his raging glare at her. Her heart stuttered at the hatred in his hazel eyes and she furrowed her brows in confusion.

It took a few seconds but she recognized him as Brad – the man who gave her the Christmas tree.

“What?”

“I said,” He pulled out his hand, sending the pharmacist and the girl into a gasp at the gun. Both of them raised their arms up in an instinct and So Ah’s eyes bulged open in shock.

“Do you, motherfucking, regret it?” The angry man repeated and it took So Ah a second to realize. The man wasn’t planning a robbery or aiming at the pharmacist. The gun was on her with absolute rage in his irises.

She didn’t know what to do or say. For God’s sake, she’s got a therapist. It’s not like she got professional training on how to handle being held at fucking gunpoint. She got loads of advice on how to handle anxiety though – although they weren’t really useful in this situation.

“Sir...” So Ah began calmly, hoping maybe she’d be able to deescalate the tension, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

His eyes hardened.

Oh shit, that was the wrong answer.

“Of course you wouldn’t know.” Brad snapped, shaking his gun at her which only made her more uneasy, “You Han fucking family are so prideful in your sciences that you don’t even bat an eye towards people like us!”

“And then you’ve got the guts to host a fucking gala as if those people who died were for nothing! Just for you fuckers to host a ‘pity-me’ event...” He snarled audibly just as So Ah lowered her eyes back onto the gun.

It was kind of hard to concentrate with that weapon on her but a sense of guilt began swirling in her veins.

“Wanna know why they call it the H-Outbreak?” He asked rhetorically, tilting his head at the Han girl, “Because it’s your fucking virus that broke out – you caused all of this!”

So Ah flinched visibly, narrowing her eyes for a second when he jabbed his gun again accusatorily at her, no words could form in her head other than silence at the sight of the gun. Yet she attempted to speak, but it came out incoherently quiet and fast.

The pharmacist noticed the rigid but trembling form of the silent girl and decided to step in, swallowing heavily, “It’s not her fault – none of the Hans had any hand on this.” She said hesitantly before wincing when the man snapped his eyes to hers.

“And what makes you say that?” Brad asked and glared at her but his gun stayed on So Ah.

“Well, the news revealed that their family doctor was the one behind it all.”

“Remind me again, lady...”

When he took a step close, So Ah automatically moved back but her back hit the edge of the desk and her heart dropped.

“Who did that bastard work for?” The man asked then clicked his tongue with a sarcastic smile, “Right, the fucking Han family.”

The pharmacist shook her head, feeling lost as she continued trying to defend So Ah, “N–no, listen, they saved people! They saved my daughter!”

“Then what’s so different between your daughter and my daughter?!” His voice boomed, silencing both women completely.

“Why does your daughter get to live but mine not?! She was in a wheelchair and in so much pain... And I couldn’t...”

Then his tone trembled, grief laced with fury as his tearful eyes returned to So Ah and his grip on the weapon tightened, “I’m not going to ask you this again... Do you fucking regret it, Han So Ah?”

Is this what Frederic felt when she aimed her weapon at him? Is this what true terror feels like? Were her hands as bloody as this grieving man was implying?

So Ah wanted to reassure him, promise him that they’ll do better. They do feel guilty and regretful towards letting Frederic slip into madness without them knowing. Every night terror drove her to tears and lung-stuttering sobs. All those fatalities hung over her head like vultures, constantly reminding her of all the souls that were taken that day.

That fucking day.

Instead, her lips spoke lowly, “I’m... I’m sorry.”

If there was some sort of a dramatic piece playing in the back, it would’ve halted by now.

Brad stared at her in a tearful frustration and a muffled sob escaped his throat before he shook his head as if disappointed. So Ah’s irises settled on his trembling hold on the gun as he lifted it up at her again and his thumb cocked back the hammer.

“You can take your sorry to fucking hell.”

Then everything went quiet the moment he pulled the trigger. The noise did fill her ears momentarily but it was mostly white. The glass-shattering scream of the pharmacist and the echoing of the bullet sinking into the wall behind the middle-aged lady.

So Ah’s knees buckled, sending her to the cold tiled floor in complete and utter silence. Her mind refused to be aware of her surroundings as all it did was root her in her place. As her stomach heaved in heavily with her vision blurring up, she managed to see a blue-suited man rush in and instantly knock the gun out of the shooter’s hand.

It clunked onto the ground, sliding to a stop in front of her. The steel of it seemed to shine under the pale lights – then it clicked.

She was back in California; back at Green Life Pharmaceuticals facility. A cold bloodied axe sat in her hands, being gripped with petite fingers as it swung deeply into an infectee’s brain.

Sandy fire burned her lungs and legs, running from floor to floor in search of clues to find her parents whilst escaping rotten nails from digging into her skin.

The absolute electric-shock pain seared through her nerves from the thorn sunken into her side.

The gunshot triggered a sniper rifle into her hand as she took the shot on many zombies to come.

The gunshot triggered a pure ache as the bullet sent the rogue plaga after her mutated family doctor.

The gunshot triggered the entire night she thought she forgot about, reminding her of all the mixed emotions she had felt and decisions she had taken out of fear and care. Screams and shrieks filled her head of all the people she witnessed dying that day.

Was it possible to be crushed from inside out?

Unable to comprehend the sight of Brad pinned to the wall by the arm of the suited man, shouts and yells came from them, mostly from the ash haired man. No sound made it to her ears as all she could pick up were the guttural noises of the walking dead.

Were they still around? Was one going to jump at her now? Would it attack her?

And would she have to pick up that gun again?

So Ah didn’t want to go back and kill more than she was forced to do.

“All of those people are alive right now – because of her.” The honeyed voice snapped at the shooter, glaring him down and it shook So Ah just a little from her frozen state.

Leon?

Then in a blink, he was in front of her but she couldn’t hear what he was saying. His lips were moving, hands on her shoulders as those concern-etched blues went over her body for the bullet wound.

All So Ah could do was stare with wide-open eyes, unable to shut them as if the whole world was crumbling apart around her. She didn’t even shake. Just there she was in total paralysis without realizing reality.

“Hey, So Ah, I need you to say something.” Leon urged worriedly, his warm hand going up to her cheek and his eyes connected to the graze wound on her cheekbone.

It was faint and not all that deep but it was already healing right before his eyes. The crimsoning substance lingered on her cheek, signalling the scar was in fact deeper. Emphasis on was.

Good thing the grieving man had shaking hands or else he would’ve fatally shot the girl in the face.

Leon waited a beat or two for her to answer but she was still unresponsive and he hissed. He recognized those distant eyes and the parted silent lips; he’d seen them on many agents’ faces after encountering the horrors of rabid reanimated humans.

She was in shock.

Instead, he took in a deep breath and continued trying to get her grounded again. Last thing he wanted was for her to pass out.

“C’mon, baby, talk to me.” Leon muttered, hands still on her, caressing and stroking her skin to get her back as his azures stayed on hers.

Slowly, her cinnamons went to his and saw him holding his breath. Then she blinked.

“Leon...?” So Ah’s voice came out weak and puzzled, enticing an exhale of relief from him and his head dropped briefly to catch his bearings.

The sounds around her returned as if unpausing a video. She could pick up the shaking sobs of the poor lady behind the desk and the groans of the huddled up Brad. He too was crying. It took her a minute to remember what happened.

Brad was grieving over his dead daughter, blaming So Ah for everything that had happened as the pharmacist attempted to stand by her side. Then the man shot at the girl, but his aim was unsteady so the bullet ended up grazing her cheekbone. The loud blast itself was what sent So Ah down to the ground.

It was what sent her into shock.

[puppyluver256]

[Image Description: Misty, the second Gym Leader of the Kanto-based Pokemon games, with her Starmie beside her. She is a young woman with light skin, orange hair in a side ponytail, and teal eyes. She is wearing a blue two-piece swimsuit with a grey Pokeball logo on the top, black wristbands with silver raindrop-shaped logos, and red and white shoes with black soles. She has a red and white Pokeball in her hand and is holding onto a red swim towel with a pale Pokeball logo that is slung over her shoulder. The Starmie is a purple star-shaped Pokemon with anoter purple star-shape attached to its back, a red octagonal gemstone core inlaid in gold on its front. The background is the central area of Cerulean Gym. Misty is standing on a platform in the center of a pool, with a blue athletic pedestal labeled "1" set up behind her. The floor outside the pool is a light bluish-grey, and the wall in the back is beige with brown circular windows that resemble portholes on a ship. End ID.]

-----

“Hi, you're a new face! Only those Trainers who have a policy about Pokémon can turn pro. What is your approach when you catch and train Pokémon? My policy is an all out offensive with Water-type Pokémon!”

More Kanto Gym Leaders! ...Is it weird that I don't really remember how I feel about Misty in general? Like yeah, I got into Pokemon in the gen 1 days and therefore got to know Misty real well cuz I was watching the anime a lot in those days (it was what got me into Pokemon after all, as I assume was the case for a lot of kids), but I don't actually...remember how I felt about her. At least I know her battle's not too terribly difficult for my typical Kanto team, as I have a Pikachu by this point and my Squirtle-or-Wartortle will probably know Bite to give myself a second tactic against that Starmie hehe.

💖🐶 Check out my pinned post for ways to support my artwork, among other things! 🐶💖

~If you like, please reblog to show your friends! Likes are appreciated, but reblogs let more people see my content! If you have something to say, feel free to give feedback in tags/comments/replies as well!~

Misty, Starmie, and other Pokemon concepts © Nintendo/GameFreak Artwork © PuppyLuver Studios

[maladaptive-ninja-returns]

Into The Thick of It (2)

Loki x Female Reader

Chapter 2: The God

Series Summary: Her work as an agriculturist nearly takes the readers life is not for a stranger (and his weird looking dog) who later turns out to be the God of Mischief. Thrown into a completely different realm, you want to figure out a way home while trying to stay out of the way of this literal God. But fate has its own plans for the two of you.

Written for @tarithenurse and her #Taris1Kchallenge

Warnings: sexist remarks

Word Count: My jaw is selectively pounding now that my wisdom tooth is out and the stitches are in place. It feels so weird because its not like you can simply scratch an itch or around the itch in some way.

MASTERLIST in bio, darlings. Tags are open (check bio)

"How does this look?" Zaira is holding up a green dress that goes down to your toes in length. You give the deep shade a once over and turn back to your laptop. "Meh." Zaira tsks. "I mean-" you breathe and give your attention to your friend- "it's okay. For you. For me?" You shake your head and shrug before trying to discreetly get back to the screen. "Bullshit. You look amazing in green." You try to find the mouse on the screen. "Are you sure?" The question is bland. "Of course! No one can carry this like you! And for the sake of all things holy, stop looking at your death again and again!" Your brows furrow at the statement, turning back to Zaira, who still stands there with the green dress, except for one thing- the usual workspace of white and grey is now replaced with an eerily familiar dark forest with trees trying to touch the sky. "What?" It is nothing more than a whisper, this word erupting from your lips at the change in scenery. Your mind is at the edge of a realisation waiting to erupt when your hand feels an unwelcoming heat. The immediate reaction is to get your arm away from the laptop, or at least that is what you think you are doing considering the last saved spot of this occurrence in your memory. But there is no laptop. No chairs or tables.  Just a bonfire in front of you and your hands covered in blood and tied in ropes tearing through your flesh. And beyond that fire are figures in the dark chanting verses that are alien to your ears. But just as the chanting grows louder, you can feel a cloud of dread begin to loom of your heart; growing bigger by the second. Zaira! You are screaming her name but your voice isn't audible and you cannot see her anywhere either. Zaira!! You call out for her again when the figures seem to be getting closer to you, the anxiety in your chest beginning to hurt even more.  ZAIRA!!!

