#I started trying to figure out the time line

[idk-what-im-doing-ever]

I wrote something for this back in August and haven't been able to add to it since so I'm calling it done

The one unable to leave consecrated ground without getting possessed is on a team with the prior mindflayer victim (MF) who succumbs to their urges sometimes (consecrated girl was on the other side of the mindflayer deal).

Their friend Magical Parasite was fucked up while returning to their safe area (consecrated grounds) and then gets stopped. They're wearing a necklace, and it actively suppresses the parasite so the second it's gone, the parasite is growing again.

Parasite person starts to scream, their other cursed friend can't be in the sunlight which is rising (cursed by a vampire and they're already covered in burns because the gang was late getting back). Their consecrated ground healer friend is watching from the fenced edge of where they're safe but they're trapped, and their Parasite friend is dying without their necklace

MF friend is clearly trying to fight off their urges, but at best it's a stalemate where their body standing there, laughing and crying in this hideous, inhumane, discordant cacophony.

CG girl knows stepping out guarantees repossession, and it was so hard on her body last time, her second time, that she's likely to die when going through another inevitable exorcism.

But that's her best friend. The necklace doesn't have a backup; the 'cure' is literally the heart of the full grown parasite once it's busted out of its host - they got it from a freshly dead man. The parasite is rare.

If she can't her to her friend, she's better off shooting them from where she stands so they don't go through the agony of being torn apart from the inside.

She tries. She raises the gun. Can't even try to convey what she's thinking because Parasite Friend is already screaming, writhing.

So if they're to be saved, it has to be now.

Fuck.

She sprints, wants to punch and hurt and scream at the mindflayer who caused this, but they're dead and gone, and it's only echoes stuck in their friend. The injury would fall only on their friend.

So she yanks the corded thread from their white knuckled hand and bites back her words.

An as she kneels down to tie it around her friend's neck, she feels it.

At the centre of her spine, like the brush of a cold cats' tail on bare skin.

Don't think about that, she has to press the charm into her friend's chest, and she does. Their screaming eases to a hoarse yell, and their daily pain will be infinitely worse; their body still needs to move around, to move with the now larger foreign body spread out within it.

They can starve it out, but the larger it gets, the harder it is to do so since it's stronger, able to live longer between expansion opportunities.

MF friend collapses, begging and crying. Their vampire friend is yelling and crying, and going by the smoke on them they clearly tried to force themselves from the shadows to help before being cowed by the growing harshness of the morning light.

They can see it, she realises. Can see the dark figure that seems to be fixing itself to her back and bones. Seeping into her blood and carving a space for itself beside her soul.

The cold, feather -light touch at her spine grows to feel sharper now, and she's sure she'll be bleeding from thin, scratched lines down the middle of her back. Like the creature has to really claw its way in despite not being tangible.

She can't leave her friend to be carried by MF in case they succumb to urges again, though it's unlikely to happen so soon. So, for now, she leaves MF on the ground, hooks her arms under her friend's shoulders, and drags them to the consecrated grounds that will do nothing for her anymore.

They met mindflayer friend when the three of them killed the mind flayer. It purposely helped try to get people possessed so the town was focused on that instead of the growing cult in the gutters and alleys of society.

The healer was caught up in it, and it was their second possession; they were possessed as a child.

As a child, they were possessed by a child spirit. It was mischievous and playful, but dangerous. The exorcism was hard on her, but comparatively easy to most.

The second time was harder. It was a new spirit, smuggled into the town by the MF cult, in a vase that the healer broke when in battle. The scratch they didn't really notice at the time (they brushed away the scratchy-cold feeling thoughtlessly) didn't heal after the fight, and they started seeing something else in their reflections. Started hearing a voice and seeing a gnarled, ghastly thing in their dreams. Started acting on things they watched themselves do while fighting against it.

So she knows.

She knows she knows she knows that the MF who sometimes echoed through their friend was to blame for their dark urges. Knows they watch what their hands are doing when injuring, listen to what tongue and teeth say when biting out harsh, terrible words, and can barely stop it from being worse at best.

But that doesn't mean she can look at them when they get back to base.

The voice of the mindflayer is neutralised, after a big burst of energy like today's attack. And it's getting weaker the longer after death it is. It needs more recovery time before taking actions, and it's able to puppet their friend less and less.

But how long will they be a danger?

How long until she's a danger again?

She peels back the layers of clothing on her back and grimaces as the fabric sticks to hot, wet, tattered skin.

This might be worse than last time. This might be her last time.

What are some chronic illnesses that can only occur in a fantasy setting?

[nadvs]

hard to ignore (two-shot) (part one)

pairing singledad! zach maclaren x nanny! female reader

summary when you’re offered a job as a nanny, you can tell right away that you’ll grow fond of the little girl you’re taking care of. things are easy to manage until you realize you’re falling for her dad.

author’s note hugs to @nemesyaaa for sharing the idea of singledad!zach. i couldn’t stop writing (and the one-shot hit 15k words and became a two-shot… i love slowburn…) hurt and comfort. fluff. no smut. divider credit.

content warning parental abandonment

» masterlist

Zach is sure, without a doubt, that he has already lived the best day of his life.

The moment he held Ella in his arms was when the world bloomed into a color he didn’t know existed. Nothing could ever and would ever top that feeling.

He didn’t expect that before thirty, he’d already experience the worst day of his life, too. But he’s certain he has.

He was in a fog, a bad dream he kept trying to wake himself up from. He had stepped into the guest room to see a piece of paper on Jade’s bed and he knew before he even unfolded the letter that she was gone.

He read the last line of the letter over and over again. I can’t live like this anymore. Deep down, he always feared that she would give up on them. But not like this. And not this soon.

After Ella was born, bitterness permanently etched itself into Jade’s face. To her, the baby was always a mistake and Zach stopped being someone she loved and became nothing but the man she regretfully had a child with.

She became the antithesis of the girl he fell for. The love they’d once had was replaced with a cold distance. She started sleeping in the guest room. She ate her meals alone. She left the house as much as she could.

Still, he respected that she had learned to tolerate motherhood. While she didn’t love being a stay-at-home mom, he didn’t think she hated it.

But then she left. And if she could abandon them like this, four years in, not even having it in her to look into her little girl’s eyes to say goodbye, then that tolerance had a cruel end.

That’s why now, a month after her sudden departure, Zach is sitting in his living room, fingers curling the corner of the resume belonging to the woman scheduled to arrive in a few minutes.

Dishes clatter as his mother tidies up his kitchen. Normally, he’d feel guilty and nag her to sit down. But things aren’t normal and he’ll take all the help he can get. It’s been an uphill battle trying to pick up the pieces on his own.

His family drove in a few nights ago. They offered to visit as soon as he called with the news, but he didn’t want to put Ella through too much at once, so he waited a few weeks. Once he asked them to come, they dropped everything and set out for the four-hour car ride.

Ella’s playing in the backyard with her grandpa and aunt while Connie helps Zach run interviews. His team’s managers were understanding when he asked for time off, but Zach can’t be away forever. With his training and match schedule, he needs to find a nanny.

He’d rather not introduce a new person into her life, especially this soon, but it’s unavoidable. At least with a nanny, he can control that Ella will always be in the comfort of her home. A place she knows.

Moments like these, he wishes he hadn’t been drafted to a team a state away. If he’d stayed close to his hometown, Ella would see both sets of grandparents more often and he’d have dependable childcare until he figured out how to function as a single dad.

Zach looks over his shoulder through the window, swallowing the lump in his throat when he sees his daughter running circles around her grandpa in the morning sun. The chime of the doorbell throws him out of his trance.

Soft blue eyes meet yours when the door swings open. The stranger on the other side is tall and handsome and younger than you expected, his half-smile clouded by sorrow. You introduce yourself and he offers you a firm but gentle handshake.

“Nice to meet you,” he says. “I’m Zach. Come in.”

You trail him into the large house, mind already racing with the potential of it becoming your workplace. The agency had set up the interview. You don’t know much about the client, except that he has a four-year-old daughter and that he requested a nanny who’s adaptable to a changing schedule.

After meeting Ella’s grandmother, you settle on a couch and make small talk and answer their questions. You learn that Zach is a professional soccer player and that his work can be demanding and inconsistent, but with your apartment being close by, you assure him that you’re reliable and flexible.

By the end of the interview, the idea of a nanny doesn’t make Zach nearly as uneasy as it did an hour ago. You’re kind and experienced and knowledgeable and every time you see his little girl through the window, you smile in pure endearment.

Zach likes the idea of his daughter being around someone joyful. Jade grew to be so cold that Ella learned to go to her dad whenever she wanted to feel reassured and loved. It’s comforting to imagine her growing to like you, maybe even love you, and to be met with the same warmth she’s so full of.

The rest of the interviews go fine, but Zach has always operated on gut feelings and you’re a clear winner. His mom agrees.

────୨ৎ────

After an agency rep calls to tell you that you’ve been offered a trial period, you spend five days at the house getting to know Ella while Zach shadows to answer your questions. He’s friendly and helpful, but visibly tense.

The final afternoon, you’re playing with Ella in the living room when Zach’s phone rings. Ella rushes over to his side, asking if it’s her mommy calling. You notice the nervous way his jaw clenches when he kneels to the floor.

“It’s grandma,” he tells her, holding his phone out so the camera will capture them both.

You pretend you didn’t hear Ella's question. You know nothing about her mom and you wouldn’t dare risk crossing a boundary by asking.

Soon after the call, Ella’s drawing at the dining table while you and Zach periodically glance across the room to check on her from the kitchen. He’s been teaching you how he prepares Ella’s favorite foods. He likes that you write everything down, asking him for details down to exact measurements. If he wasn’t sure that you took the happiness of his daughter seriously before, he is now.

He already told the story to his family and to Jade’s parents and to his closest friends, but that was with people he knew well. People who could comfort him. He’s not sure how to share with you that she left, but he wants to hire you, and this is something you should be aware of.

After he slides a pan into the oven, he stands to face you, towering over you as he wipes his hands with a tea towel.

“You have the job if you want it,” Zach says quietly. You smile at him appreciatively. You weren’t feeling confident, considering how on edge he’s been, but you realize it must not have been you he was nervous about.

“Thank you,” you reply. “I do.”

He nods, looking down as he leans against the kitchen island, and says, “She starts kindergarten next fall. You’d be alright with part-time hours then?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Uh, you should know…” he says, turning his head to look over at his daughter, “her mom left. A little over a month ago. It was out of the blue.”

Your heart twists in pain at his words, at the agony that draws itself into his face.

“I’m so sorry,” you say, staring up at his profile. Zach blinks a few times, gazing at his daughter. You press your lips together, wishing you knew what to say.

“Ella didn’t get a goodbye,” he tells you. Neither did he, not a real one, but that’s irrelevant. “I told her that her mom chose to leave and I don’t know why she made that choice, but I’m not going anywhere. If she brings it up, please say the same.”

“I will,” you reply with an understanding nod, “and only if she mentions it first.”

“Thank you,” Zach says. “I’ll be honest with you. I really don’t want someone to leave her again. You are planning on staying as long as we need you, right? Even when the hours get shorter during the school year?”

