#why do corporations gotta suck this fucking bad?

[genderfluidgothwitch]

OP made the post unrebloggable but I thought this was extremely important to share

[hidingoutbackstage]

Death Island liveblog thoughts all in one post

Oh the villain is former Umbrella. Great

Okay we’re spending way too much time filling in Dylan’s backstory. We get it.

Oh the openings credits are LAZY that’s just footage from the other movies/games/shows

Wow this voice acting isn’t great (this will persist throughout the rest of the film)

Ah, never change, Leon. Opening fire in an area where you could easily misfire and hit civilians

Yeah no you’re not surviving that motorcycle crash that easily

Also way to get around the problem people had with Vendetta by making the villain the one causing the traffic problems

Wow so many new models made for random side characters but they couldn’t make a new Jill? Cring

Gotta have a slow mo shot in all of these movies I guess

“Hi Rebecca.” “Hey Chris.” Good, unnaturally establish their names like they didn’t do that in the opening credits

Jill and Chris talking about Wesker like it’s the first time they’ve talked about it since 2009? It’s been 6 years???

Oh they mention Piers that’s fun totally not wondering how I can use this for yhsb

Lol Maria’s model being the exact same. Queen has one (1) outfit

Wow disabled villain. How original

Why are you hiding his face we know it’s Dylan

Oh so they made two models for Dylan, young and old, but they couldn’t make a new Jill model. Got it

Claire and Jill interaction FINALLY

Wow good job Death Island you bass the Bechdel test

Claire called in Jill and Chris meaning she came to Becky with the info first okay girl I see you (🏳️‍🌈)

Hehehe. Zombie sharks zombie sharks zombie sharks zombie sharks

Okay obvious Jill PTSD that’s cool

Floors just randomly collapsing. Yeah sure they do that

LMFAO THE ZOMBIE RIPPING OFF CHRIS’ STUPID TOURIST SHIRT that is unintentionally fucking hilarious

Jesus christ Dylan is an insufferable villain

He’s just Glenn Arias again but more insufferable

Leon stop quipping for fucking once. Jill and Leon are a fun pair though

Okay the aquatic lickers are fucking coooooool

Yes please have a lingering shot on Jill’s legs with her breasts in the shot too as a tongue tries to grab her. Very normal thing to do

That’s right Chris keep the women in your life who get understandably upset in check

Wasn’t Harvardville 10 years ago? Why wouldn’t people know TerraSave was framed?

“We’d help you even if you were the bad guys” followed by a Definitely The Bad Guy shot

Oh boy Jill and Leon made it to the Big Action Set Piece in all the trailers

“Leon Chris Jill and Claire” fuck you Rebecca you’re not important enough to steal data on. Even though like. Didn’t the opening credits imply Rebecca’s info was taken too? Whatever

“Let’s burn it all” is this not incriminating evidence?

AHDHDJSHDBSJ DYLAN BLAKE??? THAT’S A RANDOMLY GENERATED WHITE MAN NAME

Okay I gotta admit mosquitos is a clever way to infect people

“Arias and I did a lot of business together so you could say we were sort of close” yeah dude you’re a Carbon Copy of that man

Ohhhh my g-d Dylan is annoyinggggg

Oh noooooo Dylan is doing the villain thing where his principle makes sense but he uses terrorism to do it. “Fuck the world for being run by big corporations and evil government who don’t give a damn about the innocent. So I’m going to turn the world into zombies” fuck youuuuu writersssss

It’s LITERALLY ECOFASCISM LMFAO this sucks

You know they could actually have paralleled Jill’s and Dylan’s trauma in an interesting way. But then they didn’t

They explored Dylan’s trauma more than Jill’s. Jill’s got one conversation. One.

This tension is so fucking nothing lmao we KNOW they’re not gonna kill the MAIN FOUR PROTAGONISTS this is all just padding

“None of you know what it’s like to be forced to kill your best friend” yes they do she’s pointing a gun at you asshole

Dylan as a villain suuuuuucks I can’t emphasize this enough

Rebecca’s main character status means she doesn’t need any real protective gear

See these government agents are the good guys I swear because they say they wanna help people

Claire is honestly the only person of this group who’s a “good” person cuz she works for an NGO while the rest are government agents. Lol

“We’ve got Jill” yeah Jill was definitely the moral center of this group that was totally established

Rebecca and Jill, Bechdel test…2!

Does Maria ever. Like. Talk?

So Chris how’s it feel to finally get infected like literally everyone else in your line of work that you’re friends with? Now you can join the club. They have buttons

“Thanks Rebecca” kiss her then <3

Oh good Maria does talk

Wow Leon, calling a woman a bitch? Rude

I hope she does kill him just so I don’t have to hear Matt Mercer’s voice for the rest of the movie

Okay so the mosquitos infect humans. Why the sharks? Why the aquatic lickers?

Okay now I get the shark but again. The lickers? Aquatic? Why?

“I’ll finally atone for murdering my friend so that I could survive” or you could have just killed yourself all those years ago. Could’ve saved a lottttt of trouble if you’d just killed yourself

This Leon/Maria fight scene has way too many sound effects (we get it she’s in leather it doesn’t make THAT much noise) but also I am 100% rooting for Maria here. Matt is annoying and she’s literally just out for revenge for her father

Noooo not her titties

What a fucking unceremonious way for Maria to go out jesus christ

Dylan-shark is just HAOS…2!

“Take Rebecca and stop those drones” Leon playing matchmaker good for him

This action music is so over the top lmao

Claire and Becky you’re soooo smart you two should kiss abt it

HELL YES JILL WITH A GIANT GUN GIVE IT TO MEEEE

I’m having so much fun I almost forgot I was pissed that Jill didn’t age

“We control the drones now so why don’t we use them” um. Becky. I know you weren’t there to hear the whole ecofascism spiel but. Maybe don’t. Do that.

See Jill’s quips are good. Leon’s quips are too many in rapid succession

Oh she was using the drones to over-infect Dylan (saying this she casually threw aside a large rock)

Someone is going to say Leon and Chris assembling and using that weapon was actually intentional imagery for gay sex I just know it

That high five between Claire and Becky means everything to meeee (they should’ve kissed after though)

It is cool that all five were in a movie, no complaints there

[zanyana626]

Here are my thoughts on For The Future!

As soon i finished watching the episode, I reblogged a bit then went to bed, but here it is. And yes, there's plenty of spoilers:

No surprises that The Collector went and transformed the Boiling Isles into Weirdmageddon, a la kiddie cosmic style!

Of course, Raine would get flustered over Harpy Eda, who wouldn't?

Poor Hunter, he has every right to be on edge, he just lost his first ever friend and now he has to switch into vengeance mode!

Camila getting used to the Isles, at least she thinks it's not so bad!

Luz, we all make mistakes, no need to keep making yourself miserable so that the others are okay.

Fuck you Belos, you are so dead! And Caleb & the past Golden Guards will drag your moldy ass down with them!

Ofc, The Collector's trying to recreate Luz's adventures (and possibly her life too?)

Sorry Terra, but you had it coming!

New Hexside being used as a safe house & frickin' Man-Tholomule! Also, glad to know Edric & Emira are okay-ish!

Suck it Mamadalia!

Is the scribbled part of the storybook supposed to seal The Collector again or... ???

Why am I NOT surprised that Boscha's leading New Hexside, along with newbies Miki & Roka.

Whew, good to know King, Eda & Lilith are safe for now!

Poor Hooty, hope he & Lulu have a happy reunion in the finale. And Eda sneaking around the castle just to check in on Raine? MY HEART!!!

"I need a new body". Aw shit, here we go again!

Me glaring at Odalia: IT SHOULD'VE BEEN YOU! Seriously, even Belos wanted nothing to do w/her, that's how god awful she is, but WHY RAINE?!?!?! Like they haven't had enough to deal with already!

I KNEW GUS KNEW HUNTER WAS A GRIMWALKER THE WHOLE TIME!!!!!

Willow having a Pink Steven-type breakdown. Sweetie, you're 15, you don't always need to be the voice of reason. You can't fix everyone's problems, w/o acting like your own don't matter. Sometimes, whatever it is that you're feeling, you just gotta let it all out!

HOW TF DID I NOT KNOW IT WAS KIKIMORA & BOSCHA WHO'RE IN CAHOOTS???

Mama Camila knocking "Kiki-miki's" Belos-wannabe punkass out with the bat! She's the best!!!

Boscha, Amity was never happy being a bully, that was all her mom's bidding! Leave her the hell alone and live with it! However, le gasp, exes???

Of course Belos!Raine's gonna trick The Collector!

At least King's trying his best to figure out a way to reason with The Collector and not having to seal the kid again, or worse!

Camila & Luz's heart to heart, hits right in the feels!

The egg has hatched! STRING BEAN, YOU SWEET SNAKEY SNEK SHAPESHIFTER!!!

Hunter & "The Magic of Friendship?" Does this mean thanks to Flapjack, he can use magic like the others now or at least have some kind of Harpy form like Eda? I just want my child to have wings, okay???

HUNTLOW NATION, ALL WE DO IS WIN!!! Now kiss!

Even if Boscha's "just doing it for her teammates", at least she's doing some good... for now!

"I think I wanna play a new game." This kid is crazy jealous of Luz's friendship with King, huh?

So much for a Luz, King, & Eda reunion. Le sigh, I guess good things really do come to those who wait!

And that's that, for now. I'm really upset that the finale's coming up soon, I wished we had more time with these amazing characters but a certain evil corporation (and plenty of other shithole companies lately) has to go and ruin everything! Either way, can't wait to see how it all plays out next time!

[4emfox]

The Game of the Corporation

Sitting in an international terminal, hunger pangs tugging, his eyes watched as a patron returned a cart to the kiosk which, in turn, spit out 25 cents. Desperate for food, he excitedly began gathering all the neglected carts he could find until he’d received just enough quarters to buy a cheeseburger from Burger King.

Watch the scene here.

This is the Game of the Corporation. Follow the rules and you get a reward. I feel as though I’ve learned to play a complex game of strategy. Simplified, like Tom Hank’s character in the movie The Terminal, if I gather all the proverbial carts and put them back in their place, I get rewarded with money to buy the things I need…and even some of the things I want.

Here are the basic rules (or carts) for your 25 cents:

Jargon Cart. Don’t even think about saying something you’d say in normal life — like to your mom or a friend. Corporations are not *family*. Regardless of what they say, they don’t truly care about you. Individuals at the company probably do. But the Corporate Machine? Forget about it. At the end of the day, they wanna make a profit — even at your expense. So now you have to talk like them with terms and words like, “circle back”, “cadence”, “I don’t have the bandwidth to support that”, “Per our discussion”, “best practice”, “buy-in”, “robust”, and on and on and on.

Culture Cart. Use the branding — including corporate-specific acronyms, terms and words (ahem…or verbiage. See rule 1). Cultures are hard to define. They can be open, candid (corporate word), hierarchical, stuffy… Generally, who cares if the culture doesn’t fit who you are…this is a game — play it. Small tip: if the game is only rewarding you with shitty pay, high deductible insurance, 60% paid maternity leave with little-no paternity leave (ahem…more progressive companies have equitable Parental Leaves for all kinds of parents and situations for 3 months 100% paid, to 2 years 70%–100% paid), no flex-scheduling options, and ~10 days of paid vacation that your company doesn’t want you to take — find a different game…or fight like hell for what’s right. Easier said than done, I know.

Politics Cart. Politics and culture go hand in hand (and all of the above play a part in corporate politics). You can’t have one without the other. And politics are the piece (corporate word) that create the *real* culture. Fuck branding (but also follow that rule…because…politics). If you can figure out business politics, you’ll likely win the game — or at least stay in it. Two examples of corporate politics are below:

Sometimes you gotta kiss ass. But not in a way that compromises your integrity. Do this by framing your words and messaging (two corporate favorites) differently according to the preferences of the person whose ass you’re kissing. For example, I am not the “Decision Maker” where I work. But I do have a lot of expertise. Many of my decision makers want to call all the shots. Let’s say they have a toxic dynamic on their direct team. I’ll say, “We have [insert various programs] available that meet [x] needs and cost [x] dollars. Do you believe any of these could benefit your team?” Then I give them an opportunity to think through the options, they pick one (whether they want to tailor it or not), then I say, “Great idea!” Even though…it wasn’t solely their idea. I’ve just patted them on the back for joint decision-making whether or not they pat me on the back. I’ve kissed a little ass while also pushing my own agenda. This is a strategic relationship…a healthy disrespect for the political game. You know why you’re doing it. This is a cart. Put it back and get your 25 cents.

Perceive feedback differently. Look…however you slice it, feedback can suck. It feels like an attack on your self-concept. I see myself as good at *x, y, z* (corporate term), but someone else sees me as bad at one, two, or all three of those. Ouch. That hurts. PURGE THAT OUTDATED LOOK AT FEEDBACK RIGHT NOW. Feedback is not about you…but how you play the game. Ever noticed how feedback is nuanced (corporate word) from manager to manager, company to company? That’s because feedback is really just a specific key to play the game. If one manager said something that completely contradicts what another manager said…? They just gave you a key to play the game with *them*. This rings true for different company cultures as well. Got some feedback that was different from what another company told you? Well someone just dropped a gold, political nugget in your lap. What if you’re hearing similar themes (corporate word) in the feedback you’re receiving regardless of manager or company? (i.e. everyone is always saying you need to “improve your detail orientation.”) Excellent. You just got a key to better play the game more broadly (corporate term) outside of your organization should you need or want to go somewhere else.

Tip: when receiving “themed” feedback, try to navigate it (corporate word) differently. Listen, I am closer to 40 than I am to 30. The things I’m shittier at are things I’ve always been shittier at and continue to be shitty at. They have gotten incrementally better, at best. You know where I rock?? In my strengths. PLAY TO YOUR STRENGTHS. Either find a way to leverage (corporate word) your strengths to work around your areas of opportunity (favorite overused corporate euphemism), OR…use someone else who has your area of opportunity as a strength. The (ethical) move of quid pro quo in business is a smart one. But I can’t stress ethical enough.

Note: these rules are coming from my experience at a corporate desk job. While they may not always apply to other jobs, the basics of the rules are generally the same. There is always jargon, always a culture — healthy or not — and always politics.

These are just the foundations of the game. The higher you get, the easier they become…because at some point, you become the rule-maker.

As I sit here and sip my coffee at work, I cringe at how “far” I’ve come in the corporate world. From the jargon, to the culture, to the politics, to the identity a “career” gives you. Barf. Big Business owns the narrative — it’s not just a means to an end. It’s a career. This is your identity now. This is how people will see you. This is how they will create the perceived value you have. Your status…(“hueck”…hold on, heaving again). All of it makes me pucker my lips and crinkle my nose in disdain.

Our Western / Developed Corporate Culture is an unhealthy one. The narrative they own — the careers they’ve “given” us — keep us in their control. We are expected to Live to Work. We are expected to be available at all times — even on vacation. Working 60+ hours a week instead of 40? You’re a Corporate Rockstar. That should not be a badge of honor. Are you exhausted but consistently receiving above average performance ratings? I recommend you reevaluate how you play the game.

Your career should not be your identity. I repeat, Your. Career. Should. Not. Be. Your. Identity.

My introduction into the corporate world was an incredibly rough one — maaaaybe even traumatic. I worked for a perfectionistic culture with the worst boss I have ever had while going through a divorce and learning how to be a single parent for the first time. Ahem…while in grad school.

I went from the sexist, outdated idea that my husband would be the main money-maker to…I am the breadwinner. And I was scared. That fear, on top of all the additional stressors I was dealing with, stunted me and my abilities. The stress hormone, cortisol, was in my system on a perpetual basis. Boring scientific stuff approaching — but cortisol quite literally takes energy (in the form of glucose) from your brain. Your brain needs that energy to think clearly. And I couldn’t.

Leaving that job for a less soul-crushing, higher paying job with more opportunities for growth (corporate term) gave me the peek I needed behind the curtain. I saw The Wizard of Inc. And the wizard wasn’t what I thought — this is not my career — not my identity. This is a game. The game I need to play in order to build my job around my life. And not the other way around.

Seeing work as a game, and not an identity, has helped me separate any anxieties I have about work from my life. If this is a game, then it ultimately doesn’t matter. My reward for “returning the carts” is the ability to create the life I want.

Here’s an overused but profoundly accurate phrase…life is short. This idea helped me take my life back. It has helped me set AND frame my boundaries with work. More importantly, it helps me not take work home (unless I’m excited about a project and my creativity is running rampant). It helps me perform better at work AND home. It helps me be present with my family and friends. It helps me create a true work/life balance. It helps me say “Yes” to roles and projects that play to my strengths and interests. It makes me unapologetic about the vacation time I take. It helps me fight for what’s right at work for others (via planting seeds with leadership…another corporate term. But hey, sometimes you gotta lobby. See rule 3, bullet one on framing). It’s helping me Work to LIVE.

My mantra these days as I return carts and tap my heels: “Play the game. Play the game. Play the game.”

Now excuse me while I go create art and eat fruit.

[hansolmates]

busted in busan 

summary; you’re snowbound at the airport, when the only thing you want is to be homebound. your anxieties heighten as the snow rises, worried that you won’t make it in time for christmas where your fiancé and his parents expect you—picture perfect. when all flights are cancelled due to a massive storm, you have to turn to the hands of an unlikely, hard-headed hero who knows the fastest way out of busan (and into your heart) pairing; jungkook x (f) reader genre/warnings; a christmas detour!au, fluff, angst, slice of life, strangers to lovers, enemies to lovers, pining, this is a total romcom, hallmark movie galore! tw–microcheating (or not however you look at it) mentions of sex, making out, profanity w/c; 10k   a/n; for @suhdays​ holiday hallmark event! this event was totally up my lane, i couldn’t wait to post it! a huge thank u for @eerieedits​ for making this wonderful fic banner! this is totally unedited, i’ll to go back to it tonight but pls enjoy! for those of u who need a little more christmas charm this year, this is for u

if you loved this icy couple, please consider giving it a like n’share!⛄⛄⛄

“The Korean Air 1102 flight from Gimhae International Airport to Incheon International Airport will be delayed six hours due to the intense weather conditions. Please be on standby for any further updates.” 

You’re twitching, fighting the urge to nibble on your nails because you’ve just got them done for Christmas. They’re a sleek champagne gold, because your fiancé insisted that they’re far more mature than your usual red and brown reindeer art. This is awful, and is only going to get progressively worse as the snow builds and builds. Right now the weather isn’t that bad, the snow isn’t even sticking to the ground and—oh. 

Gnawing at your lip, your fingers brush over the cold window, a clear view of the landing strip you should currently be boarding. The touch is icy, and the pads of your fingers are enveloped in little rings of fog at the sudden warmth nudging the glass. Upon closer inspection and a squint of your eyes reveal that in fact, the snow is now sticking to the ground. Big, fat clumps are covering the freeway and destroying your Christmas plans. 

Your fiancé will understand if you’re a little late for their Christmas Eve party, but you’re not sure if his parents will. You’ve been on livewire all week, wanting to at least spend the morning of Christmas Eve with your family back home. Knowing that your fiancé’s Christmas Eve party would run until very late, you booked a noon flight with enough time to get ready and impress his parents. Evidently, it was an ill-prepared idea. 

Immediately falling into your terminal’s line, you hope that you can talk with the receptionist in hopes they could put you at ease. 

“How soon will you announce our flight’s departure?” A sad smile. 

“Is there any way you can put me on the next possible flight?” A shake of the head. 

“Will the weather let up?” A frown. 

Every bit of rejection weighs you down, and you’ve run out of questions to ask. For a receptionist, she’s not very receptive. 

“C’mon lady, you’re holding up the line,” a voice tugs you from behind, “you’re not the only one who’s gotta get down to the city on Christmas.” 

You fight the urge to roll your eyes, wanting to slap the rudeness off this man’s face. Instead of falling back in line, you move to the side to glare at him. He’s unfortunately attractive, albeit in a rugged sort-of way—nothing like your fiancé. The leather jacket that he carries tall is worn and crackly at the collar. Wavy dark hair he constantly has to hold back, a gesture that looks flirtatious and to your chagrin the receptionist is definitely recepting to him. 

“Your refund should be processed in about two to four business days, Mr. Jeon,” the receptionist murmurs, the simultaneously sultry and chirpy voice making you twitch in your spot. Maybe if you drank a cup of tall, dark and handsome you’d be getting the same kind of treatment. 

“Thanks,” he replies shortly, and it’s then you notice the extremely large luggage next to him. It’s the size of you, and despite the broad shoulders under the baggy jacket, he lugs it with careful force, making sure not to bump into anyone as he wheels it away from the counter. 

It seems that your trainers have a mind of your own as you follow him down the terminal. He side eyes you as your feet pick up the pace to match his long legs, but he waits for you to say something first. 

“Why did you ask for a refund?” you ask, frowning at him, “the flight is only delayed.” 

He scoffs, “Do you see the snow? They’re just saying it’s delayed so they can hold onto your money a little longer. Besides, it’s a win-win. I get my refund sooner and some other poor sap can take the ticket and wait until five in the morning.” 

“Five A.M.,” you exhale to yourself, slowing down. 

It would be too late by then, far too late. Your shoulders slump, people start to bump into you without a care. 

“Besides,” you hear his voice say from your stricken form, “I had a backup plan.” 

That’s when your feet start to burn up, and you whip around to pump your legs, catching up with the man who’s already far down the hall. “What kind of backup plan?” you blurt, raising your voice because the crowds are starting to get noisier and deeper the further you follow him. 

He hooks his lips into a confused frown, “You’re awfully nosy.” 

“I’m in a pinch, my fiancé’s parents will kill me if I don’t show up to their party tonight.” 

“Your fiancé’s parents… will kill you?” 

“That’s an exaggeration,” you cough, immediately feeling self-conscious, “they’d kill me with their eyes. They’re really big, really pretty corporate people. They have high expectations for their future in-law.” 

“Ah, and you're the country pumpkin who managed to sweep the rich guy off his feet?” 

“Something like that,” you reply, rocking on your heels, “my dad was his dad’s former secretary, and we grew up together.” 

The stranger with a plan stops in front of a long line. It’s so long that you’re not entirely sure where it leads to. People are piling out the door two at a time, and you can see they’re trying to get through the process as fast as possible. The window leading outside is blurry and caked in white ice. He hooks one leg over his luggage, the metal and plastic case is so high that his feet barely touch the ground. Like a kid with a flat scooter, he wheels himself through the line. 

“These lines are for busses going in the direction of our flight,” he jabs a finger out the door, “if the flight got cancelled I was just going to ride one of these,” out of his pocket he pulls out two tickets, flicking it in front of your face.

“Are there any tickets left?” your eyes bug, and you immediately pull out your phone to reserve a spot. 

“Nah, been booked since last month.” 

It’s then that your eyes zero in on the second ticket he has in hand. Both tickets are addressed to the same name. You lower your phone in your pocket, narrowing your eyes. “Why do you have two for yourself?” 

He pats his luggage as a response. 

“That’s not fair!” 

“It is when you buy it, sweetheart.” 

“A literal human could be in that spot, wanting to go home for Christmas!”

“You’re just salty you don’t have a ticket, don’t take it out on my luggage,” he feigns a pout, rubbing the handle of the heavy container, “you’re hurting it’s feelings.” 

It doesn’t take long for you and the stranger to reach the end of the line. To others in line the two of you look like two companions bickering good-naturedly, but in reality the only thing you want to do is slap that smug smile off his face. 

“You want my ticket,” he states. 

“I want your luggage’s ticket,” you bite back, staring petulantly at where he sits comfortably between the handle. 

Unbeknownst to you, the man’s face morphs into a teasing grin upon seeing you glare a little too hard at the silver and black case. It just so happens that your eyes gravitate to the middle of the luggage, at the apex between his long legs leading up to a pair of black sweats. Despite the soft, baggy fabric you can see how the bulge of his thighs outline the thin cotton, looking large and inviting which—

Fuck. You’re engaged. Why are you checking out some stranger’s thighs? Your fiancé also has nice thighs, think about those! 

“How much do you want for it?” you cough, crossing your arms and turning to the side to hide your flaming cheeks. 

“Who said I was offering?” 

“I’ll pay that and then some.”

“With your rich-boy’s money?” 

If your hands were not digging into your elbows and you weren’t so concerned about your gold-foiled manicure, you’d deck him. Do the holidays normally make this person so snappy? He simply flips his hair, and you catch the shaved ends of his sides. 

“Three-hundred,” he says easily, and if he notices you staring he doesn’t say anything, “including any extra fees for my luggage.”

“Done,” you hold out your hand for him to shake. 

“I’m Jungkook, if you care,” the man named Jungkook adds wryly, practically swallowing your small hand with his larger one. You shortly reply with your name, and he merely nods, “a thank you would suffice.” 

“Thanks,” and it’s then that you manage a scarily pretty smile, one that Jungkook finds both alarming and amusing. It’s a catered smile, one that you’ve trained yourself to accomplish after hours in the mirror in fear of your fiancé’s parents seeing right through you. It’s the smile you give during work when you don’t give a shit but you need to suck it up. It’s a 9/10 success rate. 

“Scary,” he shivers, and then you realize he’s the 1/10. 

The only bus for you two to pile on is one of the smallest. Probably half the size of a regular coach bus, but at this rate you don’t care. You’ll fly by hot air balloon if the weather wasn’t so crappy. 

“Taehyung!” you startle at Jungkook’s sudden belt, and he does a big, beefy-chested bro-hug to the driver. Ah, so he has connections. You watch the two interact from your corner, pulling up your hood to stop the rapidfire snowflakes from pelting your eyes. 

The driver is a classically handsome thing, dark eyes and dark fluffy hair. His paperbag pants look absolutely frigid however, and his teeth are chattering as he regards Jungkook with annoyed eyes. 

“Listen, so plans have changed—”

“As always, Kook.” 

“—and I need you to do me another solid. Do you have room in the compartment for my babies?” 

“The answer is, and always no. That’s why you bought two tickets.” 

“I know but,” he gestures to you with a jab of his thumb, “like I said, plans have changed.” 