The loudness of her name in your conscience jerks you awake with the dread transported straight out of your hallucination. Still breathless and sweating from the nightmare, your head pounds at the sudden jump to the reality of finding yourself lying under a fur skin as heavy as you inside what seemed like a tent. From where you lay, the roof is a muddy beige colour dense enough to block sun or rain. Turning your head to your right, you can see a side table housing a copper goblet along with a copper jug. I hope to the Gods that water. I don't care if it's laced with poison at this moment. Turning to your left you are taken a little back to see familiar golden eyes staring from the copper jug back at you, so close that that saliva ridden tongue could lick you if it wanted. "Hi," you greet the familiar creature from the night of your nightmare, your heart still trying to dilute, resting by your side. The creature tilts its neck a little before you can see its tail rise up and swing from side to side. Such a doggo. You try to get up- with much effort, thanks to this animal duvet weighing just as much or maybe more than you- and breathe the cold air around you. Even though the anxiety of this recent incident is still looming around you in the corners you don't want to look at, it is a relief to feel the quiet around you. And the weird doggo looking at you seems to make those corners lighter, convincing your heart that it all ended not so bad at some point. Moving the fur duvet off you to get to the water on your side, you suddenly find yourself quickly putting the fur back on at the momentary realisation of something major amiss, bringing back all that anxiety that was watching you from the corners. "Where the fuck are my clothes?" you whisper right at the doggo despite knowing that poor thing can only swing its tail whenever you look at it. "They were tattered beyond repair." The voice immediately brings your duvet up to your chin before your eyes dart towards the entrance in front of you. No fucki-oh. A woman with skin paler than the pale described for Bella from Twilight stands at the entrance of the tent with a bunch of warm clothing. Her eyes carry a hint of grey and muddy green in them. She takes it upon herself to have already gotten permission to walk towards your side and place the clothes she has got in front of you before going back to secure the entrance. "You were fortunate to be alive in those deadly woods of the dark," she mentions while taking a thermos out of her dress and pouring the contents in the bowl kept on the makeshift table; all the while with her back towards you. You, still cautious of the eyes around you, slowly snuck the clothes inside the duvet to put them on. Only when putting them on, you realise the lack of a bra or panties; just a loose cotton camisole in their stead. ...okay. Maybe they didn't know my size. You look back at the woman busying herself around the tent. All you can see is the huge- and seemingly heavy- overcoat made out of an animal. Or maybe they...don't have the resources? Great, Y/N. Go be a judgmental b for the people who saved your life. The gown is a deep blue shade that neatly wraps around your shape and is put in place with the hooks, the last step being securing it all with the one string tied in what only you would call a bow. "So, it was you who saved me last night?" The woman brought you a bowl with steaming hot stew, bursting out in laughter on hearing your question. You stand there watching her immediately suppress the laughter as if she had been caught red-handed for a grave crime. "My apologies for what you just saw. It was not me who saved you." And before you can ask who it was, the woman gathers a wide bowl filled with water, a couple of hand towels and two bowls of what looked like homemade ointments, and walks out of the tent. You are about to go thinking about the materials that woman just took away when the only being you are familiar with, gets up from the bed, jumps down and struts out of the tent. "Wait...don't leave me," you whimper in a low tone, gathering a bit of strength to walk out right behind him. . The clearing in the forest has been turned into a camp with soldiers bustling in any direction you look. Swords, bows and arrows are being used for practice in one corner and the same are being mended in the other. Helmets akin to the ones Vikings wore can be seen on top of many heads. So can the undercut and braids. "Is this a cosplay fair?" you ask the one guy who passes by close to you. He is nearly the same height as you, but with a lush red beard and hazel eyes.  He- and his two friends- observes you from head to toe, almost making you realise how out of place you already look. "This is a war camp, missy. One where you have no reason staying." You mock a laugh at the audacity of this person. "I will decide the reason for my stay myself...boy." You start to walk away, trying to find any familiar figure in this quite realistic cosplay village. But last you remembered, there has been no such fair going on in the vicinity of that cursed town. A heated hand captures your arm and forces you to turn around. A wince comes out of you and flashes of that gory incident move before your eyes. Especially the face of that man. The Viking guy takes a step towards you, not letting go of your hand in the first wank. "Sigmund! Who is this wench with a quick mouth?" Sigmund, the taller of the three men, with bulky features and a sharp nose huffed. "Someone who needs to learn her place, Kare." "Aye," the last of the three speaks, "she does not look like help. Not in that silk she wears." Kare smirks through that unruly beard of his. "Why, are you that prince's mistress then, lassy? Is that why you came out from those royal tents, eh?" Kare turns towards his lads to laugh, who had slowly gathered now to watch the show, giving you something new to be anxious about. Agni, on the other hand, makes his way through this crowd to come and stand next to you, observing the situation. "Fucking dogs," you whisper under your breath- which you are trying your best to stop from trembling- and begin to walk away again but Kare is already hopping in your path. "Why in such a hurry, my lady?" He bows and turns towards his lads to let his words be heard by everyone "Give us unworthy lads a chance to find out how well you warm the royal beds, eh?" But the 'lads' seem to be having a sudden seizure. Either that or the joke did not seem to register. A sudden movement behind you and all the eyes staring past you assure you in your heart that it is the former one. "Your lads do not seem to find that funny, Kare." A voice not too deep but certainly somewhere right under the surface with a weight that can be felt in your bones, speaks from right behind you, freezing you where you stand. It takes some time for you to turn around and look at the source of the voice. And once you do, you realise how tall this man stands. His pale skin is radiant and his features sharp. You could draw straight lines just by referencing his cheekbones. His black hair- perhaps the only one with black hair in this cosplay fair- is neatly braided in braids at each side and the rest of the hair left open. What shampoo does he use? "I pity your mother and sister," this man continues, "for meeting your lads in an alley someday and being asked the same question." He does not stir his gaze from Kare, constantly piercing through that man's existence without so much as a smile.  "Apologies, your grace." Your grace?  You turn to watch Kare and his buddies drop their heads down and then it hits you. Your grace?!!! Your head whips around with the air of surprise as you watch this man in a new light. I mean, yeah, he kinda looks like a...'your grace'. "It is not me you should be apologising to." He doesn't even blink. He is as stoic as a boulder and everyone here revolves around him. "Apologies...my lady." The words bring you out of the trance that this man's face has created for you and you turn to watch Kare bow to you along with his 'lads'. "Ansa!" the man calls out for someone, finally turning to look at you. You have to catch your breath when those green eyes bore into you, the stare not too piercing and neither too soft. Just balanced. But damn the skies for it is making you lose your balance somewhere inside you. "Yes, my lord," the familiar lady comes out of the crowd to stand before him with her head low. "How is the weather today?" He simply puts the question. Within seconds you realise what the question really is about. You try your best to stand still in this chilly weather despite the sun high in the sky but it is as if he can smell the chill off you. "It's cold my l-" she realises it too, running to the nearest tent to grab a fur coat just like her Lord's and put it gently on your shoulders. "My apologies, my lady. Apologies, my lord." "Are the armies ready for the west front, Aren?" "Yes, your grace. Two battalions are ready to march to the mountains. They wait for my signal." Aren, a tall ginger with soft features gives a warm smile when you look in his direction. "Very well. Go for it then." And with that command, Aren walks to the space vacating in front of you, spreads his arms and transforms into an eagle to fly up and away beyond the nearest mountain. You are left with your jaw unhinged as you try to make sense of what just happened, turning towards the man in charge here; all the while pointing at the sky. "H-how?" "Walk with me..." that commanding voice a couple of minutes ago has transformed into a soft tone that captures a completely different personality of this man. "Y/N." "Y/N," he repeats the name as if to memorise it, and lets his arm gesture you towards the direction you are asked to walk. "I am Loki, of Asgard. Pleased to make your acquaintance." "Asgard?" you wonder the name out loud, confusion visibly dripping from your face. "There is no place by the name Asgard on the maps? Is this further north in the Alps? Wait...are we still in Norway or did we change countries?" The guards by the biggest tent make way for Loki and you to enter. Unlike the place you woke up in, this one houses everything fit for a king. From the bed to the cutlery. And everything has a colour theme going on for some reason. A real deep shade of green. Even Loki's fur coat carries blues and greens as if they had been specially plunged from the deepest corners of the oceans on earth. "Y/N-" he gestures you to sit down on the settee by the foot of the bed while he pours you wine in a goblet- "I have to tell you something. Be kind enough to hear me out before jumping to conclusions." You take the glass from his hand and sit down on the settee. Oh! cold hands! Is he okay? It's really chilly out there. "What?" You wait for him to start. Loki stands by the conference table and faces you, his hands working with each other as he looks at them before finally letting his gaze meet yours. "You are no longer on earth. You were transported to Asgard last night during the Pagan ritual, where you were conveniently made a sacrifice, and would have died if not for Agni hearing your prayers and tearing that scum apart." Silence. Loki’s features show no emotions when he narrates the reality to you. In fact, he waits for a reaction from your end, carefully studying those y/e/c eyes as they blink at him in unadulterated innocence, turn away to look at Agni and then come back to him. Ultimately, you take a sip from the goblet, letting the wine go down your throat, the involuntary reflex of tasting something not to your liking naturally coming over your face. Waiting for a few seconds, you bring the goblet back to your lips, this time gulping down the contents within a breath. "Okay." Loki looks at you with a focused glare before tilting his head a little. "Okay?" You nod. "Are you-" Loki pauses to come and sit down in the chair right in front of you but at a respectable distance- "okay with everything that I just told you? All the parts of it that do not make sense to a human?" You breathe in a lungful. "Oh, Gods! No. I am overwhelmed at this point. To even consider the fact that I am not currently on earth and that I was about to be raped by an eighteen-year-old cultist if not for your wonderful doggo and you, I am considering. Because now that I look at you I completely put you in the silhouette I saw last night. And I thought this was some adult dress-up show going on until a legit person just turned into an eagle and fucking flew away right in front of my eyes. I mean...it would take a good amount of CGI to actually make that happen just in the movies, forget real life. And if I am not on earth, the thought of getting out of doing mindless labour because your boss is an asshole is very appealing, mind you. Even though that means I have been thrown straight into a pit of testosterone-filled sexist Vikings who look like they will pounce on me the first chance they get. So...yeah. I am...I...uhh...have decided to shut my brain down till-" you simply shrug before breaking into nervous laughter and bringing the empty goblet back to your lips, raising it as far as it could go before it decided to release a drop into your desperate mouth. Loki blinks at you before breaking into a smirk that he hides from your eyes. It feels like he has watched you slowly crumble a little within the last few moments when all you did was talk. He has noticed those shaking hand movements and those trembling lips that force a smile to show they are doing absolutely fine. He has observed that shift of your fingers to scratch an itch on your exposed neck and that movement of turning that sole ring made out of iron in your index finger; hiding your anxieties in the rotations of that little circle. And now he watches you trying to dissolve the incoming anxious winds in alcohol. He knows this look too well. The look of fear; fear of the unknown. Loki raises his hand to you. "Allow me to refill that. With something better." You watch his hands and make a mental note of those long pale fingers and how good they would seem wrapped around anything. "Something better? I don't think Asgard could provide me with a Long Island Iced Tea or a Jeager Bomb. Or a Zombie." Loki simply chuckles and you find yourself stuck on that toothed smile of his. Is he the same guy who was dragging his soldiers in the mud like anything? Taking the goblet from you, he gets up and walks towards a little cabinet that opens up like a medieval bar.  "I sympathise with you being so far away from home. But I can assure you these...Vikings will not touch you or even think about pouncing on you ever." You furrow your brows and let your arms rest on each side while you tilt your head a little in question. "They know it better than to even think about what I claim as mine." You feel little chills go up your spine at his words, your legs going one over the other as you wiggle away certain scenarios from your mind. Damn! He should write dialogues for the entertainment industry. "Excuse me, sir," you press while raising your brow, "I may have fallen on your royal highness' land but that ain't making me anyone's property...considering this is your property." You cannot see it from where you sit, but the God chuckles at your audacity of raising your voice at him. He comes back to you with your drink. You notice that this time it is not the familiar red wine waiting for you in the goblet but something relatively darker and comparatively with a more medicinal odour. "No one will harm you. Agni will make sure of it. Isn't that right, beast?" You turn to watch Agni sitting right next to your feet, immediately wagging his tail at the mention of his name, contently growling as assurance. You notice how familiar this creature look to the Pitbulls back on earth. Give them pits some pointed skeleton for their backbone, a pair of horns and huge canines and these two breeds will be a copy of each other. "And we will find you a safe passage home once we reach back to the city." Home. unfortunately for you, the first thing at the mention of 'home' is the rush of crude flashbacks from last night of that horrid nameless town. No matter how hard you try to breathe in, the scenes keep on coming. Both Loki and Agni seem to sense the uneasiness creeping onto you. Your racing heartbeat and uneasiness of breath can be heard by them as clear as you can. "I hope you were not too attached to your clothes. I had to tear them apart to treat your wounds," Loki announces, gulps his herbal drink and walks towards the entrance of the tent. "Yeah, no problem. They were just clo-wait what? WHAT? You-" you get up and lower your voice for the fear of any third person hearing it- "you tore my clothes?" He nods with the most neutral expression you wanted to punch. "Yes. As you mentioned, they were just clothes. And nothing I haven't seen before. Now come on." You wonder whether to be relieved or angry with this one. Putting that thought on the back burner to simmer for a while, you gulp down the goblet without breaking any eye contact with him.  "Where are we going?" "To get you out of your clothes again," he states without skipping a beat and you have to question all the good you have thought about him till now. Son of a bitch! What an ass- "You stink. About time you took a bath."

[harryspet]

obedience | bucky barnes

[Warnings] dark bucky barnes x named oc, murder, and violence, non/dubcon oral and vaginal, outdoor sex, kidnapping, p/e/t play elements, bad google translate, implied agegap, mater/pet, lots of buildup, Stockholm syndrome(?)

A/N: I’ve been writing a bunch of Peter and Harry and kind of wanted to take a little break! This pretty much post endgame bucky. Sorry for any story inaccuracies! TRIGGER CONTENT AHEAD SO READ AT YOUR OWN RISK

In which Bucky kills her family of former Hydra members before taking her home as his pet.

Like, reblog and let me know what you think!

word count: 4.4k

Sam wanted him to let things go. Move on and focus on something else, he said. Sam thought it would be impossible to find any of them since it had been years since they were active members. The snap had given them a big enough distraction to escape. Bucky didn’t think it was fair that they could just disappear, change their names, and get to live another day after the destruction they had caused. 

Accept, they couldn’t stay hidden for long. It took months but Bucky finally tracked the small family to Manhattan. The German immigrants thought they could hide within the millions of citizens in the New York borough. They made several mistakes though only because they couldn’t get rid of the luxury they were used to. The daughter had a driver and bodyguard that took her to and from her private school. 

Bucky had cyberstalked her through her Instagram. The eighteen-year-old Senior posted a lot under the alias, Mina, that her parents had most likely given her. The Vogt family had turned into the Bradford’s of Manhattan’s elite class. The daughter didn’t go anywhere without her bodyguard, at least, that’s what her parents thought. Bucky noticed how she snuck out on Friday’s at the same time every week. 

How reckless could she be? Her parents are on the most wanted list in eight different countries. Teenage love was the only answer. Bucky saw the boy she met up with, a poor rockstar type, that gave her that rush of dopamine she desperately needed. 

Poor little rich girl.

Bucky purposely bumped into her while the couple was waiting for the subway, “Watch where you’re going, dude,” The boy spoke in a thick Queens accent. Her purse dropped and, because Bucky was dressed like a respectable man of society, the girl let him pick it up and hand it back to her. Their eyes met for a long moment and Bucky thought for a moment she was lost in his blue eyes. 

“Sorry about that, you two have a goodnight,” Bucky faked a smile as he walked away, tucking the girl’s apartment key into his coat. 

“Old creep, he was definitely checking you out,” Bucky heard as he walked away, a stoic look of determination on his face. 

+

Mina woke up frightened. She panted, looking around in the dark for the monster that was in her nightmare. Those striking blue eyes looked into the depths of her soul. Brandon had said the man was checking her out but he didn’t see what she saw. Hate. That man didn’t even know her and yet he hated her. 