He had that same note of desperation in his voice when he asked you about your commitment to the job during the interview, too.

“Yes,” you assure him. “I understand that she needs stability right now.”

Based on the way Zach’s eyes lower, you can tell he needs stability, too. His wife not only left him, but she left him with their child. You can’t imagine the hole that it dug in his heart.

“Thanks,” he says. He takes a breath. He wasn’t strong enough not to cry when he told Ella her mom was gone and he’ll always hate himself for it, but at least he kept his tears from falling this time.

“Do you want to ask her what she thinks about it?” you offer. “I can go put away her laundry to give you some privacy.”

Zach nods in agreement. And as he expected, when he asks his daughter if she’d like for you to hang around here more often after he goes back to work, she gives him an enthusiastic yes.

You’re purposely slow with the laundry to give them time. You come back into the kitchen to see Ella happily eating a freshly baked muffin and swinging her feet, smiling up at her father as he sits next to her at the dining table.

“My daddy said you’re gonna be here every day,” she says to you with a grin, overjoyed by the news.

“Not every day,” Zach corrects her gently. “But most days.”

“Try this!” Ella exclaims, stretching her arm out towards you, the muffin in her fist. The way you happily accept the food even though it’s reduced to smushed fragments in his child’s small hand makes Zach’s heart feel a little lighter.

“That’s delicious,” you say after you take a bite, settling at the table across from them.

Zach’s still getting used to having a woman around who’s so sweet to his child. Jade would hardly ever accept Ella’s offers to share her food, telling him that saying yes to everything would only raise a spoiled child.

“My daddy’s the bestest cook,” she proudly says.

“Best,” Zach corrects. “Thank you, honey.”

“He really is,” you reply. “I don’t know how I’ll fill his shoes, but I’ll try my best.”

Ella’s face pinches in confusion as she kneels over in her booster seat to look under the table.

“I think his shoes will be too big for you,” she mumbles, pointing to your feet. You laugh, meeting Zach’s gaze, seeing the first genuine smile on his face. You didn’t know he had dimples.

He can’t remember the last time he laughed, really laughed, with someone like this. Life’s dealt him a tough hand, but you’ve given him relief.

────୨ৎ────

Zach is organized. So organized that it sort of amazes you. Not only does he give you his, and in turn, your work schedule a month in advance through a color-coded calendar, but he also provides you with a meal plan for Ella so that you don’t have to worry about making one yourself.

The first day on your own with her is perfect. She’s energetic, well-behaved, and loves to talk. Zach left for training at noon and you were surprised that he found the time to text as much as he did. You replied to his every message asking for updates, sharing what you’re doing and reassuring him that Ella’s doing okay.

He gets home an hour after Ella’s bedtime. He’s been on edge all day, worrying that all this was too much, too fast for his little girl. Maybe he should have taken more time off.

You’re finishing up loading the dishwasher when you hear his keys jingling. You turn to greet him as he paces into the kitchen.

“Hey, how was bedtime?” he asks.

“We read three books and she asked me to stay with her until she fell asleep,” you tell him. “No issues.”

Zach sighs in relief. He never liked afternoon training because he missed bedtime. Ella preferred bedtime with her dad over with her mom. She preferred everything with her dad, really. But hearing that she wanted you to stay is reassuring.

“And she ate well?” he asks. He settles on one of the stools lining the kitchen counter, watching you cross the room to stand opposite him.

“Yes,” you tell him. “She was great.”

“Sorry if I was annoying with all the texts,” he says with a small, apologetic smile.

“You weren’t, but I wanted to let you know that it’s okay if you want to set up cameras. I know some parents like having live video they can tune into throughout the day.” You’d already noticed the security cameras outside when you first came to the house. You understand why he’d be so protective.

Zach threads his fingers through his dirty blond hair, damp from the shower he took in the training center’s locker room.

“Alright, I was definitely annoying if you’re offering to be surveilled,” he mumbles with a chuckle.

“No,” you laugh. “Ella did get a little frustrated, though. We were playing princesses and she said princesses aren’t supposed to go on their phones this much.”

Zach breathes a laugh. You’ve only been here for six days, but he hasn’t smiled this much in a long time.

“Thank you for all your work today,” he says. “I won’t keep you any longer.” You give him a bright smile and wish him a good night before you head out.

When Zach trudges upstairs, he peeks into Ella’s room. She’s sleeping peacefully, curled up with her favorite plushie. Now that he has a semblance of normalcy back in his life, he realizes that beneath the sadness and betrayal, he feels anger.

It’s not typical of him to feel angry. But Jade set everything ablaze when she abandoned them and he’s been left in the ashes, trying to stay level-headed while he’s choking on smoke.

He knows he lost Jade’s heart long ago. She lost his, too. It’s the fact that she broke their daughter’s without any hesitation – that’s what kills him.

────୨ৎ────

Zach never takes you up on the offer to have cameras installed. He starts to let go, little by little, eventually going a full day without sending a single check-in text. It’s gratifying to know you’ve earned his trust.

Before you know it, you’ve been Ella’s nanny for two months. She’s made herself a home in your heart. The only way you’d ever leave her is if you were told to, and you can’t even imagine being fired. Zach often checks in to see if you’re happy with your job and asks if there’s anything he can do to make things better. He clearly values you and doesn’t want to lose you.

It’s mid-morning when you’re playing with Ella on the living room floor and Zach comes through the front door. She rushes to him and you smile as you watch him drop his duffle bag and happily scoop his daughter up.

He had an away game last night and flew in early. His skin is blanched, dark half-circles under his eyes, but like always, he finds energy for his daughter. You admire it about him, how she’s never too much for him.

“There’s a plate for you in the kitchen,” you tell him when he meets your gaze.

“You don’t have to–”

“I know,” you say with a laugh. Zach has already told you many times that Ella’s the only one you have to feed, but you can tell he appreciates coming home to a meal. “There were leftovers.”

“Were there?” he asks, brows quirked, an unconvinced smirk on his lips.

You shrug and laugh again. You’ve grown into a friendly level of comfort with each other and you appreciate how you can joke around with him.

Zach sits in the dining room to eat, listening to Ella tell him all about her playdate yesterday. You tidy up the living room as you overhear her chat about how her friend was showing her ballet poses and how badly she wants lessons.

You’d sent Zach a courtesy text before you fell asleep in the guest room last night: We had a great day. She had a lot of fun on the playdate. Just so you’re prepared, she’s VERY into ballet now and is going to ask you if she can get lessons. Sending some options. Then, you sent him a few links to children’s dance classes in town.

You woke up to two texts from him. The first said: Appreciate the warning and the research. Am I crazy for holding on to hope that she’ll like soccer one day? You smiled at your screen. You’d briefly talked with Zach about how Ella has no interest in the sport her father dedicated his career to.

The second text from him, sent fifteen minutes later, read: Would you be alright with taking her to 6-6:45 pm classes on Wednesdays when I can’t? The season starts next week.

You replied when you woke up: Definitely.

You enter the dining room to see Ella hanging off her dad’s shoulders while he tries to eat, continuing to rattle on about how she’d never miss a lesson and would always listen in class.

“Alright, take a breath,” he chuckles. When he tells her you found her a class at a studio uptown and that he’ll enroll her if she’s sure she can commit, she squeals in delight. She hugs Zach, then runs over to hug you, too, nearly knocking you over.

“Easy,” her dad tells her. Ella asks you to turn on the ballet music playlist you found for her yesterday and launches into twirls across the living room.

“Remember what I said,” you tell her over the music. “If you start to get dizzy, you…?”

“Sit down, I know!” she shouts. You meet Zach’s eyes, both of you wearing smiles. You can see the fatigue on his face under the bright dining room light.

“Do you want me to stay another hour so you can catch up on sleep?” you offer. “I don’t mind.”

He knows his heart shouldn’t skip when he looks at you, but it does. He can’t help it. You don’t see this as a job you clock in and out of. You’ve integrated yourself into Ella’s life, into his life, so seamlessly. He doesn’t feel like you’re an employee here. You’re a friend who goes above and beyond to help. You’re someone who his daughter adores. You’re a beautiful person, inside and out.

He looks down at his plate, embarrassed, as if you can read his mind. His head has been doing this lately, rushing into thoughts of you that are much more than professional. He shouldn’t be thinking that his daughter’s nanny is beautiful.

“It’s okay,” he tells you. “You can head home. We’ll see you soon.”

You nod and call Ella over to look at the calendar Zach made. It’s a routine with her every time you leave. She likes knowing when you’ll be back.

When Zach heads upstairs to drop his things off into his bedroom, he stops when he passes the guest room. You left the door ajar. Even though you always keep it neat, only leaving an overnight bag on the nightstand, there’s a lived in feeling, a warmth in the room that never existed before.

Once again, he has to remind himself that you’re paid to be here. But it’s hard not to like you, because even when Jade was living here, he felt alone, whereas having you around makes it hard to ignore that life doesn’t feel all that empty anymore.

────୨ৎ────

“Which one’s yours?”

You look over to the man sitting next to you on the dance studio bleachers. Young girls hop and whirl over the glossy hardwood floor in a sea of pink tutus, five minutes into their lesson.

“Oh, I’m...” You point to Ella. “Her nanny.”

Ella’s been in ballet for a few weeks now and it’s all she talks about. Zach’s schedule allows him to take her to most of her classes, but this is the second one you’ve come to and you can see just how much she enjoys it.

You make small-talk with the man and a few other parents, which makes the time pass quickly. When you get back to the house, Ella scarfs down her dinner and falls asleep during the first book you read her. You’re sitting in the living room when Zach comes home from training.

He’s nearing playoff season and he’s mentioned that he has much more practices booked in his schedule. At this point, he welcomes how you always pretend to accidentally make too much food. He doesn’t expect you to prepare meals for him, but after you’d reassured him that you don’t mind since you’re cooking anyway, he’s relieved to know he’ll have dinner waiting for him tonight.

“Hey,” you greet him from your spot on the couch. “Ballet was the best idea ever. It really tires her out. Bedtime was a breeze.”

“Right?” Zach says with a smile, pulling off his jacket. You look away to avoid gaping at his biceps under his t-shirt. You thought he was good-looking the moment you met him and getting to know him has only made him more attractive.

“I’ve been wanting to ask if you’d like any help with her birthday,” you offer, turning the tv off and standing up. Ella’s fifth birthday is in a month.

“I have some ideas for her party that I’d like your opinion on,” Zach tells you. “Do you want to stay for a few minutes? Or I can just text you.”

“I can stay.”

He’s relieved to hear it. He doesn’t have many moments with you alone. Usually you’re like passing ships in the night, chatting for just a couple of minutes to catch each other up about Ella before one of you leaves the house, so any window of time with you is something he welcomes. Your presence is comforting.

You sit at the kitchen island together. Zach eats as you scroll through his phone, gazing at screenshots of party ideas he saved.

“Oh, she’d love this,” you say, stopping at a photo of ballerina-themed cupcakes. He gazes at you in awe as you look down at the screen. You’re genuinely delighted at the idea of giving his little girl a perfect birthday. “Do you want to have the party here?”