“Jungkook,” Taehyung frowns, “trying to do some Christmas miracles? In this snowstorm?” Taehyung shakes his head, eyes flickering to the running bus. Most of the ticket holders are already on it. “I can save you two a three-seater, but there’s no room in the compartment. It’ll be a tight fight but—” 

“It’s perfect. You’re dynamite, Tae,” Jungkook even has the audacity to reach his hands out and squish the driver’s cheeks, much to his distain. 

The two of you are ushered quickly into the bus, leaving you in the very front diagonal to where Taehyung is sitting. The three seats are tiny, it probably barely fits Jungkook’s thighs with the large luggage nestled in the other two seats. The two of you suggest to put the luggage out in the aisle and take turns holding it, but Taehyung interjects that the luggage is a fire hazard. 

“But not a human,” Jungkook decides, and he gestures for you to sit down in the available seat. You’re practically shoved against the window as Jungkook manages to squeeze his gargantuan luggage in the other two seats. He’s tall enough to grab the metal rungs of the bus, steeling himself in the middle of the aisle.

Taehyung doesn’t fight with that, and finally puts the bus into drive. Pulling out of the airport feels akin to leaving the eye of the storm. It’s going to be a long journey, and it makes you worry as to whether you’re going to make it on time or not. 

Your favorite pastime is watching the window on a long car ride, especially when the snowflakes crystalize and melt away through the warmth of the vehicle. However, you’re irked. You thought Jungkook was a bit of a wank, a little too full of himself and far too mysterious for your own good. 

Exhibit A, the luggage that’s currently threatening to wheel over and crush you against the glass. You wonder what’s so special about this luggage that Jungkook so desperately wants to protect, even so far as to buy its own seat. Sneakily, you lean over to smell the zipper. Surprisingly, it smells a little vinegary, the fumes getting you a little lightheaded within seconds. Your eyes dart to Jungkook, who’s currently engaged in conversation with Taehyung. You tilt your head and sniff again, confirming the slightly rancid smell. 

It’s then you take in Jungkook’s form once more. He dresses a little schlubby, his clothes are old, his eyes are sunken in, and his luggage is filled with weird-smelling things. 

Oh no. Is Jungkook a drug dealer? 

Your fiancé’s parents would surely have a fit if this man gets arrested and you come up in the report as an accused accomplice. It makes sense, he would want to make sure that his goods are in his view at all times, and it explains why he so easily gave you his ticket for triple the actual price. 

A giggle interrupts your thoughts. Yes, a tired, yet bubbly giggle. Jungkook’s face is pressed against his bicep, and you catch the fluttering of his eyes as he tries to keep up with Taehyung’s rambling. His grip is starting to loosen on the metal bars, and you’re worried that he might accidentally slip, or not hold tight enough in the event the car takes a sharp turn or slips on black ice. 

“J-Jungkook,” it’s the first time you’re saying his name out loud, tasting it on your tongue as you regard him steadily, “why don’t we take turns sitting? I don’t mind standing for an hour while you sleep.” 

He regards you with a sleepy smirk, shaking his head against the fabric of his jacket. “You’ll be flung in two seconds, besides can you even reach the handles?” 

Good point, but Jungkook is far more muscular and if he does end up flying he’ll crash through the window and further hinder your commute. It’s why you choose your next words carefully, and you convince yourself it’s the only reason as to why you propose your solution. 

“I’ll sit on your lap,” and since it sounds super weird coming out of your mouth, you tack on, “I’ll put your jacket over your lap as a barrier.” 

He slacks, regarding you with a scrunched face. “Is the jacket supposed to make that situation any better? I’m fine standing like this.” 

“This ride is going to take hours and you’re barely on your own two feet,” your point is made when the bus topples over a speed bump, and Jungkook looks awfully small as he moves to grapple the top bar with both hands, “my fiancé doesn’t get jealous, I’ve sat in plenty of friend’s laps before.” 

“We’re not friends,” he blurts with a raise of his brows.

“Yes, I know that,” you’re a little insulted by the curt reply, but he still looks rather horrified that you’re proposing the following, “I don’t like it either, but I’m sitting in your seat and now I’m feeling guilty as hell.” 

It’s a lot of shuffling and shifting after that. You try not to laugh as Jungkook rips off his leather jacket, folding it into a perfect square, ironing out the corners of the crinkly fabric as he gestures for you to take a seat. You try not to take note of how sturdy his thighs are, or how the muscle stretches across the seat so well that there’s no way for you to fall between the cracks. 

“You’re going to sleep anyway,” you try to assure him, side eying him as he presses his forehead against the window, “it’ll be like being with a dead body.” 

“Didn’t know you were into necrophilia, but whatever floats your boat,” Jungkook mumbles, eyes immediately fluttering shut. 

At first it was easy, ignoring the fact that you’re sitting on top of a human. The drive seems endless however, Taehyung driving further and further into a sea of white ice. You force yourself to thread your fingers together, sitting on the very edge of his knees with your back ramrod straight. Eventually, you tire out and relax against Jungkook’s lax body. Your face is centimeters away from Jungkook’s. Long, dark lashes, and a strand of equally dark hair falls in front of his eyes. His cheeks are flushed from the blaring heater, and you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding in. 

Hm, for a drug dealer, he smells pretty. 

Despite the weird-smelling luggage that looms over the two of you, the white long-sleeved shirt he wears is soft to the touch and smells fresh. 

You huff, and shift in your seat. 

“Stop,” Jungkook mumbles into your shoulder, and you don’t have the heart to look at him. 

“I’m sorry, it’s cramped,” you reply. 

“I get that, but you don’t have to—hike yourself so far up here,” he sounds almost embarrassed saying it, and his hand shuffles to adjust his belt. “Literally can’t sleep because you’re making me pop a boner.” 

“Why, I’m engaged!” 

“God, I know. It’s like your personality trait or something,” Jungkook retorts, “just because you’re engaged doesn’t stop my body from reacting. I’m sure your fiancé has reacted like this, stop acting like a blushing virgin.” 

You tense, your eyes glued to the window in front of you. How do you even make a comeback to that? Wringing your hands in your lap, you feel your palms sweat with nerves the longer it takes for you to reply. This causes the gears to run in Jungkook’s mind. 

“Holy fuck, have you two not—” 

“Shut up,” you hiss, turning your body around to slap him in the chest, “shut up shut upupupshutup!” 

You make seething, burning eye contact with Jungkook. You expect him to have a shit-eating grin on his face, teasing you for your relationship. Instead, Jungkook is wide-eyed, mouth parted open like a confused guppy and his big bug-eyes looking stricken. He says nothing. 

The road starts to get bumpier, and the drive swerves from time to time to avoid black ice. Neither of you are relaxed. Combined with the heart of the storm, your heart is currently wrung on electrical wire, pumping blood with a fervor you cannot stifle. 

“I’m going to put my arms around your waist,” Jungkook murmurs softly, and you lift your arms slightly to see him lace his fingers over your belly button. “Like a seatbelt.” 

You sigh, relaxing in his hold. Now it’s awkward. He feels compelled to hold you to keep you safe, even though he clearly finds it awkward you’ve already put him in this position. 

Jungkook isn’t so bad, you think as you let your gaze linger on his hands. They anchor you to his lap, making sure you’re not jostling during the ride. He may have a razor sharp tongue and gets under your nerves just for the heck of it, but he’s kind of nice. Under the prickly leather jacket, there’s a softness to him you can’t help but gravitate to. 

It’s dark outside, save for the speedily descending flakes and the dim lights of the highway. You’re sitting on the lap of a total stranger, yet it’s a stranger who’s holding your waist like he’s a seatbelt, a stranger who’s making you feel safe to say the words that have been haunting you for the past few months. 

“I’ve tried to initiate sex,” you finally say. “I don’t know why he doesn’t want me, it’s already been two years.” 

Your eyes turn red with bloody horror. Your vision blurred by the insanity of what you’ve just blurted out to this surprisingly kind stranger who’s offered his seat (both times) to you. 

“I didn’t mean to word vomit like that. Forget I said anything—” 

“Must be his loss,” Jungkook cuts you off, and when he says it doesn’t feel impolite at all. However, Jungkook doesn’t continue on, doesn’t give you rhyme or reason, just lets you linger on his reply like a madwoman. 

Maybe it’s because you’re so touch starved, maybe you’re just seeing things, but for some reason Jungkook’s fingers feel more apparent against the seam of your jacket. They tighten a fraction, drum around the metal zipper that holds the thick fabric together. Your palms feel like a fountain, and you try to ignore the burn between your legs, the liquid heat betraying the commitment that sits on your finger. 

You’re engaged to be married, you chastise yourself. All eighteen carats that symbolize that bond glare at you, bright and eager to make you feel guilty. The whole reason why you’re on this cramped bus ride is to get to your soon-to-be husband. Some pretty stranger with strong hands won’t change that. 

“We’re here! Finally!” Taehyung cheers, and you realize now that you’re parked into a tunnel surrounded by other buses. 

Jungkook and you wait until everyone steps off the bus. The pads of Jungkook’s fingers play an unsung tune, absentmindedly drumming to a song you can’t put your mind to. 

“God, you can’t just pay the extra money for someone to take care of this?” Taehyung hauls the large luggage in the aisle seat, and you feel like you’re being revealed under a curtain, doing something you’re not supposed to be doing. 

You hop off his lap, scoop your backpack in your arm and scramble off the bus. The cold, winter air bites into every available pore in your body, replacing the warmth that Jungkook gave in the tiny bus. You hike the collar of your oversized turtleneck higher up your chin, prickling in shivers as you wait for Jungkook. 

“I don’t remember Seoul being this, empty,” you say to yourself, frowning at the lack of humans past the bus station. You peer curiously at the dark, dark road off the terminal. There’s no flicker of light, or a skyline filled with bustling sounds and flickering head beams. 

“That’s because we’re only halfway there,” Jungkook walks past you, luggage in tow. 

“What?” you pull out your phone, it’s already 4PM and it’s pitch dark outside. 

The snow is beating down as you two speed walk out of the hangar, reaching a nearly vacant parking lot save for a pure white minivan. You barely notice the vehicle with all the snow, blending in perfectly as wave after wave of ice beats down on it. The pops of rust by the tires, gaudy orange stripes is the only thing you can focus on as you try to make it to the car as fast as possible. 

“Get in and start the car,” Jungkook practically shoves the keys in your hands, gesturing for you to take the passenger seat. 

When you enter his car, you’re hit with a scent scarily identical to the one in Jungkook’s luggage. You nearly gag when you inhale too much, and your eyes flicker over to the lemon air freshener attached to the exhaust, trying its best to mask the smell. You vaguely remember all the warning stories your parents told you as a kid—never enter the white van. 

Ohmygod, you’re in a white van and all of Jungkook’s drugs are in the back. 

You shake your head, willing the car to start as you arch your back over the console to start it up. You’ve been around your fiancé’s parents too long, letting them fill your head with judgemental gab and crazy assumptions only rich people have about people lesser than them. 

Once the car spurs to life, soft holiday music plays from a pop station. The front window of the car is absolutely covered in snow, you can’t even budge the windshield wipers to scrape the layer of ice off. 

Suddenly, a blanket of ice slides off the window, swept to the concrete. You’re met with Jungkook’s toothy smile and horror-esque stare, and you have this jerk reaction to nervously laugh and jump in your seat. Your nails dig into the cheap fabric of your seat as Jungkook’s scary expression melts into a more softened one, as if happy to have gotten you to laugh in such sucky times. Jungkook continues to brush your windows, meticulously making sure no ice can cause any damage as you two go into the night. 

“Alright, let’s get this show on the road!” Jungkook whips the door open, throwing the snow brush at the space between your feet. 

As soon as he shuts the door, your stomachs growl simultaneously. 

The two of you break into a quick laugh, giggles that overlap the twinkly holiday chimes and the packed snow crunching under Jungkook’s boots. 

“After McDonalds,” Jungkook declares, setting up the GPS for a quick pitstop to the nearest fast food joint. 

Ten minutes into the drive, you pull into a generic food joint, too starved to find gourmet McDonalds. You make it a point to flick your card and lean over his body to meet the cashier, telling him you’re spotting the meal. Jungkook doesn’t complain, and tells the cashier to add in a vanilla sundae for good measure. 

Color yourself impressed, but you can’t help but gawk as Jungkook expertly sets up his food on the dashboard like a five-star meal, with fries in the cupholder and a burger unwrapped perfectly to catch any spills and to keep his fingers from getting greased up. For such a terrible snowstorm, he pulls out of the joint gracefully, a brief intermission in your long journey. 

“So, is my fiancé’s place far from where you need to be?” 

Jungkook shrugs, a stray fry hanging from his mouth. “It’s not far, not close either. I don’t mind, I like driving.” 

“Do you drive around a lot?” 

“Yeah, for work. It’s a little annoying that I have to spend Christmas alone, but it is what it is.” 

Pausing on your speculation, you take a big bite of your burger. You were hoping that your conversation would spur on a little more detail about his drug-esque job. However, all you start to feel is the heaviness of your fast food meal, stemming from your chest and filling your grease-filled stomach. 

“You’re spending Christmas alone?” you say, and you don’t mean to sound so sad saying it, but the thought of him being alone tonight makes you feel pinched with pain. 

“I can practically feel your puppy-eyes,” Jungkook shakes his head, not even needing to look at you as he focuses on the road. “I’m fine, don’t you worry.” 

“Do you wanna come to the party?” you offer, trying to sound as neutral as possible as you throw the suggestion on the dash.

“Not my thing,” Jungkook scrunches his nose, “with my line of work, I prefer to lay low.” 

Trying not to feel a hurt by the sudden (but expected) rejection, you practically eat your burger whole, eyes glaring on the road. You surmise it’s a valid excuse, drug dealers aren’t exactly one for highly-populated areas and with your fiancé’s reputation, you’re sure his parents would smell Jungkook’s reputation in a micro-minute. 

The drive isn’t anything special. You’re sure if it were spring, the foliage would be pretty and the sun would be setting into melty orange hues by now. It’s all black and white, boring shades that are aggressively pelting at the van and hindering your evening. 

“So, what other character traits do you have?” Jungkook cuts through your semi-brooding, as easily as one slices through butter, “other than the obvious that you’re engaged, and that you’re getting married. And oh yeah, you have a fiancé!” 

You scoff at his cheesy joke, folding your arms together. “I like spending time with my family. Watching movies under a weighted blanket. Plants.” 

His stare dips away from the road for a fraction, enough for you to catch that he’s rolling his eyes, “Fascinating. Not a plant person myself. I like those cute little succulents though. Had a bunch of those in college.” 

“I am also a ramen connoisseur,” you say pointedly, turning up your nose. 

“Ah, are you?” you smile a little when you see Jungkook’s eyes light up at the mention of food, “what’s the criteria for good ramen?” 

“Deep, creamy broth. Also, the egg. Gotta look like a custard-y, eggy sunset. It’s just,” you smack your lips together, mimicking a chef’s kiss, “perfect.” 

He chuckles, and goes on to tell you a story about a ramen shop he’s visited on his travels. It’s one he declares that you need to visit, one he still dreams about often. It takes a ferry and it’s a bit of a trek, but he says it’s worth it, and the eggs are as custard-y and sunset-y as you’d like. 

It’s between pockets of his story and pulling yourself out of this little bubble of a van you realize:  are you flirting with Jungkook? 

The longer this trip goes, the more your stares linger. They linger like the snow that sticks to the ground, unable to do nothing but cling. Layer after layer of confusing feelings, building up to a blizzard that you’re unable to quell. 

“So, your family’s also going to be at your fiancé’s party?” Jungkook asks, poking at yet another one of your personal facets. He’s being blatantly nosy, yet neither of you seem to mind. 

“Oh, no,” you shove your hands in your pockets, “they wanted to stay back in our hometown with the extended family. Y’know, the older members can’t really travel as much as they used to.” 

“Ah, so you’re splitting up your time,” Jungkook drums his hands on the wheel, eyes drooped slightly as he continues along the monotonous road, “your fiancé couldn’t make it?” 

“Couldn’t,” you reply lightly, “just, y’know, work.” 

“Been there, done that,” Jungkook replies, “I’m sure he missed out though. What’s your family like? Are they the type to bake cookies until 3 A.M.? Oh, or do they get wine drunk and talk shit about their annoying cousins—” 

“Jungkook,” the words fly out of your mouth before you can even think, “I’m engaged.” 

The weight of your words holds differently now. A whole day has passed with this man, and you’ve developed an attachment that simultaneously scares and thrills you. Not an hour goes by that you have to think to yourself that you’re taken, to the point that you can’t even tell what’s in your head and what’s being spoken out in the air. 

Instead of a snippy comment, a snarky retort of, “I know, I know!” like you anticipate, Jungkook stops the car. 

There’s no human trace for miles, so it doesn’t scare you when he slows down and pulls off to the side. He gears the car into park, roughly pulling the handle. He lays his arm over the steering wheel, turning his body so he can face you fully. The heat in the car suddenly feels too cloying, and you shrink in the seat as he leans in on you. 

“What is that supposed to mean?” he asks, and from the looks of it, he’s genuinely hurt. 

“I—Jungkook,” you plant your feet on the ground, trying to find some power in this situation, “I mean I, we—you just can’t keep doing this.” 

“Do you feel like I’m trying to steal you away? Or, seduce you or something?” Jungkook is starting to talk himself into a stupor, eyes flickering from the window, to you, to behind you, and back to you. It’s almost jarring, seeing how self-conscious he starts to get without the presence of an audience. Gone is the smooth talker that you met at the terminal, willing to haggle it all for your cash. “Are you uncomfortable? Is it weird I have a crush on you?” 

“Wait, you have a crush on me?” 

He reels back, nearly pressing his head against the window. Jungkook runs a hand through his hair, exhaling deep from his lungs. “Adults still get crushes, y’know.” 

“Yeah, but not to people you met eight hours ago.” 

Jungkook arches a brow, “People fall for people in the most unlikely of ways.” 

That singular statement hits you, hard. 

Jungkook looks like he wants to get out of the van. He seems stuffy, and he unzips his coat and shoves it under his legs. 

“You’re cute,” he echoes the statement like he can’t believe that in a short amount of time, he’s attached to you, “you seem to have good taste, you love family, and your personality isn’t half bad,” the last bit is meant to be teasing, a lighthearted way to end his bout of emotion, but it only makes you ache further, “And it makes me upset knowing that you have to keep convincing yourself that you’re in a relationship that isn’t as fulfilling as you hope. This whole drive, you’ve been anxious about going to his parents, worrying that you’re not going to make it on time instead of relaxing with your family. Where you actually want to be.” 

“I also want to be with Jimin,” you say weakly, a half-hearted attempt to defend yourself. 

You never mentioned your fiancé’s name until this point. It makes Jungkook stiffen a little, finally putting a name to the man that’s supposed to have your heart. It makes the relationship concrete, palpable. 

“I’m sure you do,” Jungkook smacks his lips, evidently sealing the conversation to suffocate under the snow. 

Jungkook puts the car into drive, sliding back into your current route. 

“And to answer your question, Jungkook. No, you having a crush on me is not weird,” and smaller, quieter, you reply, “because it’s weird that I might have a crush on you, too.”

You know that Jungkook catches your statement, because he cranks the volume of the radio harder, effectively shutting you out.  

The first thing Jungkook says when you finally reach the Park’s house is: “Wow.” 

His van looks completely out of place, parked on the side as limos and Escalades drop off more and more people into the large estate. It’s pouring with elegant piano music, and the large window in the middle of their home reveals a century-old chandelier, crystals beaming and winking against the hundreds of guests that lie underneath. 

The rest of the way driving was almost painfully fast. After that awkward wave of emotion, neither of you said anything. Well, you didn’t at least. Jungkook attempted to clear the air by singing along to the Christmas songs on the radio, but it only further attracted you because to your chagrin—Jungkook’s a pretty good singer. 

The estate isn’t in Seoul persay, it’s a sizable plot of land that definitely comes from old money. It’s decked up like the North Pole, lit up and tiny crystal lines dotting the expanse of the rooftops. The snow certainly adds to it, and many guests are outside taking pictures of the picture-perfect holiday show. The blizzard has finally subsided, leaving a clean blanket of snow across their yard.

You scoff to yourself. What they find to be a Christmas miracle only derailed yours. 

Jungkook stares at you while you send a quick text to Jimin. You tell him he needs to come fast, because you don’t want his parents to see you all sweaty and dressed like you’ve been traveling for hours. 

“Oh, uh,” you finally take a look at him, and you immediately regret it because you’re getting sucked into his gaze, “I think you put my bag in the trunk?” 

“Right,” he shakes his head, “follow me.” 

He tilts his head down when he’s outside, as if the snow’s going to start back up and drown him. Your thumb scratches the ring on your finger as you hop out of the van, effectively popping the bubble the two of you have been sealed in for the better half of the evening. Is this going to be it? Is the last you’ll see of Jeon Jungkook? 

All those thoughts evaporate when Jungkook opens the trunk. 

There’s no drugs. 

In fact, you don’t even know what to think. The van is absolutely filled, wall-to-wall art supplies and canvas carefully lined up like Tetris blocks to avoid damage. The floor of the van seems to receive the brunt of the messes, and you catch recent paint stains and spray cans stacked to the side. It explains the smell. 

There’s some clear cases in a corner, protecting completed prints that are already framed. Your eyes cling to a vibrant hyacinth, coral and satin blue petals bunching in the middle of a black background. It’s absolutely gorgeous, if it wasn’t for all the paint lying around, you’d think it’s real. 

Jungkook’s an artist. 

“Holy shit, I thought you were a drug dealer,” you blurt, and you want to smack yourself in the face. 

 “Excuse me?” Jungkook jerks his head towards you, “did you think I was a drug dealer this whole time?” 

“N-no,” you frown petulantly, letting Jungkook loop your arms through the straps of your backpack. “Maybe. You were very shady.” 

He laughs, a genuine laugh. It confuses you, the way he tucks his hands in his pockets and bends his back over to look up at you through his dark lashes. It’s like nothing’s wrong, like he’s trying to erase the past eight hours and leave with no qualms. You don’t know if that comforts you or terrifies you. 

“So, you were willing to let a potentially dangerous man be your travel partner for eight hours so you can make it to your fiancé’s party?” Jungkook’s eyes flicker over to the front door, “you must really love him.” 

“I do,” you say the phrase like it’s second nature. Rehearsed. Practiced. 

“Merry Christmas,” Jungkook pulls out his hand, and you don’t hesitate to grasp it. 

Liquid heat sparks through your skin, one that tingles from where his large palm encases yours, all the way to your heart. 

“Merry Christmas,” you echo, and your feet feel like lead as you back away from him. 

Jungkook waits until you go inside the house, even though the valet is side eyeing him and mentally telling him to leave already. Turning your back to him is rough, like you’re without snowshoes and you’re trudging through snow. 

The goodbye feels rushed. Your heart is cold and heavy. Unfortunately, by the time you realize you haven’t paid Jungkook for his bus ticket and the ride, it’s too late. Jimin has already pulled you in his awaiting arms, and Jungkook has peeled out of the driveway. 

“You look awful,” Jimin coddles you, dusting the invisible dirt off your jacket. You know Jimin means well by the statement, but you can’t help but feel a little unsupported by his words. You did all you could to make it to Jimin in time for this party full of faceless, nameless people. And yet, Jimin inadvertently manages to put you down for finally making it. 

The hallway is relatively empty, save for one staff member who cleans the wet linoleum floors whenever someone with snow steps in. You can easily make out where the heart of the party is, the tinkly holiday music playing from the speakers, along with all the bodies huddled by the extra large Christmas tree that is brimming with presents. 

You do feel like a wet noodle, in comparison to Jimin and Namjoon’s complementary pinstripe suits. Jimin’s deep burgundy suit pops in the endless hallway of marble and light wood as he quickly leads you upstairs to a spare room for you to change. Namjoon’s more muted grey still looks stunning on him, cutting his tall figure nicely. You think it’s cute that Jimin made an effort to match with his assistant, not making him feel out of place in this big party. 

“I hope you don’t mind,” Namjoon interjects softly, gesturing to the garment bag hanging on the boudoir, “I picked out your dress.” 

“I’m sure whatever you bought is beautiful,” you assure softly, stepping fully into the room. It’s an extra bedroom, you’re assuming it might be yours. 

“We’ll give you some time to freshen up and get ready,” Jimin squeezes your arm, a touch you can barely feel due to the puffiness of your down jacket. It’s just an awkward escape of air to you, a sssttt that you catch Namjoon hiding his smile for, “we’ll walk around a bit and bring you some food.” 

“I want cupcakes,” you blurt impulsively, and the two of them laugh on their way out the door. 

Once you’re finally alone, you strip yourself bare. Jacket, shirt, socks, underwear. You make quick work of taking a hot, damp towel to wash your arms and legs, scrubbing your face of any oil and dirt from the day. You wrap yourself in an indulgent fluffy robe, the plush material comforting you as you flop on the bed. 

It’s been a day. 

You take a five minute cat nap, the weight of the day taking its toll on you. When you finally flutter your eyes open however, you see him. 

It’s not exactly him, it’s his art. It’s mounted right atop the headboard, a large blown up painting of a tiger lily. The orange and gold flecks flicker and go perfectly with the decor of the room. The piece is longing, aching for you to go back to two hours ago when you could’ve phrased your words better, balm the situation into something to salvage. This must be a sign, you think. Upon closer look, you see the signature Jeon JK etched in silver in the corner. Who knew the Parks were buying Jeon Jungkook’s work, the world is smaller than you’d originally thought. 

It ignites you. You rip the zipper of the garment bag, pulling on the slinky glittery gold dress Namjoon picked out for you. It’s gorgeous, and you don’t know how he managed to find your proportions, but you figure an assistant of his caliber has access to many things. You don’t have much time, so you slap on some light makeup and swipe some highlights across your eyes. By the time Jimin returns, you’re pulling your hair up and out of your face. 

Jimin walks to the bed with a pretty red velvet cupcake, “You look beautiful,” he says immediately, and you follow to sit with him at the foot of the bed. 