Looking out the window across the room, Mina could clearly see the lights of the Manhattan Bridge. When they first moved here, her mother promised she would have an even better view than the master bedroom. They were still trying to get her to not be so upset about the move. Mina pulled back the fabric of her heavy duvet and decided she’d go downstairs to get some water. Her bare feet padded across the white carpet and she opened the doors that led into the hallway. 

As she walked down the hall, someone appeared around the corner, “What are you doing up so late, Miss Mina?” The maid asked, her hands full of towels that she was carrying to the linen closet. 

The maid looked over her, sweaty with tangled hair, clad in her polka-dotted robe and nightgown, “Just getting some water. I had a bad dream.”

The maid held out her hand, urging her to stop, “I can bring you some warm milk and cookies, you should go back to your room,” Something changed in the older woman’s eyes. If Mina wasn’t so tired, she might’ve thought the maid was warning her.

 “It’s okay,” Mina insisted, stepping forward, “You work too much-”

Before Mina could even step forward, the maid collapsed on her side. Blood splattered against the wall and Mina thought she saw pieces of her brain. A bullet had come from down the hall Mina was about to turn on to. Mina covered her mouth, backing away, as the man from the subway stepped around the corner. 

No mask. He didn’t plan on letting her leave alive.

Mina hurried backward, towards her room, but the man took off after her. As her fingers curled around the door handle, she felt metal wrap around her upper arm. She screamed loud, a piercing scream even louder than the gunshot, as she struggled against him. 

The man didn’t speak, just pressed the long tipped gun against the side of her head, “P-Please, please, don’t kill me,” She stuttered out, shutting her eyes shut tight, “Please!”

“Scream one more time and I’ll kill you,” The man jerked her away from the door. The man pulled her back towards the maid’s dead body and down the hall, he came from. Mina’s knees were so weak that she was struggling to walk beside him. She let out a whimper as she was forced to step over the maid’s body. 

“W-Why are you doing this?”

It couldn’t be because of the rude thing Brandon said, right? This was too insane for that. 

He had killed someone. Killed. 

The man dragged her into the room she knew as her father’s office. And despite the man’s order, Mina screamed again. Her mother was bleeding from her abdomen, laying flat on the old rug in front of his desk. The man let go of her arm and Mina ran to her. 

He killed her mother. 

As Mina touched her mother, she realized there was no life left in her. 

Her father was still alive, just bent over and handcuffed to his coffee table, “sie ist tot,” She heard her father say, his thick German accent coming through, “She’s dead. Thank the Winter Soldier for that.”

Mina looked up at the man standing over them, her face covered in tears, “Papa?” Her lips trembling, “W-What’s happening?”

Her father didn’t answer as he looked down, talking to himself, “Mashina. Belyy. Doroga. Svecha. Nebo …” He was spouting off random words in Russian and her anger and frustration only grew. 

The man stepped forward, slamming her father’s head into the table, “I’m not your puppet anymore, Vogt,” Her father laughed, blood dripping down his face. 

“I like your new haircut, Winter Soldier,” Her father teased which only resulted in a punch across the face, “It suits you.” 

“Papa!” She shouted to him, wanting him to stop antagonizing. His wife was dead and his daughter was at gunpoint yet he was teasing the man?  “Please stop hurting him!”

The man finally looked at her, “Your daughter is beautiful, Frank. Is that what you get when you make them in labs?”

Frank? That was not her father’s name. 

“What is it that you want? Money? Being Captain America’s best friend not pay much?”

+

Bucky tried not to show any emotion but becoming Bucky instead of Winter Soldier had its problems. He was still getting used to showing emotion. 

“I want you dead. For every single death that you cause. For the years of my life that you stole.”

Frank shook his head, “Don’t give me the bad guy/good guy spiel. Name your price, Barnes.”

Bucky scowled, tucking away his gun, “What if I said I wanted your daughter?” The girl's eyes widened, still holding onto her dead mother. 

“Papa?” Her father didn’t answer.

“I know what you think, Barnes, but I am not monster,” Frank spoke calmly. Too calmly, “I can give you my contacts, other members who escaped.”

Bucky narrowed his eyes at the man, “Give me an example, a name, and I’ll decide if it’s worth it.”

“... Viktor Vanzin,” Bucky grinned, pulling out his pocket knife. 

“You’re lying,” Bucky had killed that man himself. That meant Frank was truly out of the loop, “I want your daughter. A life for a life.”

“She’s innocent,” Frank continued. 

“So was I,” Bucky countered, waiting for a response. 

“Okay, Barnes. Life for a life,” As Frank finally nodded yes, Bucky thought the girl might faint. She went completely still, her heart completely broken. Bucky almost felt bad but he was really doing her a favor. 

“You evil fucking bastard,” Bucky cursed, moving behind the man and wrapping his arm around the man’s neck. Frank struggled as Bucky drove the knife several times into his stomach. He wanted him to slowly bleed out, to suffer. The man slumped back over the table, coughing up blood. 

He spoke his last words to her, “I-I’m s-sorry, schatz.”

Treasure.

She fainted. 

+

Mina awoke on a thin mattress in a cold room. She reached to clutch her robe but only found her thin, blue nightgown. She wrapped her arms around herself, the sound of her heart pounding flooding her ears, before quickly sitting up. She regretted it instantly, gaining a headache quickly. 

She looked around and found now windows. The walls were a boring beige and there were absolutely no decorations. Only one wooden chair in the corner. Bucky heard the commotion and walked into the room a few moments later. He found her standing, pacing around the locked room.

He expected her to be angry, to shout at him, but instead, he watched eyes well up with tears. He much rather she is angry then have to watch her cry, “Why didn’t you kill me?”

“You want to be in the afterlife with those evil people?”

“I-I’m evil too, remember?” She choked on her sobs. She remembered how her father was willing to give her over to this man in a trade for his life. She remembered how he died anyways and she was taken by this man too. 

“I haven’t decided that.”

“I know they must’ve done something bad to you but they … t-they were my parents,” She struggled to speak, “They loved me. Doesn’t that show some kind of humanity?”

Bucky leaned back against the door,  fingers brushing through his beard as he thought, “You truly don’t know who they really were?” She was silent, “They were top scientists for Hydra. They’re responsible for thousands of deaths and you … they lied to you.”

She shook her head, “No, they work in finances. They could never do that.”

“I think your father showed you his true colors in his final moments. If that doesn’t convince you then I don’t know what will.”

“Why didn’t you kill me?”

Bucky leaned forward, “So, even in death, they can look at you from the other side and feel no peace.”

“Please … please just kill me.”

“Where’s the fun in that, my little treasure?”

+

Mina hated her parents. 

She loved them because they were her parents and hated them because they were the reason this happened to her. She would never see them again, never see Manhattan or Brandon ever again. 

When Bucky walked into the small room later that day, he had a black box as well as a tray of food. Mina held her knees to her chest, staring at the wall, “Leave me alone.”

Bucky sighed, “I think you’re gonna need your strength,” Out of the corner of her eyes she could see his shirt was short-sleeved, his metal arm fully exposed. He set down the tray by her sad excuse of a bed. 

He waited but she didn’t move. Bucky gently placed down the box before moving towards her. She flinched away from him but he grabbed her leg, pulling her flat on her back, “No, don’t! Please don’t!” His metal arm wrapped around her throat and with a swift movement, he ripped off her nightgown. She was weeping again as he did the same with her bra and panties. She grabbed at his arm which was completely useless. 

When he was done, Bucky stood up, watching as she scrambled to cover up with her arms, “You’re sick!” 

Bucky tossed the remnant to the side, “Good girls get to wear clothes. Eat and I’ll think about getting you some clothes. I’m in control here, I won’t put up with your tantrums,” Mina stared at him and Bucky was relieved that she was scowling at him instead of crying, “Eat.”

Mina flinched at the sound of his voice but moved forward. It was heated up canned soup and a plastic cup of water. She was glad that he splurged on her. Sitting on her knees, she covered her breast with one hand and moved the plastic spoon with her other hand. 

It was lukewarm and not that appetizing but she ate most of it. Bucky had pulled the wooden chair closer and taken a seat, “C-Can I have clothes now?” Her face was completely red and, now, she found it hard to even look at him. 

“I’ll think about it in a few days,” Bucky answered simply, and, as it were even possible, her face fell even more, “Considering your reaction, it seems like a good punishment.”

“Why do you want to punish me?” Mina asked, her voice timid. Was not taking her from her family enough?

“Oh, doll,” Bucky’s face softened as he leaned forward in the chair, “I don’t want to punish you but you won’t be obedient otherwise.”

To Bucky, she was a prize. A product of all that he had done and all that he had overcome to get to this point. He had survived her parents and now he owned their lives as well as their daughters. He’d spit on their graves by making her loyal and obedient to him. 

“If I promise to behave, can I have some clothes?” Bucky grinned, thinking she was smarter than she looked. 

Bucky’s eyes went to the black box and he swiftly picked it up, “I have something else for you to wear. A temporary one until you graduate.”

“Graduate?”

“I’m thinking of calling it Bucky’s Reformatory School for Troubled Little Girls,” She couldn’t tell if he was joking but he seemed very proud of the name he came up with. He opened the box, pulling out a plain black collar with a single silver loop, “Crawl over here, pet. Let me put it on you.”

“Mr. Barnes, please-”

“Call me Master.”

+ 

It took Mina two months to even earn a pair of panties. And the panties he chose for her were skimpy, to say the least. 

Mina was used to being naked now and she was almost used to Bucky. He insisted on complete order in his house. They woke up at the same time every day, ate breakfast, Bucky went off probably to murder people and came back in the afternoon to torture her.

That morning, she sat at his feet, eating her breakfast from a plate on the floor. Apparently, she wasn’t allowed the luxury of eating at the table or even sleeping in an actual bed. It was her job to make the food, the way he taught her, and she wasn’t even allowed to enjoy it. 

She wasn’t sure exactly where this rustic house was and Bucky didn’t care to answer questions like that. It wasn’t like anywhere she had lived when she was growing up. Though it wasn’t the biggest it was quite homey and somewhere she probably would’ve liked if she weren’t stuck here. The place had a big porch and there were trees surrounding most of the property except for a pond she noticed one time. 

Bucky was going through his computer, looking at codes Mina couldn’t understand. It probably had something to do with whatever mission he had to go on today. 

Mina itched at her collar, a reminder that she was not yet perfect to Bucky. 

“Mina,” She looked up quickly. Every time she heard him say her name she hoped he’d say something along the lines of giving her freedom. It made her think about what would happen if she was free. Where would she even go? She didn’t have any more family and she’d be surprised if Brandon hadn’t forgotten all about her, “Dishes.”

She gave him a solemn look, standing up with her plate in her hand. She grabbed his too and she felt his eyes over her body. He seemed to resist his urges well. Mina knew he desired to touch her and it would be a matter of time before he violated her that way. 

She walked the dirty dishes over to the sink, still feeling his eyes on her as he sat at the kitchen table, “Do you want to do something fun today, pet?”

“What do you mean, Master?”

She heard his chair creak as he rose from his seat, “We’ll go into town. We’re in dire need of groceries.”

Bucky watched her carefully, wanting to see her reaction. This was all another test, of course, to see if he could trust her out in public. 

She turned her head and Mina almost smiled for the first time in a long time. He moved behind her and Mina focused back on the dishes, “Yes, yes, that would be very nice.” He smacked her hard on her bottom and Mina winced, “I mean yes, Master.”

She felt his body heat on her skin as she turned off the water, setting the dishes into a drying rack. As she turned around, Bucky grabbed her by her neck. Luckily for her, it wasn’t the metal one, “You’d be very grateful to me, right?”

Mina nodded as best as she could, forced to look into his eyes, “What would you do to thank me?”

Mina hesitated but not for long as she felt his hand tighten, “Whatever you want, Master.”

Bucky smirked, “Hmm, and if I wanted your lips around my cock? What would you say?”

He loved this, watching her squirm. She actually thought about it and she wasn’t strong enough to defy this. Throughout this whole process, she thought she’d be stronger than this. All she knew is she’d do anything to escape this house,  “I … I-If that’s what you wanted, Master.”

The accomplished look on his face told her enough, “Let’s get dressed then.”

+

The drive from the house in Bucky’s truck was shorter than she expected. That told her that she wasn't as far away from civilization as she originally thought. She watched all the road signs but she still couldn’t quite tell where she was. It looked to be maybe that they were in the South by the type of trees. 

It seemed to be a very small town with one main street and a few more buildings. 

She was wearing a pair of regular jeans that were a little too big for her and a black hoodie that only partially hid the collar. It was another reminder that she was not a regular person anymore. Perhaps she never was.

Bucky grabbed her hand as they walked into the practically empty Piggly Wiggly. He grabbed a cart with his other hand, greeting one of the old ladies behind the cash register. 

She was not to talk to anyone unless they addressed her and Bucky would kill anyone that she tried to ask for help. Violently, he made sure to add. 

She tried her best to enjoy what little freedom she had but her mind kept wandering back to what she had “promised” Bucky she’d do in return for this outing. 

“Can we get something to eat?” She blurted out, before whispering, “Master.”

Bucky thought for a moment, pointing out the brand of Milk he wanted, waiting for her to fetch it for him. 

“Want to spend even more time in my company?” She scowled on the inside but nodded anyway. 

Bucky chose a diner on the edge of town and they seemed to get stares from everyone inside as they walked in and chose their booth. Bucky looked around as if he wasn't used to being in places like this either. 

Bucky asked her what she wanted so he could order her, avoiding as much human contact as possible, “ … and a chocolate milkshake.”

“That might cost you extra later, Mina,” Her lips pressed down into a thin line. 

“Whatever you wish, Bucky,” It was brave, saying that when he couldn’t reprimand her. Bucky smirked, knowing what she was doing. 

Bucky proceeded to order for them, including the milkshake she wanted, “Can I use the bathroom?”

Bucky raised an eyebrow, “Do you think I was born yesterday?” Quite the opposite, she thought. 

Mina slouched back in her seat. It was only recently that she looked at him and actually thought he was attractive. Maybe they would’ve worked together if he weren’t so cruel. 