“Yeah, do you think that’s a good idea?” he asks.

“Yeah. If you’re worried about decorating or cleaning up, I’d come early and stay late,” you tell him, continuing to scroll. “She deserves something big.”

He nods, swallowing down his food, too distracted to go for another bite. He can’t wrap his head around how sweet you are. You have no connection to Ella at all, but you treat her like she’s yours. Sometimes more than her own mother did.

You’ve been here for nearly four months now, which in the grand scheme of things really isn’t that long, but he likes that you have such a deep sincerity to you that he can trust that you care about Ella. That you won’t leave.

You look up at him and he glances away, worried he’s been caught staring, clearing his throat.

“Do you know how many people you’re thinking of inviting?” you ask as you hand him back his phone.

Zach’s face falls as he scratches the back of his neck. You’re suddenly tense, the air of familiarity between you now thick and uncomfortable.

“I’m not sure,” he says.

“Sorry,” you say, nervous you crossed a line. “I didn’t mean to overstep.”

“You didn’t,” he reassures you. “Sorry. I’ve just been going back and forth on whether I should invite her grandparents. From her mom’s side, I mean.”

“That must be hard,” you empathize.

“They’ve offered to visit a few times, but Ella hated the idea. She doesn’t even want to talk to them on the phone.”

“Was she like that before?” You don’t have to spell it out for him to know what you mean by before. The topic of Ella’s mom’s abandonment has been a silent cloud hanging over both of you.

“No,” Zach says. “I think she makes the connection that they’re her mom’s parents and she doesn’t want to be reminded of her.”

His lips close into a firm line.

“Well, I admire how you respect her comfort level and let her make decisions,” you say. “Maybe you start the conversation about who to invite and mention the grandparents to gauge her reaction?”

Zach nods, trying not to let his heart get carried away with the way it pounds from your words. He’s received compliments on his parenting from his friends and family, but you see the type of father he is more than anyone else these days. He cares about your opinion and it feels good to hear you approve.

“That’s a good idea,” he says. His fork clatters against his dish and he takes a deep breath before asking what’s been spinning in his head. “I figure you’d tell me, but… she hasn’t mentioned her mom, has she?”

You shake your head no. His forehead wrinkles in concern and it sends a pang to your chest. You lean a little closer, crossing the invisible boundary between you for the first time.

“She could just be processing,” you tell him. “And it might take her a while to talk about it. But she’s okay. She’s resilient. She got it from you.”

Zach hopes that he’s not blushing, but his cheeks are burning. He’s sure you’d be able to tell, but thankfully, you look down and stand straight again, as if what you just said wasn’t one of the most significantly unforgettable things he’s ever been told.

Ella is practically a physical copy of her mother. Zach never minded. But hearing that you think his daughter inherited his adaptability, one thing he’s always prided himself on, feels good.

He wasn’t very confident that he’s been doing a great job at adjusting since Jade left and you just lifted a weight off his shoulders without even realizing it.

“Thank you,” he says. You desperately want to ask how he’s been since his wife left, but you’re afraid you’ve already crossed a line with your boss tonight and you certainly don’t want to risk doing it again.

“Sure,” you reply. “I should go. But I’ll let you know if I think of any ideas for the party. I think the ballerina theme is the way to go. This place will be so pink.”

Zach laughs, trying to ignore the way his chest hollows when you expand the distance between you, stepping away.

“Can’t wait,” he says. “Thanks for dinner.”

“There were leftovers,” you reply, even though both of you are already well aware that every time you say that, it’s not true.

────୨ৎ────

It’s only half an hour into Ella’s birthday party and you’re spent. You’re reaching for napkins from the cupboard to clean up a spill in the dining room. When you turn out of the kitchen, a girl runs past you, tripping and accidentally pouring most of her juice onto your dress.

“Sorry,” she says worryingly, eyes wide as she stares up at you.

“It’s okay,” you reply with a giggle, dabbing at the fabric with one of the napkins. “I came prepared.”

Zach just entered the room, witnessing the moment, wondering if he’s ever going to see you do anything that won’t just push him deeper into his crush on you. But once again, his head is no match for his heart when it comes to you.

He’s been trying not to lose his mind today and it’s not because of the chaotic party that’s taken over his house. It’s because it’s the first time he’s seen you in a dress. While it’s appropriate for the occasion, it shows enough of your figure to make his mouth go dry.

You toss the napkin in the garbage, collect more, then start to make your way to the dining room, looking up to find Zach’s eyes.

“Hey,” you say over the noise. He realizes that your voice somehow settles his pulse and makes it race at the same time. “There might not be enough napkins in the world for this party.”

“Invite everyone she wants,” he teases, imitating the way you convinced him to go along with Ella’s idea to invite all twelve kids from her ballet class.

“I take it back,” you chuckle. When you move past him, the fresh scent of his cologne dances over you and it’s so nice that you don’t want to leave his side. But you shake away the thought and tidy up the spill, then head to the living room to mingle.

It’s better to keep your distance from Zach. You have to remind yourself of it almost every day now. You’d been spending more time together to plan Ella’s party and at this point, it’s actually frustrating how kind and funny and charming and perfect he is.

It took a few evenings of party-planning at the house, your voices low as Ella slept upstairs, to start to get to know each other outside of your job. You’ve learned little things about him, like that he’s left-handed, and that he has a sister ten years younger than him and growing up with her helped him practice parenting, and that he likes a cup of tea before bed because it relaxes him.

You also noticed that he drifts into a more timid version of himself whenever the topic of his profession comes up. You’d mentioned that Ella could eventually grow an interest in soccer, that you’d take her to one of his home games if she wanted, and he nodded with a shy smile, saying he liked the idea.

Every side of him is intriguing, and while your conversations haven’t fallen into anything too personal, you want to know more about him past the friendly distance that stands between you.

Ella quickly darts past Zach in the kitchen and he reminds her that tag is an outside game. He’s relieved that she seems happy and careless today.

He’d asked her about inviting her mom’s parents and she answered with a quiet no. He called them to tell them that this birthday would be too difficult to celebrate together and they understood, opting to send a present in the mail.

Zach is glad he took your advice. As he rounds the corner, he sees you chatting with Ella’s friend’s dad. You probably know him from ballet. Zach has spoken with him, too. He knows the man is divorced.

Jealousy swirls in his chest. He shouldn’t care about you talking to another man. Even though you’ve started to share more about your lives with each other and he’s pretty sure you’re single, you could have a boyfriend you haven’t mentioned.

Again, while he tells himself not to feel things for you, it’s so much easier said than done. He has to look away, wondering why he feels like someone who’s not even his is being taken from him.

All the stress leaves your body the minute the last attendee leaves through the front door. It was a great party, but it was exhausting.

Ella’s eating her dinner as you, Zach, and his family tackle the mess. You make conversation with her while you clean the kitchen, happy to hear her rave about what a good birthday she had.

She asks if you can cuddle her for bedtime. Zach overhears and trudges into the kitchen, crumpled decorations in his hands. He rolled the sleeves of his shirt up and you try to ignore the fact that the mere sight of his forearms makes your stomach go numb with butterflies.

“It’s been a long day,” he says to you quietly. “I can take bedtime.”

“I got it,” you reply. He mirrors your smile. You like that he’s not the type of parent to be bitter that his own kid prefers you sometimes. He’s just happy that Ella’s happy.

When you’re leaning back in Ella’s bed, chatting as you wait for her to doze off, her arm is draped over your body and her cheek is on your shoulder. She’s grown to be totally comfortable with you, always taking the opportunity to be affectionate.

Your eyelids are heavy as you ramble about what she’ll be doing with her grandparents and aunt in the next few days, as they’ll be staying in town for a bit. Zach gave you the next three days off since childcare will be covered.

“I heard your grandma say something about taking you to the beach tomorrow,” you tell her. “Are you excited?”

“Will you come, too?” she asks. You chuckle softly, kissing the top of her head.

“I have work, remember?” you tell her. You and Zach had decided long ago that you don’t want to tell her you’re paid to be here, that your job is taking care of her. You always just refer to yourself as her dad’s friend.

“Okay,” she sighs. She lets out a big yawn. “If I tell someone my birthday wish, will it not become true anymore?”

“I’m pretty sure the rule is that you can tell one grown-up,” you play along, “and it’ll still come true.” She nuzzles in. You assume she’ll mention a gift she wanted but didn’t receive today.

“I wished that you were my mommy,” she mumbles into the dark.

Your throat tightens and your heart sinks and you hate that the sweet, innocent child clinging onto you has to carry the weight of being abandoned. You kiss the top of her head again and try not to cry.

“I love you, okay?” you tell her. She nods and squeezes you tighter and within minutes, her breathing grows deeper.

When you head downstairs, you see that almost all of the mess has been tidied up. Zach is hauling a full garbage bag to the front door, giving you a tired smile when he sees you.

“Do you need any help with–”

“Go home,” he interrupts, faking irritation. You laugh in defeat.

“Fine.” You step into the living room to say goodbye to his family, antsy to have some time to yourself so that you don’t have to force down your tears any longer.

A few seconds after the door shuts behind you, Zach remembers that he’d set aside a container of leftover treats from the party for you.

You pace down the sidewalk into the cool evening air, unlocking your car remotely, unable to stop your tears from building. When you hear Zach call your name, you quickly wipe at your eyes, realizing you’ve smudged your make-up.

“There were leftovers,” he says when you turn to look at him.

“That’s my line,” you try to joke. You take the container. “Thanks.”

He notices the shine in your eyes immediately.

“Are you alright?” Zach asks softly. You gaze up at him, heart breaking a little more at the concern in his expression.

“Just a busy day,” you tell him.

“Did something happen?”

“No,” you say quickly. “Or– yeah, but I was going to tell you later. Without the tears.” You offer a pathetic laugh to break the tension, but he’s too worried to laugh, too.

“What is it?” he asks.

You look up to Ella’s bedroom window. The first time you’d walked up to this house, you were oblivious to the fact that the two people living in it would steal your heart. You know you need to tell him what his daughter said. But you’d hoped you’d have more time to process it.

“Before bed,” you say, your voice thin, “she told me she wished I was her mom.”

It takes all the air out of Zach’s lungs. He opens his mouth to reply, but he’s without words. He crosses his arms, looking down at the pavement.

“I know. It’s a lot,” you mumble. Your temples ache as more tears build up, frustrated that this is Zach and Ella’s reality. “It just makes me so sad. I don’t want to say anything bad about your ex-wife, but I don’t understand how she could just leave you two. Has she not called to check in on her? Or to wish her a happy birthday?”

Your heart starts to thrum even harder. Your words were impulsive, surprising you even though you’re the one who said them, and the fear that you just crossed a line and exposed your feelings for him rushes through you.

“No,” is all Zach is able to say. He stares at you, speechless, biting the inside of his cheek.

“When Ella said… what she said, I told her that I love her,” you say. “I hope that’s okay.”

“Of course it is,” he says, his tone tender. Your lips twist into a sad smile. You want to hug him. But you step back. Because he’s still your boss and you don’t want him to think you can’t remain professional. You’re already anxious and regretful that you brought up Ella’s mom.

“Thank you,” you say. “I should go. Good night.”