You don’t hesitate to grab the cupcake from his tea plate, nearly shoving it in your mouth. You definitely need a rush, something to curb you over for the plans you have tonight. “Sugar sugar,” you chant like a mantra, and you don’t care that your lipgloss is smudged and crumbs cling to your cheeks. 

Jimin just rubs circles onto your thigh, letting you eat and relax. He knows you’re not a fan of these kinds of parties, preferring to wallflower it, preferably at  a wall closest to the buffet. His touch is comforting, and you chew slower in order to prolong the inevitable. It takes a beat for you to finish your cupcake. 

“I need to talk to you,” the two of you blurt at the same time, and you point and giggle at each other like you’re still five year olds tinkering in the sandbox. 

Jimin pouts, “Can I go first? Mine’s kind of important.” 

“Mine’s also really important,” you don’t mean to invalidate Jimin, but you really need to get this out. “I might explode if I don’t say this now.” 

The blonde scrunches his nose, obviously weak to your unusual distress, “I guess I wouldn’t want that.” 

You clutch his hand, the hand that holds the plain wedding band he picked out for himself two years ago. Your eyes flicker to how your ring kisses his, “Jimin. I love you, like really love you. I can’t imagine my life without you, you’ve been my best friend since we could crawl. But as I traveled down here, I realized that even though I love you, I think I’m not in love,” you wince at how cheesy that sounds, “I don’t want you to feel like you’re not good enough, but the whole trip down here made me realize I don’t think I can commit to this.” 

“Oh, thank fuck,” you gasp, watching relief wash over Jimin’s features. You’re not even done with your whole spiel and he’s already unbuttoning his blouse, “this makes what I’m about to say a whole lot easier.” 

“Jimin,” you trail off, squeezing his palm, “what do you mean?” 

“I mean, I think I’m in love.” 

Your jaw slackens slightly, seeing the sweat that lines Jimin’s slicked back hair. He must’ve been thinking about this all night, waiting for you to tell you this. Your chest aches, weighing in on all the sudden facts. “Who is it?” you ask. 

Jimin shrugs, “The man who does my taxes and makes sure I sleep at least seven hours a night.” 

“Namjoon,” you conclude, eyes moving to the sealed door. You think Namjoon is waiting out there right now, silently supporting you two as you go through this. Of course, Jimin’s parents would be livid if anything would tarnish his reputation. A broken engagement would be sticky to cover up, and Jimin falling for his assistant is a headline right for the books. 

“I’m sorry,” Jimin whispers, despite the room being vacant he feels the need to keep his words short, “You came all this way to hear this. But I guess we’re on the same page, huh?” His soft fingers make a beeline for your ring finger, removing the diamond band, “And by the way, I love you too. Which is why we’re going to come clean in the morning and work this out with my parents, together. I’m sorry if you felt obligated to follow me all this time just because our parents did.” 

“Hey, like you said, we’re in this together. Both in and out,” you chastise, pulling your engagement ring from his grasp and holding it to the light. “Can I keep this? Instead of an engagement band, it can be our best friend band. I’ll even get it re-sized so it can go on another finger.” 

Jimin pulls you into his arms, crushing you. The silky material of your dress bunches and rides, but you don’t care. The two of  you can’t help but be a little crybaby-ish about it, feeling much like your younger-selves when you had to pull each other out of trouble. 

The two of you walk out of the bedroom hand-in-hand, and Namjoon is leaning against the banister in the hallway, a soft smile melting on his tanned skin. 

“I’m so happy for you,” you gush, hugging Namjoon tightly. You’ve only known the man for a few months, but you can tell he’s taking care of Jimin and that’s enough for you. 

“I… really thought you’d be more upset.” Namjoon marvels, patting your back. 

Jimin interjects, “I think she’s found someone hotter than me.” 

“Impossible!” 

You could stay at this party, lay low until you and Jimin have to confront his parents in the morning. They suggest to get all the food they need and sneak out to the home theatre. The three of you hustle it down the stairs to another part of the house, in order for you to make your getaway and avoid Jimin’s family. 

“Hey,” you stop in front of another painting, pulling the two men to a stop. Your eyes lock on a framed droopy peony, tipped with pink dye. You realize you can’t stay here, not when someone’s home alone tonight. “Namjoon, I need you to locate someone for me.” 

Jungkook does not expect to see you at his front door. 

You’re stunning, and look as breathless as he feels. The liquid champagne number that hugs your frame does things to him, and he’s strangely attracted to the fact that you paired this expensive dress with your snow-drenched trainers. 

You showing up at the wee hours of the morning was the last thing Jungkook thought would happen. It’s nothing short of a holiday event, you look like you’ve just walked out of a gala and then ran a marathon to reach him. 

He thought when he said goodbye, it would be the last time you’d cross paths. At first, he was okay with that. After all, feelings come and go, and spontaneity only works a percentage of the time. Seeing you presently however, throws all those half-hearted concedings out the window. 

“Hi,” you finally say, drinking from the fact that you actually found him. 

“Hey,” Jungkook breathes, “you look, beautiful.” 

“Thanks,” you smile. 

“So, is this about you not paying me back for the ticket?” Jungkook suddenly feels guilty, having dipped out of Jimin’s manor once he saw him appear at the door. It was unrightful jealousy, and because of that he needed to drive away as fast as possible. “Because honestly, it was me messing with you. I really don’t need the money.” 

“I figured, from the fact that I had to take the elevator up to the penthouse of the building.” 

“So then why are you here?” Jungkook wobbles on the balls of his feet, unsure of what to do with himself. 

“My ex-fiancé is in love with someone else,” you lay your cards out just like that, and Jungkook’s unprepared to deal.  

“Holy shit, I’m so sorry—” 

“Let me finish,” you cut in gently, “my ex-fiancé is in love with someone else, and that’s okay. We’ve been best friends since we were little, and we want nothing but happiness for each other. And for me? Happiness is right in front of me.” 

You bite your lip, and Jungkook fights down the urge to run up and pull you into his arms. You must be so cold, running out without a jacket and rushing to his home. However, he lets you finish, and he holds himself down by clutching the door frame as casually as possible. 

“I also have a big, fat crush on you,” you say boldly, “and I had to tell you as soon as I could. It took a twenty-minute phone call and some serious leverage from Jimin’s company to figure out where you lived. That receptionist is definitely not letting me use my frequent flyer miles next flight.” 

“You harassed an airport receptionist just for me?” he smiles wanly, placing a hand on his chest, “I’m touched.” 

“You make me excited to try new things, to be spontaneous and do things for myself,” with every statement you take a step further, and soon enough you’re in his dimly lit apartment. The plush couch in his living room looks awfully warm and comfy, and the light music that plays from his speakers is soft and soothing. “So, let’s spend the holidays together and see where this goes. And go to your art gallery tomorrow, because I did research you on the drive and found out you had to rush here because of a big show.” 

“So you’re actually a stalker?” Jungkook teases, tugging you over to the couch. 

He takes the lead, plopping himself on the couch first and inviting you to sit next to him. You take a detour and plant your body atop of him, and with an ‘oof’ the two of you are sinking. 

“A stalker and a potential drug dealer does sound like a promising pair,” Jungkook jests, his hand palming the silky material of your ruched up ball gown. 

“I’m sorry,” you pout, wrapping your fingers around the long tresses of his hair, “can you please stop bringing that up? It was judgemental of me.” 

“I like when you’re judgemental,” he pokes your puppy-faced cheeks, ruddied with embarrassment. “I like picking fights with you and getting you all riled up.” 

“Will you rile me up now?” 

Sexy, he thinks. He figures a vixen has been hidden under you, one suppressed by a complicated engagement and many other factors he’d love to learn about in the near future. The situation at hand however, is far more pressing. Your body is finally warming up, and Jungkook tries to ignore the weight your body is causing, re-igniting an ache he felt hours ago when you two were squished against each other in the coach bus.

“I’m going to kiss you now,” you declare, and you look a little frustrated that Jungkook is taking so long to process this information, “and I hope I take your breath away.” 

You taste like sugar and the softness that comes with the holidays. It’s tender and oh-so comforting, and Jungkook can’t help but squeeze your hips closer as your lips brush fervently against his. The feeling is both new and old, and Jungkook figures you’ve finally uncoiled a flame that you can no longer quell. 

Soon enough your kisses turn hungry, and Jungkook has to remind himself that you two have only known each other for a total of twelve hours, and he isn’t sure of what’s appropriate to jump to due to the speed of your relationship. Once he feels the first roll of your hips, a liquid heat that Jungkook can’t help but return back, he pulls away from your soft lips. Not too far, but a few centimeters apart so that Jungkook and you can catch your breath. 

“We should take this slow,” he starts, trying to make a reasonable impression now that you’re a guest at his home and finally settled from their long trip. “I really, really want to get to know you. And you’re so beautiful and I really do want to have sex but—” 

“Jungkook, I have not had sex with someone in two years,” you speak with a depraved tone, as if it’s been centuries since you’ve been touched. He can’t help but throw his head back and laugh, “a night full of sex sounds like the best last-minute present ever.” 

You bring his hand over to your core, the shiny glassy material of your gown doing nothing to hide the glimpses of pleasure you’re minutes away from experiencing. You whine desperately at the thought, and Jungkook’s a goner. 

“Well, I guess I’m about to pull a Christmas miracle,” he murmurs against your lips, ready to work his magic. 

[beann-e]

“ let’s go“

“ excuse me “

“ I said let’s go . “

Your eyes creased as you leaned back into your desk chair —leg moving to cross over the other as your hands landed together in a hold on your lap. Eyes looking up at the male in front of you.

“ look at you looking everywhere but this messy ass desk I see “

you scoffed “ if it’s so messy why do you keep coming down here just to add on to it ? “

his head shaking a bit at your comment he had to admit he was a bit interested in your words even though he originally came here for a purpose. He had to see how this would play out. So yeah he’d play your little game.

“ huh mister prohero “ your face lit up in sadness to mock the male in front of you “ aw wait I forgot I have to be exact with my words when it comes to you because your emotionally challenged“

you stood up placing your hands on the desk in between you and the blond haired male.

“ the only thing ‘ challenged ‘ here is this crusty ass run down building I had to buy glasses to find “

“ ouu where are they? maybe they could also help you see this“ you smiled before reaching into your suit jacket only to pout “ crap hold up it’s not in there it’s something I picked up specially for you hold on “

“ what the hell are you looking for in there your taking awhile “ he spoke louder after a couple minutes seemed to pass and you were still searching around

“ huh that’s weird — hold on I can’t seem to find it “

“ find what ? “ his face made up in confusion as his eyes followed your body that was looking through your desk only to turn and rummage through the drawers behind you“ fuck is it really that bad —you’ve gotta clean y/n “

“ yeah I know hold on I swear I know where it is I keep a lot of them just in case “

“ is it important or some shit ?— if not I can wait I swear i’ll just come back down here tomorrow“ he sighed still trying to look over you shoulder “ I just came down here to fuck with you before heading ho—“

“ yeah no you’ll want it a lot of people seem to want it these days — it’s hot on the market “

“ well what the hell is i— “

“ AHA “ you screamed your hand stuck in the drawer as he tried to peek over your back to see what it was his body shrinking when he saw your eyes whip around to lock with his. Him going back to the cool, calm collected guy he was minutes ago as he ran his fingers through his hair

“ here look it’s limited edition these days “

“ what is it like an all might collectable or some shi— “

His heart stopped when he seen you fully turn around and smirk your eyebrow slightly raised as his eyes slowly went downcast on your hand showing off the freshly painted middle finger.

It straightened to perfection as it stood tall only causing the male to fume silently and speak under his breath “ what the hell “

“ look baku it’s the fuck you so desperately want me to give “ You pushed it towards him as you walked around your desk to get closer seeing the upset face he held “ aw what you don’t like it “

you sucked your teeth reaching into your back pocket “ here i’ll exchange it for you “ you brought your hand out from your pocket and back into his face as he started to shake slightly. You knew you’d went too far. Your jokes always went further than a person wanted you to.

You were fucking with him

He didn’t like it

He wouldn’t like it this time

.. He liked it

— he liked it

wait he lik—

Your eyes widened as you stared up at him face going stone when you finally seen that his lips were pressed harshly on yours. His moves were rough hands fast and quick already knowing what to do while you struggled with yourself over where to put your own.

No matter how many times the male before you kissed you it always felt differently each time. Your body relaxed into his as he smiled into the kiss only to laugh and bring his forehead to rest against yours “ your so fucking stupid “

“ but I beat you in class ranks in high school “

his smile widened he couldn’t even find it in himself to be upset not when you were having fun with your joke “ yes yes you did “

you smiled softly only to have it wiped away when he opened his mouth again “ but I beat you in jobs you asshole “

“ hey prick I enjoy my job “ he nodded his head as he moved to sit in your work chair “ yeah no no of course “

his hand moved to pull a cup of old coffee from behind your computer as he looked at you “ I would totally be able to tell— babe all id need is an everyday trip to your luxurious work place“ he lifted the coffee cup and held it to his cheek smiling softly to mess with you

he swiveled your computer monitor to the side to show off the millions of coffee cups you had hidden from his and your employees eyes

“ god so many— how would corporate feel about this knowing you’ve got all this shit piled up back here— it’s screaming that you overwork yourself y/n “

“ uh i’m mostly worried about my bosses opinion “

he smiled up at you only to shake his head with a small laugh whispering under his breath “ fucking stupid—you’re your boss “

he laid his cheek onto his palm as he looked up at you anytime he was around you it was like he was completely swallowed whole by your vibes. You were such a down to earth person and that’s what calmed him no matter what argument or how many there were you always found a way to calm him and the situation down.

no matter what you said or did he would always find a way to look at you as though you were holding the whole world in your eyes “ and what does your boss say y/n ? “

you perked up “ ouu good thing I have em on call let’s see “ you reached out to grab your husbands phone hand wrapping around it tightly feeling the many scratches it had on it’s back from the slams of it on the table after one too many documents he’d filled out the night before at work.

He was always so angry and mean—even to objects

Your fingers moved to put in the password as he looked at you head leaning back to rest against the chair as he moved the chair from side to side you having his full attention before he reached out to grab your phone sliding over to answer the call

“ hi is this big bird ? or also known as red from angry birds ? “

“ Ill let you slide with your comments because your voice sounds kinda hot right now and i like your suit — but yes this is your local prick hotline how may I assist you today “

A smile made its way onto your face as you watched his own just grow larger and larger over time “ oh I see so this is the one and only katsuki bakugou hmm “

you tapped your chin “ so tell me what’s someone as unimportant as yourself doing answering your bosses phone “

“ ouuu hard question “ he played with his keys that laid on your work desk “ I came here to ask em out for lunch maybe go out to go karts y’know since there’s a little brat at home who’s been dying to ride one ever since they’ve seen that shitty commercial “

“ mmhmm so please enlighten me what does this have to do with you answering your bosses phone “

“ nothing “

“ oh ? “ your eyes widened “ well I heard several complaints that you were just telling your boss what to do as if their not head of your company or in other words your “ you whispered “ boss “

“ yeah I guess i’ve fucked up huh ? should have actually dressed up instead of coming to get em’ in sweats serves me right— here i’ll pass the phone to my boss since they seem to look more business professional today — I don’t feel worthy enough to answer my bosses phone “

“as you should — nice to know you’ve finally learned your place“ you bit your lip at his quietness expecting him to go off or say something snappy but he only encouraged you to continue with a small smile and a head nod.

Honestly he was enjoying you he loved your jokes even if they sometimes went too far or if they hurt his pride he loved to see you enjoying yourself.

He’d rather you be open and comfortable with him and tell your horribly stupid jokes versus beating yourself up and thinking you have to watch what you say around him

“ fuck it’s gotta be the pantsuit is that why your letting me do all this—you douche your probably paying more attention to my suit than me “

“ correct smart girl —role reversal? “

“ we’re switching back? “ you laughed confirming his statement “ role reversal “

“ fine by me “ you smiled as he held out your phone to you and you held out his to him.

“ yes may I speak to y/n bakugou ? “ he stated as he spoke into his phone

“ mm i’m not sure I know them could you be more exact “

he scoffed “ yes my boss — i’m looking to speak with my boss please “

“ oo a boss —wife —plus a mother that’s a lucky catch you should be greatful — le asshole“

His smile faded as he stared at your eyes that locked with his . In this moment nothing could compare to the happiness he felt except for when he took his child to their first quirk appointment and received the good news of them not only having his quirk but yours too. Happily he wouldn’t have to deal with his kid getting bullied sadly he had a mini icy hot running around.

This was why he married you and this is why he loved you because what felt like hours of conversation had only been 10 minutes. He felt like he’d been transported to another world when he was talking to you. What originally started out as him just coming to take his wife and daughter on a lunch date turned into him on the phone with his boss.

You,

yet again being reminded that he’d always fall under you in status , in authority , at home, in the marriage , at work , and in his heart. Youd always be the one in power

“your fucking funny — a comedian really —always keeping me on my toes so yeah—yeah a real lucky catch— ‘m fucking lucky “

[silverarmedassassin]

Please, Mr. Barnes

CEO!Bucky x Reader | NSFW, 18+ only please | 2163 words | Masterlist

You’ve just started a new job as the executive secretary to the one and only James “Bucky” Barnes - founder, owner, and leader of Barnes Bionics, the most successful prosthetics companies in North America. Everything is going smooth until your royally fuck up and Bucky is forced to punish you the only way he knows how...

Warning: Like I mentioned above, 18+ only, please! There’s a little tongue action here, some spanking there. Nothing explicit but, ya know.

Note: Listen, despite consuming more than my fair share of smut, I’ve never actually wrote anything remotely smutty, so this is very new to me. Please be nice 😭 I was inspired after seeing this post, where I accidently went off in the tags because I was feeling some kind of way. I’m also dedicating this to @wonderlandmind4​, because they called me out on my shit 😅 Enjoy!

To say you fucked up is an understatement. Forgetting to send an email is fucking up. Forgetting to water the plant’s in your boss’s office is fucking up. But this? This is a next level, idiotic, you-deserve-to-be-fired mess. And you haven’t even been here a full week.

You started at Barnes Bionics as an executive assistant to the CEO. You’d heard great things about the company - the relaxed and family-like corporate atmosphere, casual Fridays, and the down-to-earth, laid-back James Barnes, aka the founder, owner, and leader of the most successful prosthetics company in North America - and were eager to start your new position. Not only was it going to be a significant pay raise, but it was also going to give you a change of pace. You’d struggled for so long to find a position that would help boost your career, so when your best friend informed you she was stepping down from her assistant position to stay home with her soon-to-be-born daughter, you were ecstatic.

Except right now, on this bright and warm Friday afternoon, you wanted to be anywhere but your desk on the 90th floor of the One World Trade Center Building. While the executive offices began to empty, your new co-workers filing out in clumps, chatting excitedly about their weekend plans, you sat impatiently behind your desk, trying to make yourself as small as you could.

Earlier in the day, right after you returned from lunch, an email from James popped up on your screen. “Plan to stay after this evening,” was all you could read from the preview. In naive, blissful ignorance, butterflies erupted deep in your belly. Your boss was attractive. He looked like he could be sculpted from marble with the way his muscles strained against his smartly pressed button-downs, and the slight clench in his jaw when he’s concentrating on something was mesmerizing. The giddy feeling quickly dissipated, however, as you continued reading.

“I received a strongly worded voicemail from a distraught Tony Stark this morning. Asked why I’d waste his time by not showing up to a meeting that, the last time I checked my calendar, is scheduled for next week. I should be back at the office at 5:15. I expect you to be prepared for a one-on-one meeting before then.”

Your eyes flick to the small clock in the corner of your computer screen, and your stomach feels like it’s wrapped itself into a constrictor knot. 5:12. If your boss was anything, it’s punctual. As Sam Wilson, Barnes Bionics’ chief operations officer, closes his office up, the elevators just down the hall ding, signaling their arrival.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Sam laughs as he laughs before departing with a jaunty farewell.

You hear the two men exchange the usual pleasantries, the elevators shut, then the ominous echos of James loafers meeting the polished marble floor. You close your eyes and take a few deep breaths in an attempt to calm your nerves, but as soon as he beckons you to follow him into his office as he passes your desk, you actually think you’re going to throw up.

“Mr. Barnes, I’m so sorry I-”

He holds his hand up to silence you as he leans back against his large mahogany desk and uses his free hand - the metal one, that one that started this entire company - to pinch the bridge of his nose. “You realize Tony Stark is one of my biggest investors, right?”

You open your mouth to answer, but he fixes you with a rather threatening, so you simply nod and look down at your heel-covered feet. He’s going to fire me, you think as you wait for him to continue with his lecture. I haven’t even received my first paycheck, and I’m getting canned.

“You could have cost me a lot of money today, Ms. Y/L/N.” He pushes off his desk and slowly makes his way to where you stand just inside his spacious office. “There is no room for such vital mistakes like the one you made in this industry. I didn’t build this company from the ground up by missing meetings with the men and women who fund our research. I didn’t become one of the world's leading tech companies by allowing my assistants to make careless mistakes and piss off my partners.”

“Mr. Barnes, please,” you beg. God, you sound so pathetic, but you really don’t want to lose this job. And the fact that you messed up so bad within the first week of being employed at Barnes Biotics is embarrassing, a total misrepresentation of how organized and punctual you usually are when it comes to the workplace. “I...I’m trying really hard, there’s just so much to learn in such little time and I...I don’t know what happened.. I’ve never made a mistake like this before, and I never will again. Please, you don’t understand how much I need this job. I’ll do anything, I’ll work overtime without pay. Please…”

“Fire you?” James snorts as he stops in front of you. He’s so close you can smell his cologne, feel the heat radiating off his broad chest. “Oh, honey, I’m not going to fire you. But mistakes do come with consequences.”

You force yourself to look up at him. The anger and pure disappointment you expect to find on his face is surprisingly absent. In its place is something a little darker, dare you say a bit lustful. His powder blue eyes are almost covered with the black of his pupil, and a little smirk is playing in the corner of his lips.

“Go stand by the desk,” he commands. You go to question him, but he tuts his tongue. “Go on. You know how impatient I can be.”

Confused, you slowly make your way across the room, stopping in the space he had just been occupying. You’re about to turn around when two large arms around you. James’ metal hand settles on your lower stomach as his other arm wraps around your shoulder.

“Do you know,” he says, hot breath fanning across your exposed neck, “what happens to bad girls?”

You swallow thickly before you answer. “Uhm, no, Mr. Barnes.”

“They get punished.” Before you realize what’s going on, James pushes you forward onto his desk so that your bent over the top, his muscular torso resting gently across your back. Gently, almost agonizingly slow, he begins to drag his metal arm across your stomach, around until it’s just barely resting on your ass. “You’ve gotta tell me you want this, or I’ll stop,” he whispers. “But I’ve seen the way you look at me. I think you want this as bad as I do.”

“God, yes, please, Mr. Barnes!”

The words have hardly slipped past your lips before he’s bunching up your skirt and nudging at your panties. You should feel ashamed, you think, at how wet you already are at the simple action, but by god did you touch yourself thinking of this man.

“Soaked already,” he practically purrs as he teases at your entrance. Before you can get too much enjoyment from the sensation, he quickly pulls his hand away. “But you still fucked up. Still almost cost me millions. I need you to know,” he says as he eases himself from on top of you, keeping one hand pressed gently to the center of your back and the other resting on one of your exposed cheeks, “how bad that could have been.”

Before your brain can register what is happening, James’ palm connects to your asscheek with a loud smack. You jump, having been unprepared for the assault. Just as quickly as the last, his palm connects to your ass two more times before he is rubbing the sore spot in soothing circles.

This was...different. Never mind the fact your boss of five fucking days has you bent over his desk, ass and pussy exposed for all to see, but it was actually turning you more on. Spanking had never been something you’d thought of when it came to sex, something you probably wouldn’t have even considered with past lovers. But with James, it just felt right.

“No more silly mistakes like that, okay?” he whispers softly in your ear as he continues to rub your now burning cheek. “Or I’ll have to do this again.”

Smack. Smack. Smack.

A wanton moan drips from your lips after the last swat, and you’d be embarrassed if your boss wasn’t spinning your dazed body around, shoving the miscellaneous papers away to clear a spot for your to sit. You watch in stunned as he slowly lowers himself to the floor in front of you, lust-filled eyes never leaving yours.

“Something tells me you might like that, though,” James smiles as he grabs your ankle and carves a path of gentle kisses up to your skirt's hem. Both hands slid the material up your thighs, providing a peculiar sensation of both warm skin and cold metal at the same time. His metal fingers brush ever so slightly at your still-exposed bundle of nerves, and he smirks at the gasp it pulls from you.

“Would you like that, Y/N,” he asks, planting a kiss to the inside of your thigh. “Because I know I would.”

He quickly buries his face between your legs, first with a flat-tongued swipe up your pussy before he begins to suck on your clit. The heat of his tongue, mixed with the shallows breaths he takes between sucking and lapping, causes your blood to run cold and the coil in your belly to twist so tight you’re sure it’s going to snap any second.

“Please, Mr. Barnes. Fuck,” you exclaim louder than intended, and you’re suddenly very aware of where you are. You can’t seem to find the thought to care, however, not with James drinking you in like a man just returned from the desert. He responds to your cries of satisfaction with a light bite to your clit.

As slides down, he tongues at your entrance, his nose applies just enough pressure to your clit to send you reeling. Your hands land in his perfectly styled hair, pushing and pulling at the chesnut stands as he helps you ride out the intense waves of pleasure coursing through your body.

As you begin to settle, James plants small kisses here and there on both your thighs before pulling away. He looks up at you, your juices glistening on his lips and the slight stubble of his beard. He looks as fucked out as you feel, and it makes you slightly self-conscious of what you must look like. He licks his lips and hums quietly, causing another jolt of want to rush straight to your core.

“You taste as good as you look,” he smiles and stands. When he’s back to his full height, he reaches a hand out to help you off his desk. You can’t help but catch the noticeable bulge straining at his slacks, and he must see your quick glance because he laughs and shakes his head. “Don’t worry about it.,” he says, bringing his hand to his lips before making his way around to sit at his desk.