“Maybe if I pee my pants, someone will notice and-”

“Mina,” He practically growled her name, “Don’t ruin this opportunity I’m giving you.”

As the waitress approached with their food, Mina slowly slid the knife on the table into her lap and then the pocket of her sweatshirt. Bucky actually smiled at the waitress and she seemed to swoon. 

Mina enjoyed her milkshake and the two sat quietly for most of the meal. Bucky watched as she devoured her food and felt a little bit better about rewarding her. It had been a long two months but she was coming along a few more months, and she wouldn’t have a single thought that didn’t involve making Bucky happy. 

He grabbed her hand as they both went up to pay the check, “You two are a lovely couple,” Mina didn’t even react and the woman only smiled awkwardly, “Have a good night.”

“What do you say?”

“Thank you, Master.”

Bucky could sense the tension between the two of them growing as they got into his car. As they traveled down the dirt road, a feeling swept over both of them. A feeling of knowing and worry. Bucky put the car in park, sighing, “You’re clever but not clever enough, Mina.”

Mina froze, “Give me the knife. I won’t ask again.” Bucky’s words were sharp, demanding. 

Mina reached into her pocket and gripped the knife. As quickly as she could and with as much force as she could muster, she shoved into him. It only entered a few centimeters into the right of his chest but the motion stunned him. Mina opened her door and jumped out. 

It was one last valiant effort at her freedom. Bucky’s chest rumbled with anger as he opened his own door, causing it to almost fall off its hinges. He chased her as she ran into the treeline. Bucky was unnaturally fast and she was only a few seconds ahead of him. 

She didn’t even make it thirty feet before a metal arm wrapped around her waist and through her small body over his shoulder. She fought with the last of the strength she had as he brought her back over to the truck. 

“You have no one,” he threw her body down, pinning her against the front side of the truck, “No one except for me. Do you understand that?”

She nodded, trying to ease his wrath. He was bleeding, she could see it seeping through the plaid of his shirt, “No one else who’s going to give a shit about whether you live or die.”

“I’m sorry,” She whimpered but it wasn’t enough. 

By her shoulder, he forced her down to the ground. She didn’t move as he began to undo his jeans. She closed her eyes but Bucky roughly grabbed her chin, “Look at me!” She did as his erection sprang from his underwear. It pressed against her closed lips, “Open.”

Whatever gentleness he was previously going to give her was gone. He shoved his erection inside her mouth, instantly making her gag with how deep it went.  

He groaned as he moved inside her with animalistic lust. Saliva dripped down her chin and her eyes filled with tears from the lack of oxygen. He even pinched her nose shut to torture her further.

She’d grab onto his thighs for some sort of balance and he’d simply push away her hands, using her mouth like a barbarian. 

Bucky didn’t want to finish in her mouth, he hadn’t waited this long for that. He pulled her up from her position on her knees only to pull the jacket over her head. Luckily, there was no one around to see what was happening in his driveway. 

He turned her around swiftly before easily yanking down her pants and panties as well, He pressed her front into the hood of the car, positioning himself at her entrance. Mina’s body had betrayed her and Bucky could feel her wetness. 

“You’d enjoy this more if you weren’t so stubborn, pet.”

He entered her slowly and Mina cried out, the pressure incredibly intense. 

Bucky held her waist, dragging her body back onto him and then pushing it forward as he moved in and out. He grunted, noting how tight she was around him. It felt like they were perfectly matched together. 

Bucky sped up his pace, his hand reaching around to rub her sensitive bulb. She flinched from the touch but he could tell it was from the sudden pleasure. She was tightening around him and he could tell she was already coming. Bucky made a note about how sensitive she was. 

The first orgasm ripped through her, completing shattering her world in the process. How could she be turned on by this? Maybe what she felt had been wrong all along. She tried to hold in her moans but that proved futile quickly. 

Bucky wasn’t done with her yet, turning her back around to face him and lifting her leg so he could slide into her again. She looked tired from the first one, tears still staining her face. Bucky held her neck in his metal hand as he slammed into her a few more times. He finished inside her with his lips on hers. As he came, he removed his hand and he felt Mina return his kiss. They moved well together, his tongues brushing hers as it became sloppier. 

Mina was crying still, not because of the gagging but because she realized what Bucky said was true.

“I’m the only one you have,” He spoke, starting to kiss her chin and then her neck. She nodded vigorously in agreement. 

“I know, I-I know,” Her eyes didn’t leave his. 

Bucky pulled away, looking her over, loving how perfect she was, “Let’s get you in the bath, doll.”

+

Hope you enjoy this! I have another Sebastian fic called plaything and a bunch of dark Peter stuff. I’m currently trying to write a Bucky/Steve/Peter related Walking Dead AU so hopefully my idea for that works out lol. 

[kryptored]

Secure and in place

To celebrate @lovebugs-and-snakecharmers reaching 250 followers, here's a lil' sumn-sumn to commemorate that. And out of the 50 prompts that we had to choose from, I went with number 36: "Helping brush their hair after a shower."

Also, if you've read "Fall" from the LBSC Valentine's Day Exchange event, this fic can be considered some sort of sequel to it. Or not. It can stand on its own, too. And if you haven't, you're more than welcome to check it out :) .

AO3

The bathroom door opens, and out walks Marinette wearing an old beige coloured shirt and white pyjama shorts, her feet warm inside her pastel pink home slippers. Her arms are both raised up, holding and rubbing a towel against her wet hair. Feeling the strain on her arms, she tilts her head down a little, drying her hair as she starts walking towards her card-making room. As she nears the desk where her latest clients’ cards sit, she makes sure to keep her hair from dripping onto the wedding invitation cards by setting a fair distance between her and the desk.

The deadline for the cards and meeting back with the client is in three days, yet Marinette feels proud of herself for finishing it early. Still, she feels as if something was missing. For that reason, she tosses her hair behind her - uncaring of the wet spot it will form on her shirt - and hangs her damp towel on her chair. She puts both of her hands on the desk, leaning on its weight as she regards the cards in front of her. The lettering, the colour palette of white, créme, and lavender, and even the small details of flowers on the borders look just right. Well, it looked almost right. She just wasn’t sure what else to do. Should she use envelopes? A wax seal? Twine? The couple who ordered the cards were more than willing to pay extra, but she also didn’t want to spend more on something that might not work. As her arm reaches from corner to corner and leaning further down onto her desk, Marinette misses Luka entering the room.

In his hands, he carries an open notebook filled with what seemed to be another song he is working on for the band. He stops by the doorway when he looks up from the page, the question on his mind left unsaid. He smiles when he notices that she’s wearing one of his old shirts, big enough to hide almost all of her shorts. He also sees her wet towel hanging on the back of her chair, as well as the wet spot forming on the back of the shirt, and shakes his head. He quietly places his notebook on top of a box beside him and walks towards her, wrapping his arms around her waist.

He hears her gasp in surprise, her still cold hands touching his arms to steady herself, before realizing who is behind her. She turns her head around with a wide smile on her face.

“Hey, you.”

“Hey, yourself.” He drops a kiss on her nose and sees the cards she has been working on for weeks. “Those look great. Does that mean you’re finally done with them?”

“Mm… kind of. I feel like it’s still missing something — just one last thing.”

“I see. Well, I do hope you haven’t forgotten how wet your hair still is.”

“I was in the middle of drying it.”

“Uhuh… Of course you were." He lets go of her, puts his hands on her shoulders, and pushes her down onto the chair. “How about you stay there and see what else you can do with the cards, and I’ll get your brush and hair dryer.”

“Aw… thanks.”

“Do you also want me to tie it up?” He asks her as he walks out backwards.

“Hm… yeah, if you don’t mind.”

“Of course I don’t mind. I’ll be right back.”

As he walks out of the room, Marinette turns back around to the cards. She hums as her fingers play with stray strands of her wet hair, her other hand cautiously touching the edge of each card, as if it would give her the answer to her problem. Her eyes wander around her desk and the shelves containing all her supplies, hoping to see something that will help her. It’s when she’s going from drawer to drawer that she hears Luka’s footsteps coming closer.

“You’re supposed to use heat protectant before using a hair dryer, right?” He asks her, his hand showing her the spray bottle he was referring to.

“Mhm.”

“Okay, good. Let me just put some of the stuff on something.”

From the corner of her eye, she sees Luka walk over and move one of the chairs from the corner closer to him, using it as a small table. He gently nudges her to lean forward to grab her towel, and proceeds to dry her hair with it as much as possible. When he’s satisfied with the lack of dripping, he reaches for a wide-tooth comb to help him remove some of the knots from her hair. He makes sure to slowly and carefully untangle strands of her hair, occasionally using his deft fingers in place of the comb.

After smoothing down her hair, he uncaps the bottle and whispers to Marinette, “Close your eyes for me, love.”

 She does as she’s told, and Luka starts spraying the heat protectant all over her hair. It takes him a few seconds before Marinette hears him put the cap back on the bottle, and set it back onto the chair.

“You’re good now, sweets. I’m just going to plug the hair dryer, so keep an eye out on your cards.”

“Okay.”

She puts paperweights onto the stacks of cards, making sure that nothing is folded or crumpled in the process. For extra measure, she also pushes them off of her, and sits up straighter when she feels Luka return to his place behind her.

“I’m turning it on now.” He warns her, before he switches the device on and a strong blast of warm air blows past the side of her face. “Let me know if I’m hurting you, okay?” He tells her in a louder voice, adjusting the strength of the air from high to medium heat and speed.

“I will!”

Marinette feels the heat of the hair dryer blowing at her hair — the back, before travelling up to the crown of her head. She closes her eyes again, only this time, to prevent any stray baby hairs poking at her. She feels Luka’s fingers carefully combing through her hair, lifting some of the strands to let the heat reach her roots. His hands systematically move from one area to another, making sure to not miss a spot of wet hair. Once he sees her head full of dry hair, he turns off the hair dryer, and sets it aside. He unplugs it from the outlet, takes hold of a brush, and starts brushing her hair from the bottom to remove remaining tangles. He continues brushing from the top of her head, making sure to do it as gently as possible and not to hit her temple,.

“Tilt your head for me a little bit? Yes, like that. Okay… you still want me to tie your hair up?”

“Yes, please.”

“You have a hair tie with you?”

She shows him her right wrist that has a hair tie wrapped around it. He hooks his finger into it and takes it off of her wrist, only to wear it around his own. With his eyes back to her hair, he decides to go with something simple.

He starts by taking a small piece of her hair from her left side, brings it over, and adds it to the inside of her left side. He repeats this a few times, making sure to grab from the outside part of each section with his pointer finger, and keeping his hands above the braid to keep the hair in place. After he leaves enough length of unbraided hair, he secures it with the hair tie from Marinette.

“Hm… I think I need something else for the finishing touch.”

“What,” she chuckles, “like how I am with the wedding invitations?”

“Maybe,” he tilts his head from side to side, until an idea pops into head. “Stay right there.”

Marinette can only laugh more at Luka’s meticulousness, but continues to sit still and goes back to her own brainstorming. It takes Luka about a minute or so to come back, and when she turns around to ask him what he had in mind, something clicks into place when she sees the blue hair ribbon on his hand.

“I think I also have an idea, but I’d have to ask for your permission to let me borrow it.” She tells him, her eyes focused on the ribbon he’s holding.

“Oh?” he notices her line of sight, and it doesn’t take him long to realize what she means. “Oh. Yeah, for sure.”

He gives her a small smile and walks back to his place behind her, taking hold of her braided hair. He carefully puts the ribbon around the hair tie, tying it into a neat and tight bow without jostling his hard work. Meanwhile, Marinette reaches for the lavender silk ribbons from the left side of her desk, and cuts them down into a certain length — enough to keep the invitation cards secure and in place.

Finally done with his work, Luka clears all his materials away, before coming back and taking a seat beside her. He grabs his own pair of scissors and another roll of the silk ribbon, takes one of Marinette’s already cut pieces, and uses it as reference for cutting.

“How many are we cutting?”

“About 30 more. The wedding is a small one, so they only ordered 50.”

“Okay.”

They cut them in peace (hehe, pun), neither minding the sound of their blades cutting through silk.

Marinette starts humming an unknown song, and so does Luka. Luka starts swaying side by side, and so does Marinette.

When all fifty ribbons are cut, Marinette starts showing Luka how to tie each of them into a ribbon on each card. He is unsuccessful at first, his fingers clumsily maneuvering the silk every now and then. He tries not to let the frustration get to him, trying again and again. Marinette sees him struggling and takes hold of his hand, giving them a reassuring massage before kissing them for luck. He gives a hearty laugh and feels motivation coming back to him; he turns back to his pile of ribbons and starts doing them again, and succeeds. They silently tie their cards, one by one, before they simultaneously reach for their last one together.

“That was nice. Maybe I should start helping you with the cards more.”

“Is that you asking me to pay you as my assistant, then?”

“Are you hiring for part-time?”

“I dunno… I feel like I need you full-time.”

“For the job?”

“No.” She twists to her side and faces him, sitting much closer to the edge of her seat, and takes hold of both of his hands. “If you have the availability, I was wondering if you could stick around with me full-time?”

He mirrors her actions and entwines their fingers, the smile on his face threatening to break his cheeks.

“I think you already know the answer to that.”

[passivenovember]

Chapter Six of : If Snow Loves the Trees and Fields

--

Billy goes home less than an hour after Steve suggests they play operation. When he looks at Billy with eyelashes Neil Armstrong could see from the moon and suggests they cozy up among the coffee table books to do some lasting good in the world; get the tooth out of that guy's dick for him--

Billy has to get out of there.

It was too much.

The house. The colors. The fabric. The smell of Steve's shampoo, which is less like peeled lemons and more like funeral flowers, the longer Billy sits around getting sunburnt under the intense light of a man who wasn't interested in him beyond starched collar friendship.

And he's not mad at Steve. Isn't on his way to punch a hole in his drywall, or anything, but he's mad at himself. Mad at his heart for kicking up a cloud of pink smoke when Billy stands and says he'd better get going. 

And Steve's face falls like snow that covers Billy's driveway, that glues his feet together.