Zach’s dazed the rest of the evening. He watches you drive off. He goes back inside to finish cleaning up. He spends time with his parents and sister, but soon heads upstairs to sleep, too distracted to keep up conversation.

His mind keeps him awake as he lies in bed. He stares up at the darkened ceiling, watching the shadow of the trees by his window rustle in the wind. In a matter of a minute, your relationship reached a new level of vulnerability.

And now that he has time to wade through his feelings, beneath the pain he feels for Ella and what she told you, he can’t deny that his heart fluttered when you said you don’t understand how someone could leave him and his daughter. Maybe you feel the same way about him.

This is not just a crush. He’s falling for you.

────୨ৎ────

You stare at the text Zach sent you a few minutes ago as you brush your teeth the next morning.

Sorry for bothering you on your day off but Ella has asked me about 50 times (give or take) if I can ask you to come to the beach today. I told her you’re busy but you know her. No pressure but we’d all love to have you. Would count as a work day, of course.

It was already hard to keep your feelings for Zach at bay when all you can think about is his smile and his voice and the way he makes you feel more comfortable than any man ever has, but now, you’re afraid it might be awkward when you see him. You’d said something so heavy last night, then left abruptly.

Nonetheless, the love you have for Ella and the love you’re starting to have for Zach is louder than the worry you’re feeling.

You reply: Don’t count it as work. It’s how I’d like to spend my day off. When and where?

A minute later, he sends you the address and time.

It’s late morning when you text Zach that you’ve arrived at the beach. He heads to the parking lot, leaving his parents, sister, and daughter by the shoreline so that he can speak to you alone. He hates that he was too in shock to thank you last night. But it was all so much to take in.

He spots you pulling a bag out of your trunk, greeting you with a soft “hey” to not startle you. It’s so nice to know that you’re here because you want to be.

You turn to see Zach in his swim shorts, his hair wet, water droplets scattered atop his muscles. You close the trunk, hoping he didn’t catch the way your eyes lingered.

“Hey. What’d you tell Ella about the ‘work’ I had today?” you ask, trying to establish a lighthearted tone. “Did my boss let me leave early?”

“We can say that,” he says with a smile. “He sounds like a good guy.”

“He is. It’s my other boss that’s kind of a nightmare,” you joke.

Zach takes you in, squinting a bit.

“You don’t really think of me as your boss, do you?” he asks, realizing he hates the implication. It makes him feel like even thinking about you as more than a friend is deeply unethical. Like there’s a power imbalance and he’s taking advantage of it somehow.

You still for a moment.

“I mean, I don’t know,” you chuckle. “It doesn’t feel like it, but aren’t you?”

“I guess.” His brows furrow. “It just doesn’t sound right.”

“How about we say… Ella’s my boss? And yours, too, now that I think about it.”

Zach laughs, “That works for me.” He nervously crosses his arms. “Uh… before we go, I wanted to thank you for handling last night so well. I think you said exactly what she needed to hear.”

Your face drops slightly. Remembering the way Ella sounded when she told you her wish, resigned but hopeful, breaks your heart every time you think about it.

“Of course,” you say. It’s a relief that he’s not upset about anything you said. “Is she doing okay?”

“Oh, yeah. Being her usual self. I didn’t tell her you were coming, so she’ll be excited.” The way you smile at the idea of making her happy is something he’s grown to adore about you.

You make your way to the shoreline, and as expected, Ella squeals when she sees you, running straight for you. You crouch to hug her tightly, thrilled that you were invited today.

You sit on a line of towels with Zach and his parents and his sister while Ella explains to you what kind of sandcastle she wants to make. You make conversation with everyone over the soothing sounds of the waves crashing against the shore and eventually, you point out a small rubber ball by the cooler.

“You wanna play soccer?” you ask Ella.

“I’m not good at it,” she replies.

“You have the best coach right here,” you say, pointing to Zach. “Let’s give it a try. Maybe we can all work together to score a goal against your dad.”

Zach smiles in surprise when Ella actually agrees. You help him create a makeshift goal line with pebbles and shells as Ella kicks the ball over the sand with her grandparents and aunt. After you set up, you join Ella while Zach makes an exaggerated show of stretching.

“Is that how you always warm up?” you ask him.

“Is there something wrong with it?” he answers. Ella laughs as he dramatically stretches. By now, you can tell by the type of dad he is that he was always on the playful side.

Ella imitates his stretching, then determination flashes over her face and she darts forward to try to kick the ball past him without warning. Zach pretends to be too slow to react, reaching after the ball has already whizzed past him, and lets out a defeated groan.

He picks his daughter up as she jumps in victory, jokingly demanding she tell him when she got so good at soccer. You smile as you watch them share a moment of joy in the sun.

“Ella, would you ever want to go to one of your dad’s games?” you offer.

“Yeah!” she exclaims.

“Yeah?” Zach says. “Why don’t you say yeah whenever I ask?”

“Just take the win, Zach,” you say with a laugh. He grins, loving the way his name sounds when it comes from you.

You enjoy the rest of the afternoon, talking with Zach’s family, playing with Ella, catching glances at Zach when he’s not looking. They invite you to dinner, but you politely decline, figuring you should give them time alone. You thank them for the fun and go home feeling lighter than you did when you woke up.

That evening, as Connie helps Zach clean up after dinner, she mentions how good you are for Ella. He glances down at his mom as she hands him a rinsed plate to put in the dishwasher.

“She really is,” Zach agrees.

“I think she’s good for you, too,” she says with a hint of a smile.

“Real subtle, Mom,” he chuckles nervously. “It’s not like that.”

“Alright,” she says with an unconvinced tone. She takes a beat. “I just need to say–”

“Of course you do,” he mumbles with an amused smirk.

“–that I haven’t seen you this happy in a long time,” she speaks over him. “I haven’t seen you be you. But you are again, especially when she’s around. It’s just nice to see you smiling so much again. I know things have been tough for you.”

Zach’s teeth dig into his bottom lip. His mom is right; things have been tough, even before Jade left. He desperately wanted companionship, to at least come home to someone he could call a friend, but Jade couldn’t give him what he needed. He hasn’t felt full of life in a long time. Not until you knocked on his door.

“I’m better now,” he says.

Connie nods, sadness filling her features as she pulls Zach in for a side-hug.

“Hey, I’m alright,” he consoles her. “Don't worry about me.”

“You’re a parent. You should know the worrying never stops.” She pulls back. “So, you’re really going to deny it? I see the way you look at her.”

Zach shakes his head with an exaggerated scoff.

“You’re relentless,” he jokes.

“You used to tell me everything.”

“There’s nothing to tell.”

“Alright,” she sighs. “She looks at you the same way, you know.”

“Mom.”

Connie laughs and hands him another plate. He knows that the idea of you looking at him the way he looks at you won’t leave his mind any time soon.

(part two)

[mywitchyblog]

Message to @alphaltrainreflection

First of all, bitch, where did I ever say anything about "eroticizing inferiority"? Like, be fucking for real. Show me the receipts. Because unless you’re reading between lines that don’t exist, nothing in my post said anything about power dynamics, submission, or “inferiority.” It sounds like you’re projecting some judgmental bullshit that I didn’t even invite into the conversation. So let’s start there—check yourself before you come into my space twisting my words to fit your weird little agenda.

Second of all, and I mean this with every ounce of sincerity, shut the fuck up. Genuinely, if you don’t like what you see, don’t interact. It’s that simple. Not everyone has to match your narrow idea of what shifting is “supposed” to be. Shifting isn’t some gated community where you get to play security guard and decide who’s allowed in. So do us all a favor, take that rigid-ass energy, and keep it to yourself, bitch.

Let’s be real for a second. You said, “sex freaks who insist on eroticizing inferiority are ruining shifting.” Bitch, nobody’s ruining anything—especially not me. All I said was that I want to get fucked. Plain and simple. If my desire to shift for a good time offends you, you’re free to move along. Shifting means different things to different people, and if sex is part of that, it’s totally valid. If I want to shift to a reality for some damn good dick, who the fuck are you to get all sanctimonious about it? Newsflash: your opinion on what’s “appropriate” doesn’t apply here, darling.

And let’s get one thing fucking clear, because clearly, you need this spelled out: even if someone did want to shift to a reality where they take on a more passive, submissive role, what of it? Why the fuck does that bother you so much? Some people spend their whole lives having to be strong, holding shit together, constantly defending themselves, and staying in control just to survive. Maybe, just maybe, they want to create a reality where they can finally let go, surrender, and trust someone who respects them and won’t take advantage of them. Imagine that—feeling safe enough to let down your guard and explore a side of yourself you don’t get to express in this life. For some people, that’s healing. For others, it’s fun. Either way, it’s their choice, not yours. So back the fuck off.

So let’s talk about this “ruining shifting” nonsense you pulled out of nowhere. Bitch, the only thing “ruining” anything is people like you, stomping into conversations uninvited and acting like you’re the gatekeeper of how others should experience their desires. You’re clinging to this imaginary rulebook about what’s “appropriate” for shifting as if that makes you morally superior, but all it does is make you look insecure, judgmental, and way too invested in other people’s business. Spoiler alert: nobody gives a fuck about your approval or needs it to validate their experience.

Here’s the truth, since you seem to need a wake-up call: shifting is deeply personal. It’s about self-determination and freedom, not conforming to some rigid-ass code of conduct set by random bitches on the internet. If someone wants to shift for spiritual growth, self-discovery, sexual exploration, or all of the above, that’s their fucking prerogative. Shaming them because it doesn’t align with your limited, vanilla-ass view of what’s “appropriate” is straight-up pathetic.

And by the way, bitch, sex is a natural, beautiful, and completely valid part of life. If I want to shift for sex, or if someone else wants to shift to feel cherished, adored, or, yes, even submissive, that’s nobody’s fucking business but ours. Maybe instead of trying to drag others down to your level of insecurity, you could take a hard look in the mirror and figure out why other people’s sexual autonomy bothers you so damn much. Because this isn’t about “ruining shifting”; it’s about you being uncomfortable with the idea of someone enjoying themselves in a way that’s different from what you deem acceptable. Maybe some self-reflection would do you some good.

To every other shifter out there who’s ever been made to feel guilty or “lesser” for shifting for your own reasons, listen up: you don’t owe anyone an explanation, and you don’t need anyone’s approval. Your DR, your fucking rules. If shifting for you is about finding love, intimacy, exploration, or yes, even some good dick, that’s your choice. Don’t let some insecure bitch shame you or make you feel like you’re somehow ruining the experience just because it doesn’t fit into their narrow little box. Shifting is about creating the life and reality you want to live—whatever the fuck that looks like for you.

So, here’s a suggestion: take your unsolicited, holier-than-thou attitude and keep it to yourself. If you can’t handle seeing people talk openly about their desires and goals for shifting, then bitch, scroll past and save yourself the outrage. Because at the end of the day, I’m not here to please you, and neither is anyone else. We’re here to live our best lives, however we see fit, and if that’s too much for you, the door’s right over there.