You left standing there, in the middle of an office whose furnishes cost more than your entire year’s rent, fucked out and in shock at what just happened. You don’t know how long you stand frozen, eyes fixated on a vintage Brookly Dodgers poster, but a deep chuckle and the rustling of papers draws you out of your trance.

You turn to find James straightening up the papers he had shoved out of the way, and cleaning up the pen holder must have spilled. You stagger forward, hands out ready to help your boss clean up the mess, but he simply waves you off.

“I hope you didn’t have any plans after work,” James says sheepishly, almost sounding guilty for keeping you over. Almost.

“No,” you say as you anxiously rub at your arm. “Just your average, boring Friday night.”

“Well, I hope I added a little fun to help kick off the weekend.”

You can feel your face heat up as you nod. He winks before turning back to tidying his desk, and you take that as your cue to take your leave. You scurry across the room quickly, and right as your hand touches the door, James stops you.

“By the way, great job on your first week. I was more productive than I’ve been in years thanks to your organization. I really appreciate it.”

You smile, face heating up even more. You take the compliment to heart, bathe in the way it fills you with pride. “Thank you, Mr. Barnes.”

“Hey, uh, call me Bucky. Mr. Barnes or James or whatever is too impersonal, and I think we’re well past that stage.”

[pallasperilous]

Occursus

Castiel/Dean Winchester Gen/Teen, 4341 words 15x20 coda  AO3 version “The natural environment of the human soul is a human body,” Cas says. “Humans have yet to meet a foreign substrate that they don’t immediately attempt to colonize. My form in Hell was not an exception.” 

Then he shuts his mouth very deliberately and gestures back to Dean like his mic is going live in three, two. “Or the bit where my soul gave you some kind of STD?” Dean finishes. “It was a poor analogy. I apologize.” “So what’s a better one?” Castiel drums his fingers for a second. “It’s more like…the way a parasitic jewel wasp injects a cockroach with venom, and transforms it into a willing host for wasp larvae.” “Holy shit are you ever bad at this,” Dean says, with that signature brand of fond horror he special-orders just for Castiel, Angel of the Gourd.

It’s half past midnight by the time Dean gets another run at Cas.

Granted, what the fuck does half past midnight even mean here, where time is as free as tap water? Why does anybody even bother? For all it matters, Dean could set his watch to eleventy minutes past twenty o’ nope and still never miss last call.

Then again, somebody felt it necessary to invent the idea of Tuesday in the first place, and Dean’s not gonna volunteer himself for the task of replacing it with something better. What’s important is that he’s survived (or rather, he hasn’t survived) a battery of poignant moments and tearful reunions. He and Sam hugged out burdens registering in the triple digits. They even had a little fight, pretty much for the fun of it, while Ellen fucking Harvelle watched them over the bar with her eyes shining. She still charged them, though.

Right at the beginning of the party Dean and Castiel had their eyes-across-the-room thing, followed by the same magnetic, exhausted embrace they’ve shared on just about every plane of reality now. Dean supposes he could ask Cas for a nickel tour of the Empty just so they could hit for the cycle, but he’d really rather not. Sam let them eke out a few gruff, tear-choked monosyllables before diving in, sweeping Cas up in a bear hug and laughing like a fucking kid. Dean doesn’t push it, because it’s been longer for Sam, after all. Or something.

 And now it’s quiet, just the jukebox and the clink of glasses back in the kitchen, a few folks murmuring in booths. It might be dark outside, it might not; it’s waiting on Dean’s opinion before it commits to anything. And so is Cas, who is standing in the warm glow of the jukebox, hands in his pockets.

 Dean walks up, leans against it, bottle still dangling from one hand.

“C’mon, sunshine. I’ll show you yours, you show me mine.”

Cas looks up and into Dean’s eyes with the wary, elegant patience of a deer. “What is it that you would be showing me, Dean?”

Dean gives him a long, languid blink and bites his lip, and Castiel lags for half a second before rolling his own eyes. “I see death hasn’t refined your sense of humor.”

“Nope. Guess the billionth time aint the charm.”

Cas remains stonefaced, which means a corresponding you dumbass blush starts crawling up the sides of Dean’s neck. The jukebox switches records like it’s making a suggestion.

“I’m gonna sit down outside,” Dean says. “C’mon and sit down with me. There’s a patio somewhere, right? Ellen was always talking about adding one out back. No way she hasn’t bossed somebody into buildin’ it.”

“There’s a patio,” Cas says, taking his hands out of his pockets.

 Heaven’s patio is pretty nice; twenty square feet, some scattered picnic tables, fences covered in ivy and string lights. It still smells like fresh pine boards. There’s even a fire pit, which seems kinda bougie for the Roadhouse, but hell with it, it’s warm and pretty, and since when did pretentious people get to lay claim to “a hole with a fire in it”? There’s no moon overhead, and so the Milky Way is giving them the full monty — the runnelled spine of it, the ribcage packed with galaxies.

“Are they all alive?” Dean asks. The warmth from inside leaks out of his collar, wisps away.

“Who?”

Dean points up. “The stars. They always make a big deal about how most of the stars you can see from Earth have been dead for millions of years by the time we get the light from ‘em. That still true here? Or is everything on auto-renewal?”

“That’s a very complicated question,” Cas says, not looking up, only at Dean. He does that a lot, Dean knows, but it turns out to mean something different than what Dean had always assumed, which was ironically pretty similar to what it actually meant, but was reassuringly unactionable and therefore unfuckupable.

“I’m a very complicated guy,” Dean says.

Castiel smiles at that. “I don’t actually know the answer,” he admits. “And it would take an extremely long time to investigate. There are some other things I’d rather do first.”

“What, you can’t just call the kid for directory assistance?”

Castiel lets a good-humored sigh. “Like many young people these days, Jack prefers to avoid the phone.”

This is a solid riff, and Dean respects it. He picks the table closest to the fire and takes a bench and Cas sits next to him, instead of opposite. Dean thought he managed to break him of this habit a few years ago, but here all things are made whole again.

“So what,” Cas says, without a single molecule of playfulness or seduction, “is it that you want us to show each other?”

“Yeah, I was…it was a dumb joke. But I mean it, just not in a ‘playing doctor’ way.”

Castiel frowns, tightens his lips; the firelight throws a fluttering shadow across his face.

“I mean…Christ.” Dean takes a medicinal slug of his dwindling beer. “I don’t really look like this anymore either, right?” And he gestures at his usual shitshow personal presentation, which death has also noticeably failed to refine.

Castiel frowns, smoothes his hand across the surface of the table. “This is a corporeal world, Dean. It operates on a different set of rules, but your body here is no more of an illusion than it was on earth.”

“Seriously?” Dean ponders a second, squints through the dim light at his fingernails, at the high-resolution grime contained therein. “Jesus, that sounds like a lot of work. At least compared to Holodeck Heaven.”

“It is. But we didn’t build this place to be a...a…doorprize. It’s a real world,” Castiel enthuses, looming forward. “It’s the one that should have been created for all of you in the first place.” He pauses, glances down. “For all of us.”

Dean shrugs. “Okay, so no holograms. I’ll keep all that in mind next time Charlie tries to convince me to go skydiving.”

Castiel snorts, but not in pure aggravation, so Dean feels like he’s finally got a point on the board. “What I’m sayin’ is…physical or not, this place has different rules, right? So could I look at you without my eyeballs exploding? The…you know, the angel parts of you. Not just your vessel,” and Dean fwippies his hand at Cas to indicate that true beauty is contained within and Dean is completely indifferent to the fact this dork-ass alien managed to bodysnatch a guy who’s never dipped below an 8.5.

“It isn’t a vessel anymore. We can create our own bodies, now.”

“Peachy,” Dean clips, because that shit is a little late coming off the line.

Castiel sighs. “You could see me in that form without coming to harm. But you should know that I don’t consider it any more a reflection who I am than this form. Not anymore.”

Dean rolls the bottle towards him, nudges a knuckle. “You’re a real boy now, huh?”

“Yes, I suppose so,” Castiel says, and smiles a smile so small that Dean would need a microscope to figure out if it’s pleased or pained.

So Dean thwacks the bottle down on the totally-real table and claps his totally-real hands. “Well then let’s go. Hit me with that angel weirdness. If we’re gonna do this, I gotta taste all thirty-one flavors.”

Castiel smiles a little more convincingly, but it still doesn’t reach his eyes. “There are really only the two,” he says, and holds his palms out to the warmth of the fire.

“Great, then we’ll be done in time to catch Letterman. Then if you’re good maybe you can help me shimmy out of this thing.”

Cas cocks his head. “Out of which thing?”

“This super real heavenly meat-suit, dude. It’s not fair if only one of us gets naked. Peep show has to go both ways. I see your angel-face, you see my soul.”

Cas looks stricken, like Dean is asking to suck on his toes next to a playground. “I mean, unless that’d fuck you up,” Dean adds.

“No,” Castiel replies, a little absently. “It wouldn’t fuck me up. But it…wouldn’t really accomplish anything, either.”

“What, no soul kink? That’s bullshit and you know it. You love this crap.”

Castiel replies, “Your soul is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” with the easy confidence of a regular latte order. With the same uncanny, 2 Blessed 2 B Stressed face he had when Dean plowed Ruby’s knife hilt-deep into Jimmy Novak’s sternum, that he had when the Empty collapsed him  like a carcass in an acid bath.

That face shuts Dean right the fuck up, because it sends him skipping backwards into that fucking basement, where his phone is buzzing and the gritty concrete chill of the floor is seeping through his jeans into the useless meat of his legs and leeching into the hot, wet channels of his piece of shit heart.

Turns out you can work up a good little panic attack in heaven, which seems like a significant oversight.

From a million miles away he feels Cas’s warm, dry palm slide over the back of his hand –– there’s a ring there now that Dean lost down a motel sink drain ages ago, is nobody spotting continuity errors here?—then Cas’s hand tightens on his and it feels like a Xanax kicking in. (The good kind, direct from the hot nurse with the little paper cup, not the kind you get in a from a shady burnout at a truckstop, that’s been ground up with baking soda or benadryl and carefully remolded, as if you could possibly give that much of a shit when you’re freaking out bad enough to buy Xanax at a truckstop.)

Point being, he calms the fuck down.

Cas has good hands. They can do a lot of impressive shit, and they look nice doing it. They don’t look like –– they’ve never looked like –– they belong to somebody whose main job is destroying people, places, or things. They’re hands that how to play the cello, or make tables from reclaimed wood, or give soapy, encompassing handjobs in the shower on cold evenings.

“It’s been years, though,” Dean rasps, not looking up yet. “I was a kid when you got me out of Hell, Cas. I’ve done a lot of shit since then. Maybe souls get stretch marks.”

Castiel’s hand tightens on his, clamps it down on the table. “I’ve always been able to see it.”

“Okay,” Dean mumbles, but Cas keeps on going –

“The only time I couldn’t see any part of your soul was when I was without grace, and I promise you that was one of the greatest deprivations imaginable.”

Dean snorts, looks away, but his hand is still on lockdown. “Worse than going hungry, huh?”

“Much.”

“Hey, what about Sam? Or, hell, fucking Donatello. They both were both walking around minus their creamy filling, and you didn’t say boo.”

Cas shrugs. “I can’t see their souls under ordinary circumstances.”

“So what, mine’s just extra loud, or day-glo, or what?”

“It’s both of those things, but that isn’t why,” Cas answers, and the boy is downright wry.

Dean tugs his hand out, raps his knuckles against the wood. “Okay, so stop bein’ coy and tell me before I get a complex. And if you say it’s because of love or some shit, I’m bailing to Rowena’s.”

“You infected me,” Cas says.

“Uh,” says Dean.

The fire pops and a log shifts; Cas glances over at the kerfuffle, absently lifts his fingers to his chin like he’s looking for an old scar. “In Hell, when I retrieved you…I had to grip your raw soul. I was meant to wear a gauntlet, so I wouldn’t be burned.”

Dean snickers. “You’re telling me you were supposed to be wearing a soul condom. What happened, you get too excited and forget to suit up? It’s okay, I know I’m a lot to take in.”

Castiel purses his lips. “No, I was properly armored. But my arm was torn off in combat shortly before I reached you.”

“Ouch.”

“Ouch,” Cas agrees. “I didn’t have time to retrieve the arm or its protection from the pit, so I had to grow a new one very quickly.”

Dean really should’ve switched to whiskey before starting this. “What, you didn’t pack a spare?” He wheezes.

“Ordinarily, yes, I would have had the resources, but I was equipped very lightly for that mission. It was a raid, not a siege. You understand the difference.”

“Sure, yeah, you left your emergency arms in the trunk. So you just popped out a new one. No big.”

“It was a big. Your soul was close enough that it forced me to grow a human arm, instead of a much quicker and more powerful extensor.”

“Okay, uh,” Dean pinches at the bridge of his nose, “there’s a lot to unpack there.”

“What part of it confuses you?”

“I dunno, the bit where apparently angels are I guess heavenly octopuses,”

“The plural in the Greek is octopodes,” Cas interjects, not without pleasure.

Dean glowers. “Or the part where you can apparently swap in different drill bits,” Dean continues,

“Mm,” Cas notes, careful not to open his mouth,

“Or that I, like, accidentally bullied you into growing a person arm,” and Dean pauses for breath here, which Cas evidently takes as permission to dive in with more Planet Earth commentary.

“The natural environment of the human soul is a human body,” he says. “Humans have yet to meet a foreign substrate that they don’t immediately attempt to colonize. My form in Hell was not an exception.” Then he shuts his mouth very deliberately and gestures back to Dean like his mic is going live in three, two.

“Or the bit where my soul gave you some kind of STD?” Dean finishes.

“It was a poor analogy. I apologize.”

“So what’s a better one?”

Castiel drums his fingers for a second, listens to the fire pop in its little cage. “It’s more like…the way a parasitic jewel wasp injects a cockroach with venom, and transforms it into a willing host for wasp larvae.”

“Holy shit are you ever bad at this,” Dean says, with that signature brand of fond horror he special-orders just for Castiel, Angel of the Gourd.

“What I’m trying to avoid saying,” Castiel sighs, “is that you rubbed off on me.”

Dean nods. “Yeah. That’s fair. I wouldn’t be dumb enough to say that around me, either.”  He lays a couple little pats on Cas’s hand. “Lookit you, though, seeing around that corner. I’m proud of you, man. That would’ve totally flipped your breaker back in the day.”

“Just one of the many ways you have reshaped me, Dean,” Cas says, with warm sarcasm.

“Alright, so you rawdogged me, I whammied you. Chocolate, peanut butter, peanut butter, chocolate.”

Cas’s forehead wrinkles in skepticism. “I still prefer the cockroach. But some part of your soul injected itself into one of my more exposed frequencies. Under different circumstances, I would’ve stopped and excised the affected area before it spread, but. I was being pursued, and the mission had taken much longer than any of us anticipated.”

“Us? Thought it was just you down there.”

Cas looks vaguely offended, straightens and folds his arms like he just remembered he’s giving a deposition. “No, of course not. Michael assigned sixty-six angels in eleven groups of six, each escorted to the field by a seraph. We struck simultaneously at six different areas in perdition. From there we dispersed to individual targets –– to cause as much chaos as possible in order to help obscure the object of our mission, and to increase the odds that one of us would actually find you.”

“And you were the lucky winner.” Dean pushes down a touch of sick shame at the thought of it — he’d been coiled up like a snake around somebody else’s torment, anesthetized by it. It was one of the random rags of infernal time where his own pain decreased in proportion to how much he dealt out, and that was the closest thing Hell had to a Friday night.

“I was,” Castiel nods. “I took some liberties with my assignment,” he adds, squinting. “I flattered myself that I shared a special affinity with The Righteous Man.”

“That guy always sounded like kind of a cunt to me,” Dean notes. “You know, not withstanding the fact that I’m him.”

Castiel shrugs. “I found you, and I did what was necessary to save you, and my siblings did what was necessary to save me.” A little falter enters his voice. “Only twelve of us returned from that mission.” Cas looks up, out, away. A dove coos somewhere nearby of the Roadhouse; did it have a run-in with the windshield of an eighteen wheeler one day and show up here, Dean wonders, or does heaven make its own birds from scratch? That’s gotta be a softball compared to whether Betelgeuse is still open for business.

Castiel waits until the bird shuts up, then says, “Of those twelve surviving angels, I personally murdered nine, in everything that followed.”

After a moment Dean says “Yeah,” with practiced neutrality. He’s got some similar tallies, written in Sharpie on the back of his eyelids.

Cas sighs and his attention comes back down to the table. “By the time I received the authority to restore your soul to your body, the infection had spread almost past the point of containment. That’s why I resisted taking a vessel at first. I worried that occupying a human form would speed up the process.”

“Hey now. I thought you showed up naked because you thought I’d be one of those special people,” Dean quips, “Who can handle angel stuff without going all kibbles ’n bits.”

“That was only a partial truth.”

Dean tips the beer bottle in salute. “You’re a real special flavor of asshole, Cas.”

“So I’ve been told. I was right, though. When I took Jimmy as a vessel, I contracted — condensed — myself very severely. The infection had a much shorter distance to travel to reach all of my extremities, and a human form was the most hospitable environment possible.”

“You got a raging case of the Deans.”

Cas’s head kicks back in a laugh that kinda surprises them both. “Yes,” he says, grinning. “I did. I was very displeased, and very concerned I’d be found out and judged unfit for duty. And I very much was. Unfit, that is. Though I was not found out.”

“C’mon, never? You went rogue on the company.”

“Uriel suspected. Naomi certainly detected it later, as did Metatron. But in the moment, no. The Host’s attention was focused on the Apocalypse ahead, not on debriefing a mission that was considered a success. After the Cage was closed, I had too much influence to come under that level of scrutiny.”

“Hmh.” Dean realizes he’s been systematically picking down the label on the beer bottle, so he sets it on the ground before he gets sticky little shreds everywhere. “So I gotta ask. My little souvenir, the handprint. That’s where you grabbed me, with your lil…Mister Potato Head human arm?”

“It is.”

“If I’m the one who infected you, how come I’m the one who got burned?”

“My hand didn’t burn you.”

“Well, it ain’t fingerpaint.”

“Your own soul burned it, as it flowed out of your flesh and into mine. It burned until the moment when I finally released you from my grip. My hand healed itself; your arm did not.” Castiel gives a thin scoff. “I hadn’t planned to leave you interred.”

“Oh, no? Well that’s nice to hear, you know, a decade after the fact. I still have nightmares about that shit.”

Castiel winces. “It’s no excuse, but I was in a great deal of…the equivalent of pain. It took an immense effort to break off the inflow of your soul, and when I did manage it, I was thrown quite a ways by the recoil. By the time I recovered enough to return, you were already looting a gas station,” He finishes, dryly.

“Yeah, well, Dad didn’t think much of leisure as a virtue. Also I was thirsty, because I’d just crawled out of my own grave.”

“And I was distracted, because I’d just fought my way out of the inferno while being digested by a demented human soul.”

“You wanna call it even?”

Cas lifts his brows. “If you don’t mind.”

 There is a long, dark breath, during which their little smiles fade. 

 “So, all that,” Dean says, because he’s a fucking coward.

“All that,” says Cas, because he isn’t.

 Dean clears his throat. “That means you can see my soul-stuff 24/7, huh?”

Castiel slides one leg up onto the bench, shifts to sit astride it, like he’s maybe about to deliver an after-school PSA on the Real Deal About Drugs. “I can always see myself, and extensions of my self. And since your soul made itself into an integral part of me…I can see you.”

“I take it that’s not exactly in the manual.”

“No. I didn’t entirely understand it at first — for a long time, I convinced myself it was because you were designed to be a celestial vessel, and that I had been destined to save you from Hell.”

That thin, acidic feelings starts to rise up in Dean’s chest again. “Do you…” A dry swallow reflex grabs his throat. “Hm. Fuck.”

“What?” Cas asks, scooting forward. An angel. Scooting. What a world. “You can ask me anything, Dean. I hope we’re both past being offended.”

“Have you ever thought that. This whole deal. Our…thing.” Dean lets out a breath. “The way you feel about me. The way I feel about you.”

“Do I worry that its only basis is our shared material?”

Dean licks his lips, works a jaw muscle, forces out a nod. 

Cas frowns, sets one elbow up against the table, then lets his head tip to the side. “Why do you love Sam?”

Dean rolls his eyes. “Yeah, I get it, he’s my brother. We got shared material, too. But we’re not talking genetics.”

“Genes were the initial basis of your love for Sam. But you share half as much material with Adam. Do you love him fifty percent as much as you do Sam?”

“One, love doesn’t work that way and you know it, and two, fucking of course not. I barely know the guy, and what I’ve seen didn’t exactly blow me away.” Not that the poor dumb kid ever really had a chance. “Sam’s Sam, he’s earned it a million times over just by bein’ him.”

“Then you understand.”

“But Cas, man…I…” Dean laughs, which is an abbreviated form of screaming, “I treated you like shit.”

Cas nods. “You did.”

“Okay, the rules say you’re not supposed to agree with me.”

“But the balance remains in your favor. Dean, are you genuinely afraid that you — care for me…”  and Dean can hear the FCC live-bleep in that one, like does his total cowardice have a special color Cas can see with his soul-o-vision? “Only out of some compulsion?”

“No,” Dean says, to the great surprise of his frontal cortex, which was busy kicking the shit out of itself. “No,” he says again, just to make sure it wasn’t a fluke, that that answer actually came out of him and entered the living air between them.

Then the wave is rolling towards him and he enters that slim moment of body-physics where you either take a lungful and commit to diving under the break, or you kick out against the undertow, arch your back to meet the blow, and let yourself be flown all the way up to the waiting shore––

“No,” Dean says, “I love you.” And he chokes up a little, first at the release of saying it, then at how much of exactly jack-shit it changes anything so what was he even scared of, and then at the look on Cas’s face: how he’s frozen. Like that dog from that video, the one that loved tennis balls so goddamn much that his owner bought him a thousand fucking tennis balls and dumps them out all at once and the dog absolutely stalls the fuck out, just seconds on end of underspecced dog-brain hang time before he finally snaps back to reality and loses his absolute shit scrabbling all over the porch.

Castiel comes back online with a little choking noise of his own, and a kind of awkward scrabble for Dean’s hand.

“I have for a long time,” Dean continues, because apparently he’s continuing, “I’ve loved you for fucking ages, Cas. In people years, anyway, I’m sure that mean’s fuckall to somebody who’s a zillion––”

“I don’t,” Cas says thickly, “really give a damn about the age difference, Dean,” and cracks into a chuckle.

“So how come you never knew it?” Dean asks, feeling freedom turn into a hunger or something like vertigo. “If you can see my soul, how could you not know?”

Cas shrugs, a bit helplessly.

“Seriously,” Dean laughs, “how did I manage to hide that shit so well? Sammy found every nudie mag I ever shoplifted.”

Cas shakes his head. “You’ve never actually been able to hide anything from me.”

Dean scoffs. “C’mon, man. I snowed you plenty, or else we woulda had this conversation dirtside a long time ago.”

“Whatever I missed, Dean…it wasn’t because you succeeded at hiding it,” Castiel says, softly. He takes a slow, shaky breath, and meets Dean’s eyes with a smile. He lifts a hand to Dean’s face, bone and flesh on flesh and bone. “I just loved you enough to look away.”

 It’s a long time before they go back inside. By any measure. {AO3}

[nooowestayandgetcaught]

ALL 40 BAYBEE!!!!! GIMME SUM ANSWERS

5) Share one of your strengths.

Being,,, prolific?? ?????? ??? ???????????

6) Share one of your weaknesses.

My own mind. No really I'm basically my own worst enemy because I'm too much of a perfectionist and hate myself and mess myself up.

7) Share a snippet from one of your favorite pieces of prose you’ve written and explain why you’re proud of it.

Stars are the many, many eyes left behind of the Old Gods.

Arya heard this before. She's heard that the stars are the last of the Weeping Lady's tears. They are the eternally bleeding wounds of the Great Shepard according to the Dothraki. They are the drops of poison given to Baelor the Beloved as he laid asleep. They are the immortal sparks of R'hallor's breath. Arya believes the stars are nothing. They exist in a chasm of darkness and death, and no-one is meant to understand why.

Evermore (T, Arya Stark & Sansa Stark, Game of Thrones, 1179 words)

I HAD A LOT OF FUN GOING THROUGH WESTOROS MYTHOLOGY AND TALES IN HISTORY TO MAKE THAT PART. AND THEN WRITING OUT ARYA'S THOUGHTS ABOUT THAT.

8) Share a snippet from one of your favorite dialogue scenes you’ve written and explain why you’re proud of it.

"I liked this shirt, you know," Will complains faintly.

Behind him, one of the car-windows rattle. A badly burned hand emerges from the smoke, clawing helplessly.

"We will find you another," Hannibal tells him, disregarding the murderer's intense, gagging screams.

"That's not the point."

"You're holding on needlessly to the limited value of your material possessions, Will. That's not like you." Hannibal lightly clucks his tongue as if disapproving, approaching him and thumbing down Will's jaw. He's warm and wet, and glorious. He's evolving.

"Says the man who buys Patek Philippe wristwatches," Will retorts softly. "For his own pleasure."

The corner of Hannibal's mouth smirks.

"And what kind of pleasure exists within your mind's eye right now, Will?"

"Ripping out your jugular vein with my teeth," Will murmurs, stroking his lambskin-gloved thumb against Hannibal's neck.

"I would be honored."

The Crescendo Of Dying Screams (M, Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter, Hannibal (TV), 908 words)

THIS IS JUST FUN!!! THEY WERE FUN TO WRITE FOR AGAIN AND I HAVE NOT WRITTEN FOR HANNIGRAM IN A WHILE!!

13) What’s the best writing advice you’ve ever come across?

Even if you think it sucks,,,, write it down anyway and then fix it later. The important part is to write and start writing.

14) What’s the worst writing advice you’ve ever come across?

Thankfully,,, I don't think I've come across any yet.

15) If you could choose one of your fics to be filmed, which would you choose?