"Papers." Billy says quickly, searching for the coat he knows he didn't bring up the drive.

"Newspapers?" Steve goes along with him, adjusting the yellow bandana behind his ears. He turns with a swoosh of his orange rug robe to dig through the shelves on the wall. "I have some here. Old ones, new ones. There's an edition from 1985 about the mall burning down, it's pretty interesting. Would you like that?"

"Sure, I'll, uh--" Billy takes the yellowing pages from Steve without really thinking about it, jerking away when Harrington lands too close. Close enough that Billy can see the specks of green in his eyes. "I meant. Teaching papers. Assignments." The newspaper smells old. Like books and dust, and faintly of spilled bong water from the pipe of a baghead teenager long ago. "I have to grade papers."

Steve doesn't take it back from him. "I thought you taught kindergarten."

"I do."

"Kindergarteners write papers?" Steve's hair flops across his forehead. Like big, wavy puppy dog ears on either side of his face. 

Billy has to force his tongue to stay in his mouth, his eyes to stop staring. "I meant, like. Spelling. Numbers. Rudimentary bullshit." Billy shakes the newspaper at puppy dog Steve. "Declan Parks can't even tie his own shoes, so--"

"Alright. Okay." Steve says sweetly, pushing Billy's hand back to his own chest, fingers wrapping around his palm. "Take it with you. There's a lot of history in this town, mythology and folklore--rumors of bloodsucking aliens and evil scientists camping out under the power plant." Steve doesn't let go of Billy's hand. He grins instead, dimples popping like fireworks on his face. "We're a regular Twin Peaks ripoff. Read about it, let me know what you think." And.

Steve doesn't back away. Doesn't back down.

"I'll give you a ring sometime." Billy says suddenly.

"Okay."

"Yeah, alright, uh." Billy backs toward the front door, two finger salute making pink skies land on Steve's face. "Thanks for the grub. I'll see you in the driveway, or--"

Steve laughs, following Billy to the door. 

"Around. Yeah, Steve, I'll--"

Steve places a hand on Billy's shoulder and the world stops spinning. Melting right off the bone. Billy fights to get air in his lungs as Steve brushes a lock of hair from his forehead, fingertips lighting Billy's skin on fire.

"See you around, neighbor." Steve says.

And Billy knows, feels in his bones, that he'd do better moving across town.

--

It keeps snowing. 

Morning noon and night, wood nymphs piling on ice and hail down on a town of 36,000 people until Billy feels alone. Like an animal trapped in a beige house on a white street that exists in a bubble. A snow globe immune to light and sound. 

There's a period of days where school is cancelled and Billy runs out of things to keep himself occupied. All the books have been read and returned to their place on the shelf. All the films watched and replayed until Billy draws his own conclusions, until the characters feel like his own.

On the first day Billy feels like he's losing his mind.

He orders groceries. Picks up some thermal socks. Considers making a pie or something from scratch, like his mother used to do before Neil went missing on Christmas Eve, but. He doesn't have a rolling pin.

On the second day he drags a chair over to the window and stares at the warm, peachy light from Steve's upstairs window as it shine on the drifts that gather and climb toward heaven. Billy thinks about that living room as if it were a vision from some other planet. A universe crafted in the image of virality.

Billy thinks about Steve and wishes he could be like that. 

Wide eyed. Free.

--

On the third day, Megan says Billy should begin preparing for spring.

"We're snowed in." Billy mutters, cleaning up the polish on his toes. A gorgeous matte eggplant color that proves--spring isn't on his radar. 

"You're getting bogged down with the ice and snow," Megan reiterates, pen scratching across the page so loudly that Billy can hear it with the phone on speaker. "Before long the flowers will bloom again. The sun will shine, it's something everyone has to prepare for. Rebirth, growth--"

"I don't have a garden."

"Don't be a shitter, Billy." Megan sighs, but he can hear the smile in her voice. "We can work with that. Would it do some good to plant one?"

Billy starts painting his other foot. "I don't want to stay in Hawkins forever."

"That's understandable."

"And I have plans this spring." Billy twists the cap onto the nail polish, swinging his foot around in the air as if that'll make things move faster. "Max and I want to go hiking back home. I'm supposed to help my mom get the boathouse ready for the summer, and I don't want to start something permanent in a place I can't see myself settling down in--"

"A couple marigold bushes are not permanent, you could kill 'em off with a single neglectful week in the summer and you know it." Megan falls silent, only the click of her pen left behind. "This move has been rough on you, and it's been rough on your body, and it's been hell on your space."

Billy shrugs. "It's been fine on my space."

"Have you even finished unpacking?" Megan demands, strictly business.

"I don't want to set down roots--"

"You've lived in Hawkins for two years, Billy, and you haven't finished unpacking."

A lump appears in his throat, just like that, just. Choking the air from his lungs. Megan must hear Billy swallow, or sense the shift in the air because her voice goes soft around the edges. Pliant. "It's a new cycle." 

Billy tries not to think about Max. "Alright."

"Time to blow the cobwebs away." 

"Dust the spider houses." Billy says to himself. He tries not to think about their garden back home, the fertile smell of fresh Earth somehow finding its way to Hawkins despite Billy's efforts. He misses Mammoth Lakes. He tries not to think about it. Then; "Max is coming down for my week off."

"That's not until March."

"So?"

Megan sighs, like Billy should get it by now. "That's way into the spring season, what you need this year is to get a head start." She scribbles something down on the page again. "We've been through this before. You're beyond me spelling out what you need. You've been my client long enough to know the type of person you are, Billy."

He smirks. "Yeah, and what kind of person is that?"

"Someone who likes to open his doors and let in the fresh air." She moves some papers around, voice firm. "Bright colored walls, and bird baths littering diverse lawns even though they turn to green slime when not filtered properly. The kind of man who likes to shop second hand because 'everything has a soul--'"

"Are you reading from my journal?"

"Need I go on?" Megan lets Billy mull it over for a moment. Lets him draw is own conclusions. When she speaks again it's like Billy already knows what she wants to say. Already believes it himself, but. That's never stopped her before. 

"We were just talking about Steve last week."

"We're always talking about Steve," Billy snaps. "Last week, and the week before that, and yesterday and tomorrow--"

"Perpetually." Megan teases. "I know. But you said you liked his house. That's what we discussed last time; not Steve or his hair or how embarrassed you are about the rats--" Billy wishes everyone would let that part go. "But his house. The way it made you feel."

He can see it in his minds eye--Megan leaning forward, legs uncrossed on her big hammock chair, blue and gray glasses catching the glint in her eye as she pokes through his spirit and lands at the root.

The bone.

"What is it you liked about Steve's place and what is it you hate about your own and where is the through line?"

She gives him homework. Student and teacher.

Billy hates homework, but. He jots the instructions down in his notebook anyway and wonders, distantly, if the skies will continue to open above his head and if he'll ever learn to accept it.

--

On the fourth day Billy's power goes out. 

Just like that. 

With no bang or whimper it's just there one moment and gone the next.

One minute he's watching Wayne's World, wrapped in five blankets and eating soup from one of those bowls with the built in straw, and the next he's submerged in darkness. Looking around the living room like a startled chicken, still slurping down tomato soup and hoping it's just a surge.

It's not. 

Billy finishes his soup.

He manages to keep the feeling in his toes even as he wanders around the house lighting every candle he can find, sticking towels over the cracks in his front door and remembering to turn the faucets on drip so the pipes won't freeze overnight.

Outside the storms keep raging.

Billy can't see the end of the front porch, so he grabs his blankets and heads to bed. Remembers to plug in his phone, on the off chance that the power will come back on while he's out, and Billy feels good about himself for a lot of reasons. For remembering his Midwestern Winter Survival Skills, and buying thermal socks when he went shopping last week, and as the temperature keeps dropping Billy feels himself drifting off.

Warm and safe in his cocoon of blankets, he wonders if the power has come back on when someone bangs on his bedroom window.

Billy sits bolt upright, hissing as cold air manages to snake in through an opening near his feet. The knock comes again, louder this time, and Billy thinks about what he read from that article in the Hawkins Post dated July 5th, 1985. 

"Billy?" 

Harrington is wrapped in a blanket. 

That's all, just a knitted monstrosity of orange and green draped across his shoulders, paired with a black hoodie and the care bears scarf that haunts Billy's dreams. He's got yellow gardening gloves on his fingers and, over his head of wavy brown hair, a pink beanie that reads, If I Die of Aids--Forget Burial--Drop My Body on the Steps of the FDA, in teal block letters.

Steve Harrington could break hearts.

Billy's heart is floating through the air, just. Decimated. As Steve smiles and taps on the window. "I tried the front but I figured you were asleep." He says.

And it takes Billy a minute to find his voice. He opens the window, grimacing at the snow on the ledge that topples in. "What are you doing?"

"I cleared a path. Around the house. By the propane tank." Steve says, gesturing with his stupid little gloves. "I took care of the driveway for you. And put some ice melt down, brought some firewood up to the door."

"Wait, what?"

"I just picked some up from Melvalds yesterday, it's no biggie--"

"The powers out." Billy grumbles, using the corner of his blanket to scrub at his face. "Shouldn't you be stock piling layers, like the rest of us?"

"'S not so bad at home."

"It's colder in here than it is outside."

Steve jabs a thumb over his shoulder. "Mr. Bane's auditioning to be a starfish on my mattress."

"Push that little fucker over the edge." 

Steve leans back, gripping the window ledge with an easy smile. "I could never do that. We have a system--I let him sleep on my bed every night on the condition that he doesn't shit in the hallway anymore." Steve lifts one hand and taps his forehead, pleased as punch. "Work smarter, not harder. Right?"

And that makes Billy blush. Either from the image of Steve's fat Mainecoon running the show or the fact that Steve lets it happen, even on the coldest night of the year. 

It's sweet. 

Steve's sweet. Like sun tea with extra sugar, just--

"So where does that leave you?" Billy muses, picking at a loose thread on his pillow case just to keep his heart from beating out of his chest. "It's too cold for the floor, and the living room's gotta be drafty, right?"

Steve shrugs, leaning against the window pane and looking over his shoulder, as if daring the ice to fall again. "I have an extra blanket or two, should be alright."

With his head turned that way Billy can see moles--dozens of little chocolate kisses sprinkled over Steve's skin, swirling and disappearing under the hood at his neck. 

He's beautiful.

Billy thinks the moles could taste like cinnamon or nutmeg. Hot chocolate with little drops of citrus enriching the flavor--

"You could sleep here." Billy's mouth says. 

Steve stares at him, eyes wide, but. Not surprised. Not mean. "Really?" He asks, folding his arms on the window pane and studying Billy's face. Forehead and eyelashes and back again, like maybe this is a joke. "You'd let me sleep on the couch?"

"Sure."

"What makes you think your places' gonna be any better?" Steve demands.

Light.

Teasing.

Billy shrugs again and his stupid blanket slips off one shoulder, revealing a strip of hoodie that may as well be his bare fucking skin, the way Steve's eyes track the movement. Filing it away for some unknown purpose even as Billy rights himself again. He feels every bit like the heroine in those shitty dieback erotica's his mom still reads every Saturday morning. The window lets in gust after gust of frigid air and Billy decides that he isn't going to beg.

"I'm not going to beg," Billy reiterates, though he doesn't sound convinced. "Come sleep at mine or don't, that's--"

"Unlock the front door," Steve says, and then he's gone, rainboots leaving a trail of footprints to show that this was real. 

That one night, with ice covering the trees and fields like a blanket of hope, Steve was real.

[mae-gi-writes]

Plus One | Kevin Moon (Around The World Collab)

When your boyfriend of eight years suddenly decides to break up with you right before your destined trip for your cousin’s wedding, nothing can cure your broken heart. In a desperate attempt to make you feel better, Kevin states that he will be your plus one.

Genre: little angst, fluff, friends to lovers. 

This fic is part of a collab “Around The World”, featuring different countries x the boyz members. I had the utmost pleasure of working with such an amazing group of talented writers for this project, so please don’t forget to check out their works too! ^^ <3 

This fic is takes place on Mauritius Island. 

Word count: 9k IZ A LONG ONE SO BUCKLE UP BUTTERCUPS

Tagging: @aniyawoos​ @chaoticdeobi​ @moondustaeil​ @juyeonzz​ @atbzkingdom​ @2hyunjae​ @jopping-to-my-kpop @jeongsinkookie @ihearttbz​ @heartyyjeno​ @bahnmi07 @sadlandia​ @itsquxxn​

-----------

Eight years, gone just like that. 

I stare at a spot on my navy blue suitcase, not really focused on what’s before me and more concerned about the memories flickering past  my lids. I can’t help it. Everytime I see luggage, it makes me think of the way I kicked him out of my life. Everytime, a slab of pain will grab my heart between its icy fingers and squeeze it so that I can barely breathe. Everytime, until I feel like I’m drowning inside dark waters without the real desire to swim to the surface. 

My psychiatrist told me that it had been for the better. That it had been an obsessive, unhealthy kind of love in the first place. But was it better now that I couldn’t even feel my heart in the hollow space where it’s supposed to be? 

“Y/N.” 

Still, I remember the messages on his phone, the way his touch would feel strange, eerily hollow for some reason, the way he’d avoid my eyes whenever he’d tell me that he was going out with the guys. I remember smelling his coat and recoiling at the cheap scent of perfume clinging to it like second skin, how he’d constantly tell me how wonderful I was-- too wonderful for him -- and that I should find better, that I didn’t deserve someone like him.

And then, when I’d stumbled into our flat a little earlier than I was meant to -- since my gym class had been cancelled -- and took note of the trail of shoes, followed by a coat, a shirt, a thong, before my ears picked up on the noises echoing from the bedroom doors…

“Y/N?” 

His face when he spotted me, the astounded expression like a dog that had just been caught sneaking into the pantry. And the girl, a prettier woman, a curvy woman, with red lips and with those beautifully deep red wine locks tumbling down her back with the perfect physique that could make any man drool. That girl, who was none other than one of my good friends at work and who had spent most part of the year listening to my rants about him. 

“Y/N!”