To everyone who’s out here shifting for what they want, keep going. Own your desires, own your reality, and don’t let anyone’s outdated judgment make you feel like you’re doing it wrong. Shifting is your journey, and if that includes exploring intimacy, vulnerability, or sexuality, you’re not alone. You’re valid, and your experience is just as real and important as anyone else’s.

Consider this your reminder that no one’s begging for your approval. I’ll be over here, unbothered, shifting for exactly what I want, and loving every fucking second of it. ✨

[aquaticmercy]

Waste a Moment / Part 11

Summary : Bucky had always kept his distance, but seeing you get hurt on a mission changed everything. For the first time, he has a chance to start over with you.

Pairing : Bucky Barnes x avenger!reader (she/her) 

Warnings/tags : Mentions of food. Cursing. Memory loss. Head injury. Reader used to work in a museum.

Requested by :  @remoony

Word count : 2.9k

Note : please let me know if I miss anyone on the tags!!! Enjoy!

Series Masterlist

"Give me Something I Need"

Saturday.

You hadn’t planned to slip out of bed that morning without a word to Bucky.

But Happy’s message had played in your head all night like a broken record.

Bucky shifted beside you, still lost in an all-consuming sleep. You sat still, letting him rest a little longer. Quietly, you unlocked your phone and reread the message:

You’re welcome to watch it whenever you’re ready.

Maybe you were ready now.

You glanced at the clock—8 a.m. 

Maybe it was time.

You hadn’t mentioned the message to Bucky last night, and some part of you didn’t want to. He’d been so drained, drowning in worry about your next mission. He didn’t need one more thing weighing on him. Besides, last night he’d been plagued by nightmares, hiccuped murmurs and tiny cries slipping out as he fought with the demons in his dream. You’d tried waking him up, but he was too far gone to notice your fleeting touch on his skin.

Maybe, part of you kept this from him because, for once, you knew it was your own scar to carry, your own battle to fight. You thought he’d want to help, would try to shoulder the burden with you. But just this once, maybe you wanted to face it alone.

So, as quietly as possible, you slipped out of bed. Scribbling a quick note, you left it on the pillow beside him:

Happy wants me at the compound. Be back soon.

After a moment’s hesitation, you picked up the pen again and added a final line beneath it:

I love you.

—

Happy was already waiting as you entered the hallways of the compound.

“Take it slow,” Happy said softly, resting a gentle hand on your shoulder outside. “You can walk away if it gets too much.”

You nodded, inhaling deeply to steady yourself. The stillness in the media room was unnerving, the air thick and heavy as you took in the blank screen.

The blank canvas felt like a reflection of the fragments in your own mind.

You pressed play on the remote.

The first video flickered to life, and there you were. 

You were whole.

You looked alive in a way that felt unfamiliar—radiant, confident, like you never doubted you belonged here. 

You hardly recognized yourself— whoever she was. 

In a way, you envied her. She was so… certain. So happy. 

The screen revealed more moments from the life you’ve forgotten: your easy laughter, your strong and effortless movements, the way you looked at the world without the hesitations and doubts that now seemed entwined in your bones

As you watched, a recurring figure loomed in the background of each clip. 

Bucky. 

He was always there—hovering at the edges, never fully engaged.

In one video, you sat at the kitchen table, chatting with him, your voice bright and full of warmth. You could almost feel the hope in your own tone as you tried to draw him in.

Oh.

You noticed the way he hardly looked at you, his gaze averted, his responses clipped and distant. A slight frown tugged at your lips on the screen. Still, you’d pressed on, covering the disappointment with another forced laugh. Watching it now, you felt the sting of rejection reverberate you hadn’t felt with Bucky before. 

So you let yourself wonder:

How often had you tried, only to be met with that same coldness?

The next clip flashed to you and Bucky in the gym, sparring together. You were smiling, trying to get a laugh out of him as you moved, but he was stone-faced, his eyes cold and focused only on your flaws. He corrected your stance with a harshness that bordered on contempt, barely looking at you. 

It was so different from the flirty, loving touches he now shared with you in training. It was so different from the gentleness he shared with you in bed, how his arms wrapped around your waist lovingly as you slept through the night.

In the video, you stumbled, and he just watched, his gaze almost dismissive, as if your struggle wasn’t worth his time.

The camera switched to you as you turned and walked away in silence, his gaze trailing after you with a familiar vulnerability.

Clip after clip, a bleak portrait began to form. And with each scene, a twisted realisation began to settle over you like a dark cloud: Back then, you wanted him to care. You’d tried so hard to make him care— and he just… didn’t.

Did he… hate you?

It wasn’t just you and Bucky, though. 

The footage flickered to glimpses of other moments, happier ones. 

Yelena laughing with you, arms slung over each other’s shoulders as you traded jokes over a glass of wine. 

Sparring sessions with Sam, his encouraging grin as he gave you pointers, patting you on the back when you managed a successful move. 

Lazy snack breaks with Clint, the two of you sharing bags of chips and laughing about some ridiculous stunt you’d pulled on a mission. 

But in every moment, Bucky was there. He was somewhere in the background, always lingering. Watching. Close enough to be present, but never close enough to be part of it. He looked like an outsider, an intruder.

Watching it all felt like a cruel joke. 

Here you were, spending each day with him now, building something precious and real—or so you’d thought. This was a fracture in that reality, a fracture that had been there all along. 

Had you simply been too pathetic? Had you just been too desperate for connection, that you looked past everything in order to get a fresh start?

The clips rolled on, a carousel of emotions you had no memory of feeling.

The Bucky on the screen was nothing like the man you’d come to know these past months. 

This was a stranger.

 A brooding figure who loomed over you, distant, dismissive, every single interaction tinged with disdain, disapproval.

What did he want from you now?

Why was he here with you, treating you with gentleness and care, like you were precious to him? Did he genuinely care? Or was he just trying to ease his own guilt, trying to make amends now that you’d forgotten how much he’d hurt you?

The final clip began, and your heart sank as you saw yourself in the doorway, pleading with him, desperation etched into every line of your face.

“You don’t get it, do you?” he hissed in the video. “I don’t want your company. I don’t need your pity. You think you’re being nice?”

You winced at the screen.

“I feel like I can't breathe around you,” 

The room fell silent, leaving you alone with the raw ache that spread like wildfire. 

The Bucky who had made you feel so loved, so safe, felt like an illusion now, a fabrication designed to soothe his own guilt.

Had he hated you that much? Had he resented you? 

Was this the man you were trusting with your fragile mind? The man you had trusted with rebuilding your heart?

The screen faded to black, leaving you alone with the echo of his words and the weight of memories that felt more like wounds. 

You couldn’t tell which Bucky was real. The one who now held you close, whispered reassurances against your skin, made you feel wanted and safe… or the one who had once pushed you away and looked at you like you were an unwanted burden?

When you finally rose, your hands trembled. 

The life you’d been building, the careful scaffolding of trust and affection you thought was real, felt like it was crumbling underneath your very feet. 

You looked one last time at the face on the screen—she was a person you didn’t know, a person who had once been you. A person who had tried so hard to break through his walls, who’d given him a piece of herself only to be met with a chill that bordered on contempt.

And now, you had to wonder if there was anything left of her worth reclaiming.

—

Every fibre of your being screamed at you to run away from this godforsaken place.

The air felt suffocating, as if even the walls of the compound were conspiring to close in on you.

You couldn’t look at anyone. 

You couldn’t bear the inevitable sympathy in their eyes.

All you knew, with a terrible certainty, was that you couldn’t stay here—not with Happy, who, despite the well-meaning confusion, didn’t understand the layers of the lie. Not with Sam, who was so close to Bucky he could probably piece together exactly what had been kept from you.

And not with Yelena, who, as close as she was to you, never uttered a word.

And to think, you had told her you love Bucky before you even told him.

You couldn't be with anyone else on the team. 

If they had kept this from you, what else had they hidden from you?

“Wait!” Sam’s voice rang out behind you, sharp and pleading. “Happy told me… Bucky messed up, we should have— Just let me explain!”

“Explain?” The word came out a near-snarling whisper as you turned around. “Explain what, Wilson? That it was somehow for my own good? That everyone thought it was better to string me along like a fool, to keep me in the dark? Or that Bucky—” your voice cracked as his name left your mouth, a crack that felt like it reached deep into the crater that had formed in your chest. “That Bucky can only stand to be around me now that I don’t remember how much he used to hate me?”

Behind him, Happy slowed to a jog. His expression was gentle, but hopeless. “I—I didn’t know,” he stammered, “I didn’t know he would come across like this—”

“Don’t.” The word lodged in your throat as you shook your head, stepping back.. “Just…stay away from me. Both of you.”

Sam stood there, his mouth half-open. He wanted to bridge it, to find some way to fix this�� you were his friend, and Bucky was the closest thing to his best friend, after all— but he kept his distance.

The shattered look on Sam’s face told you he understood. 

You turned before the tears could break through, fleeing down the steps, your footsteps echoing hollowly against the sterile walls, each stride dragging you further from the truth, further from everything you thought you knew.

It felt so eerily like the day you snuck out of the compound the first night you remembered.

You had trusted them—all of them. Clint, Bruce, Scott, Rhodey, Happy, Sam, Yelena…and Bucky. Especially Bucky. 

The Bucky you thought you’d known, the Bucky who’d held you close in the dark hours, who’d promised to protect you.

As you reached the exit, gasping for air that felt painfully thin you realised that maybe you had never truly known him at all.

—

By the time you stumbled through the door, Bucky was already gone, out on his morning run. The apartment felt hollow once again, just like when you first moved back in. You shut the door behind you, locking out the world. You leaned against the door to hold yourself up. The anger that had burned out in a great ball of fire was now replaced by a bone-deep exhaustion.

The home– your home– that you had welcomed Bucky into, that you’d come to share with him— felt surreal. Every piece of clothing that was his, every soft throw blanket you cuddled under felt like a mocking reminder of what you’d thought was real—his gentle smiles, his soft voice pulling you out of the dark, his arms wrapped around you in those vulnerable hours just before dawn. But now you knew it was only a cruel joke you hadn’t been in on.

What truly haunted you was how quickly he had changed.

You saw the time stamps— put everything together.

I feel like I can’t breathe when I’m around you, he had said.

That was the night before mission.

You woke up a week after.

He turned disdain to affection in one week? How was that even possible? And who’s to say he won’t change again in another week?

Your legs gave out and you slid to the floor, pulling your knees to your chest. Somewhere, deep in your heart, there was a fragile shard of hope, clinging desperately to the idea that it was all a mistake, a misunderstanding. But that hope was buried deep now, with no chance of ever clowning it back out.

The videos Happy had shown you kept replaying in your mind, like a twisted record skipping over the worst parts— Bucky, cold and dismissive. 

You’d trusted him, told everything to him, let him be the anchor in a life you could barely remember. And yet, he had pushed you away, treated you like an inconvenience, and let you believe in this version of him that never truly existed.

One week.

That was all it took for him not to hate you anymore, apparently. He must want something from you, right?

And after all that you’ve been through, you would not let yourself be used— not as a vessel for Bucky Barnes to ease his guilt, if that even was what he’s looking for.

And to think that he had any right to deny you of a mission you were ready for.

To think that you had let him dote on you, let him control you?