I would love to see Perambulate (G, Princess Bubblegum/Marceline & Prince Gumball/Marshall Lee, Adventure Time, 1358 words) done in a comic at least because I NEED THESE TWO CANON COUPLES TO MEET AND BE SILLY. CANON WLW AND MLM.

16) If you only could write one pairing for the rest of your life, which pairing would it be?

NOT REALISTIC. I DO NOT FUNCTION LIKE THAT

17) Do you write your story from start to finish, or do you write the scenes out of order?

I start out from beginning to ending but sometimes I gotta skip around to keep it going if I get stuck.

18) Do you use any tools, like worksheets or outlines?

*shrugs*

19) Stephen King once said that his muse is a man who lives in the basement. Do you have a muse?

It's probably a little moth trapped in a jar and beating itself senselessly against the glass, but it kind of enjoys it??

20) Describe your perfect writing conditions.

Wrapped in a blanket, alone in my room with headphones and music blasting, with a large water bottle and a little bit of chocolate.

21) How many times do you usually revise your fic/chapter before posting?

Depends really! Sometimes I'll go through and correct once, and sometimes I will go through like 14 times in one day!

24) Have you ever deleted one of your published fics?

I have! I will upload it again sometime but like,,,,, the person I had made it for in an AO3 fest basically fucked off and me removing it was me going "nah fuck this,,,, it ain't yours anymore!!!"

27) How do you feel about collaborations?

I have done them! I think they're nice! I do not like long term collaboration projects but for a oneshot, yes!

28) Share your favorite fic writers and why you like them so much.

@glove23 - I look up to this fic writer so much! They have been battling depression and anxiety, and the complexities of their ADHD, for such a long time and whenever they post something,,, I get so excited! I'm really proud of them! It's hard enough for me to write on a bad mental health day, and I know the struggle they go through, and it's INCREDIBLE to see what they can do! They have been writing since they were young and it really shows how much they love writing and how hard they work on getting the characterization and dialogue to be spot on! Obsessed with their work! (AO3)

@not-so-mundane-after-all-97 - What a powerhouse! Incredible writing and fantastic handling of how she structures plot! Constantly in awe of the ideas she has and when they are well-executed (and they are all of the time)! If you are a fan of Will/Lyra from HDM, this is the person to go to for quality! I promise! (AO3)

other writers I really like are @spookywitchnerd24, @theschubita, @anxiouss-princess, @asajjvxntress, @kingburu, @rapha-writes

29) If you could write the sequel (or prequel) to any fic out there not written by yourself, which would you choose?

ngl I really wanna do the "they get back from horse riding and Aleksander refuses to leave Alina's side while she's getting healed" sequel to you are too well tangled in my soul by @glove23

31) Do you take liberties with canon or are you very strict about your fic being canon compliant?

Meh. It depends on the thing I'm writing.

32) How do you feel about smut?

I write it all of the time and read it all of the time. I don't think it's a big deal at all. I respect that it's uncomfy for a lot of people

33) How do you feel about crack?

It's fun! And it can be done well! I saw more crack fic being done back in,,,, like the early 00s and now I don't see it as much,,,,, sad

34) What are your thoughts on non-con and dub-con?

You know what,,, I was just discussing the psychology of why noncon fic is so popular on AO3 (and I have written it before and to my surprise IT GETS THOUSANDS AND THOUSANDS OF VIEWS) and,,, I think the key components to answering this question is understanding that 1) AO3 allows noncon fic to exist therefore it's a dumping ground and 2) rape culture is so embedded into US-centric society especially and 3) there's a lot of traumatized people on AO3 and likely creating noncon to process what happened to them and 4) it's a taboo subject and humanity has been drawn to and obsessed with what is taboo since forever,,,, and tbh the taboo is fascinating to me! It does draw me in! I have written for it and I've read it, and I think it's important to ask questions and examine why we do this!

35) Would you ever kill off a canon character?

HELL YEAH. ABSOLUTELY. I HAVE DONE IT BEFORE AND I'LL DO IT AGAIN!! I prefer more "oh my god they're dead--OH! now they're alive! yayyyyy!" over permanent character death

36) Which is your favorite site to post fic?

AO3. AO3 is queen. I'm not gonna badmouth FFN and Wattpad in terms of people who go there because that's your business however FFN and Wattpad are largely restrictive and mainstream corporate owned areas of interest that don't give a single shit about their users.

38) Talk about a review that made your day.

Whenever my writer friends comment on my fic,,, I literally get emotional. Like those are my favorite comments to see :)

39) Do you ever get rude reviews and how do you deal with them?

BE SAD FOR HALF A SECOND AND THEN FIGHT.

[the-coda-project]

The Coda Project | 1.02 - Inherit the Flames

After reuniting Tommy Collins with his family, Dean and Sam stop for the night in a town called Rifle.

They’re about two hours out of Blackwater Ridge, at a dumpy motel on the edge of a town called Rifle, and Dean’s been staring at the tree-print wallpaper for so long that he’s started detecting patterns in the branches.

A cheap plug-in air freshener in the bathroom has the whole place reeking of artificial pine. Between that and the walls, Dean’s starting to feel as though the wilderness they just barely managed to escape from has followed them here. Hell, maybe they didn’t escape. Maybe he’s still strung up in the mine; maybe the wendigo is still tossing him around like a ragdoll, scrambling his brains just enough that he’s dreaming of a motel that doesn’t exist.

Outside, an eighteen-wheeler passes on the I-70, close enough to make the windows rattle. Dean shifts in his bed as if a different position is going to be enough to distract him from how badly his ribs ache. His scratched-up neck feels raw as road rash.

No matter how hard he tries, sleep still feels so far out of the realm of possibility that he starts wondering how long he should lie here before he can cut his losses and call it.

But then Sam pipes up—“Hey, can I ask you something?”—from across the room, not bothering to check first if Dean’s awake, and immediately he wants to just keep feigning sleep until morning. He might have sought out his brother’s company only a couple of weeks ago, but right now, with the memory of Sam’s dismissive attitude toward helping the Collins family fresh in his mind, he doesn’t feel much like talking to him.

“Dean.”

He presses his eyes shut, ignoring the part of himself that’s berating him for being childish. Whether he can get to sleep or not, he’s too goddamn exhausted to talk about anything that isn’t life or death.

If he thought there was even a chance that his brother was angling to talk about Jessica, he’d be sitting up and listening in a heartbeat. But his tone is inquisitive, not hesitant, and Sam’s been so closed-lipped about his grief that Dean only knows how much her death is affecting him because of how loud and frequent his nightmares have been.

“Dean,” Sam says again, slightly louder. “I know you’re awake.”

With a huff, Dean tilts his head to squint at him across the gap between their lumpy mattresses. He grimaces as the motion pulls at the claw marks on his neck. He’ll be lucky if they don’t scar, but maybe it’d be better if they do. Maybe it’d help if he could see something visibly fucked up when he looks in the mirror. Maybe that would make it easier to explain away the revulsion he feels when he meets his own eyes.

“Dude, can it wait until after I get a solid four hours?”

Bullheaded as ever, Sam ignores the question, sitting up and tucking his shaggy hair back behind his ears. He looks twelve years old. Dean figures he always will, in some ways.

“Did something happen with Dad? Before he took off, I mean.”

“Like what?”

He’s not sure why he bothers asking Sam to clarify.

Maybe it’s just to buy himself some time; to give himself a second to come up with some version of the truth that doesn’t amount to Dad’s an overbearing, pigheaded prick, just like you’ve always said, and if I didn’t think he was in trouble right now I’d be glad to be rid of him for at least another month.

Even thinking it makes him guilty. Like he’s a bad son for being so angry with the guy. But he’s gotta believe that his actions are the important part here; proof that no matter how much he hates his dad sometimes, he still loves him enough to want to keep this family as connected as he can.

Still, a part of him is wondering if it’s really worth it anymore to keep up the act. If his clinging to John and clinging to Sam is just making things worse for all of them. Making John think he’ll put up with whatever he throws at him. Making Sam think he doesn’t care enough to take his side against John when he’s being unreasonable.

A part of him wonders—but it’s not a big enough part to win. The thought that something might have happened to him keeps him from letting the bile spill.

Because if they can’t find him—or worse, if they do find him but they’re too late—Dean doesn’t want Sam to have more reasons to be angry with a dead man than he’s already got.

It’s not as though Dean’s not used to keeping this shit locked down, anyway. There’ve been other disagreements, other fights, other circumstances over the years that he knows weren’t even close to being fair on him, but that’s just his life. It sucks, but it’s how it’s always been. No use complaining about it if it’s never gonna change, and after living this way for twenty-two of his twenty-six years, he sees no reason to consider change a possibility.

In the grand scheme of things, this particular incident doesn’t even make the top five list of awful things John’s put him through. The honors there go to that time with the shtriga, abandoning him at Sonny’s and then uprooting him as soon as he let himself get comfortable, the hunt he sent him on as a seventeenth birthday “present”, the night he told Sam not to bother coming back if he left for school, and the simple act of raising his kids into this shit in the first place.

This one might make it into the top ten, though. He hasn’t decided yet.

“Well,” Sam says, pulling him out of his thoughts. “You said you hadn’t heard from him in… what, three weeks before you got that message? Seems weird that it was so long, is all. You were on a hunt, he was on a hunt… it’s just weird that you weren’t checking in more often.”

Dean rolls onto his back and stares at the ceiling. There’s a water stain on the popcorn tile overhead that almost looks like a cactus if he looks at it the right way.

Christ, he could use some tequila right now. Maybe he can find them a case further south while they wait for some sign of John to turn up. Someplace warmer than the mountains in Colorado. Someplace where he can roll into town, waste a ghost, and then knock back a few drinks on a motel patio without having to talk to anyone at all.

“I mean, you usually check in more than that, right?” Sam goes on, and Dean sighs. He lifts one hand to rub at his brow.

“Yeah, usually.”

“So… what happened?”

“Nothing you gotta worry about,” he says, and immediately knows it was a mistake. Sam zeroes in on what Dean didn’t say just as intently as anyone else would focus on what he did.

Maybe he should go to law school after all—he’s already got the artful-conversational-trap shit down.

“You had a fight.”

“Sam—”

“No, c’mon Dean. You asked me to help you find him. If you had a fight before he left, that seems like it might be relevant.”

“It’s not.”

“So why won’t you just tell me?”

“It was nothing,” he insists. “Dad isn’t exactly Mr Congeniality, Sam. We fight all the time.”

“No, me and Dad fight all the time. The two of you are usually on the same page.”

Dean suppresses a snort and rolls onto his side, his back to Sam now as he looks at the narrow strip of moonlight edging past the thin motel curtains.

“You know I’ll just ask Dad when we find him if you don’t—“

“Jesus, Sam. It was nothing. Just a stupid disagreement about the hunt we were on. You know how he can get.”

“What was the hunt?”

“A witch in Louisiana. We had different ideas about what was going on, but it’s done, the witch is dead, and it doesn’t matter anymore. Okay?”

“That’s all?”

It’s not all.

Thanks to a botched salt-and-burn in Kentucky the previous month, things had already been tense well before they checked into a motel in Souffran, Louisiana. It only got worse when they ran into a woman Dean knew on their second day in town.

She’d been a civilian, last he’d seen her. Said she was a hunter now.

John had been ready to leave as soon as he found out she was already looking into it, but Dean wasn’t so eager.

It wasn’t that he thought Marisa was helpless—far from it, in fact. She’d been teaching capoeira when Dean met her in Texas a few months back. Had the thing terrorizing her students been corporeal, he has no doubt that she never would have needed any help in kicking its ass. But she was inexperienced as a hunter. Green as they come.

Dean didn’t love the idea of her taking on whatever was killing kids in Souffran alone.

When he told John as much, his dad just gave him a sly look, as if he thought the only reason Dean cared was because he was looking to get into Marisa’s pants. Dean wasn’t, for the record. As he saw it, it was his fault that she’d decided to try hunting on for size in the first place. He figured he owed it to her to back her up while she was still so new.

At first, all they’d had to go on was two kids who’d gone missing and turned up dead a week later without any visible injuries beyond a circular burn in the center of their chests; a girl named Lucy Parker who’d disappeared without a trace from her grandmother’s backyard yesterday but was yet to be found; and half a dozen wildly inconsistent reports of strange lights being seen in the swamp running along the north edge of town.

John had been convinced that they were dealing with a fi follet—a kind of malevolent will-‘o-the-wisp known to enact vengeance and drain the blood of children. When Dean disagreed with him, explaining to Marisa that the whole thing felt witchy to him, and pointing out that neither of the kids who’d died had shown any signs of blood loss, John got pigheaded and petty.

He called Dean arrogant. Accused him of acting like John was an idiot ever since they left Kentucky. Spat, “You spend one day showing a civvie the ropes and now you’re an expert, huh? Well go ahead, kid. Handle it on your own.”

And then he bailed.

Left Dean and Marisa to track down a missing eight year old on their own, and made Dean feel about three inches tall when he did it.

It took them almost a full two days to track the thing responsible. A witch, like Dean had thought, who’d been draining the kids of their life force in a desperate, last-ditch effort to stave off some sickness that was eating away at him. But the spell he’d been using was unstable and ineffective, and he’d been haggard and jittery when they found him in a rusty little shack out in the middle of nowhere.

Lucy Parker was right there with him in the room, suspended in mid-air by some unknown force as pale, flickering light leached from the center of her chest and down into a copper bowl on the floor beneath her. Her eyes were wide and rolled back to the whites. Her mouth was open as if she were screaming.

Marisa shot the witch point blank, right between the eyes, and Dean had darted forward to catch Lucy before she could hit the ground. He’d spent the entire time terrified that they were going to get to her too late; that she’d turn up dead before they could figure out where she’d been taken or how to deal with the thing that had taken her.

When she landed in his arms, he’d almost been sick when he felt how cold she was. How limp.

But after a second, she gasped, and coughed, and then she was clinging to him. Shaking.

He couldn’t put her down. She wouldn’t let Marisa take her.

He’d been forced leave the shack while Marisa dealt with the witch’s body and destroyed all the evidence before some local could stumble upon it, and when she’d emerged gray-faced and bloody half an hour later, with the crackle of fire just audible over the steady croak of frogs in the nearby water, he’d known that Marisa wasn’t going on any more hunts.

Lucy still refused to let go of him once they got back to the car, so he’d let Marisa drive them back to town, sitting in the back seat with the kid clinging to his side and sobbing snot into his jacket. He hadn’t even minded. If he didn’t think it would scare her more, he might have let himself cry out of sheer relief at finding her.

Late that night--once Lucy was back with her grandmother, and Marisa was on her way back to San Antonio, and Souffran was far enough in the rearview that it was safe to stop for the night--Dean had called John. He didn’t pick up.

Just sent Dean’s call straight to voicemail, then texted him coordinates for a poltergeist case near Mobile, Alabama an hour later. A few days after that, more coordinates directed him to the voodoo hunt in New Orleans.

So yeah, a witch in Louisiana is not all. Not by a long shot. He doesn’t tell Sam that, though. What would be the point?

“Yeah, that’s all,” he lies, still staring at the gap in the curtains. Another truck rumbles past, air brakes hissing as it slows to take the town exit. It’s so loud that he’s not sure that he’d manage to sleep here even if he wasn’t a headcase. “C’mon, I gotta crash, man.”

For a minute, it seems like Sam’s gonna keep at it. Like he’ll needle at Dean until he spills everything out onto the pilled carpet between them. How scared he is. How angry. How resentful. All the ugliest feelings that seem to be pressing up his throat and onto the back of his tongue like bile.

But he doesn’t. Just sighs, sounding as tired as Dean feels, and says, “Yeah, okay. Night, Dean.”

Dean grunts in reply, and Sam starts snoring after a half hour. Another half hour after that, his nightmares begin. Low, helpless murmurs of Jessica’s name and high-pitched whines of terror that stick in Dean’s chest like buckshot.

With dry eyes and an ever-present lump in his throat, Dean pushes out of bed and heads for the bathroom, taking the laptop as he goes.

If he’s lucky, he’ll find them a hunt before Sam wakes up. He can get them back on the road as soon as the sun rises. Keep them focused on something that isn’t the complete lack of leads on John.

If he’s not, maybe staying up will wear him out enough to sleep tomorrow. He’ll take what he can get.

read again on ao3 | subscribe to series | about the series

[b1ksh88p]

Be Mine ⛏

Plot Plot: You’ve been in a few relationships, unfortunately all ending in tragedy. You had a reputation for being a bad omen. Truly you were a sweet girl but it seemed like every single one of your lovers ended up dead or horrendously disfigured in the long run. This Valentine’s Day your boyfriend decides to jump ship for some blonde crushing the little hope you had left for your love life. In a slightly drunken haze you sneak into the mines for a rant about the cursed corporate holiday and to drown your sorrows in the solitude of the mines. But it seems like you’ve got a listener.

Tags/Warnings: Lots of cursing | Sprinkle of angst | Fluff

The cold air of the abandoned labyrinth did nothing to cool you down as you ventured further into its clutches. To put it lightly you were on fire. Every part of you wanted to tear someone apart. The auburn liquid sloshed around as you clumsily stomped past heaps of forgotten debris. If not for your drunken stupor you would’ve turned back. Everyone knew the horrific tale of the pickaxe cannibal murder. Although you were sure the story was somewhat embellished you’ve heard worse. Poor fuck did what he had to do to survive. Anyone else would’ve done the same, it’s human nature to do anything no matter how gruesome to survive.

“Give a girl a box of cheap chocolates and a fucking bouquet of withering roses and she’s supposed to repay ya by sucking your fucking dick and acting like yer the best thing since sliced bread.” You grumble.

The deeper you go the darker it gets. Stone walls become suffocating and everything looks like the enemy. A fight or flight response may have kicked in but you were in no place to think rationally. When your heel broke you fucking snapped.

“Stupid Roses, fuck ass chocolates, fake relationships for fake people who wouldn’t know love if it fucking stabbed them in the face!” You yell throwing the broken heel piece deep into the darkness. “A corporate holiday with no fucking insignificance! Just a money plot and a excuse to fuck and act like you like that worthless pathetic fuck you’re dating that you like them. When all 364 days you’ve been with em ya fucking loathe them!” You continue on tearing up the damned holiday in partially incoherent babbling until you hear glass break.

Despite your conditions you aren’t stupid. “Fuck is that?” You call out whilst backing up. At first you’re sure it’s a group of horny teenagers but through the gritty lights you see a single foreboding silhouette. This was where you run. Or at least you should’ve. Instead you squint your eyes like some tourist taking in the sights and step forward. “Bud y’know the mines are abandoned cuz of the poor guy who had to eat his friends right?” You call out. “I mean do you if this is your thing I support it but it’s kinda weird since you look exactly like the serial killer guy. Spot on cosplay.” You compliment. The figure doesn’t move. It doesn’t even look like he’s breathing. You feel your hairs start to stand up and goosebumps pepper you skin. It seems your liquid courage was fading.

“Welp I’ll leave you be, don’t wanna bore you with the details of this fucked up holiday.” You let out a wry laugh before turning your back on the figure. You get about 12 good steps in before the stride of death crescendos behind you. Now you were running. Your broken heels doing wonders at making this chase the easiest for your attacker. In the midst of running you take them off and throw them off behind you. Now look you weren’t aiming for the guy but when you heard the hit connect and a surprised grunt you got the feeling you were fucked. Instead of running in a straight line you dip into a little crawl space. Maybe he’d give up and fuck off you. To your horror the man crouches down and starts to crawl his way inside.

Without thinking you take the whiskey bottle and crash it on his head. “Leave me alone I don’t even like this fuckass holiday you fucking weirdo!” You cry. He looks up at you and stops trying to fit.

“Why not.” His voice was eerily calm. As if he weren’t some insane pickaxe murderer but a man.

“Well because it’s stupid and to lovy dovy. And because it feels wrong to celebrate it when such a tragedy had occurred.” You explain. “And...and I got dumped today so there’s that.” You huff.

“...You pity me?”

You shake your head. Words weren’t really your strong point and you didn’t need him thinking you were coddling him or anything. Instead you just stare into the glossy eyeholes with your own praying he’d just fuck off. You practically shit yourself when he continued to scramble through and stand up. You grab a rock and stand ready to knock him upside the head with it only have your wrist harshly grabbed mid throw.

“I don’t want your pity.”

This was it. You were gonna die. And it was gonna be painful and super fucking lame. On your headstone it would say:

“Loser girl no one cares about got dumped on Valentine’s Day...also got murdered lol”

Even though you wanted to sob and cry your eyes out you were way to stubborn to go out pleading and begging. “I was being empathetic you weirdo! We do what we gotta do to survive, and you did just that. You aren’t some crazy murderer. You’re just angry and traumatized and that’s ok!” The grip on your wrist only tightened. “Gah! Th-the system failed you dude. The whole fucking city failed you and still is failing you! You ha-have a right to be mad! I’m not excusing what you’ve done b-but shit I would’ve done the same!” You squeal feeling the blood flow completely cease as he tightened his grip.

Suddenly the pain stopped. You open your eyes and rub your poor wrist hoping the feeling would return. He seemed more docile. It was as if his entire aura had changed. The man sat down on a hunk of rubble, his weapon clenched in his grip. If you didn’t know better you could’ve sworn he was crying. It was a silent sob. Nothing overtly dramatic, kind of how like you’d expect a man who’s rarely cried to cry. It was unnerving. The only man you’ve ever seen cry was your dad and that was when he laughed to hard. This...this was gut wrenching.

This monster that was hellbent on killing you seconds ago was now a sad man huddled up in a corner like a child. You could never feel the pain he’s felt, relive the days of utter darkness and skewed rations. Never could you imagine the gritty taste of human flesh. The depravity one must have for themselves. The survivors guilt. The nightmares he must relive. He kept muttering something about the dark and the how he wasn’t a monster. How he just wanted to see the light again.

“It’s ok.”

You weren’t sure you could touch him so you just sat in front of him. He was still shaken up but the sound of your voice seemed to get through to him. “It’s ok and you’re safe. I’m here. I won’t go anywhere I’d you don’t want me to...” You could bare the cold for a night. You’d rather be frozen to death then brutally murdered.

Both of you sat there for what seemed like ages until he moved. You were on the edge of slumber before seeing a gloved hand slither towards yours. You wanted to move it. Make haste and dip but your body had become heavy. Your eyes seemingly weighed down by stones. Before you knew it he was oddly holding your hand. You saw him looking at you intently. Probably waiting for you to scream or pull away but you stayed put. One hand held up your head whilst the other was his to experience. It had probably been awhile since he’s been so vulnerable so you let him have this. It wasn’t like you had anything else to do tonight but sleep and pray that the hang over didn’t beat your ass in the morning. Before you could fall asleep he pulls you into a really awkward half ass embrace against the cold stained suit. It was far more comfortable than the back straining position you were in a second ago but man this guy was bad at ‘snuggling’. You felt like he was gonna smother you! When he found a comfortable position he rested that stupid ass mask on top of your head with a satisfied grunt before you gave up on protesting and fell asleep. How the hell were you gonna get home

When you wake there’s no cold embraces or odd masked men. Instead you find yourself wrapped in some dusty old quilt at the entrance of the mine. For a moment you think everything that occurred was a mere fever dream. A whiskey fueled hallucination. You scramble to your feet and notice a little note that had fallen from the tattered cloth. The paper, or what you hoped was paper and not dried human skin, had fairly neat handwriting. It was short and morbidly sweet.

Thank you.

There was a part of you that was absolutely mortified. The note solidified your suspicions of what had taken place last night. But the other part of you was strangely elated. You turn to the mine and put your hands to your mouth to amplify your words. “THANKS FOR NOT KILLING ME ILL MAKE IT UP TO YOU!!!!!!” You yell happily before heading back into town. You were pretty sure he didn’t hear you but it calmed you to know that he not only spared you but someone actually appreciated your presence.

This was definitely not your final encounter ⛏

#⛏

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Treat You Better

Warnings: non/dubcon sex, questionable relationship lines (kinda cuckold-ish).

This is dark!Bucky Barnes and explicit. 18+ only.

Summary: Bucky wants what Peter has.

Note: Okay, so I mean, this fic doesn’t involve technical cheating but if you’re sensitive to it, I wouldn’t recommend reading. Also we got a very calculating Bucky and very clueless Peter. I hope y’all enjoy!

Let me know what you think!

You hated waiting. Worse, you hated waiting for Peter. Without fail he was always late. When you planned something, you always expected to do it at least a half hour later. Tonight, you had planned to go out for drinks after a long week apart. Classes and your respective obligations had kept you away from each other. Admittedly, his were more pressing.

Still, the semester started to drag by the more you were alone and you had fewer reprieves from the endless studying and inherent chaos of your dormitory. You had flagged the day in your phone and it had gotten you through the midterm stress.

But he was late. Not just a few minutes, but a whole hour. It didn’t matter, right? Drinks could wait. The bars would be open well past midnight. It was only...9:17! Mark that; an hour and fifteen minutes late.

You sighed and unlocked your phone as you leaned back on metal and leather chair. You re-read the text for dozenth time. ‘See ya at 8.’ He had sent you that. You had confirmed with a ‘can’t wait’ and heart emoji. He had sent you five hearts in return. Yet here you were, waiting on him.

You set your phone down a little harder than you intended. The spark of anger drew the eye of the only other person in the room. It was easy to forget Bucky, even when he was right beside you. He was quiet, unassuming. 

When you entered he had muttered a greeting and you had returned it. You asked him how he was; he shrugged and returned a courteous but unconcerned ‘you?’ You echoed his sentiment and began your vigil.

“Sorry…” You gave a meek smile. “I…”

“It’s fine,” He assured you. His facade didn’t crack as he went back to swiping back and forth on the tablet. He had been poring over a briefing since you arrived. It didn’t seem very brief. He yawned and shifted on the leather couch.

You leaned on your elbow and stared down at the small font of your textbook. Medieval and Renaissance Art: Themes and Narratives. You rubbed your eyes and tried not to yawn yourself. You had taken the book out about half an hour into your wait. Studying was preferable to staring at your lifeless phone.