“Huh?” My head whips up when I register my name being called out, looking up to see a raven-haired, petite-faced man leaning against the bedroom doorway with raised brows and a concerned expression on his face. 

“Oh, you’re here,” I say, as he crosses the doorway and sits beside me. The bed dips down under his weight as he tilts his head in that knowing manner of his, “daydreaming again?” 

“No,” I mumble, but he sees right through my facade and with a sigh, his arms wrap around my shoulder before pillowing his head against my shoulder. 

“It’s going to be okay,” he murmurs as I allow myself to lean back against him, against his comfort. His lavender scent wraps around me, a little bed of comfort amidst all the pain. 

“I can’t stop thinking about him,” I murmur, tears stinging the corner of my eyes, “it hurts, Kev.” 

He only holds me a little closer, a little tighter.

If there is one person that I can trust more than myself, it’s Kevin Moon. I’ve known Kevin ever since high school, having hung out in the same friend group until we had become partners for an art project. It was only then that we’d become closer, and had been close ever since. With his angular features and almond mono lidded eyes and thin lips that were constantly shaped in a pout, the Korean-born man had moved to Canada when he was young, just like I had a few years ago. He had kept me afloat during my university days, I had comforted him through his first break up. He had been present during my final Fine Arts Photography Exhibition, I was up all night coming up with re-branding concepts for his design project. Overall, Kevin had pretty much been a constant in my life, you get the gist of it.

When he found out that my boyfriend had cheated just a few days before our destined trip to attend my cousin’s wedding -- mind you, I had been sobbing waterfalls and it was a miracle he even understood me through my blubbering mess -- he had half a mind to storm up to the guy and rip his throat out. But he did the most surprising thing; booked a ticket for himself and turned up at my flat on the eve of the departure, stating that he was going to accompany me to that wedding, whether I liked it or not.

My cousin, Emma, was getting married right where home was: Mauritius. The memories I once had of the small island nestled right in the Indian Ocean on the right of Madagascar, was of my grandma’s comforting food, the sea scented air that washed along with the too-white sandy beaches, the multitudes of merchants selling all kinds of fresh fruits and vegetables on the side of the road, and small corner stores that looked like they had come out of a 1960’s movie. People liked to claim that Mauritius was paradise on earth, and in a way, it is.

“Come on,” Kevin had nagged when I shook my head adamantly. He’d wriggled his plane ticket before my nose, “you’re not going to let that loser spoil such a happy event are you? Emma’s waiting for you!” 

In the end, he’d won. Which is why we are here, staying at my cousin, Emma’s, apartment in a village called Moka, located at the foot of a mountain and has an abundance of forestry adorning the sides of the road. It's chilly here, in comparison to the harbourfront, and constantly smells like fresh rain and has a gentle fresh breeze blowing through.

“You know, assholes like him are not worth thinking about,” Kevin says now, his arm a gentle soothing caress up and down my back, “your brain might rot.” 

I can’t help but let out a soft, choked up laugh.

“It’s our first day here, let’s not ruin it by thinking about him, hm?” Kevin continues soothingly and I nod in agreement. He’s right. I’m just wasting time by reliving memories that I should be banishing from my mind. 

“Okay!” he brightens up then, “where shall we go? The sea? The market? Or do you want to go eat?!” 

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

The first few days are about meeting up with family and rediscovering Mauritius for what it is. Emma gives me a full-fledged hug the moment I open the door to her house, pressing me close to her with such motherly warmth that it takes everything in me not to break down right then and there. I greet my uncles and engage in small-talk with my aunts, help my grandma out in the kitchen as she continuously asks me why I’ve gotten so thin. While I know the main reason, I decide to smile and spare her the details, as embarrassing as it is. 

No one mentions him, until one of my uncles slips during a conversation with Kevin, “so you’re Y/N’s boyfriend. Such a pleasure to meet you! We’ve heard so much about you that we started thinking she was just making things up.” 

“Er--” Kevin reddens, “I--” 

“So how did you two meet?”

It is at this very instant that my mouth decides to move on its own and I blurt out, “we’re high school friends.” 

“Oh highschool sweethearts! How cute!” 

Kevin doesn’t fail to mention what a mistake I’ve made to lie to my entire family to save face.

“I feel guilty,” he says as we walk out to the car, keys dangling from my wrist. 

I unlock the car, “it’s fine. We’ll be in and out before they know it. They don’t have to know anything.” 

“Hm, sure.” 

After some well-deserved family time, Kevin and I decide to head to the west of the island to catch the sunset, my camera stuffed neatly in the backseat, where Kevin has tossed a few spare towels just in case. We each have donned our swimsuits for the occasion and it doesn’t take an expert to see the excitement thrumming through Kevin’s veins as he sits beside me like an excited child in the passenger seat. 

“I never realized that you guys drive on the left side of the road,” he comments, head whipping back and forth in-between the passage of cars. 

“Yeah, it takes some getting used to, especially if you’re crossing,” it is then that I notice that there is a newly built mall as we turn left at the green light, “hey, that’s new. I’ve never seen this before.” 

“Cas-ca-velle,” he mumbles out with that strong accent of his. He is definitely not one to know French and I’ve been acting as his translator all along, considering that my family speaks French at home, “what does that mean?” 

“Beats me. It’s just a fancy name for a new shopping mall,” I peer into its parking lot, “wanna visit?” 

“Whatever floats your boat, honey. I’m all in.”

The mall is longer than it is wide, with white archways decked with wooden-style roofs that give way to an open-plan exterior. A wide beige cemented pathway occupies the space, with shops lined on either side. 

“I never realized, but you guys are very multicultural,” comments Kevin as we pass by another family of four chattering quickly in a mixture of French and Creole. 

“We’re similar to Canada that way.” 

“Do you miss it here?” 

My eyes glance over at him, notice the soft empathy in his expression.

“I guess I do sometimes,” I say while I kick at a stray pebble, “It’s like homesickness. But in a way I can’t quite explain,” after a moment, I ask, “do you miss Korea?”

“The food, mostly,” he grins bashfully, “my halmeoni makes a killer gamja tang.” 

“Let’s go visit her one day.”

“Is that a promise?” he asks as I shrug, “if you want it to be.” 

It’s a little past six when we drive up to the Flic En Flac beach and as we gather our things, my eyes light up upon falling on a nearby roti stand. I quickly slap Kevin’s arm in my bout of excitement. 

“Ouch! What? What is it?” 

“Kevin, you’re not going to believe this,” I point at the stand in question, “this roti stand? It’s the best roti in Mauritius. Here, take this,” I don’t wait before shoving my bag and camera in his arms, “I’m gonna buy us some. You go and find us a spot on the beach.” 

“But--” 

I don’t wait for him to finish his sentence before taking off, greeting the merchant who is just about to be wrapping up to ask whether I can get two rotis with ‘cari saumon’ (roughly translated into salmon curry mixed with indian spices), local and freshly made. The smell wafts through the folded paper wrappers as I grab them. They smell just like my childhood, where everything had just been as easy as having rotis by the beach without a care about the future that is to come. It’s nostalgic and I can’t help the smile tugging up my mouth at the thought. 

Kevin is already settled atop a pair of spare towels and looks up at the sound of my footsteps approaching. I pass him one of the paper wrappers and he takes a peek, confusion flitting across his face. 

“This smells spicy,” he mutters loudly enough for me to hear, “it looks like naan bread.” 

“It is,” I agree, “except it’s flatter and more like a crepe.” 

Throwing me a hesitant glance, he takes a small bite. I watch his face go from confused to impressed in a few seconds, before his eyes whip up to mine, “woah, this is good.” 

“Told you so.” 

“But this is really, really good,” he can’t help but marvel at it and laughing, I proceed to dig into my own roti, allowing my mouth to be filled with that salty fish taste melting along my tastebuds, the curry spices giving it the nice tangy kick you wouldn’t find anywhere else. The roti is soft and practically melts on my tongue and I can’t help but moan at how good it is. 

“God, this is everything I’ve been looking for my whole life,” I find myself telling him, wrapped up in momentary bliss, “this, this is everything.” 

I can feel his eyes on me, so intense that my own flicker up in question. He drops his gaze the moment I do and I frown, confused. 

“What?” I can’t help but ask, wondering why he suddenly seems so meek, so shy and awkward, “what is it?” 

“Nothing,” he replies like he’s trying to be casual, except that it’s anything but. When he gazes back at me, I notice the warmth in his maroon eyes, more the color of caramel in the dim light from the sunset basking his profile in a golden glow, “I think--I think that’s the first time I’ve seen you so happy, since...” 

He doesn’t need to continue, for I know where this is going. Indeed, this is the first time in many months that I haven’t paid any attention to the hole inside my heart. 

And it feels good.

“Yeah,” I murmur as I watch the sun settle on the ocean’s horizon, fire kissing water, “I don’t know, I just feel like this is nice. Like it’s right.” 

I spare him a glance from the corner of my peripheral and watch him shift. His sleeveless shirt slips, allowing me a glimpse of the naked skin underneath. I quickly look away, slightly embarrassed at the notion of even thinking of him in such a way. 

“That’s how you should be, Y/N,” Kevin murmurs back just as softly. It’s almost like talking too loudly will break the sudden spell that has settled over our shoulders. He takes a sip of his beer before continuing, “you’ve suffered enough for someone who deserves nothing but shit for what he’s done.” 

There’s a small pause as I digest his words. Then, I manage to murmur out, “thanks, Kevin.” 

“No problem.” 

Another small bout of silence ensues, covered up by the sound of the ocean roaring up the sand, distant birds chirping in the fading light of the sunset drowning into the now orange-flecked waters. 

“Hey Y/N.” 

I glance at him. He’s gorgeous, even more so somehow. Maybe it’s the time of the day, maybe it’s the mood, or maybe it’s the way my heart can’t help but be swallowed in gratefulness whenever I look at him.

“What?” I ask.

“Do you know water has memory?” 

I choke on my beer, “do not-- and I mean this-- do not quote Frozen with me.” 

“Huh, I tried.” 

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

“So, Kevin huh?” 

My eyes shoot up to meet Emma’s in her crusty-dust-filled mirror, presently lounging on her bed and flipping through a book as I had been trying on my bridesmaid gown. Kevin is downstairs, helping out with the barbeque grill with the rest of the family, and it is only now that I get to have some alone time with the woman I consider my sister. 

She’s the only one that knew the exact details of my breakup, and that Kevin is only a mere replacement to cover my humiliated ass. I remember her trying to calm me down when I had called in a frenzy, practically hyperventilating because of the amount of pain that gripped at my heart and was choking me of all air. 

I revert my eyes back to the dress, a baby blue as bright as a summer sky, and smooth my hands down my sides, “he’s been so good to me, ever since…” I can’t finish the sentence, voice already wobbling at the thought that comes with it.

“Hey,” Emma’s murmur causes me to look up, and in her eyes I see a flicker of understanding, “he’s not worth it.” 

“I know,” I swallow back the tears crawling up my throat, “I know, it’s just--a hard pill to swallow.”

A hand comes to a rest at my elbow, before my cousin tucks her chin atop my shoulder, “it’ll be alright, Y/N. He doesn’t deserve you." 

I nod. Then, just to change the subject so that I don’t break down in her arms, I gesture towards the dress, “so? How does it look?” 

Emma tugs at some pieces here and there, rearranging the fabric as she sees fit, “I think it looks good. You look gorgeous. Kevin will swoon, for sure.” 

“It’s not like that,” I hurriedly say as I strip out of the dress and put it back on its hanger, “we’re just friends.” 

“Mhm,” she throws me a pointed look, a mischievous smile tugging at the corner of her lips, “'just friends' doesn't feel right..” 

“Emma, really? Right after my breakup?” 

“He came to Mauritius just for you Y/N,” she squeezes my shoulders comfortingly, “doesn’t that count for something?” 

“Well, we’ve been friends since high school so…”

“I don’t think just any friend in high school would do such a thing if I asked,” Emma catches my eye in the mirror, her gaze deep and meaningful, “just think about that.” 

I just nod in hopes that she’ll stop yapping away at my nonexistent relationship with Kevin, whatever that means. The hole in my heart is still so raw and filled with pain that I can’t even start thinking about another relationship. The thought alone is enough to drain me of all energy and I decide to brush it off for now as I follow Emma out in the backyard now filled with familiar chatter and the smell of cooked meat wafting through the air, with the sky bruising a soft purple to signal the end of a long summer day. 

Catching sight of Kevin as I bring out one of the many salad bowls that my family has prepared, my lips can’t help but twitch into a slow smile when I see him by the grill, whipping away the multitudes of flies zipping back and forth as my other cousin deftly flips the sausages upside down with a trained rhythm that only years of experience can bring. 

“Kevin! You’re not doing your job right!” my cousin cries playfully. Kevin attempts to flap the newspaper around while screeching, “oh god, my eyes are burning!"

“Someone bring more meat!” My cousin hollers. 

“There’s more?!” 

“He’s doing a great job,” my grandmother’s voice brings my attention back to the salad bowl in my hands, and I quickly bend to kiss her cheek as she continues, “better than any of your other cousins. They never help out.” 

“That’s because you pamper them too much, grandma,” I grin at her and follow her to the dining table where my aunts are already settling down amongst themselves. 

The evening passes by with good food and good company, the sky darkening and dotting with a veil of stars that has Kevin gawking in awe. I'm not surprised, you don't see skies like that anywhere, a sky that isn't so intoxicated with modern chemicals. My uncles take it upon themselves to introduce Kevin to all the types of Mauritian delicacies, such as chickpea fritters we call 'gato pima', small balls of graped choko vegetable and minced pork 'niouk yen', and to top it all off, a plate of cornmeal pudding also known as 'pudine mai' that makes Kevin's eyes go wide with surprise.

"This is dessert?" He holds it up in his hand, "with ...cornmeal?"

"Sure is," one of my aunts chime in with a smile, "made it just this morning."

It's past midnight when we get back to our little apartment with Emma's dress hanging off my arms, which Kevin doesn't hesitate to grab from my hold despite my protests. 