It made you feel sick.

The sound of a key turning in the lock jolted you. Your heart skipped as Bucky stepped inside, looking every bit the familiar, gentle Bucky you’d grown to love. He carried a bag of groceries, likely planning another quiet night in, oblivious to things you now know.

When his stare landed on you, his brows furrowed with concern. “Hey,” he said softly, setting down the bag, “Everything okay?”

You couldn’t bring yourself to look at him. “You need to leave,” you said, your voice coming out cold and sharp. It was the only armour you had left.

He blinked, confused. “What?”

“Get out.” you spat.

Bucky’s face fell into a frown, his confusion twisting into panic. “What’s going on?” He took a tentative step toward you, but you backed away, each inch of distance feeling like a wall between you.

“Happy showed me footage from the last three years,” you managed, your voice trembling. “I saw the way you treated me—like I was nothing, like you couldn’t stand the sight of me. You didn’t even like me, did you?”

Bucky froze.

Shit.

Too late. He was always too damn late when it came to you.

He’d been so obsessed that Yelena might spill everything, that he’d forgotten about Happy—the one person who was in charge over those cameras, with no idea of the mess he’d even made. Well-meaning Happy, who would have only shown you the footage because he thought it would help.

Then, a wave of guilt crashed over. 

God, he should’ve told you. He should have given you something, a thread of truth to hold onto, a warning, anything to soften the blow. But now—what did he have? Just the wreckage of a truth you’d been blindsided by.

And he knew how it looked. 

Even if he wanted to tell you why he was distant, would you even let him try to explain? Or would you see it as just another lie, another desperate attempt to hide the truth from you?

The colour drained from his face, and his mouth opened as if to speak, but you cut him off, your words rushing forward, filled with years of hurt you hadn’t didn’t you could carry.

“I trusted you, Barnes! After everything, you were the one person I trusted—my memory’s gone, my past, all of it, but I had you.” Your voice cracked, but you pushed on, each word heavier than the last. “But you couldn’t stand me before, could you? You only started caring once I forgot. Once I couldn’t remember all the times you looked at me with nothing but resentment.”

His eyes widened.

“No, no, it’s not… it’s not like that,” he stammered, a visible desperation, shaken to his core. “Please, it’s not what you think—”

“Then what is it?” you shot back, unable to keep the bitterness from seeping into your voice. “Did you just prefer me like this? Do you like me broken? Do you like me weak? Does this do something for you? You sick fuck.”

He stepped closer, hands up as if to calm you. “You don’t understand. I—”

“I don’t understand?” you choked out, the agony spilling over. “I saw how you looked at me, how you dismissed me. Am I supposed to believe this—” his hands pointed up and down his body, “—is real?”

His face twisted in pain, but you refused to let yourself feel anything for him, anything but the betrayal coursing through your veins wildfire. 

“It was all a lie,” you whispered, shattered.

“No,” he breathed, shaking his head desperately. “It wasn’t… it’s not a lie. I just… I didn’t know how to—”

“I don’t care,” you cut him off. You pointed toward the door. “I want you to leave.”

His eyes, filled with anguish, filled with tears burning on the edge “Please,” he whispered, his voice cracking. “It wasn’t what it looked like.”

“I don’t know you, Barnes,” you replied, your voice hollow, drained of all feeling. “Not really. And after what I saw, I don’t think I want to.”

“Please—”

“Out!” you cut him off.

He stood there, waiting for you to find your footing, but you held firm, your voice as cold as the truth you’d uncovered.

Finally, he gave a small, defeated nod. 

Slowly, he turned, each step toward the door reluctant. When he reached the threshold, he paused, his hand hovering on the doorknob, as if waiting for a sign, some word from you that might let him stay.

But when he glanced back, he found only the sharp gaze you levelled at him. Whatever hope he’d held onto was lost.

Without another word, he left, the door clicking softly shut behind him.

—

You stood there, staring at the closed door. For the first time, you felt the void he’d left behind. 

You did it.

You had pushed him out of your life as he had once pushed you away. 

But instead of relief, the hurt deepened, and the tears you’d been holding back finally broke free. You sank to the floor, pulling your knees to your chest, your body trembling as sobs reverberated through you. 

You had lost everything—your past, your memories, and now the only person who you had loved in this new, fractured life. 

-to be continued...

Taglist :

 @hzdhrtss @irisk12 @tayyyystan @seventeen-x @lomlbuckybarnes 

@greatenthusiasttidalwave @avatarofthetimelords @bckynatt @winchestert101 @zemosprincesa 

@nngkay @hiireadstuff @sapphirebarnes @thatesqcrush @bethexo07 

@florie1 @nyutasgirl @coraliix @harrysgothicbitch @jules-and-gemss

@infqnitysblog @isnow-0r-never @roofwitty779 @baw1066 @wasalreadyhere

@cjand10 @greatmistakes @winterslove1917 @calwitch @sebastians-love

@gyllord @brckenmemories @ethereal-witch24 @diffidentphantom

@avatarofthetimelords @lumidotexe @oscarissac2099 @currentfacination @pono-pura-vida

@blackbirdwitch22 @royalwriteroftheuniverse @ayayaeyato @btssaysstudy @unaxv

@otterlycanadian @lifeisbutadream444 @mostlymarvelgirl @ozwriterchick @m1cky-y-y

@ordelixx @jadeofspadesxp @generousmiraclebread @jeremyrennermakesmesmile@titasweetandsour 

@one-lengthiness36 @chimchoom @waitingformysandman @blackhawkfanatic @chaotic-taco-collector-blog

@aurysartstudio @olive-main @purplecolordeer @mrsnikstan @annoyingrebelsoul

@sunnyhummingbee @onelonelybitch @angelichwv @hello-lisa1026 @jason-todd-fangirl-14 

@vickie5446 @portrait-ninja @trocaderoisyummy @walkwithfluffyangels @torntaltos

@dogtorjae @hhiggs @hi172826

[legionofshaza]

♡No need for poetry♡

🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍

An Azriel x Reader Fanfic for Azriel week day 5

@azrielappreciationweek

🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍

The shadows always whispered when he was near, curling around your ankles like tendrils of smoke. You didn’t mind; it was just their nature, as much a part of Azriel as the scars on his hands or the silent way he moved through the world. Tonight, they lingered in the corner of the room, as if even they knew something weighed heavy on his mind.

You sat by the hearth, the fire casting long shadows on the walls of the House of Wind, warming your skin but doing nothing to touch the chill in the room. Azriel stood near the window, gazing out over the night-blanketed city of Velaris, his wings slightly flared, the tension in his posture unmistakable.

“Az,” you called softly, but he didn’t turn.

A sigh escaped your lips as you set your cup of tea on the table. “You’ve been brooding for hours. I’m starting to feel neglected.”

That caught his attention. He turned, golden-hazel eyes flicking toward you, but there was a storm behind them. Shadows danced around his shoulders, restless and uneasy, and he stepped away from the window as if trying to escape whatever thoughts had been circling his mind.

“Neglected?” he murmured, his deep voice low but not cold. His lips quirked, but the smile didn’t reach his eyes. “You know I could never neglect you.”

You smiled, rising to your feet and crossing the room to meet him halfway. He stood still as you reached him, your fingers brushing his as you took his hand in yours. The silence stretched, heavy and weighted with something unspoken.

“Then tell me what’s bothering you,” you said softly, your gaze steady on his. Azriel’s face was a mask, as always, but you had learned to read the cracks in it over time. And tonight, something had broken through.

He sighed, the sound almost lost in the crackle of the fire. “It’s nothing,” he muttered, but you knew better.

You squeezed his hand. “Azriel, it’s me. You don’t need to hide.”

He was silent for a moment, the tension in his body vibrating beneath your fingers, before he finally spoke again. “It’s… complicated.”

“I can handle complicated.”

A ghost of a smile flitted across his face, but it faded just as quickly. He looked away, his gaze flicking toward the fire, as if it held answers he couldn’t find.

“It’s just… us,” he said quietly, the words slipping out as if he hadn’t meant to say them. “I’m not… good with words. You deserve someone who can give you that. The poetry. The romantic gestures.”

For a moment, you blinked, taken aback by the vulnerability in his voice. Azriel, the shadowsinger, feared he wasn’t enough. It seemed absurd — but you understood where it came from. You knew the weight of his past, the scars that ran deeper than the ones on his skin.

“Az,” you whispered, stepping closer, your free hand reaching up to cup his cheek. His skin was cool beneath your fingers, and his shadows, usually so controlled, fluttered around him, as if they, too, were unsure. “I don’t need poetry.”

His brow furrowed, confusion flickering in his eyes. “You don’t?”

“No,” you said softly, shaking your head. “I don’t need poetry. I don’t need grand speeches or flowers or sonnets.” You leaned closer, brushing your thumb along the sharp line of his cheekbone. “I need you. Just you.”

He stared at you, as if trying to figure out how to respond to that. Azriel had always been the quiet one, the one who lurked in the shadows, who spoke when it mattered but never for the sake of filling the silence. He wasn’t like Rhysand, with his charming words, or Cassian, with his wild, carefree affection. He loved in ways that weren’t loud — but they were steady, like the beat of a drum you could feel but not always hear.

You pressed your forehead against his, closing your eyes. “You show me how much you care every day, Az. You don’t need words for that. I don’t need grand gestures. I just need you.”

For a moment, he didn’t move, his breath mingling with yours as his shadows curled around your feet, softer now, quieter. Then, slowly, his hand came up to rest against your waist, pulling you closer until there was no space left between you. His wings flared slightly behind him, but they wrapped around you both, creating a cocoon of warmth and safety.

“I don’t know how to be more,” he murmured against your hair, his voice almost a rasp. “But I want to be. For you.”

You smiled, the warmth of his body sinking into you. “You already are.”

And just like that, the tension bled from him. His shoulders relaxed, the storm in his eyes calming as he held you close. There were no more words between you, but there didn’t need to be. His hand, rough and scarred, traced a slow path down your spine, the gentle pressure of his touch saying more than any poem ever could.

Azriel had always been a man of actions, not words. He showed his love in the way he stood guard at your side, the way he brought you tea without asking, the way his gaze lingered on you when he thought you weren’t looking. It was in the little things — the way his shadows curled protectively around you when you slept, the way he always made sure you were safe, even when he was the one bleeding.

And as you stood there, wrapped in his arms, his wings shielding you from the world, you knew there was nothing else you needed.

Azriel didn’t need to speak to tell you he loved you. He didn’t need poetry.

He was enough.

And he always would be.

End

[thetxtdevil]

TXT as Sonny Angels 🪽

What would you do with your little angel?

content: nsfw/mdni, dollification, soft dom.fem.reader, subby txt, kinda body worshipping

Yeonjun 🐤

"Do you like when I dress you up?" You say as you wrap the yellow chick hat over Yeonjun's freshly dyed black hair. His eyes were smiling watching you tie the ends of the hat under his chin.

"There's nothing much you dressed me in." His hands grab your hips pushing them towards his naked hips. You shake your head and Yeonjun loosens his grip. He is supposed to be your sweet angel staying still and patient, not someone to show his neediness.