You huffed again and tapped your fingers on the table. Where was he? There was only so much you could read about the Sistine Chapel before you found yourself staring out the window and plotting your fateful descent.

“Just call him,” Bucky’s voice surprised you. His arm was stretched across the couch as he looked over his shoulder. “Kid probably forgot...almost forgot his damn suit the last time we worked together.”

“Sounds like him,” You grumbled.

“Do it,” He said, “Really. I can’t take you moping over...whatever it is your reading.”

You lifted a brow and his lips curved slightly. He was amused with himself. You picked up your phone and stood. You waved it at him with a tilt of your head and turned away. You hit Peter’s picture and waited for it to dial.

It took two tries. He picked up as you expected to be forwarded again to his voicemail and you stuttered on your greeting. 

“Hey,” He answered nervously, “What’s up?”

“Um, I’m waiting...for our drinks,” You leaned on the table and tried to keep your voice down. “It’s almost 9:30.”

“Shit,” Peter cursed on the other end. You glanced over your shoulder at Bucky who was once again focused on his confidential files. “I’m so sorry, I thought I texted you.”

“Texted me?” You wondered.

“Yeah, uh, something came up,” The inflection made it sound more a question than a statement. “You know…business.” 

You nodded. You didn’t miss the crack in his voice or the poorly muffled whisper from Ned. When those two were together, it was rarely business.

“I came all the way down here, Peter,” You hissed, “Now I gotta take the subway back. At night. Thanks for the heads up.”

“I swear, I thought I hit send.” He explained thinly. You frowned.

“Sure,” You didn’t feel like arguing. Maybe you were just tired. Frustrated. It didn’t matter. “Fine, I’ll see you...Monday?”

“Tomorrow!” He said sharply, as if surprised. “Promise, babe.”

“Tomorrow,” You replied unconvinced. “Sure….love ya.”

“You too, babe.” He returned, “I...gotta go.”

The line died before you could give your own farewell. You shook your head and tucked your phone in your pocket. You turned and rounded the table to close your textbook. 

“You were right, he forgot,” You muttered as you shoved the book in your tote. “Good thing I didn’t sit here for an hour and a half waiting for nothing.” You said dryly. “Now that would be stupid.”

“Ah, fuck,” Bucky leaned forward and set down his tablet. You glanced over at him as you pulled on your canvas jacket. “Now, I don’t think I could forget something as important as you.”

“Please, don’t try to make it better,” You moaned, “Really. I’m just going to go home and write that stupid paper on Titian. What an exciting Friday night.”

“You want a ride?” He offered casually as he stood and stretched. He turned with his arms over his head, his lower stomach peeked out from beneath his tee. You tried not to notice the lines of his pelvis above his jeans. 

“I appreciate it but I can manage myself.” You slung your bag over your shoulder. “I got a pass.”

“Come on, let me drive you,” He insisted though his voice was as detached as ever. “I got nothing better to do.”

“I don’t know, you seemed pretty entranced,” You kidded.

“It’ll be a nice break,” He said, “And hey, a step up from the subway. Instead of a train full of strange men, you’ll only have to deal with one.”

You scoffed and shook your head. “Alright, fine. You’ve twisted my arm.”

-

Bucky’s car was nice. You guessed it was a perk of working for Stark Industries. And saving the world. It was much preferable to the subway. You sank into the seat with your bag on your lap. You almost felt like a child as he turned the engine. 

“So, where am I going?” He unlocked the gps on his console and brought up the address bar, “Type it in, will ya?” He steered with one hand as he pulled out. “Not the greatest without this thing...as much I don’t trust robots.”

You squinted at him but shrugged off the comment. His metal hand would’ve made you think he had a natural kinship with more mechanical. And his demeanour. The street lights flashed through the windows and lit up the lines of his face as he drove out onto the street. You keyed in your address and turned to watch the city pass through your window.

“So...never asked but you study science or whatever, too?” He prompted. You looked to him slowly. You were almost stunned by the question. Not the content, merely the speaker. You almost preferred his disinterest. You guessed he was merely making small talk.

“No,” You laughed, “I suck at science. Art. Yeah, I know, I’ll make a great barista.”

“Art, eh?” He nodded. “I like art. God, that sounds like I’m stupid.” He chuckled. “You know, during the war, there was lots of stolen art. Some hidden away to prevent that. Some never found.” He cleared his throat as he turned the wheel. 

“We were on our way to Germany. We’d clear towns along the way. Some of them’d be blown out so bad you couldn’t step inside for fear of it all falling on your head.” His eyes searched the road as if he was seeing another city entirely. “Others, totally untouched. Towns just empty. The people fled to avoid the same carnage...or they were dragged out by their invaders.”

You nodded. You didn’t know what to say. He hadn’t ever spoken so much in your presence. Even with Peter around.

“Anyway, we found this one apartment. It must’ve been locked up for well over a year. Place was covered in dust but...paintings everywhere. On the couches, in the kitchen sink, just dozens of them. We had them taken back to headquarters...I knew this one CO though, had him send a Monet to my ma. She loved flowers, you know?”

“Monet?” You were stunned. You’d only ever seen the famous paintings in your textbooks and on the walls of museums. “Wow. I…”

“Don’t know if it ever got to her though,” He said. “I never did.”

You bit the inside of your lip. What could you say that wouldn’t seem entirely obtuse?

“Ah, don’t worry so much.” He shrugged. “Sorry, I get a bit heavy. That’s the past though…” He stopped at a light and looked over at you. “So, you’re an artist?”

“I guess,” You said. “I like to paint and my portfolio got me into the program so...for now, I am. Until I’m off into the world of corporate desk jobs and retail gigs.”

“Ah, I see why Peter likes you. You’re a hell of an optimist,” He joked as he hit the gas and looked back to the road.

Your phone vibrated and you reached into your pocket. “No use running from the…” Your screen lit up and you swiped up to view the snap. Your voice died as you watched the video in awe and anger. “I knew it!”

You hit lock and the screen went black. Your nostrils flared and you clamped your mouth shut in a scowl. You squeezed your phone and shook your head. Bucky’s eyes flicked to the rear view than you and back through the windscreen. He laughed again.

“What?” You couldn’t help the growl.

“You,” He smirked, “You’re...cute when you’re angry. Like a little chipmunk.” You frowned deeper. “I mean...you’re fiery. It’s...I always wondered how a girl like you got mixed up with the Spider-man but I’m starting to think you might be more formidable than him.” You narrowed your eyes and he peeked over at you again. “Look, it’s a compliment. I’m not very good at them but take it for what it’s worth.”

“Gee, thanks,” You crossed your arms over your tote, “I’m flattered.”

He pulled into your dormitory parking lot and brought the car to a stop as the gps announced your arrival. “Look, try not to stress about it. He’s young, stupid. You got your whole life to be mad at him.” He said. “Or to explore your options. Who knows?”

“My type of optimism,” You chided. You grabbed the handle and inched the door open. “Thanks. Really. You didn’t have to.”

“No problem. It gave me an excuse to get off the couch,” He leaned his arm against your seat, “Hit me up if he does it again. Can’t have a girl like you on the subway so late.”

You couldn’t help the smile and you opened the door all the way as you stepped out. “Thanks. Have a good night, Bucky.”

“You too, doll.” His vibranium fingers tightened on the wheel. “Take care of yourself. Don’t let the boy get you down.”

You closed the door and stepped back. He pulled out and around the lot. You watched him leave, his headlights disappeared into the city haze and you retreated to the gate of your dorm. What an odd night. Not exactly the end you were expecting.

-

Bucky lifted the bar, a small breath escaped him. The muscles in his right arm strained and a shock surged at the base of his vibranium arm. While he could lift the weight with his left arm alone, he worked to keep his right as strong as he could. He may have only one arm but he didn’t want to fight like it.

His time in the gym was his alone time. A sort of meditation. He could forget about everything and just be. His body was intuitive. He moved from machine to machine with ease. His body fell easily into the patterns; running, push-ups, lifting. 

He set down the bar and sat up as he rubbed his right hand. The metal of his left was warm. He stretched his vibranium fingers and watched the plates slide back into place. He moved his head from side to side to work out the kink along his shoulders. 

The door opened and closed. He was rarely caught off-guard but his head wasn’t as clear as usual. It hadn’t been lately. Two nights ago he had drove her home and ever since she hadn’t left his mind. When she got out of his car, he could still smell her. She smelled of strawberries. Good enough to eat.

He stood as he turned to the intruder. Peter smiled at him and Bucky had to keep from scowling. When he thought of her, he couldn’t help but think of the boy. He was a kid truly, not to see what he had right in front of him. It filled Bucky with resent. She was so sweet, so devoted to the flaky college kid, and Peter was entirely oblivious.

“Sorry, Mr. Bucky, I was just comin’ to train,” For god’s sake, the kid still called him mister.

He shook his head and shrugged as he dropped and began another set of push-ups. “Thought there was a gym at the school.” He grunted.

“Yeah…” Peter let his voice trail off as he set his gym bag on the bench. “It’s too crowded there.”

“Mmm,” Bucky lost count after ten. 

He couldn’t concentrate on the numbers as his mind strayed once more. As he lifted himself up and down, he couldn’t help but think of her. Picture her below him. He felt a stir in his shorts and held back a groan. Fuck. The things he’d do to her. 

She was so delicate. He could only imagine the ways he could break her with his iron touch. She’d wilt like a flow. The juices would flow from the sweet berry and fill his mouth. He sniffed and brought himself to a halt. 

He rolled onto his back and stretched out each leg. His cool down exercises would help him calm down. He was getting far too worked up over Peter’s girl. Yes, Peter’s girl. He shouldn’t have to remind himself of that.

He stood and stretched out his arms. “So, how’d your little date go with the girl?”

Peter looked at him curiously as he began to warm up. “How’d you know about that?” His voice was higher than usual.

“She was here all night waiting for you,” He replied, “Friday, that is.”

“Oh,” Peter blinked and frowned. “Well, I kinda forgot we were supposed to meet.”

“And yesterday?” Bucky prodded. He should back off. It wasn’t his business.

“I, uh...we saw a movie,” Peter squinted at him. “Why are you so concerned?”

“No reason. Drove the girl back to her dorm. She seemed down,” He tried to seem nonchalant but could barely ignored the thrill it sent up his spin. “Just...I dunno, she’s a special one. You should treat her like she is.”

“You drove her home?” Peter stopped his own stretches as the thoughts wrinkled along his forehead. “Why?”

“Didn’t want her to take the subway that late,” Bucky said coolly. “Not safe, ya know?”

“Ya,” Peter nodded and bent an arm behind his head. “I guess you’re right.”

Bucky finished up and grabbed his hoodie from the bench. He drained the last of his water and watched the kid as he began a set of sit-ups. He made it halfway to the door before he turned back. He neared the kid and stood over him. He looked down as Peter fell flat.

“What?” Peter asked.

“You really upset the girl,” Bucky said, “I doubt whatever you were doing with that friend of yours was worth it.”

“What do you care?” Peter leaned on his hands as he sat up. “She’s my girlfriend.”

“Then start acting like it,” Bucky snapped.

“Hey,” Peter hopped up to his feet. He still had to look up at the super soldier. “I don’t appreciate you getting involved, Mister.”

“Mister?” Bucky scoffed. “Ah, kid, you need to grow up. Women get tired of boys. Quickly.”

“I’m not a boy,” Peter snarled. “You need to back off.”

“Tell your girl the same,” Bucky didn’t know why he said it. It just seemed right. A bit of revenge on her behalf. A little jealousy always put things into perspective. “She’s very talkative.” Bucky let his voice linger in the air. “...Very...friendly.”

“Leave her alone!” Bucky was surprised by the kid’s strength. He very nearly stepped back as Peter shoved him. 

“Oh don’t you worry. It was all innocent,” Bucky smirked. “She’s loyal, almost to a fault. But you’re pushing her to her limit. One of these days--”

“One of these days what?” Peter spat. “Why don’t you mind your own business, old man?”

“Key word being man,” Bucky countered. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Bucky patted his shoulder and backed away. He draped his hoodie over his shoulder as he pulled open the door and glanced at the kid as he stepped into the hall. Their eyes met in unspoken challenge. 

The door closed between them and Bucky chuckled. His chest fluttered wildly as he pictured her face. Imagined how her body would feel against his. He’d just have to wait until the kid slipped up again.

-

“How many times do I have to repeat myself until you hear me?” You pulled away from Peter. 

You had been entirely content until he spoiled it all. Nestled up together on the couch watching a movie on Netflix. The compound lounge was empty and peaceful. Or at least, it had been.

“I forgot,” Peter’s hand brushed your lower back as you stood and turned on him. “I’m sorry.”

“You forgot. Again. Big surprise. Anything to do with me, you always forget,” You evaded him as he rose and reached out to you. “Goddamn it, Peter. I told you about this two months ago. I’ve reminded you constantly and you just don’t even care.”

“I can tell Happy to reschedule the whole thing.” He pleaded as he followed you around the sofa.

“That’s not the point, Peter,” You growled and turned on him. He nearly tripped as you bore down on him, your finger in his face. “I’m tired of feeling like this. Ignored. A burden.”

“You’re not--”

“I am. Fuck, Pete, I don’t wanna be your biggest priority but I at least wanna be on the list,” You spat. “I mean, we both have our lives, our responsibilities. We knew that when we got into this but...you never treated my time like it was worth anything.” 

He tried to grab your hand and you shoved him away. His eyes rounded in hurt.

“Peter!” You exclaimed, exasperated, “Or should I call you the amazing Spider-man, hmm? Our greatest hero. You can’t do any wrong.”

“You can’t hold that against me,” Peter shook his head. 

“I don’t, Peter,” You lowered your voice. “I don’t expect you to drop everything for me, I just expect you to give me something. Anything.” You sighed and crossed your arms. “We’re on different roads, Peter. We can’t turn back now.”

“No, you...Please,” His face drained of colour. “You can’t mean it.”

“I can’t live like this. I can’t try anymore, not when you don’t.” You pressed your lips together and sniffed back your tears. “I might not be a hero but I can’t handle it all. School, you, work. I...You should enjoy it. College. We only get these years once and obviously I’m just an obstacle.”

“Don’t say that,” He neared and you hung your head. “I...can change.”

“People don’t change, Peter,” You let him hug you, his chin on your head. “Not for others. One day you’ll be ready for a relationship, I will too. But now…” You slowly drew away and hid your face. You grabbed your purse from the table. “I don’t think either of us are ready.”

“Please don’t leave,” Peter’s voice cracked as you pulled on your jacket. “Please…”

“Go save the world, Peter, it’s what your meant to do,” You opened the door and looked back at him. “But it’s not for me. This life...you’re much braver than me.”

You closed the door behind you. The hall was cold, it sent a shiver up your spine. Or was that the pit in your stomach. The twist of your insides as reality struck you across the face. It was over. Two years, done. Even if you had seen it coming, it still hurt. Inevitability was just as painful as chance.

The tears began to fall when you reached the elevator. You wiped your cheeks as you waited for the doors to ding. You were startled as a shadow appeared at the edge of your sight. You turned and brushed away the last of your tears with your sleeve. But it wasn’t Peter.

“Hey, you okay?” Bucky neared and you shied away. You sniffed again.

“I’m fine, I…” Your voice was nasally from crying. 

“What’s going on?” He asked kindly. He stared at you and his blue eyes sparkled. “What did he do?”

“I don’t wanna talk about it,” You looked past him. “It’s...stupid college kids, you know?”

“Youth is...dramatic,” Bucky said lightly. “Doesn’t mean you don’t have a right to feel the way you do.”

You looked at him. He wore a leather jacket over his tee and his usual combat boots. He was on his way out too. 

“What are you doing up?” You wondered. “It’s a bit late, isn’t it?”

“You telling me it’s late,” He scoffed as the elevator doors chimed and slid open. He waved you in ahead of him. “What about you, young lady? Out after dark?”

You laughed. “You got me,” You resigned. “I’m headed home. To sulk alone.”

He nodded and the elevator began its descent. You took out your phone and fiddled with it nervously. The silence that rose was tense. You were both thinking of what to say but neither could muster a word. You tucked your phone away and sighed as the elevator stopped.

“Hey,” He followed you out, “Wait, come on, it’s almost midnight. You need a ride?”

“I’ll be fine, really.” You assured him as he kept stride with you. “I’d hate to treat you like a chauffeur.”

“I don’t mind. Really.” He stepped ahead of you and blocked the door. “I wouldn’t feel right letting you take the subway this late. Alone.”

You squinted at him. Why did he care so much? While the gesture was nice, you weren’t so sure about his intent. Wait, this was Bucky. He was an Avenger. A hero just like Peter. Did you really prefer the underground creeps to him?

“I…” You bit your lip and peered through the glass doors on the other side of him. “...dunno.”

“Or maybe…” His lips twitched before he grasped his thought, “You wanna join me for a drink? I was just headed to this bar down the street. One drink in exchange for a ride. Fair trade, right?”

“A drink?” You raised a brow.

“Totally friendly, I promise. But you seem like you could use one,” He smiled, “I always heard it was bad to go to sleep angry.”

You stared at him as you thought. You dragged your tongue along your bottom lip as you weighed your options. You were on edge and you knew it would only get worse once you were home to stew in your self-pity.

“Alright, I suppose a drink is the least I can do,” You accepted. He turned and opened the door and waited for you to pass through. “But wait…” You stopped before the second door, “Should you be driving if you’re drinking?”

“Yeah, uh, my tolerance is...the serum kinda cancels out the alcohol.” He moved past you and grabbed the second door. 

“So you drink for the taste?” You stepped out onto the street and he followed. 

“It’s actually pretty sweet without the burn,” He shrugged. You walked side by side down the pavement. “And I like the bar. Small, quiet. As much as I hate crowds, it’s comforting, you know?”

“Ah,” You let him lead you to the corner and he stopped you at a small door under a plain wooden sign. “Oh, this place it cute.” You looked up at the simple moniker.

“Yeah, Peter said it was a hipster joint but I don’t really know what that means.” Bucky opened the door, once more gesturing you through. You frowned at the mention of your boyfriend. Ahem, ex-boyfriend. He noticed and winced. “Sorry, I wasn’t thinking.”

“It’s fine. It was my decision…” You shook off the sudden wave of gloom. “Look, let’s get that drink and forget about it. That’s all I wanna do.”

You entered and he followed closely behind. The bartender recognized him as you approached and Bucky greeted the woman as ‘Laura’. You smiled at her as she poured another customer’s drink. She turned to you as you dug out your wallet. 

“I’ll have a gin and soda,” You said above the low din, “A lime too, if you have it. And uh, whatever he drinks.”

“Actually, I’ll try that,” He intoned, “Sounds interesting.”

You waited for your drinks and handed over your cash. You left the change as a tip and Bucky led you to a table in the corner. He sat and you did the same, dribbling a little gin down your fingers. You sipped through the thin straw and shook the moisture from your hand.

“So, how’s school?” He asked before another deathly silence could rise. 

“Oh, it’s school,” You rolled your eyes, “Mostly papers and seminars. Nothing interesting. I mean, come on. You don’t wanna hear about the lameness that is the life of an art major.”

“Yeah? You’d be surprised how much paperwork is behind fighting the bad guys,” He replied, “Plus the mishap with Sam’s wings...that’s not going over well.”

“Mishap?” You prodded. “What exactly happened with the wings?”

“Well, airports don’t take well to unidentified air crafts in their zones,” Bucky chuckled, “We kind ran into some heat over Heathrow…”

-

One drink turned into two, which turned into a tequila shot and a third. Bucky was surprisingly good company. A nice distraction from the grief brewing at the back of your mind. You had thought of asking for that ride but the thought of being alone made you sick. Or was that the alcohol?

You giggled as you finished off your third gin and hid your mouth behind your hand as a belch threatened to rise. Bucky was entirely sober as he watched you lean back heavily in your chair. As a university student, you envied his tolerance.

“Another?” He offered as he looked to the bar.

“No, no,” You raised your hand, “No. I can’t handle anymore.”

“Lightweight,” He teased and you scowled. “There it is.”

“What?” You wiped the irritation from your face.

“That little furrow,” He pointed between his brows, “The chipmunk face.”

“Stop!” You whined and reached for your phone. 2:37 am. Holy shit! “Oh my god, it’s so late. Or early, I guess.”

“So it is,” He glanced over at your screen, “Last call already.”

“I should...go,” You stood with a wobble. You steadied yourself and untangled your purse from the back of the chair. 

“Yeah, we should probably head out,” He rose and stretched his arms and grabbed his leather jacket. 

“Urgh, I can’t wait to lay down,” You pulled on your canvas jacket as you followed him to the door. “What a long night?”

You yawned as you stumbled out onto the sidewalk. He was quick to catch you. His arm around your waist as he turned you in the right direction. “Careful,” He warned as he led you down the pavement. “Can’t have you messing up that pretty face of yours.”

Your cheeks burned and your lashes fluttered. You reached up to rub your neck as the heat spread. “Ha, you’re too sweet.”

“And you’re...drunk,” He chuckled as you leaned into him without thinking. He smelled of sandalwood and sweat. A hint of alcohol clung to him, too. “Come on, let’s get you back while you can still walk.”

“I’m not that bad,” You protested and elbowed him. 

“Sure,” He said dryly and you sneered at his doubt.

He turned you into Stark Tower, through the two glass doors, and towards the elevator. It wasn’t until you were in the rising box that you realized you were going in the wrong direction. 

“Wait…” You slurred as his arm slipped, “Why aren’t we...your car?”

He squeezed your ass and your squeaked in surprise. He turned to pin you against the elevator wall. His metal fingers pushed a stray hair back and you gasped. He leaned in as your heart hammered in your chest. 

“Bucky,” You grabbed his forearm as it snaked around your hip, his hand kneaded your ass hungrily.

“You’re so fucking sexy, you know that?” He pressed his lips to yours sloppily and crushed you against the wall. You froze as his metal hand drifted down and cupped your breast. He pulled away as the floors ticked closer to the top. “Peter’s a stupid boy...how could he ever let you go?”

“He...how do you know that?” You breathed.

“Not hard to guess,” He smirked, his arm once more around your waist as the elevator doors opened and he as good as dragged you out. “Don’t worry, baby, we’re gonna show him what he’s missing out on.”

“Bucky,” You said weakly. Your head spun and the warmth of his arm hypnotized you. You felt safe; wanted. “We shouldn’t…”

“It’s okay, baby,” He pulled you around the next corner, “It’s just a little bit of fun. I know you uni girls…”

Another corner and another. He spun you against a door and his mouth was on yours again. He turned the handle as he held your hip with one hand. He devoured you as he urged you backwards into the room and kicked the door closed behind him. You clung to him to keep from stumbling, your lips working against his.

He reached up to slide your jacket down your shoulders. You let him as a small voice told you not to. His touch was hot. Intoxicating. Your jacket fell to the floor with your purse. He bunched the hem of your shirt up with his fingers. Up along your stomach and chest. He pulled away as he tugged it over your head, his eyes intent on your lacy black bra.

“Jesus,” He whispered. 

Your mind was hazy, his broad shoulders blurred as he nudged you back. Your legs hit something and you fell onto the bed with a gasp. You felt him pull off your shoes, then your socks. His fingers worked deftly at the fly of your jeans as you lifted your head to watch him. This had to be a dream.

You giggled as he lifted your pelvis and glided your jeans down your legs. He stood and your vision cleared for a second as his eyes met yours. You glanced down at your body, the lacy bra and panties were all that were left to you.

“Stay there, baby,” He purred and you dropped your head. You couldn’t have moved if you tried.

You heard him moving around. You looked over as he emptied his pockets on the dresser and peeled off his leather jacket. He turned back to you and winked. His tongue poked out as he came nearer and pulled off his tee. He bent to unlace his boots and quickly kicked them off. He circled the bed as he undressed, watching you like a scavenger.

Your head lolled back and forth as you tried to keep track of him. The shadows blurred in your eyes and you closed them to still the ripple in your vision. You flinched when he touched you. His metal fingers were cold along your thighs as they crawled along the flesh. His other hand was warmer but rougher as it slid around your waist.

He lifted you and held you against him as he climbed up on the bed. He walked on his knees across the mattress and laid you down beneath him. His kiss was even more fervent than before. His tongue desperate as it slid past your lips. He ground his pelvis into you and you felt his erection through you sheer panties.

He parted and sat back on his heels. His hands explored your body as his eyes followed them. You looked down and gaped at his naked body. His cock was slightly curved but large. Your eyes rolled back as you wriggled beneath his touch.

"You're so precious, baby," He whispered as he reached around and popped open your bra with a flick. 

You pouted as he tugged your bra from your arms. You caught it and he pulled it away easily. It dropped over the side of the bed and you shivered at the touch of his fingers along your hips. He guided the lace down your thighs and past your feet. 

He tossed the panties away and bent over you. His lips trailed along your neck, shoulders, chest, and stomach. He hummed as the tip of his nose traced the line of your pelvis and you squirmed. His dark hair hung around his head and tickled you.

"Bucky," You breathed. "What are--" 

You gulped as he kissed just above your pussy. He pushed your legs apart and bent them over his shoulders. The muscles of his shoulders rippled against your calves as he bent closer. 

His slipped his tongue along the curve of your lips and pushed deeper. It was cool and sent a tingle along your thighs. You squeezed his head between your legs without thinking. His fingers danced along your ass and edged around your pussy.

He delved between your folds and you trilled. The sound was startling. Was it really you? His tongue moved from your clit to your entrance and back again. He swirled around your bud and suckled. He didn't let up, each flick of his tongue had you trembling.

You reached down to push away his head as the heat built. Instead your fingers buried in his dark hair and urged him deeper. He tickled your folds with his finger and circled your entrance. He pushed inside and you arched your back beneath him.

He drew his finger in and out before adding another. His mouth continued to play with your clit as he worked his hand. The pressure mounted and you moaned through your teeth.

His tongue and fingers moved faster. You could hear your wetness, feel it as he lapped it up. The knot unwound and you disassembled all at once. You whined as your orgasm radiated through you.

You twisted beneath him as he slowly parted from you. He looked down at you as you pressed your legs together and your hands fluttered over your torso. You closed your eyes and the after waves swept you away.