"It's fine dude," he flashes me a quick smile, albeit tired, and my heart does this weird little squeeze in my chest at his thoughtfulness. 

He's kind. Too kind. I really don't deserve someone like him. 

"I'm sorry," I say as we settle onto the small couch, shoulders fitted snugly against each other, "my family is kinda overwhelming."

"No no," Kevin looks over, edges of his lips curled up, "I actually love your family, you know."

My chest warms, "thanks."

There is a moment of silence that we enjoy, the day's events sinking into my bones. 

"Hey," he murmurs.

"Hm?"

My eyes slide over to catch his, dark pools glimmering with a certain softness that catches my attention. 

I bite my lip. It suddenly feels a little warm.

"What is it?" I ask, voice hoarse.

"Is oreo a sandwich?" 

I sit up so suddenly that I jostle him, "wait--what?"

He grins up at me with that little nose scrunch that I can't help but find endearing, "is oreo a sandwich?" I open my mouth to answer but he beats me to it, "is cereal a soup?"

"Stop."

Reclining back to lace his hands at the back of his head, he says, "is ketchup a smoothie?" 

"Stop it."

"What about hotdogs? Are they sandwiches?" He continues in a singsong voice and rolling my eyes, I make a move to punch him once more. But he's faster, hand shooting out to hold my wrists. He pulls me over and I stumble, knee pressing against the side of his leg. 

"Come on. Answer it," he wriggles his eyebrows.

"Nope."

“Don’t be a party pooper.” 

“You’re so annoying.” 

"Are you sick of me yet?" His face is so close that I notice the creases at the corner of his eyes when he smiles.

"That's an understatement."

"But really, do you think oreo is a sandwich?"

"No! Oreos are just oreos!"

“You’re no fun,” He pouts before finally releasing his hold. I draw back with a roll of my eyes, settling beside him once more and pillowing my head onto his shoulder.

Emma’s right. Kevin had sacrificed so much to be here with me, and he doesn’t even know Emma. Yet, he immediately dropped everything so that he could be my plus one, so that I wouldn’t have to face the music alone. The thought makes my heart swell with emotion and suddenly I’m all too aware of his presence beside me. 

I shift to gaze at him, eyes tracing the curve of his nose, the indent above his lips before I whisper, “hey Kevin.” 

“Hm?” 

“Why’d you come?” 

His eyes flicker over to mine then. A heartbeat passes. For a moment, I wonder if he can hear my heartbeat suddenly throbbing a little too loudly in my chest. 

“Good question.” 

Another pause. 

“That’s not an answer,” I laugh slightly, to show that it’s all just fun and games.

But when I catch his eyes next, there’s something else brimming in them. They’re tender with emotion and it catches me so off guard that I almost don’t catch his next set of words:

“Because I care about you.” 

My heart gives a quick lurch but I somehow can’t tear my gaze away. I want to say something. Anything. 

But all I can muster is a soft, “oh.” 

“Why do you ask?” he asks, voice hoarse.

I hesitate, “Emma asked why. And...I guess I wanted to know too.” 

“Oh.” 

The air feels heavy, heightened with the things that are threatening to slip off the edge of my tongue. A mixed series of ‘but why’s and ‘can’t you tell me more’ jumbling up my thoughts with so many possibilities that I decide to stay quiet for the sake of not ruining the moment. Because there’s this lingering fear that once I do say something, then it’ll just pull me down a rabbit hole that I can’t crawl out of, that the only escape lies on the other side.

And I don’t know if I want to take that leap yet. My heart is already so fragile with the aftermath of a love that went wrong. I don’t know how much more I can take. 

So I just stay quiet and let out a soft sigh, and though Kevin shifts as if he wants to say something, he doesn’t. The question just hangs there between us, in-between the slithers of moonlight and in the cold Moka air, like a perpetual ghost we ignore as we drift off to sleep.

----------

Something shifts between us after that. It’s unspoken of, but suddenly, I am all too aware of Kevin as a whole. Things that I hadn’t noticed before surface as we spend most of our free time visiting the rest of the island; like how he loves ruffling his hair whenever he feels uncomfortable, or the way his bicep curls as his arm drapes over the wheel with the barest hint of muscle that is enough to be attractive yet subtle, or how he smirks in that attractive way of his whenever he thinks something is undeniably adorable. 

The good thing about having Kevin is that I don’t get to think of him all too much, which is a blessing in itself. It’s been days since I’ve shed another tear and for that, I have to say I’m glad that I’m making progress.

We spent the last few days before the wedding traveling around the island to visit all the touristy spots that I know Kevin will enjoy, like a hike all the way to the top of Le Morne mountain, where I explain that’s where slaves would throw themselves off when their masters would find them. We visited Bois Cheri, a tea-making factory where Kevin had the pleasure of tasting all different kinds of teas cultivated in the fields below, and ate lunch on the Caudan Waterfront as we gazed at the boats lulling along the harbour. 

“Woah, this place makes me feel like I’m in Aladdin somehow,” Kevin’s mouth is wide agape as his eyes try to take in the endless racks of stands selling fresh fruits and vegetables of the day. The Port-Louis Bazaar has always been one of my favourite places to visit, but it’s also one of the busiest. Even now as we attempt to squeeze our way through, people are jostling us here and there, causing me to press my bag to my chest in case any pickpockets are nearby. I prompt Kevin to do the same. 

“Hey Y/N, I wanna check out the bags over there,” Kevin motions towards the hand-woven baskets situated at the far end of the market and I nod as we keep moving forward with the crowd like a pair of salmons trying to swim upstream. But there’s so many people, it’s so suffocating that it gets hard to keep up with Kevin’s figure. Someone elbows my shoulder and I groan, stumbling to the side in irritation, only to get pushed forward by another. 

“Seriously--” I curse under my breath, when a hand suddenly appears before my eyes.

Looking up to see Kevin’s outstretched arm, I am only greeted with his bashful smile and averted eyes. 

“Come on,” he doesn’t even wait for my consent before slipping his palm over my own and tugging me along, his hold firm and strong despite his skinny frame and the action is enough to render a flurry of butterflies soaring over my stomach. 

Stop, I try telling my subconscious. That does nothing, however, to stop my neck from tingling with unfamiliar heat. 

Kevin’s hand feels so warm. It’s comfortable, safe. 

And I’m liking it a little too much.

He doesn’t let go when we reach the desired stand and talk over which bag looks the best and keeps his hand in mine for the entirety of our journey back to the car. Only when I unlock the doors that his palm finally drops from my hold and air rushes over my palm that is now a little too cold without his warmth. But while a multitude of questions are burning the back of my throat, they fall apart halfway through at the thought of his answer, before I decide to drop it altogether. 

Kevin, on the other hand, doesn’t seem the least bit affected. 

When the day of the wedding finally rolls around, I drive my car to Emma’s after a quick breakfast that Kevin surprised me with -- to my surprise, he’d managed to make a decent eggs and toast without burning the place down -- so that I can help her get into her gown and more importantly so that she doesn’t run away, lest her mind goes in a frenzy at the thought of tying the knot. 

“You’ll be fine,” I reassure her, teasing a few of her curls so that they slip down to her chest in a perfect wave. She looks stunningly beautiful, with her strapless white dress that shimmers with diamonds in the light with every movement she makes. 

I reach out to smooth over her veil so that it falls on either side of her face, frames her perfectly, and notice her big brown eyes staring back at me through her vanity mirror. 

“You look beautiful,” I can’t keep the awe from my voice. 

Her face blossoms into a smile, “you too.” 

“Ah come on, you can’t say that to me on your wedding day,” I shove her playfully on the shoulder, “you’re the star of the show. Don’t let anyone take that away from you.” 

“Okay mom,” she rolls her eyes before changing the subject, “So, how have things been? With Kevin?” My hands freeze in mid-action, “It’s good.” 

I don’t have to look at her to know that she’s giving me a pointed look.

I sigh, “well, okay. Maybe you’re right. About the whole…’just friends’ thing not being true.” 

“Why?” she straightens up, turns to me, “what happened? Did you kiss? Did he make a move--” 

“No we didn’t kiss,” I’m quick to answer as my cheeks heat up. And after a few beats of hesitation, I give her a summary; the way he’d looked at me that night with eyes that held so much in them that it had made my chest swell, the way that he’d snitch glances at me whenever he thought I wasn’t paying attention, and the fact that he’d grabbed my hand and didn’t let go even long after the crowd wasn’t an issue anymore. 

Emma’s eyes are wide and sparkling with a feeling that I know all too well, I can practically see the cogs turning in her head and quickly shook mine in rapid retaliation, “Emma, no.” 

“But--But he’s perfect for you!” she bellows in protest, “What do you mean ‘no’?!” 

“I can’t go there. Not after,...not now, it’s too soon…” 

She rolls her eyes, “it’s not like he’s asking you to marry him, christ’s sake. He likes you, and I feel like you’re only trying to deprive yourself because you feel like it’s not right.” 

“It’s not right--”

“Who says so?” she cuts me off then, her gaze hardening on mine with such intensity it takes everything in me not to flinch back, “who says it’s not right? It doesn’t matter if it’s after two days, two weeks, two months. You think I don’t know how it feels to be heartbroken? You can’t just keep thinking about the past. You’re going to hurt yourself that way.” 

My teeth sink down onto my lower lip, her words like ice-cold knives aimed straight at my chest. 

“What you can control, right now, is the present, Y/N.” 

“I know,” I mumble out half-heartedly.

“I can see it, you know, the way he looks at you,” she shakes her head, “even if you don’t like him back, you gotta be aware of all that he’s done for you.” 

Her hands find their way to mine, enclosing them in her grasp before squeezing them with such care that I can’t stop the tears crawling up the back of my throat. 

“I’m sorry,” she murmurs next, “I don’t want to pressure you if that’s not how you feel. That--That was not my intention,” her eyes latch onto mine, filled with understanding, “I just want you to be happy.” 

Happy. 

That’s a word I haven’t heard in a long time. 

“Don’t you dare cry now,” Emma says while waving her hands around in warning, “you’re going to ruin your makeup and we definitely don’t want that.” 

I sniffle, trying my best to hold in the tears now brimming through my eyes, “you’re right,” I attempt to smile, albeit it’s wobbly, “we don’t.” 

“Come here,” she tugs my arm so that I fall into her embrace. Her head finds her way to my shoulder and she hugs me tight, not caring that her veil is getting all bunched up and wrinkled, “you’ll be okay,” she whispers, one hand stroking my back, “you’ll be just fine, little one.” 

Then, pulling back and pushing a few strands away from my face, she flashes a bright smile, “we should probably head to the church soon.” 

----------

“We now declare you, Vincent and Emma, as husband and wife.” 

The church explodes in a round of applause and I join in the clapping, furiously trying to keep the tears of joy at bay. Vincent has been there for Emma ever since they met at work and it has been the most beautiful love story ever since; filled with the purest kind of love no one can imagine. Beside me, I feel Kevin’s hand coming to squeeze my shoulder in a reassuring manner and I feel warm all over despite the rush of emotion in my heart. 

The wedding reception is to take place at a fancy restaurant overlooking the harbourfront. Our family has booked the venue for the evening, and as I enter, I take in the baby blue veils that come down each corner of the restaurant, sprinkles of glitter here and there as we make our way to our assigned tables that each have a baby blue napkin shaped in swans. 

I don’t even have time to place my butt down when I hear a voice call out, “Y/N! Look how big you’ve gotten!” 

Of course, big wedding ceremonies only mean that we get to meet all of our extended family that we haven’t seen since forever, and they’re all too happy to chat with me about living overseas. Soon enough, I’m bustled off to a table and look back over my shoulder to mouth a quick “I’m sorry” to Kevin. Bless his soul, for he only smiles and shakes his head, his hand motioning for me to go on.

I manage to catch up with cousins I haven’t seen since I was a little girl, talk over appetizers with excited aunts who want to know all about how it feels like to live away from family for such a long time, and nod along to the old uncles trying to get me to give a concrete answer about when and where will my wedding take place. 

“Come on Y/N! You’re the next one after Emma for sure,” one of my uncles bellow, face flushed red as a result of the glasses of wine he has downed like water. He is Emma’s father, no surprise that he’ll want to get drunk from happiness and pride. It is his daughter’s wedding after all. 

He leans close with a conspiratorial look in his eyes, “so tell me,” his eyes glance over to Kevin, currently deep in conversation with another one of my distant aunts. I watch as he says something to make her laugh, and something inside my chest warms at the action, “is he the lucky guy that’s going to ask for your hand?” 

“Do you think he’s the one?” another uncle pipes up. 

I purse my lips and attempt to shrug, “it’s early days,” I try laughing it off although it sounds forced, “who knows what can happen.” 

“He’s a good kid,” an aunt says, “you know how we all have this sixth sense? Well Y/N, I have a good feeling about this young man. Don’t let him go. Something tells me he’s a keeper.” 

A wild imaginative speculation, considering that we’re not even dating. But I nod along and say that yes, I’ll tell them whenever I decide to tie the knot.

It’s only when the dance floor opens and people start pooling onto the dance floor after the first dance -- led by no other than the bride and groom themselves -- that I finally allow myself to breathe. I find my way back to my chair, back to Kevin’s warm smile flashing in my direction as his eyes take in the fatigue lining my face. 

“You look like you could use a drink,” is the first thing he tells me the moment I plop my butt onto my designed seat, the one that’s been kept cold ever since I stepped foot into the dining hall. 

I gratefully accept the glass of wine he offers me, swallowing it down in a few gulps, “thanks,” I sigh with relief, “I needed that.” 

“How was catching up with family?” 

“It couldn’t be as bad as being left behind,” I peer over at him, guilt flooding me at the prospect of having left him all alone, “sorry. It’s just that everyone--” 

“Oh stop that,” Kevin nudges my shoulder with his, “don’t be sorry. It’s totally normal. I’m happy for you. And I wasn’t left behind. I had a wonderful time talking to your aunt. She seemed so happy to tell me what your childhood was like.”

“Bet you liked that, didn’t you?” 