You pat his delicate shoulders adorned with a pale yellow baby tee matching his hat. Your finger lightly graze over his arms to his exposed stomach. All Yeonjun could do was whimper and stand their like a good angel he is. You hum watching his little dick get erected from the lingering touches. Smiling up at his strict face, noticing the slightest bite on his plush lip.

Yeonjun's stiff posture weakens when he feels your hand wrap around his dick stroking him slowly. You study every small reaction that he tries to hide. "You do so well for me, don't you angel?" The puppy like whine that seeps through Jjun's lips has you clenching around nothing. But since he was being such a good boy you instead give the boy more attention going down on your knees, hands splayed on his naked lower half.

Soobin 🐇

"What do you want to be today? A cute wolf? A strawberry?" You ask as you search throughout the closet filled with the many different themed hats.

"Bunny!"

"Aw angel you know I don't like that hat because the ears don't stay up." Soobin's heart-shaped lips turn into a pout making you cave in and find the pink bunny ears. His face instantly brightens watching you walk towards him granting his wishes. You raise the hat snugging on top of his head, you hands drift down cupping his face. With a small peck of his lips, you bring your attention back to the ears. You tilt your head in thought trying to figure out how to keep them upright. Soobin's face blushes getting turned on by your face in deep thought. "Lay down angel."

The tall man does what he is told, comfortably laying flat on the bed. You scoot back to his face, kissing those heart lips every time you fondle with the long bunny ears. Soobin watches your face light up when you see the bunny hat look as you wanted. Standing tall like the cute bunny Soobin is. Your eyes drift over his body noticing something else standing tall. Upright and pink like his bunny ears you give Soobin another peck on his lips before bouncing on his dick.

Beomgyu 🐻

The man under you whines which pulls you out of your focused state, "What is it baby boy?"

"My hair is fine just fuck me already."

Beomgyu was the one to suggest to have him play doll and be used by you. However, it seems that he forgot how much a perfectionist you were when it came to dressing him up. Standing in front of him you fit a bear hat on his head, his bangs got in the way of his eyes. You kept pushing them back into the hat only to have a strand find itself out. "Maybe I need to get closer."

You bend your knees placing them on the sides of his hips, now straddling the man. He sat there, breath quickening when he felt little friction against his hard cock. "Jus' let me..." you sigh taking his hat off completely starting over. Combing your fingers through his blond hair has Beomgyu's eyes rolling in the back of his head. You notice his pleasure by the little action making you smile leaning your head down to kiss his bobbing adams apple.

You start to roll your hips giving friction he wants until you stop. The whine from the man was pathetic, but you had to free yourself from your clothes and finish putting his hat on. His puppy eyes on you paired with pouty lips waiting until you were done. You line his angry red tip to your entrance focusing on the faint transition of pout to smile on Beomgyu's lips.

Taehyun 🐱

"Uhh yeah I'm not doing that." No matter how much you ask and beg for your boyfriend to become a life sized Sonny Angel, he just doesn't seem to get your vision. He doesn't want to submit to the idea of being fully naked with just a silly animal hat on. "Fine, how about I dress you up."

Taehyun sighs, his big eyes drifting somewhere else other than you. He never says "no" so you run to the closet and pick and outfit. "I expect you to be undressed when I come back." You call out and to much of your surprise he's there naked, just barely dropped his pants. A smirk displays your face, checking out his hot muscular body. Unfolding the clothes you bend down having Taehyun slip his feet into the shorts you picked out. Then you slip a crop top over the man's head before putting a hat on his head with pointed ears.

The short's waistband was loose hanging dangerously low. Taehyun instinctively grabs it but you quickly stopping him from pulling them up. Stepping back admiring the outfit, Taehyun's lips curl noticing your eyes glued on his exposed abs. Your hands raise up to his shoulders leading him to lay down on the bed.

Undressing yourself making you the naked form instead of him, you straddle his waist. Taehyun gasps feeling your wet pussy against his rigid skin. His hands find themselves attached to your hips only for you to pull them away. Just because he didn't want to be a fully exposed doll doesn't mean he's not your doll for you to control.

Huening Kai

"y/n I-i don't know..." Kai says with his hands covering himself. He stands there with nothing on other than a penguin hat.

"Aww come on Kai you look so good." You coo, running your hands down his arms, "let me see all of you."

A blush creeps up on Kai's face. You would have stopped back when you started dating, but you knew that Kai has this new found confidence that you wanted him to relish in. He repositions his hands away from his groin standing proud for you. Stepping back to admire his muscular build, you lick your lips in hunger. "There you go show off that body, angel."

A small giggle comes from the tall man making your eyes lift up to his face. Your soft smile warms his insides and he waits for you to come to him. Cupping his face, fingers lacing through the chin strap of the hat, you pull Kai into a deep kiss. A kiss turning into a heated make-out session and your hands explore the body you're obsessed with.

"Now do you want to show me what your body can do?" The boy's eyes brighten, pleading you to let him have you. Lifting your leg, your bare pussy under your skirt was barely visible for your doll. A deep groan rumbles up from his chest when he feels his free dick slipping into your cunt.

A nuisance,

TxT's Devil 👼

taglist: @naoristerling, @inkigayocamman, @incogrio

[famoussharkhairdoknight]

Unspoken Tension~Pope Heyward

The boat rocked gently on the calm sea as you sat with the Pogues, the wind tousling your hair and the sound of waves breaking against the boat creating a surreal atmosphere. The sky was lit with an orange sunset, and the cool evening air provided relief from the day's heat. You were sitting next to Kiara, laughing and chatting, but your gaze betrayed something you couldn’t hide. Every now and then, your eyes shifted furtively towards Pope, who was tying the anchor, focused on his task but with a certain attention that seemed directed only at you.

“You've been a bit distracted today,” Kiara said, looking at you with a curious smile. “Got something on your mind?”

You smiled nervously, trying to look away from Pope. “No, nothing... It’s just that I’m a little tired today.”

Kiara didn’t seem entirely convinced, but she didn’t press you. However, her gaze shifted toward Pope, noticing the intensity with which he was looking at you. The same intensity that made your heart beat faster every time you crossed paths, and which, despite your attempts to ignore it, was becoming impossible to avoid.

Meanwhile, JJ, who had been smoking a cigarette on the edge of the boat, had noticed the dynamic. He always kept a close eye on you, his sister, but recently, there was something different in the way you behaved. He knew you too well, and though he hadn’t said anything, he had noticed how your eyes lit up whenever Pope came close. But he said nothing; he just watched. And beneath that surface of apparent indifference, a question was starting to form in his mind.

Pope approached you and Kiara, interrupting the thoughts running through your head. “Hey, there’s a better spot to fish further up. We should move,” he said casually, but his eyes didn’t lie. He was looking at you. You couldn’t take your eyes off him.

“Okay,” you replied, trying to sound indifferent, but your voice betrayed a slight quiver.

Kiara immediately noticed the atmosphere between you two and glanced at JJ, as if asking him what he thought, but he just gave a half-smile and shrugged, his eyes never leaving the scene before him.

“Be careful,” JJ said, even though he didn’t quite know what was happening, but he could feel the tension between you two.

You climbed to the front of the boat, walking toward Pope, and you looked at him without saying anything for a moment. Then, with a shy smile, you murmured, “We can’t keep pretending that didn’t happen.”

Pope looked at you intently, his breath now heavier. “We can’t say anything, Y/N,” he whispered, his words barely audible over the sound of the waves. “We promised.”

His gaze lingered on you again, as though trying to figure out if you were ready to break that promise. Your eyes met for a brief second, and the silence that followed felt heavier than any word.

“I won’t tell JJ,” you replied, but you couldn’t deny that your heart was beating faster. The fact that you couldn’t be together, that everything had to be a secret, made it all the more difficult.

As the boat drifted on, the Pogues laughed and joked behind you, but you and Pope couldn’t help but steal furtive glances. The tension was palpable, and the world around you seemed to disappear every time your eyes met.

JJ, from behind, was watching everything. He didn’t know exactly what was happening, but the connection between you and Pope was too obvious. It was as if every instinct of his older brother role was telling him something was off. But he didn’t say anything, just continued watching. And beneath that nonchalant exterior, he started to wonder if something was happening between you two.

The evening passed, but the tension between you and Pope didn’t fade. Every word you exchanged seemed loaded with hidden meaning, and every gesture, every brush of the hand, felt like an invitation to cross that line you had set.

When the boat finally stopped at the shore, Pope looked at you once more, but this time his gaze was different. There was a question, an unspoken hope hiding in his eyes. “We can’t keep hiding this, can we?”

You looked back at him, your heart racing. “We’ll only do it when the time is right,” you answered, with a determination you hadn’t felt before.

And as you turned to walk away, another glance met Pope’s. And in that moment, you both knew you could never forget that kiss, that it would change everything between you.

[t1red-twilight]

play nice

content/warnings: gn!reader, fluff, protective!dean, relationship gets established, cursing, gratuitous smooching because i like it

summary: you have to interrogate someone for a case, but he gets a little too comfortable.

word count: 2k

masterlist d. w. masterlist

a few mysterious deaths urged the three of you to southern california. what had started as a feeble attempt at relaxing had ended in scouring small-town news for something interesting. none of you could handle sitting still for an extended period of time without going batshit insane, so dean found a case that was definitely easy mode.

presently, sam was back at the motel doing some research (typical), and you and dean were approaching a diner to interrogate a victim’s friend. the air was brisk, and your tacky suit did little to warm you.

the diner was basically a carbon copy of the approximate 50 thousand diners you had eaten at within the years you had known the winchesters. “so, wait, who is this guy again?” you asked dean. this had all been explained to you earlier, but you couldn’t recall any information.

the two of you paused outside the diner entrance. “aaron williams. he’s the most recent victim’s roommate. he wasn’t at the scene yesterday when we looked around.” you straightened your suit coat. ah, now you remembered. he was some idiot former-frat-boy drop out, sam had said.

you nodded affirmatively. you reached forward and tried to push the door open, only to be met with resistance. hearing dean snicker behind you, you quickly pulled open the door and allowed him to enter before you. “its a pull door, dumbass,” he teased.

you kicked his shoe, trying to alert him that you had an image to uphold. “i figured that out, genius,” you whispered. an employee approached you, clad in a stained fifties-esque uniform. they were clearly on the younger side.

“hello. i’m special agent nicks, and this is special agent buckingham. we need to speak to aaron williams?” as you introduced yourself, you reached into your breast pocket and fished out the faux id, and dean mirrored you. there was a pause. “about the death of luke johnson?” you continued.

a look of realization dawned on the employee’s face, and they turned to look over their shoulder before turning back to face you. “oh, okay. uh, let me go get him.” they scampered away quickly. you snorted, but tried to cover it with a cough. teenagers.

the man that approached you was tall. about sam’s height, maybe an inch or two shorter. his was thick, curly brown hair on his head, and thick stern eyebrows. you immediately were drawn to him, you were sure that anyone would be.

out of the corner of your eye, you could see dean turn and look at you, disbelief spread across his face. red, hot embarrassment spread out over your face. your lips pulled into a thin line, and dean scoffed and rolled his eyes. “you needed to talk to me?” aaron asked, now in front of you.

dean inched forward slightly, his already gruff voice dropping in tone. “yes. we should probably sit.” you both flashed your badges again. dean tilted his head on either side, popping his neck. before he sat, he pulled out your chair. aaron did not follow, and dean gestured, somewhat aggressively, for him to sit.

aaron proceeded to lounge back in the diner chair. his long legs were spread out underneath the table, feet almost touching yours. “so, we understand that you were luke’s roommate?” you prodded.

aaron looked away, and nodded. at your stern gaze, he responded verbally. “yes. found the body.” his face was aloof and devoid of any emotion, positive or negative.

dean leaned forward, torso pressing into the table. his loosened his clenched jaw to speak. “yes. that’s why we’re here,” he spoke, annoyed. you tapped his thigh in an effort to get him to chill the hell out.