He chuckled and stroked his cock as he pulled your legs apart and dragged you closer. He rubbed his tip along your folds and it sent a shiver through you. You opened your eyes and watched as he pressed himself past your entrance. His head stretched you as he leaned over you.

He held himself up with his elbow beside your head as he slid into you. You gasped as he filled you to your limit. Your eyes went wide at the storm of lust and pain. He smiled down at your tortured delight.

"Yeah, baby," He pulled back slowly and eased back in. "You like that?"

You bit your lip and he cradled your head in his hand as he moved carefully. You shyly touched his hips; nudged him weakly as he worked against you.

"I can tell you like it." He whispered, "A girl like you needs a real man, eh?" He sped up just a little, "He can't fuck you like I can." He picked up again and you let out a mewl. "That's it, baby."

Your legs bent around him and your nails dug into his skin. Once more you felt the spring winding. His mouth smushed against yours and he nibbled your bottom lip as he parted and kissed along your cheek.

"Say my name, baby," His hips rose and fell in rhythm. "Say it."

"Bucky," You breathed.

"Again," He sped up.

"Bucky," You rasped as the heat licked at your skin.

"Louder," He urged as he rocked into you harder and harder. "Louder."

"Bucky," You raised your voice and he pushed himself up. 

He grasped your hips as he sat back, his thighs against yours. His flesh clapped loudly against yours as he crashed into you. "Keep going," He hissed.

"Bucky!" You exclaimed as the tide rose higher. "Oh, Bucky, Bucky, Bucky…"

You yiped as the swell burst and you came with a violent shudder. He kept going until you were weak and breathless. Your fingers knotted in your hair.

He slowed and lingered in you. He wiggled his hips and you twitched.

"Turn over, baby," He rubbed along the back of your thigh. "I wanna see that pretty little ass."

He pulled out of you and you trembled as you struggled to move. You rolled over and raised yourself up on your knees. Your arms shook as you struggled to stay up.

He slapped your ass and you nearly fell forward. He seized your hips again and pulled you back against him. He entered you in a single motion. Your pussy squelched around him and you moaned.

All pretense was gone. He pounded into you and you fell down to your elbows. His pelvis crashed against your ass and he bent over you to fondle your tits. You purred and pushed back into him, longing for more.

His metal hand went to your throat and he sat up. He took you with him, your back against his muscled torso. His grip tightened as he fucked you without pause. His other hand found your pussy and his fingers twirled around your clit.

"Are you gonna cum again, baby?" He growled in your ear. You nodded and his fingers slackened just a little. "Let me hear it." His breath was hot along your temple. "Let me hear you cum."

"Ah, ah, ah," You panted and closed your eyes as another orgasm broke through. "I'm cum--cumming."

You shook and he caressed you through your climax before dragging his wet fingers along your stomach. His metal hand choked you as his other hooked around your shoulder and he forced you down harder onto his cock.

"Fuck, baby, can I cum in you? I'm gonna cum," His lips brushed over your hair.

"N-n-no," You wheezed and clawed at his hand. "N-not inside."

"Inside?" He snarled and sank into you completely. His hips twitched and he gave several long thrusts. He came as you batted helplessly at his metal hand. "God, baby, you feel so good." 

He slowed and lowered your bodies together so that he was on top of you. He pushed inside as deep as he could and you cried out as he hit your cervix.

"You like it when I fill you up?" He ran his nose along your ear. "Hmm?"

You buried your face in the mattress and steadied your breath. He kissed the back of your head and pulled out of you carefully. You felt the stream of his cum and yours as it leaked between your thighs. You shook your head and the cloud grew thicker.

You rolled over as the bed shifted and you watched as Bucky's vague figure walked to the dresser. You sat up and squinted at him as he turned back with something in his hand. His phone was pointed at you as he neared.

"Bucky?" You blinked in confusion, "What--"

"Say hi," He smirked as he moved the lens up and down your body. Your mouth fell open as he turned the camera back on him. "Who's an old man now, Petey boy?"

[adultswim2021]

Harvey Birdman, Attorney at Law #15: “Blackwatch Plaid” | January 1, 2003 - 12:08 AM | S02E01

Mere minutes into 2003 Harvey Birdman, Attorney at Law debuted it’s first episode in a little while: “Blackwatch Plaid”. The new year is traditionally a time when we reflect on our previous year and re-evaluate old habits. At the time of this airing, I was fastidiously recording Adult Swim every week and saving anything new that aired to my own carefully labeled home video archives. Historically I’d been recording to VHS, but I had received a DVD recorder for Christmas and immediately began transferring certain Adult Swim shows from VHS to DVD. The DVD format was still rather young, and the idea of Adult Swim shows actually making it to retail DVD didn’t seem like such a sure thing (even though at this time, two such volumes had been produced; more about those during EPHEMERA WEEK)

This was the tenth episode aired, and 10 episodes was what could fit on a DVD-R recorded in SP mode. So, I completed my first and only custom DVD of Harvey Birdman, Attorney at Law. When faced with the prospect of beginning a second volume of Harvey Birdman on DVD I was at a bit of a crossroads. Keep watching this show I hate in the name of completionism? Or, do what any sane person would do and stop watching? I gave it away a few sentences back, but at the time I picked the later. This was a pretty big deal for me! Sure, I thought less of shows like Brak and Sealab from their strong starts, but I still stuck with them. My rejection of Birdman was a radical act. I was now no longer enjoying Adult Swim as a whole. I was now picking and choosing what I wanted from it.

“Blackwatch Plaid” isn’t so bad, truthfully. It’s a parody of the then-current Homeland Security Terror Alert Level Color Chart, which had debuted earlier in 2002. the eponymous blackwatch plaid is one of the colors on Phil Ken Sebben’s chart, which is created in this episode in response to an imagined office theft. The fact that this imaginary office theft is treated with the same high-level importance as a terrorist attack on our country is the whole joke of the episode. It’s a worthy target for satire, for sure.

Okay, so it’s 2021, and I’m watching these with a more open mind. I can admit the anger I felt at Birdman was “a little much”, this episode is more cohesive than most and the jokes aren’t bad. I didn’t laugh at them then, and I didn’t laugh at them now, so really not much has changed. But I recall one sticking point I had: the live-action montage. There’s multiple bits of live-action in this episode, and they are fun. But jealousy that these guys had a comedy show and I didn’t really worked wonders on me, because I remember really detesting the main montage in the episode. It was as if I thought “how dare you guys have fun, this show sucks.”

In the montage, Sebben presents Birdman with footage from the newly-installed security cameras that proves Birdman doesn’t get much work done in the course of his work day. A now live-action Birdman is seen milling around the office doing nothing much, then suddenly we are treated to a bright and colorful montage of Birdman playing hooky. He’s riding a ferris wheel, getting his nails done, showering at home with Boo Boo who playfully slaps his ass, cavorting around a fountain, popping out of a ball pit, and then running/tip-toeing around a field in different directions, for no reason. It’s wacky. It looks like it was a lot of fun to shoot. And I was pissed.

Okay, I’m primarily using this blog entry to try and get to the bottom of why I hated the montage so much. If a show I loved did something similar, I’d probably applaud it. It’s a fun idea, fairly low-effort (not that doing a live-action shoot doesn’t require real effort, it does!), and it just reads as “comedy is happening” for the entirety of the sequence. From a production stand point there’s little reason to not include a sequence like this.

I feel like this was a form of humor you’d see a lot of amateur comedy makers doing: the bright and cheery montage. It’s ironic, because I’m acting cheesy! I couldn't name names if I tried, but I just had about three or four different amateur sketch group videos pop into my head with the same comedy stylings. I can’t imagine what the point of view is here, or if anyone participating in this particular joke actually thinks they’re being original. At this point I’d say that the number of ironic/spoof montages in this vein outnumber the ones that are actually doing them in earnest. So, the idea can’t be “I’m doing a very original joke here.” The humor in those videos seem to be rooted in the more narcissistic ethos of “this is funny because *I’M* doing it!”

Have you ever seen Stella Shorts? I feel like a lot of aspiring comedy creators saw Stella Shorts and tried to produce similar sketches. That is: hammy, broad, intentionally sorta cheesy but ironic capitol-c comedy. And most of them would fall flat. It’s because the Stella guys were geniuses and the amateur comedians trying to do dime-store imitations of Stella Shorts were mostly not. So, it was the climate that really shaded my disdain for the montage. I wish I had my own TV show, still. I’ve occasionally written comedy pieces with the intent of putting together a low-budget sketch comedy show, and I’m certain that if I were to actually produce said comedy it wouldn’t be so easy, and I’d be very much guilty of putting unoriginal ideas on screen. But, the jealousy remains. So, sorry, Birdman. You’re still forbidden from entering my heart. Fuck you.

MAIL BAG

This is the part of the blog where we all get our eyes ready for some good messages and some good times. Here we go:

Just tried the Popeyes Nuggets, I've enjoy popeyes bone in chicken in the past so I thought I would give their boneless option a shot.

Please stop sending me nugget stuff. This is an anti-corporate, anti-capitalist blog. No one should eat any nugget unless they make it at home themselves. That’s just the facts

I can't believe I felt a little melancholy about the abrupt end of Brak. The first full fledge Adult Swim program to bite the dust. It was mostly terrible and you were better off airing an Aqua Teen episode in it's place but...wow, we'll never have that again. Goodbye Andy! See you in the shitty webtoon.

Andy is in hell now and “that’s gotta suck”. RIP.

Took the kids to Great Falls the other day, last treat before they head off to school and on our way back we stopped at Popeyes. The kids got the nuggets I went with the classic chicken. Cost me about 18 bucks with drinks and all that but it was pretty good chicken. The kids loved the nuggets. My son was like, "it's crunchy". Pretty cool place. Thanks for hipping me and my family to it. If you have any other kid-friendly places let me know because fall soccer season is coming up.

!!! SHUSH! stop that!

You arent gonna write about it since its not an original but Family Guy just left Adult Swim. Why don't you speak your mind about the show in general and what it meant for the programming block. Yeah, that sounds like a good waste of your time.

Little do you realize!

Popeyes chicken

Suck my dick

[djarinbarnes]

Love Me To Pieces

Author: only Dina.

Word Count: 5874

Pairings: Model Bucky Barnes x female reader

Warnings: little betta angst, smut, oral (female receiving), fluff

A/N: welp

His brown hair fluttered softly with the winds blowing from the giant fan in front of him. His eyes were fixated on something in the room, his gaze stiff and unmoving. 

The blitz from the camera was almost blinding, as you watched the photographer command the handsome man around the small space. The model straightened himself as the photographer commanded an assistant to fetch a chair. 

The brunet looked around the studio slowly, blue eyes landing on you. You sucked in a breath, the look in his eyes was almost overwhelming. You offered him a small smile, to which he rolled his eyes and plopped down on the chair now in front of him.

You were ripped out of your thoughts by the assistant manager, as she waved her hand in front of your eyes, almost yelling in your ear. You looked at her puzzledly, and she waved the note in front of your eyes. 

Fuck.. The coffee. You grabbed the note and sighed, nodding in defeat. You heard the model laugh, and oh... The laughter was the most beautiful sound you had ever heard. 

Your head snapped towards him, finding his eyes crinkled and full of... ridicule? You felt your cheeks heat up, and you suddenly felt like everyone in the room was staring at you. You turned on your heel and sauntered out of the studio, to fetch the coffee written down on the note.

A good forty minutes later you walked back in, stacks of coffees in your arm. You set the coffee down and started handing them out by calling the names. 

You made it to "James?", only to find no one there to collect the coffee. You looked around, finding the photographer sipping his coffee, scrolling through the pictures on his computer, the assistant manager pouring a mildly intoxicating amount of sugar into her cup and stirring it, and the stylists were all taking their breaks by the giant window panes. James had to be the model then. But where was he?

You ventured back out into the hallway, coffee in hand, looking around. You stopped when you heard a low, agitated voice behind a slightly open door. You tiptoed closer, your curiosity getting the best of you. 

"... so basically what you're saying is, you don't want to make this work? You're just trying to make this worse! I've done everything for you, for us! Honestly, you don't ever hear what I actually say!" 

You sucked in a breath. You never imagined someone like James to have problems like these? "Fuck, don't talk down to me! I'll fucking talk to you when I get home. I'm not doing this right now. I'm at work. Bye."

You gasped as the door suddenly opened in your face, coming face to face with the beautiful blue eyes. His face was red and the vein on his forehead very prominent. 

You stammered as the look in his eyes changed from anger to fear. "Your... your coffee.." you blushed and held up the coffee in his face, avoiding his eyes. He looked at the coffee and exhaled through his nose, grabbing the coffee from your hands, offering you yet another eye roll.

"I don't know how much you heard of that... and I'm sorry you had to hear any of it. It's... complicated. Forget you heard it." He said and left you standing there in the hallway. He wasn't even mad that you had been eavesdropping on his private, heated conversation? 

You collected yourself for a minute before walking back to the studio, your eyes immediately falling on the beautiful model standing in front of the camera yet again. You plopped down on one of the couches, watching him intensely for the rest of the shoot. Your eyes would often find each others, and you would both quickly avoid each others gazes.

The manager called the ending of the shoot, the stylists packing up their kits and everything they brought along. James, some modeling agent and the photographer were seated in front of the computer, talking about the different approaches of the pictures. 

This big modeling agency had reached out about a new model, and James was the perfect fit for some new posh billboard ad. They wrapped up and the photographer dismissed James for the night. You had to stay as long as the assistant manager, helping her out with everything.

You were writing on your notepad when you felt a poke to your shoulder, and you turned around to meet those blue eyes yet again. "Yes?" You smiled softly and felt the nervousness creep up in your cheeks yet again. You sensed his nervousness as well.

"I.." He was cut off by his phone ringing. His sighed and pulled it out, his eyebrows furrowing, eyes squeezing shut. "I gotta take this. I'm sorry. Please stay until I get back." He said as he accepted the call, walking away from you. "I told you we'd talk when I got home..." You were wondering who he was even talking to. A girlfriend? Boyfriend? Wife? Husband? And why the hell were they like this to him?

You were caught up in your thoughts, and as you snapped out of them, James was looking at you. "Earth to Y/N?" His hand waved in front of your eyes, and you let out a laugh.

"Hey, sorry, I was... thinking." you said with a small smile. "So?"

"I was wondering if I could.. no, nevermind. It was nice seeing you act like a lost puppy the whole day. Really made my day." His smile was definitely genuine.

"I guess you're welcome, James? I'm glad you enjoyed it. Seemed like you needed it." His face fell, and you immediately regretted bringing it up. His eyes fell to his feet with a heavy sigh.

"I wish I could stay here and hang out, I'd love to get to know you, but…" He shrugged, and you nodded, knowing what he meant. He had to get home and take care of...whatever was happening. You felt bad for him, because it was clear he deserved better. 

The pain was evident in his icy blue eyes, and he seemed too sweet to be experiencing this hurt. He deserved someone who would keep his head level, but supported him enough for him to be happy. 

Apparently, he wasn't getting that, and it pained you to see him that way, despite only knowing him for the past few hours. For all you knew, you'd never see him again.

A small smile graced your lips as he stared into you. "Goodnight, Mr. Barnes," you wished him.

"Goodnight, (y/n). It was great working with you today. And please, call me James." And with that, he walked off set, seemingly walking out of your life, too.

When James got home, he was faced with a distant partner. He was tired of the constant fighting, the unnecessary snarky remarks. This relationship used to be so much fun. They were in love, hands on each other all the time, and now… Now it was just cold. 

James missed having a partner. Someone to mess around with and dote on. After all, there was only so much he could buy for himself. He wanted someone to buy flowers and coffee for, someone he could spoil. He used to do that with his current partner, but Noah didn’t like that anymore. 

In fact, James wasn’t even sure Noah liked him anymore. James questioned with every fight they had whether he should ask Noah to move out, or break up with him, or something. He wasn’t sure why he didn’t. 

He was scared of being lonely, he wagered. Being in a loveless relationship was better than not being in one at all. Either way, a part of him wished he had gotten your phone number today. 

He wanted to keep talking to you. He felt something that he hadn’t felt in a long time. James couldn’t quite place his finger on it, but some piece of him lit up as he got a phone call from an unknown number.

-

Back at the photoshoot set, things were running smoothly. Tear-down was going as expected, and you were on track to actually leave at a halfway decent hour, only an hour after James had left. 

But, in this business, there’s no such thing. Just as you were packing your things to leave, a frantic man in a suit hurried in the doors, demanding to see the photos James shot today. 

The photographer brought up all the photos on his laptop, showing them to the blond man from what you assumed was the company James was advertising for. All the sudden, the big shot from the corporation was yelling.

“No, no, no! None of these pictures will work! They all look like garbage ! Get this piece of shit back here by 8 am tomorrow morning or his contract is getting canceled!”

The man from corporate landed his gaze on you before barking out orders.

"You! Call Barnes and tell him to be back tomorrow morning, 8 am sharp ! I don't care how pissed he is, he better not be late!"

You were taken aback at how demanding he was, but you had taken orders all day, so you were used to it. You got his phone number from his modeling agent, and called him immediately, just as you'd been instructed. However, you couldn't ignore how bad your hands were shaking as the ringing stopped.

"James Barnes, what do you want?" The familiar husky voice from this morning answered, though sounding slightly annoyed.

"Uh, hi, Mr. Barnes, this is (y/n), your assistant from this morning?" You could almost feel him exhale with relief, as if he'd wished you would call.

"Oh, hey, sweetheart, what can I do for you?" He softened immediately, becoming the man you'd encountered earlier, the one who apologized for you having to hear him fight with his lover.

"I hate to say this, but the company didn't like any of your photos. They want you back in to the studio tomorrow morning, 8 am," you informed him, going slowly so he'd process. You weren't sure how he'd react.

He chuckled lowly, sucking a breath in between his teeth. "Well, can't say this has ever happened before. Will you be there in the morning?"

"Yes, Mr. Barnes, I'll be here in the morning."  

"That'll make the day bearable, then." He paused, considering his next words. "And I told you earlier, call me James, doll. I'll see you in the morning, alright? Goodnight."

You bid him goodnight once again, somehow looking forward to tomorrow for once. For once, you knew who you'd be working with, and he was handsome as hell. Perfect for-- no. You weren't going to let your thoughts go there. This was a professional relationship, he had a partner, and he was way out of your league.

However, the next morning as you got ready for work, you found yourself putting extra effort into your appearance. You used your good makeup, spent time carefully crafting an outfit, and did your hair in a way you usually only reserved for special occasions. As you saw it, this was a special occasion.

You drove to work, cursing traffic as usual, but soon arrived on the set a half hour early. Your manager gave you a list of tasks that already needed to be completed, and as you set to work on them, the handsome chap from yesterday came strolling through the doors. 

His jaw was locked, and he didn't look very happy, but as his eyes found yours, he managed a small smile. You smiled back, wanting him to know that he was welcome here even if the company didn't like his shots.

As James went to get his hair and makeup done, the outfit stylist was going between him and the rack of clothes they had brought back from yesterday. No sooner than you had set up another light, the same blond man from corporate came strutting into the space. 

Mr. Rogers, someone called him. 

James looked at the man with death in his eyes, turning to an Arctic blue instead of the warm ocean turquoise they normally were. The hairdresser was fussing over James' hair as Mr. Rogers was yelling out, "Chop, chop! We don't have all day!"

His stylist worked on buttoning up a navy blue collared shirt, leaving the top three buttons undone and ruffling it up to make it look perfectly messy. He was ordered to sit against a white wall, the photographer looking through the camera lens and picking out angles. 

You noticed that James refused to smile. You knew he could get angry, but he was the type to never let it show. That much was evident from yesterday.

A half hour in, and James was fed up.

"Stop! You've taken at least 100 pictures by now. I'm sure you can find something. I'm taking a break." For once, he was the one in command of the shoot, and it made him feel more powerful. 

Between poses, he had been glancing at you, making sure your eyes were on him as he moved around the space. Your eyes followed him around, and you found it hard to hide the attraction you felt. 

You were all but dumbfounded when James abruptly stood up from the stool they had him on, and paced his way to you. His eyes were dark, and you could tell there had been a switch flipped.

"Come with me," he growled as he walked past you. You obediently followed, scared of what might happen but secretly turned on. When you walked off the set, he grabbed your hand and led you to the closet he was talking to his partner in yesterday. The next thing you knew, the door was locked and the model was behind you, breathing heavily.

"I couldn't fucking take it anymore," he whispered. "So now, you're mine for the break."

Your cheek pushed up against the wall in front of you, his strong hand holding the back of your head as you panted out harshly. Both your hands rested on the wall in front of you, and James’ unoccupied hand slid down your front, unbuttoning your shirt as he went, pulling it off your shoulders roughly. You felt his hand popping the button of your jeans, then sliding both your pants and panties down your legs.

“Eager, are we?” you giggled as he bit your shoulder, pushing your head further against the wall. Your arousal slowly made its way past your folds, dripping down your thighs subtly.

“Be fucking quiet” He panted from behind you, as you heard the sound of a belt buckle coming loose, and jeans hitting the floor. “You’re such a fucking tease y/n” you felt the length of his girth slide into you without warning. You let out a deep moan and felt a hand clasp over your mouth harshly.

“You like that, hmmm? Giving into me like the little slut you are? I’ve been thinking about you naked the whole damn day. Next time think before you eye fuck me. God, you’re so fucking wet” Your eyes rolled back into your head as he set an awful slow pace, and you groaned against his hand. 

“Be a good girl, and I might give you what you want.” You struggled against his hand in an attempt to say something, and he slung an arm around your abdomen, to keep you situated in front of him.

“You wanna say something, baby girl? Hmm? Well you gotta be real quiet, if they find us here, who knows what they’re going to do..” His thick cock slid in and out of your dripping heat at the slowest imaginable pace, as he lifted his hand off your mouth. “Go ahead love”

“Jesus Christ, just fuck me already” You moaned out quietly. His hips snapped harshly against your ass, a whimper emitting deep from your throat as his hand slapped back over your mouth. 

His thrusts were animalistic, he was definitely focused on chasing his own release as quickly as possible. You bit down on his hand as his deep grunts ricocheted off the walls in the small closet. The hand not covering your mouth found your breast roughly, pulling the cup down and pinching your nipple harshly.

It was brutal. It was so hot, so filthy. The force of his thrusts and the angle made you see stars, you felt every vein prominently straining the skin of his cock as it slid in and out of you with ease. 

Your eyes rolled back into your skull as you came violently around his length, your body convulsing and breath erratic. You felt him smile against your neck before he bit down, silencing himself as your muscles milked him of his release. Your head fell back on to his shoulder as you felt his hot cum spurt against your walls.

“Fuck doll, you drive me mad” he said as he lifted his hand off your mouth, finally letting you inhale deeply. He looked around the closet swiftly, grabbing a few paper towels as he went to pull out of you. 

He slid the paper towels under your pulsing sex, letting gravity do what it does best. He wiped you off as you came down from your euphoric state, pulling your underwear and pants up your legs.

The rest of the day was a blur. Between getting lost in thought and lost looking at James, you were ordered around like a dog but still didn’t get much done. You never once after the incident in the closet caught James looking at you again, he was simply avoiding you. 

When he was let go, the corporation finally satisfied with James’ pictures, he didn’t even spare you a glance. You felt your heart drop as he strode out the room, shutting the door after him.

As you were packing your things, getting ready to leave, you violently smashed and pushed your things into your bag, muttering curse words into nothing. You ground your teeth as you sighed loudly, leaving the manager and the photographer behind with protests coming from their mouths.

Days passed. You dragged yourself to work, desperately hoping for just some sign of life from James. He didn’t answer any of the simple texts you sent him, and you felt your blood boiling even more for every day that went by. 

Friday came around, five days after your encounter in the closet. You gazed upon your phone screen once again, unlocking it and going through your one-sided conversation with James. Why the fuck did he do you like this?

You hated being treated like this. You knew in the back of your mind that you deserved so much more than this, but James kept pulling you back to him. He was like a damn magnet. 

You couldn’t stop thinking about him, no matter how hard you tried. You spent your free time on Tinder, trying to find someone who would compare to James, but there was no one. Plus, you knew it was wrong to be falling this hard for a taken man, estranged as his relationship may be.

Today was no different than the rest of the week. You barely got anything done, despite being ordered around all day. When today’s model left and you were allowed to leave, you went home and immediately dropped everything at the door, kicking off your immensely uncomfortable heels. 

You went to the fridge, skipping the wine and going straight for your favorite rum. You weren’t in the mood to cook, so you placed an order for Chinese takeout. As you waited on your order, you changed into a pair of pajama shorts and an oversized t-shirt. 

Your main mission of the evening was to forget James, even if just for a few hours. You settled on letting your emotions out on canvas, painting an abstract piece as you drank and ate your lo mein noodles.

Eventually, you got tired of trying to fight off the brunet you’d attached yourself to, and attempted to sleep off the thought of him, to no avail. Your dreams were filled with him, of the ten minutes you spent in the closet together what seemed like forever ago.

Around 7am, you finally gave up on trying to sleep peacefully, and got up, grabbing your phone off the nightstand. To your surprise, you had five missed calls from James, spanning from 3am to just five minutes ago, as well as several texts. 

You almost wanted to torture him, to leave him be, to ignore him like he ignored you, but that was impossible. Your phone was in your hand when he called again. You ignored his call against your will, emotions suddenly overcoming you in a tidal wave. 

Tears welled up in the corners of your eyes as the screen went dark. You sighed and stared at your phone for what felt like the longest time, until the screen lit up. He had texted.

James Barnes (3:42 am)

looooooove i’m sorry i can’t

James Barnes (3:42 am)

i did nt mean to send that i’, sorry

James Barnes (3:44 am)

please i miss you  n i can’t stop thinkking ab you

James Barnes (4:06 am)

i’m sorry. i was a douche and i can’t get you out of my head

James Barnes (4:10 am)

please love

James Barnes (5:24 am)

i know you’re probably sleeping and everything but i’m sorry for my previous messages...

James Barnes (5:25 am)

I’ve been trying to forget you for the past five days but i just can’t seem to rid you from my cells...