“Hey, it works as blackmail. Why wouldn’t I like that?” 

“Dork.” 

“You’re friends with this dork.” 

“Oh piss off,” I slap his shoulder playfully in retaliation, causing him to laugh softly as we watch couples glide across the dance floor like swans over water. The lights have dimmed, the yellow hues now replaced by soft cool blues and purples that cause Emma’s dress to shimmer every time she turns. She’s absolutely stunningly beautiful, and the way she and Vincent are gazing at each other just scream of pure love that wraps around them in a golden mist so enchantingly beautiful that I find myself catching my breath in the back of my throat. 

“She’s so beautiful,” the words fall from my mouth without meaning to, and I feel Kevin’s eyes on my face from the corner of my peripheral.

“You are too.” 

I bite my lip and narrow my eyes at him playfully, “thanks, but why do I have a feeling that this isn’t a compliment?” 

“It isn’t,” he holds my gaze, “it’s just the truth.” 

Emotion lodges at the back of my throat. I stare at him. He stares back, a glimmer of tenderness echoing through the dark pools of black, his whole expression relaxed into a face that appears flooded with affection for--

Me. 

For some reason, no words seem to come to me as I open my mouth and close it. Embarrassment slowly bubbles through my stomach. I look away, unable to contain the goosebumps suddenly exploding across the back of my neck with that same familiar uncomfortable sensation I keep getting around him these days. Like I’m standing atop a cliff and preparing myself to jump.

“Wanna dance?” 

I blink in surprise, before turning to the said young man beside me who has his head cocked to the side with that same expression. My heart can’t help but squeeze inside my chest before I push down the rising protest searing through my brain. 

I nod. And off we go onto the dance floor. His hands settle on my waist, mine atop his shoulders in a casual sling. There’s enough distance between our bodies to show that we’re not together and yet, I can’t deny that electrical tension that keeps on pulling me towards Kevin like a magnet. I wonder if he feels it too, that searing heat that is so palpable I can feel sweat break out from the back of my neck. Asking, though, would mean that I’m aware of what’s happening, asking would imply that I want something to happen.

Maybe I do. 

Maybe I do want to grab life by the reins myself and steer it wherever I want it to go. 

“What are you thinking about?” 

I blink. Right up into Kevin’s brown orbs, his hair catching the shades of blue from the disco balls. My throat runs dry. 

“Uh--” my mind tries to scramble for a response, any response, “just--uhm, it’s kind of like our last day here.” 

He cocks his head, “sad?” 

“Kinda. I like it here,” my eyes brush over Emma and Vincent’s forms in the vicinity, catch my grandma sitting at one of the tables, little cousins running all over the place. Then, I look back at the said young man gazing at me with that undecipherable look in his eyes that makes my heart sing, and try not to squirm as I continue softly, “it feels like home.” 

“We can always come back,” he uses ‘we’ as though it’s now an adventure kept between the two of us, a secret to our own little neverland that nobody knows about. I can’t help but smile at the thought. 

“Do you want to come back?” I ask.

“Are you kidding? Hell yeah I want to come back. The views are amazing, the food is out of this world, and your family has been really kind to me.” 

“I’m sorry, they are kind of overbearing when you first get to know them.” 

“I love it,” Kevin says seriously, “I love that they’re overbearing. Couldn’t have asked for anything more.” 

If I had any doubts, the sincerity dripping from his eyes is enough to wipe out any suspicions left from his compliment. The sudden urge to hug him rocks through me and my hands fist on the back of his shirt in response. 

We keep on dancing silently, bobbing from one foot to another for a few minutes more before he speaks up softly. 

“Y/N?” 

“Hm?” 

“I wouldn't mind getting married here.” 

My eyebrows shoot up in surprise, “really now?” 

“Yup,” he grins, “really.” 

“Your future wife will have me to thank for that.” 

“Maybe my future wife won’t have to thank you.” 

There it is. That same borderline flirting that’s been happening for days on end. 

“And why is that?” I probe, partly just to tease him, and partly because I just want to know.

“Maybe she might be right here, in this room.” 

“Didn’t know you were into one of my cousins,” I start looking around the room, only for one of his hands to cup my cheek to turn my face back to his. 

There is none of that teasing glimmer now. His eyes are darker, gazing down at me with such emotion that the breath catches in the back of my throat and the air halts in my lungs. We gaze at each other for a few beats longer, before I feel his thumb graze my cheek. Gently, so gently like he’d stroke a flower petal. 

Swallowing at the heat of his hand cupping the side of my face, my hands unconsciously tighten on the back of his neck. He senses my nervousness, but only pulls me slightly closer so that we are mere millimeters from each other, noses hovering over each other in a space that causes my heart to stutter inside my chest. 

When he opens his mouth next, his alto is hoarse, pent-up with emotion. 

“I wasn’t talking about your cousins.” 

My heart practically jumps to my throat, teeth biting onto my lip. 

I can’t hear the music, nor the people. I can’t hear anything except for my pounding heart and Kevin’s soft breaths washing over my face. 

His eyes search mine and we hold gazes for a moment too long.

“Y/N?” 

I press my lips together, “Y-Yes?” 

He moves even closer then so that his nose brushes mine in the most intimate of ways. 

“I--” 

“Y/N! I was looking all over for you!” 

We spring apart like we just got burnt just in time for one of my cousins to grab onto my arm. He sends an apologetic smile at Kevin, before explaining, “we just need to sort out the takeaways. She’ll be back in a second!” 

And without listening to my protests, he proceeds to drag me away from the said young man on the dancefloor. I look back, mouthing an ‘I’m sorry” once more -- it’s the second time that night!-- and see the raven-haired man laugh good-naturedly before shaking his head and waving me away. That does nothing to keep my heart from cartwheeling out of my chest, swelling up with such affection that I grin back despite the earlier predicament. 

One thing’s for sure: I’m not done talking with Kevin Moon yet. 

----------

I find him sitting alone in the tiny garden that overlooks the decorated pavillon a few hours later. His figure, illuminated by the soft yellow hues of interior light, seems to glow in the dark, the moon bouncing off his hair and catching the strength of his cheekbone when he turns and catches me staring. He only smiles though -- that beautiful tender smile that I keep seeing more and more these days -- before waving me over. 

“What are you doing out here all alone?” I ask as I reach his figure. A soft breeze dances along the back of my spine, cool in contrast to the warm stickiness of the air. 

“Your smaller cousin was showing me what she’d learnt in astronomy at her school,” he tilts his head up at the sky, “she’s quite the prodigy at that.” 

“The next woman to land on the moon,” I joke.

“Jeez, I should get her autograph.” 

“Wise idea,” that’s when I feel his hand slip into mine and I look down at him, blinking. He grins a little shyly, before tugging me forward so that I all but stumble right into him, halfway sprawled across his lap. 

Heat explodes through my chest at the proximity of our bodies and I can’t help but avert my gaze from his, partly embarrassed that maybe there might be someone around to see, and partly because it’s only recently that I’ve started seeing Kevin in a new light that being so close makes my heart choke up and my mind to run blank. 

We’re close. So close I feel his breath mingle with mine. My hands settle atop his chest lightly, “Kev,” I breathe out but nothing follows, too scared to verbally voice out what is going on for fear that it might all crumble into nothing. 

I don’t want false hope. I also don’t want his heart -- or mine -- to break. 

This friendship is too precious to let go. I can’t imagine a life without Kevin in it.

“Listen Y/N,” Kevin’s voice is soft, a hushed murmur resonating through his chest as his eyes search mine, “I think we both know what’s happening here.” 

I nod mutely. 

Taking a shaky breath, he continues, “I don’t want to do anything that will hurt you. I know it’s been tough and that you’re still healing. I just--I just want to know.” 

As his words wash over me as gently as the forest leaves rustling around us, I feel the warmth of his hand cupping my cheek, holding me like I am fine china and stroking my skin with his thumb so that butterflies suddenly rush along my middle.

I bite my lip so hard I can taste blood, " I-- well, I think you already know how I feel."

"I know," he breathes, "but I need to hear it from you."

As if it isn't hard enough to come face to face with my own feelings, having Kevin stare me down as though I put the moon in his sky makes me want to squirm with a mixture of embarrassment and excitement. 

“I like you,” I blurt out then, “a lot.” 

There is a few seconds delay, before a shit-- eating grin --the biggest I’ve ever seen -- spreads across Kevin’s face like sunshine peeking through the clouds.

“Enough for us to go on a date?”

I nod mutely. I don’t trust my voice, not right now when I already feel so pathetic. Kevin’s grin softens into a tender smile, one that I can’t help but return when our eyes meet in the most intimate of ways. Suddenly, the air feels charged and alive with electricity, the heat between our bodies palpable as his hand moves to the back of my neck. 

He tugs. I follow. 

His lips find mine mid-way in a delicate kiss. 

It’s soft. Softer than any kiss I’ve ever had. Kevin’s mouth parts over my own in a gentle caress, before he tilts his head to the side and captures my lower lip between his. 

I gasp slightly at the contact, hands unconsciously tightening around his neck. 

Slowly leaning away, I notice the film of lust like a dull glow at the back of his maroon orbs, just the slightest hint that he wants me as a woman. And that makes my lungs constrict, air suddenly halting in the back of my throat.

My skin is prickling with the aftermath of his touch. I let out a soft breath before he covers my mouth with his once more and all thoughts fly out of my brain the moment he does. 

I don’t really know how long we spend outside, exchanging the softest of kisses underneath the moonlight, until I hear the soft exclamations of my family’s voices suggesting that it is time to head home. So I part from the said man and can’t help but blush at the lack of space between our bodies.

“We should probably head back,” I hate how wanton I sound, like I’ve just sprinted a mile when in truth I’ve been sitting in this very spot for the last hour.

He agrees and I descend from his lap, his hand subtly finding mine as we walk back to the wedding hall. 

Emma is still saying her goodbyes, her hair now dotted with glitter, probably from the decorations that my younger cousins took pleasure in bathing her in. Her face lights up as soon as she spots our entwined hands and I try not to meet her eyes for I know exactly the kind of smug look she'll be giving me. 

"Enjoyed the wedding?" She says as soon as we're within earshot.

"That must've been the best cake I've had in my life," Kevin lets out a dramatic sigh, "and that says something."

"Do I trust your taste buds though?" She teases.

"I'd be offended if you didn't," he gasped in mock offense, before they both break into playful chuckles.

As we exchange our goodbyes and Vincent engages Kevin in a conversation, Emma takes this chance to drag me to her side as she whispers, "so you gonna tell me the tea or am I going to have to extract it from you?"

I press my lips together as I try to control the heat searing through the back of my neck, "...we kissed."

She gasps, "No way! OH MY GOD! Are you guys a thing then?!" The answer is as clear as water on my face and she clamps a hand over her mouth, would've jumped up and down if she could've, "OH MY, OH MY GOD. I knew it! I just knew this was going to happen--"

"Shut up!" I hiss, scared that Kevin might overhear and think I'm a big fat tattle tale. My eyes quickly swivel over to his and I'm glad to find his head bent towards Vincent in concentration. 

"You need to tell me everything," Emma's eyes are sparkling, "like--as soon as you have some free time."

"You--" I send her a pointed look, then jerk my head at Vincent, "--need to tell me everything."

"Oh I will, don't worry."

"Anyway, I'll talk to you after your honeymoon."

"Okay," I turn around to find Kevin, not failing to notice the smirk playing on Emma's lips. I slap her arm in response, causing her to laugh before she calls out: 

"Don't forget to use protection!"

-----------

"We'll come back right?"

That's the first thing that Kevin states as soon as we step inside security, away from the tears of my family that I just left behind a few seconds ago. My heart still aches when I think of their faces, all crumpled and blinking at me with tissues in hand and noses as red as traffic lights. But I seek comfort upon feeling Kevin's hand slip through mine as we walk towards our destined gate. 

"Sure," I look at him; at his red-tinted cheeks (probably the aftermath of a sunburn), his newly tanned skin a fresh contrast against his white shirt, and the permanent grin that seems impossible to wipe off his face. My heart instantly flutters.

It's only been a few days since we've confessed our growing romantic interest in each other, but I can already feel the weight of his love pouring out of his heart and into mine the moment he realized that my arms would be there to catch him when he fell.

"I'm not going to wake up to an empty bed tomorrow morning, am I?" He’d joked when we stumbled, half-asleep, into Emma's flat after the wedding. 

I frowned at him, "Why would you think that?"

"Just in case you think that kissing me was a mistake."

A small pause ensued, in which I realized that despite all my fears and all the pain I had been carrying in my heart ever since we landed on my motherland, I had not once considered how Kevin might be feeling at this very moment. 

My eyes quickly took note of his countenance, sweeping right up to his face only to notice the flash of vulnerability in his eyes, the way the corners of his mouth were tense, cheekbones taught against his skin as he awaited for my answer with baited breath. 

Clearing my throat, I whispered, "it wasn't."

A soft smile tugged at his lips, "good to know."

His answer seemed so genuine, so wholehearted that my chest tightened in a mixture of gratefulness and affection, so much so that my arms automatically reached for him to tug him close. My nose found its rightful place at his neck and I breathed in his comforting  lilac smell that I enjoyed so much.

I felt him take a breath. Then, softly, a hand caressed the back of my head. I buried even closer if that was possible.

"I really want this to work," my words were a muffled mess and I was surprised that he understood.

"Me too," he murmured into my hair, "and it will work. I promise I won't break your heart Y/N."

Looking back now at this tender moment in which we both weren't certain of where we were stepping, I can't help but laugh at the thought, for now the love and attraction is so natural I'm amazed it has taken this long to flourish. 

Maybe I hadn't been looking the right way. Maybe I had been searching so far out and wide that I hadn't noticed that my safe harbour is the one standing right beside me.

"Hey Kevin," I call out.

Kevin turns towards me, where he'd been watching planes take off from the ground into the gorgeously blue sunny sky.

"Yeah?" 

“I’m really glad you came.” 

There's a few beats of silence although his mouth immediately cracks into that gorgeous, crooked grin of his that I adore so much. 

“Me too.” 

----