James Barnes (6:32 am)

I long for you, please… Just get back to me as soon as you see these…

James Barnes (6:32 am)

(ignore the first texts please)

James Barnes (7:02 am)

Doll, please answer me. Tell me you’re as restless as I am.

James Barnes (7:03 am)

Noah left two days ago. I’m not sure where he is but he’s not here, and probably not coming back for a while… Please let me apologize properly. I’ll fix dinner and everything. Let me make this right.

-

After reading the messages multiple times, you sorted out the details and begrudgingly accepting his invitation. It almost made your mood better. You were still hurt, but you couldn’t deny that you missed him.

You jumped into the shower, trying to wash off the self torturous ways you’d denied yourself any cleanup for the last few days, washing your hair and body thoroughly with your favorite shampoo and lotion - the one you had washed yourself with the morning before your little encounter in the closet. 

You picked out your favorite set of comfortable lingerie, along with your trusted halter neck shirt which hugged your breasts all the right places, and your black denim pants with also accentuated your ass perfectly. You did your makeup swiftly and bit your lip as you admired yourself.

You grabbed your purse after slipping on your trusted trench coat, along with your wedge boots. He’d texted you his address, and it actually wasn’t far from where you lived. 

You felt your heart beat faster the closer to his apartment you walked, your mind working over every possible outcome of this dinner. 

Would it be awkward? Would you give into temptation as soon as he opened the door? Or would you just.. be there? You weren’t sure. Before you knew it, you were standing outside his door.

J. B. Barnes and N. H. Mitchell.

Maybe this was a bad idea. You sighed deeply before raising your fist to knock on the door. It swung open before you had the chance to knock, and there he was, in all his perfect human form. 

James Barnes. His face lit up when he saw you there, smiling widely as he welcomed you. He hugged you after pulling you inside, his body relaxing visibly.

“I’m so happy you agreed to come. You look amazing.” He said as he helped you take off your coat and boots. You smiled and followed him around as he showed you his apartment. 

There was no indication that he was living with someone, there were barely any picture frames or other things scattered on the walls. You ended up in the kitchen, where he offered you a glass of red wine.

You sipped your wine slowly, eyeing James as he strode around the kitchen. “Are you sure you don’t need any help with the cooking?” He turned his head and smiled, shaking his head softly. 

Everything was already cooking and smelling delicious. You felt your mouth water and realized you hadn’t actually eaten anything today.

“It’s alright, love. I got it” You nodded and took another sip of your wine. You certainly needed the alcohol, if you were going to survive being in the same room as the man you had been lusting for and thinking about for the past week. So far it was coming along okay.

He placed a plate of the most delicious looking food you’d ever seen. “You made this? From scratch?” You eyed the man in front of you as he sat down in front of you, before his own plate, offering you a smile.

“Well, a man’s gotta have some talents, right?” His lips curled up into a flirtatious smirk, winking at you before he took a large gulp of his own wine. You dug into your food, mewling over how amazing the beef melted on your tongue. 

You eyed each other intensely over dinner, downing way more wine than you’d anticipated. As you finished up dinner, you had filled your glass for the third time, the tension in the room suddenly disappearing.

You wondered why he’d invited you over after ignoring you for a good week. You were hoping for some kind of clarification as to why he ghosted you and then contacted you. Had he changed his mind? Had he regretted it? Just fucking you in a closet and leaving you to your own misery?

“I’m sorry.” you looked at him with wide eyes, as if he’d told you someone died.

“Excuse me?” he moved to the chair beside yours and took your hand.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have come on to you like that. I was frustrated, and I took it out on you. I’ve felt like absolute shit for the past week. God, you must hate me. I was so nervous about texting you back, even though you texted me all week… And now I feel even worse because of what I might've put you through, what you might’ve felt…” he sighed and his eyes fell to the ground between both your legs. 

You sat there in silence. You felt a slight caress on the back of your hand, and you looked up to divert the tears forming in your eyes.

“James, I-” your sentence was cut short as you felt his hands coming around to clasp your neck, his lips finding yours in a soft kiss, and you sighed contently.

“I’m sorry. Things have been really hard with my partner for the last couple of months and when I first saw you, I… I felt something. Something I haven't felt in a while. I felt your admiration and… It’s just been so long since I felt so attracted to someone so quickly before. I just knew I had to get you. Somehow. And I did that completely wrong.” 

He let out a small laugh. You watched him intensely as he poured his heart out to you. "Y/N... I feel like I'm at war with myself. It feel unbearable at times. But you... You changed something. I don't know what but.."

“James, I don’t blame you. Yes it was like fucking shitty of you, and I’ve never felt so used but… I also enjoyed it. It made me feel things. I think I liked you from the first eyeroll you spared me that day.”

Last night, when James texted you, he was desperate. He was drinking to forget, his high end whiskey disappearing quicker than he’d like to admit. He wanted to text you back for the entire week, but he would overthink every time. 

In a way, he was almost grateful for the whiskey for giving him the courage to text you. It turned out better than he’d hoped, because he was finally able to look at you again in person. He missed you. But he knew you were still hurt.

“Doll, I… I wanted to text you. I just couldn’t. I thought that maybe you wouldn’t like me after the way I treated you that day. I was rougher than I wanted to be, but God I was so frustrated, between the shoot and Noah… I shouldn’t have taken it out on you. It just feels like... like every beat of my heart is killing me slow.” He sighed, but his mood instantly perked up when you kissed him suddenly.

“We’re here now, right? I’m giving you a chance to fix it,” you told him. He looked at you and smiled slightly, kissing you again.

“Well, if I had my way, I’d make love to you all night. No interruptions.” You moved closer to him, ghosting your lips across his before kissing his jaw.

“Then have it your way, James.” you sighed against his jaw. He pulled you to your feet and grabbed your hips, signaling for you to jump. You wrapped your legs around his hips and he carried you through the apartment, not bothering to turn on the lights. 

Your back landed on his bed gently, and his hands found your body in the dim light. His fingers found the hem of your shirt and he pushed it up lightly, leaving fluttered kisses on your stomach.

Your shirt and bra slowly made it off your body. James took his time in admiring and worshipping your body - something he hadn’t done the first time. 

His lips grazed over your erected nipples, one at a time, and you sighed softly. He removed his own shirt, and you felt the warmth of his torso as he laid himself on top of you, his mouth once again finding yours in a searing kiss.

You rolled the both of you over, straddling his waist. You scooted down his thighs, your hands finding and unbuckling his belt and undoing his pants, before pulling them down his legs. You seated yourself directly over his hips, feeling the prominent erection in his boxers against your denim-clad core.

He grabbed you by the hips and rolled you both over yet again, him laying on top of you, stroking your sides as he made out your features in the dark. He gave you a kiss before sitting back on his knees in between your legs, unbuttoning your pants and pulling them down your legs slowly. 

Your panties joined the pants on the floor, and you gasped when you felt him shift in between your legs, his lips ghosting their way down the inside of your thigh.

“James, please..” you breathed out as his tongue licked a flat stripe up your pussy. You gasped as his tongue moved around your clit in circular motions, his thumbs caressing the back of your thighs. 

Your hands slid down into his hair, grasping the locks tightly. “That feels so good, please don’t stop” you moaned, your nails scraping over the crown of his head. You felt him smile against you, and you giggled softly.

“I told you not to stop!” you whined as you felt him retract his lips from your core. He let out a low chuckle as you felt the bed shift, your vision still not used to the darkness.

“I’ve got something better in mind for you than just my tongue, darling…” You heard him rustling around and wondered what he was up to. You giggled as you heard the sound of a foil packet being ripped open and a few seconds passing, before he was on top of you yet again.

“Oh so now you bother with protection?” You giggled as you remembered your encounter in the closet, where he didn’t even bother pulling out. He shushed you just as you felt him slide into you, and you both let out a simultaneous moan. 

He was slow and forceful, his thrusts deep but loving. His lips found yours and he kissed you deeply, the implied feelings in the kiss taking you aback.

His hands roamed over your body as he kept his pace, and you were sure you’d never felt sex this way before. It was full of passion and love and you clung to him like it was a matter of life or death. 

His hands came around you to grip your waist, pulling you unimaginably closer to him, and you moaned loudly at the fullness of him inside you. His pelvis ground against your clit in the best way possible, quickly bringing you close with both the love, the force and the pace he set.

You bit down on his shoulder slightly, muttering out incoherent things as he flipped the both of you over, settling you on his hips again. You ground your hips against him slowly, savoring everything - how he filled you, his length fitting into you like a perfect match, his hands holding your hips the most delicate way possible… In that moment, all you felt was love.

And you came hard, riding a wave of euphoria mixed with pure desire. You muttered out sweet curses as you clenched around him, his hands moving your hips as your movement halted. 

His eyes made you out in the darkness, and he admired you as you came, bringing himself over the edge. His hands tightened around your hips and you felt him throbbing inside of you. You laid down on his chest, fully spent and he pulled out of you slowly.

He laid you on your side as he got up, chucking the used rubber into the bin by his bedroom door. He shuffled back to the bed, pulling you into his side as he laid back, and you moved over so your head was laid on his shoulder, and you wrapped your arm around his abdomen.

“I’m still kinda hurt that you ignored me like that, James. Even with your lovely apology,” you whispered into his shoulder, tracing mindless patterns onto his chest. His grip around you tightened, and he sighed.

“I know, love. It’s just, technically I’m cheating and I do kinda feel bad, because I used to love Noah. I haven’t loved them for a while now, but we’re still technically together…” He took a deep breath and you could feel his heartbeat fluctuating. You looked up at him and noticed he was trying to hold in tears. You propped yourself up on your elbows and stroked his cheek.

“James, hey, it’s okay. I can leave if you want me to.” His lip quivered, and his voice was shaky when he spoke.

“Please stay.”

[yanderecandystore]

dude sheepy do u know abt corpse party? if theres rumors abt the delinquent school being haunted, imagine smth kind of like that in that school, but like with less gore. maybe even a ghost love interest. maybe!!! the reader is one of jacks goons and!! love triangle?? i gotta go

Let me throw in not only one, but two new characters in the mix because I'm a masochist.

Jack my boy, I'm sorry, but you have some competition. Also no, Bucky isn't one of the "official characters" (as in, there won't be any requests available for him).

🍭꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖♡🍮꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖♡🍰꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖♡🍮꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖🍭

Hidden, forgotten, and starving [Yandere!Delinquent x Goon!Reader x Yandere!Ghost boy x (Fuck, another possible Yandere!oc??)]:

(Non-binary reader btw)

You know, when your leader said something along the lines of "Meet me up in 9 p.m", you thought it was going to be something fun. Maybe you and the gang would be able to hangout without having to be on school grounds, or on a dark nasty alley.

But, nah, that was only wishful thinking.

Jack's type of fun is a little different from the normal person's type of fun. Is surprisingly really violent for someone who's is kinda small, and has such a pretty face.

Not, that you have noticed or anything.

Hell, one of these days he said he would burn a whole corporation and drag some rich family's name into the mud for, pissing him off? You guess?? He was ranting, so none of you actually payed attention.

Again, he may be a little short, but that anger in his soul is something no human can comprehend. Where were you? Oh yeah, he didn't call the gang to play some games and have fun, he had called y'all to beat the shit out of some other gang….

On school grounds…..

At night.

"- …. You know this isn't a good idea, right?"

You asked him if he was sure, but he didn't say anything. He was focused on only one goal.

Entering inside the school isn't really hard. If anything, is pretty easy, jump the horribly placed iron fence. Ya done. Welcome to Saint Bernard's School for Little Prodigies! Where everything sucks, and everyone is insane!

"- It isn't so bad! There are a lot of cool things hidden in this place… There are so many legends that graduated from this school!" Your fellow gang member and also local himbo sweetheart, Bucky, (is actually Benedict, but he doesn't really like that name), said it.

"- I don't think so…" You said honestly. You don't really think you, Bucky, Jack and the others are going to find anything special except dust and old shit. The only thing that will spice this night is this gang meet up or whatever.

"- Come on, it will be fun! We can search the school and find all type of old stuff!" You look at how excited he is, and although you love him dearly, you can't help but still have difficulty to enjoy this whole situation.

"- Bucky….. it's old stuff."

"- I know right! Can you go with me [Y/N]-"

"- Oh my God- Shut up!" Jack yelled. He was getting impatient with your whole conversation. He had only came here to show some girl gang that this school doesn't have any space for them. Not to see…. You and that imbecile talking about stupid shit.

When he yelled he did seem to mention it more towards Bucky than you. It's not that he doesn't like him, it's just that he-

"- [Y/N], come here!" Jack yelled again, calling you to get closer.

You go towards him, as he asks you to look around and see if you can see anyone. But no one seems to be near the school grounds, and you can't see any motorcycle girl's gang anywhere.

"- Why exactly are we going to fight them again?" You ask, tired more than usual of Jack's odd behavior. Or well, usual behavior.

"- …." Silence. He doesn't answer you, but his expressions changes a little. Fuck, why can't you just follow his lead without questioning everything.

…

No, he shouldn't have thought that, ever. Y'all are your own people, you don't need to hear him, he prefers when you guys decide for yourselves. Well mostly the other ones, when it comes to you, he has a hard time acknowledging how he doesn't like how you head in into danger without hearing him.

He never stops to actually think about this stuff, maybe today he just….. feel a little more on edge than usual.

After seeing that neither you or the rest will just drop the question, he answered.

"- …. Sigh. The leader of the other gang wants to be the new Little Miss Red." He said unbothered, while everyone had an extreme reaction, you were left wondering who the fuck was Little Miss Red.

Sounds like a anime villain, or something like that.

"- [Y/N]!! Y-you don't w-who Little, L-little-"

Bucky was trying to ask you so hard, but he couldn't stop stuttering with excitement and fear. Jack is having none of his dumb attitude today.

"- Speak up. Little Miss Red." He said, harshly. What is wrong with him today?

"- S-sorry Jack. Little Miss Red was the first student to form a gang and dominate the entire school!" He is excited to tell you everything he knows. He may be a little troublemaker, but is mostly because he really admires Lil Red and her story (even if most was left far away from public sight).

"- Oh, really?" You're not gonna lie, you wished you were sleeping at home. You wished you heard about this chick on another day. You can't be bothered right now. So what? Some girl wants to be the new Red? What do you have to do with it?

"- She wants to dominate the school, dumbass." Another one of your group said. Fuck that guy, you can't even remember his name, you're really tired.

"- If not the whole entire neighborhood around the school." Said Jack.

"- Well, I'm pretty sure they aren't coming, how about we just go home then-"

A loud noise came from inside the school. You guys could see a little bit of light coming from outside the windows.

"- Are they inside?" You ask.

"- We were supposed to meet outside." Jack responded.

….

Silence.

And then, of course, since you guys really needed an encouragement to get inside that hell place, all of you heard a disturbing, inhuman scream. And after that, a female voice calling for help.

"- …. We, are going in, or…?"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Like, this is a really, really dumb idea. Normally when someone hears a terrible noise and then a call for help, it only ends up being a terrible sign.

"- Going towards the monster, nice plan." You said sarcastically. It's not that you're afraid of monsters….. You just don't want to meet one, in person.

"- Monsters aren't real." Jack said.

"- … But if you really are scared, then come here."

"- Sure."

You walked closer to Jack, that was leading the way towards the corridors. His phone's flashlight being extremely useful.

Something is bugging his mind ever since you all entered school grounds. He feels like Bucky is getting a little too friendly with you, and although he shouldn't be mad about something so stupid, he can't stop thinking about this.

He needs to concentrate, but he can't stop worrying about Bucky losing his guard and you-

"- Hey, I think we should separate."

...

"- … What?"

He is being a dumbass.

"- Why though? What if we can't find each other?"

He only wants to ask you a simple question, but is such a stupid question. He needs everyone to go away so you two can talk.

"- Let's divide into two groups, I'll go with [Y/N], y'all can go upstairs and check it out."

"- But that's not even equally divided-"

"- I said, go upstairs-"

…

Again.

Another scream. That same female voice, it sounds so close, coming from the other hall.

But then another one, a male voice coming from…. Everywhere.

He sounds desperate, he says that someone should get him out.

"- Hello? Who's there?" Bucky asked.

"- You know, you shouldn't ask ghosts questions, they can start fucking stuff up man." One of the other members said.

"- Oh, but they sound in pain, shouldn't we help-"

"- Please… I don't want to stay here…" The male voice said. His voice is starting to crack, he is crying.

His voice is coming from somewhere really close.

"- Argh!" You all turned your backs to see a girl in leather jacket trying to crawl. She finally notice that she wasn't alone.

"- Help!-" Hands covered her mouth, her face, her arms, it started dragging her backwards.

You guys were going to follow her, when again.

"- Please, open this door…." You heard him, he was in agony. You couldn't leave him alone.

Jack and the others were following the girl, while you kept walking down the hallway. Following the voice.

You felt like you needed to help him. Desperately. He was going to die if you didn't. To you it felt like ages as you walked slowly to the janitor's closet.

Walking silently, trying to hear his pleads. He got louder and louder the more you came closer to his prison.

You found the janitor's closet. The door was shaking with the pounds of the boy.

"- GET ME OUT GET ME OUT GET ME OUT GET ME OUT GET ME OUT-"

You opened the door. It wasn't locked. It hadn't been locked since a long time.

You finally woke up from, whatever the hell happened to you just now. But you don't think you're a 100% fine, tho.

You can only hear a deafening silence. There is no one here. There is nothing here except for old paper on the ground.

You walked in, slowly, afraid that if you took a bad step you would suddenly fuck something up.

You kneeled down, looking at the documents in the ground. You, suddenly feel a little too eager to read them.

Maybe you're just feeling really curious.

There are old newspapers, all saying something about Saint Bernard's School for Little Prodigies. Some saying something about Little Miss Red, others about the school bad conditions and somehow involvement into the Amaryllis Academy's school foundation.

You found a couple of notes cut into pieces, some are not easy to read. Others are really simple and, although you would normally find really boring to read this kind of stuff, you have a odd feeling reading them.

It's two friends talking over paper messages. They seem to be in class and can't let the teacher know they're not paying attention. They talk about meeting after school, and having plans on a Saturday. It doesn't have a exact date on the paper, but you can see the paper is pretty old and dirty.

It sounds like a normal friendship. One of them even said:" I have something really important to tell you, but I can't really tell you in person since I'm really shy about this stuff. I'll tell you this Saturday, I promise."

You found old photos of students on the ground. Most are market with a red marker. Crosses all over their faces. But the are only two that you can see the face of.

A chubby black girl, big curly hair, wearing glasses. She is looking really awkward in this picture, as if she didn't want to take it. She is wearing the same blue jacket you're using right now.

The other one, however.

Is the same chubby black girl. Her hair has red streaks on it, and she isn't wearing the blue jacket, but rather a red vest, with fishnets under going from her shoulder, to her hands. You almost thought they weren't the same person, one looks shy and awkward, but somehow really sweet, the other one is straight up giving whoever was the cameraman the middle finger. Her faces says how done she is with everyone's bullshit.

You like this girl. You guess this is the girl you heard about.

And the last thing you found. Was a cut article about, some student that was found dead out of nowhere on this school.

His body was inside this closet.

You didn't notice, but time suddenly stopped when you enter in the janitor's closet. It didn't stop literally, but you didn't felt like it was running normally.

On a moment you were seeing a girl being dragged by some hands, and now your reading some old creepy stuff.

Which reminded you-

"- [Y/N]! Where are you?" Jack asked, his voice was somewhere distant.

"- Wait, guys I'm here!"

You get up as fast as you can, but it didn't matter.

As soon as you return to reality after reading about your cursed school, you felt the sudden realization that they didn't see you going the other way. Hell, you didn't even help that girl that was being fucking dragged!

Before you can escape this terrible place, the door closes.

And it locks itself.

"- No, no, no, no, no, guys! Come on, I'm here, you idiots!"

You bang the door and scream as loud as you can. No one can hear you.

"- Goddammit."

You start packing, thinking they might leave you here if you don't do something. But before you can think of a way out, the realization of you not being the only one inside there, hits you really hard.

"- …. He-help!" You heard it. That same male voice from before. Closer than ever. He sounds like he is right behind you.

Yet his voice sounds hoarse. Timid, yet cold.

You turn around to look at your company, you see a student, just like you, curled up into a ball, holding his stomach. He is murmuring nonsense….

You try to get closer.

Hey, maybe he is lost…?

You can see he is a latino boy with long hair, tied as a low ponytail. He is shaking uncontrollably.

"- I'm- I'm so hungry. Please, let me go."

He managed to say out loud.

"- Hey, are you alright? I can help you, we just need to get out of this closet, I can buy you something, okay?"

What happened to this poor guy? He seems traumatized.

"- Pl-please!"

He stutters again. You came closer, putting your hand on his shoulder.

"- I'm going to help you, okay?"

You say.

He stopped shaking. He stopped talking. He stopped hyperventilating. He stopped breathing.

He is extremely cold.

Before you can react, you're pinned to the ground. The ghost boy on top of you, salivating like a mad man.

"- Hey! Get off!" You don't want to believe this guy is dead. Ghosts aren't real. Monsters aren't real, right??

He is breathing even faster than before. Like there isn't enough air on his lungs.

Believe it or not, he truly doesn't want to do this.

"- ….. I'm sorry." He apologized before biting your neck.

"- What?-Aaaaargh!-"

For a ghost guy, he does feel really real! It hurts a lot!! What is he a vampire or a ghost?

You're bleeding. He isn't trying to suck your blood, he is trying to tear your skin.

You can hear his stomach growling.

And you can also hear Jack searching for you. You manage to free yourself from the ghosts grip and move yourself away for a bit.

"- Jack? JACK! Help!- Argh, fuck! Get off!"

Only to have him try to tear your arm away. He isn't doing a good job at this though.

"- I'm sorry. I-I'm really sorry!" You look and see him crying.

"- Well, then let me-"

A unholy screech comes from you. He broke your arm, at first he didn't seem so strong, but after feeling him digging his fingers into your arm and rotating it, you can tell he really is trying to tear your arm away.

He could have done this quicker. But he didn't want to do this to begin with! He swears, he doesn't like doing this…

For your luck, your scream is heard. You can see the door shaking and hear Jack screaming for you on the other side.

Ghost boy got distracted by it. Usually, there isn't anyone at night. Actually, he is the whole reason there isn't any night classes.

Too many students and staff members suddenly going missing at night time.

It's good to meet new people. He used to think so. He misses having company.

He misses not endlessly consuming people to satisfy an endless hunger.

"- Jack!" You took advantage of the boy's distraction, and decided to get away from him. You kicked him, but your foot passed right through him.

You still managed to get away and reach the door. You looked back, thinking he was chasing you.

He wasn't. He didn't want to. He could, but he really didn't want to.

He only said his goodbye towards you, still apologizing for what happened.

You were too surprised by the boy's action, that you collided with Jack when he opened the door.

"- Ouch- Really? You missed me this much [Y/N]?"

You can't respond. You're hyperventilating like you just runned a marathon.

"- Hey, are you alright? I heard you screaming, are you hurt?"

You remember your arm was broken, and that's when you realize, it's really painful. Yet you can't really find the right words right now.

"- [Y/N]?!"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jack brought you home after the whole incident happened. Turns out the girl that was getting dragged was actually the leader of the gang you were supposed to fight off.

Janette, the girl's name, was "playing a little prank on everyone", cause you know, that's really funny when everyone is scared as hell.

The fight was still going to happen, but Jack couldn't care less about that or her, he only wanted take care of your broken arm. Janette didn't really complain, she didn't understand how the hell you managed to get your arm broken, but she didn't want to fight anyone that was already in disadvantage.

Although being someone that wanted to pick a fight with all of you, Janette helped you out with your broken arm and bleeding caused by the ghost boy.

She is apparently really talented when it comes to dealing with this stuff, you can tell she has been through a lot, looking at her scarred face.

She is really pretty for someone so build. Damn, that actually makes her more pretty though.

Oh, and about the ghost. No one fucking believes you. They all think you either were hallucinating or just "saw things because you were scared".

You tried to explain how you got hurt, but when you mentioned a ghost, absolutely no one understood what you were talking about.

Anyway, you had a long night. You need some rest. In the morning you'll explain what happened to everyone.

Even if you yourself can't tell what really went down while you were at school.

Your mind keeps re-telling you what the ghost had told you before you left.

"- I'm sorry. I was really hungry."

🍭꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖♡🍮꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖♡🍰꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖♡🍮꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖🍭

[dewitty1]

Saturday Six (Stuff)

My Dude (@super-ultra-mega-kami-guru) got a J O B, at the big store (don't @ me about your corporate/capitalism bs OK, there ain't shit else to do in this town), and I'm super proud of him. Also, now we can comisserate on how much it fucking sucks to be an adult. Welcome to adulting, Dude. You're going to love/hate it here. ＼(^▽^＠)ノ(¬д¬。)

I went ahead and spent some money (oops) on myself to get organized, and hopefully make my back feel better when I do office work at home. Just the getting to the organization part is gonna kind of suck. But it'll be good when I do. Somebody pray to those gods for me, Mmkay? (。-ω-)ﾉ

Can anyone explain why bodies are so dumb? Why can't they function well? Why do they break down so easily? What even is good sleep? Rest? I don't know her? Why do I feel like an ancient mage, and a young sprite (well, in spirit anyway) all at once? Who *am* I, Hedwig? \(￣□￣)\

I'm extremely tired of the damn racists in my family, and dealing with them everyday is wearing me down. (╯°□°）╯︵ ┻━┻

We got HBO Max app (pirate that shite) to work on our TV finally, and we watched the new Adventure Time content. Y'all, the first episode is so good, ngl. I loved it so much. I've really missed Adventure Time. Probably because it's something the Dude and I have shared since he was younger. ♡(•ི̛ᴗ•̛)ྀ

After going to the grocery store last night, I gotta say, I don't think having more lockdown measures would be a bad thing for the USA, FFS. We're fucking idiots for a significant amount of the population, and that's putting it mildly IMHO. I mean, you saw the election results, right? JFC... (๑•ૅㅁ•๑)