“sorry, aaron,” you apologized. “agent buckingham and i are just a little behind schedule today. had luke been erratic or weird the days before you found him?”

aaron sat up a little straighter. “i mean, kind of. he was just a weird dude in general.” he was clearly acting too nonchalant for dean.

dean scoffed, and you swatted his leg again. “weird how?” dean pressed. aaron shrugged. a stiff silence followed, and dean tried (albeit poorly) to hide how irritated he was getting. “well if you’re not-“ he started, his volume raising. any semblance of attraction you had to aaron was quickly diluted by his idiocracy. he was either dumb, enjoyed wasting people’s time, or both. great. this was going to go just great.

you cut him off, “did any of his habits change, did he talk about or do things he usually didn’t?” you couldn’t risk dean making a scene, and more importantly, you really needed to find out something from aaron.

aaron sighed deeply. “i don’t know. i’ve been kinda,” he paused, “busy.” he punctuated his sentence by raising both his eyebrows. you understood the innuendo he was trying to get at.

aaron leaned forward, placed his elbows on the table, and licked his lips.

desperately fighting off a sneer, you kept your voice as monotonous as possible. “how did you find the body?”

aaron looked around playfully. “it was in the living room. saw him when i walked in.” dean scoffed, and aaron continued. “he was bloody. i don’t know, i called the police.” you could practically feel dean’s eyes roll.

you flicked your eyes over to dean, to get his attention and signal him that you were ready to leave. there was no way in hell that you were going to get information out of this douchebag, none that would be beneficial anyway.

aaron spoke up and broke you out of your thoughts. “you know, you’re too much of a looker to be fbi,” his tone was flavored with something you didn’t like. clearly, dean didn’t either with the curses he began muttering under his breath.

“excuse me?” you paused to give him a chance to take back what he said, but instead he just doubled down.

aaron leaned forward on his forearms even further, “i think that we could have some fun together, if you just left your-“

all in one motion, dean’s arm shot around your waist and pulled you into his side and stood up forcefully. thus, you stood up with him; it wasn’t as if he was giving you any option to act unaccordingly. oddly enough, you sighed and felt some tension dissipate from your shoulders. “alright, that’s enough. thank you for all of your bullshit and for not being of any help whatsoever,” dean was almost yelling. with a grandiose movement, dean’s hands were suddenly on your face.

quickly you felt him pull you closer. your hands gripped his wrists but had no intention on pushing him away from you. you knew what was about to happen: you had done it many times before, but dean had never been so forward in private, let alone in public.

dean slotted his lips against yours in a kiss that was more teeth than anything. as you felt him exhale against your face, you bit his bottom lip and pulled away from his face. his head tilted almost imperceptibly to the right, and he kissed you once more with a small pecking motion. his lips were chapped and in need of some vaseline or something, but you didn’t mind. shit, you were still in public. so much for not letting dean make a scene.

“have a good day, dick,” he tagged on sarcastically. you hadn’t seen, but dean had flipped aaron off.

his hand slipped from your face and down to your own hand. turning, he pulled you towards the door. when you both had gotten several steps away from the dingy diner, you stopped him.

“hey, are you okay? what was that?” the green in his eyes swirled with something. anger, you figured.

dean pulled his hand away from yours, and waved them around as he spoke. “he shouldn’t fuckin’ talk to you like that. it’s, you’re better than- fuck, i-“ he stopped when you snorted. “what?”

you grabbed his intelaced your fingers once more. “it’s just,” you swallowed down your laughter. “you should really learn to play nice, you know.” you took his other hand in yours. the chill in the air was no longer an issue with how close the two of you were standing.

dean looked away for a moment before down back into your eyes. “well he shouldn’t have messed with someone who carries a gun,” dean gestured toward the gun in his waistband.

you chuckled again. while he might have been joking, he still had a stern expression on his face. “i also carry a gun,” you teased him, one eyebrow quirked upwards.

the seriousness melted off his face. dean readjusted his footing, and his posture loosened. “i’m more inclined to use mine on dimwits than you are.” there was a smile in his tone now.

you let go of one of his hands and used his neck as leverage to pull his lips closer to yours. you kissed him shortly before speaking again. “thank you, dean. for always sticking up for me, i mean.” you thumb traced circles on the part of his neck where his skin met his hair.

his face turned away while he responded, “i know you can handle yourself, i’ve seen it, i just-“ you turned his face back to yours.

“you’re perfectly fine,” you tried to sound as assuring as possible.

really, you were flattered. and you of course knew that dean knew that you could handle yourself. you wouldn’t have lasted this long if you couldn’t. “i’ve been flirted with before, what set you off this time?” you questioned. in the past this had never been an issue. in fact, you had flirted with- and even kissed- random people to get information before. what had changed from then until now?

“i don’t know, i-“ his adam’s apple bobbed, and motioned for him to continue. “okay, maybe i like you.” your eyebrows shot up, almost into your hairline. his face held a vulnerable expression. dean’s mouth was barely agape, and his eyebrows were slightly knit together.

your shock quickly morphed into adoration. a grin stretched across your face. “like me?”

his relief was evident. “you know what i mean,” if your eyes had been closed you would’ve still sensed his smile. you had known for a while. sam had mentioned things offhandedly, and it helped that you knew dean like you knew the back of your hand. it wasn’t long before you sensed something in your dynamic change. perhaps you just figured your feelings would never boil over and that everything would return to how they had previously been. you had never been so glad to be so wrong in your life.

you quirked your head to the right coyly. “i don’t know. do i?” a faux expression of confusion sat on your features.

“fuck. fine. do you maybe want to…” dean trailed off, his voice lowering.

your hand rose to cup your ear, “what? i can’t hear you?” cruel as you were, you wanted to hear him say it.

dean swallowed his pride and admitted it. “can we be official? uh, please?” he was looking down at your shoes, and a red glow bloomed on his cheeks. you tilted his chin up and kissed the corner of his mouth.

“only because you asked so nicely.” as soon as you finished speaking dean was kissing you again. only this time, it was a different type of passion. dean kissed you with a silent fervor that craved more of as the seconds passed. his tongue swiped your upper lip, and so you parted them.

your hand trailed into his hair as dean’s cradled the small of your back. his hands were so large, and you were truly appreciative of that fact presently.

when you and dean separated a string of saliva connected your mouths. he spoke, his voice merely a whisper. “maybe we should get back to sammy,” he spoke through red, kiss-bruised lips.

you smiled. “that’s probably a good idea.”

[princesssmars]

yet again vi stumbles onto your doorstep, and yet again you can't turn her away.

youd never seen her until she moved into the apartment next to yours a few weeks back, sloppily dyed hair and melancholy face drawing your attention faster than you'd like to admit.

you'd heard her through the walls sometimes, the distinct clinking of bottles and thudding of relentless training on a punching bag.

the first time she'd interacted with you was when you were tiredly coming in after a long day at work, the woman drunkely stumbling up the stairs and letting out a rather loud wolf whistle. You decided to ignore it with a roll of your eyes until you heard the sounds of stumbling and cursing, turning around to see she'd fallen flat on her face as soon as the sound stopped coming out of her mouth.

obviously, being an extremely good person, you helped the wobbly woman into your apartment and forced her to dit down on your toilet seat while you got out some med supplies to patch up the scratch on her cheek. her eyes wer droopy as you wiped at the scar, barely flinching at the alcohol you put on the wound.

"janna, how much alcohol do you have in you?"

"hmmmmm just enough to have a good night."

"i wouldnt call immediately eating shit after catcalling someone a good night, vi."

"how'd'you know my name?"

"its written on your face, sweetheart."

maybe you shouldnt have been such a good person, because now this brute has stuck herself to you side. whenever she has a injury from wherever she gets them from, she bangs her fist on your door and blinks at your annoyed form until you begrudgingly let her in to fix her up.

she's not the worst, at least when shes not drunk out of her mind. you ask about why after tour first meeting she marked over the tattoo on her face, or the alcohol problem, something youre accustomed to in zaun but uncommon to see in someone still so young, but she just grumbles and shrugs off the questions. eventually you manage to worm out of her that someone close to her used to make really good drinks. you dont ask any more about it.

soon enough she finally decides to let you in on whats causing all these mysterious bumps and scrapes on her bidy, inviting you down to the fighting pits to watch her have a go. you figure if she's not dead yet she must be pretty good and damn is she good. you're slightly grateful that she does in fact have the brawn to back up that short tempered brain of hers, taunting her opponents before knocking them out in less than a minute.

maybe you can see why she was so conifent when catcalling you. just maybe.

shes still closed off but open to talking to you the more time you spend together, spending the night at yours more than once and finally seeming to calm in your presence, the neon flashing lights outside bring out the shapes and lines of her face as she stares at your ceiling above. being such a good neighbor you even sneak into her apartment one day and help clean up just a little bit. she didnt bring it up but the next time you needed to patch her up you opened your cabinet to see a bran new medkit.

but then like a switch is flicked she starts on a downward spiral, spending more and more time at the bar after her wins at the bar and having to get helped on her feet to get back into her apartment. seeing a nasty cut running down her arm during one of these trips you try to switch the woman from her friend over to you before she growls and rushes into her apartment, slamming the door in both of your faces.

you look to the man in silence. he only has a sad look on his face, shaking his head before heading back down the stairs.

you dont see her again for another ewweeks, until you hear the telltalesound of her falling on her ass outsie the door. you press you ear up against the door to hear what she does and start to get worried when she makes no noises. sneakily as you can, you undo your door locks and open your door to see what shes doing, only to see that sloppily dyed hair still laying on the ground, bottle clutched in one hand as her other forearm rests over her eyes.

you let out a full body sigh and internally reprimand yourself for starting to give a shit about someone before going into 'on' mode and hauling her into your apartment, which was definitely no small task. she doesnt fight you as you struggle to lift her up. you dont know ifits because shes familiar to the feel of your hands or too sloshed to worry about whos handling her. you can only stomp down the worry as you get to work.

you throw away the empty bottle, seatting at her hand that unconsciously reaches for it. when she glares at you you struggle the urge to throw her ass in the shower and turn on the chilled water, but decide thats bit the best route of action tonight. you manage to make her drink some water from the sink, take off her boots and jacket and plop down onto your bed. you rally wished youd saved up enough for a pull-out couch.

just when you turn away to put up her jacket and prepare something for you both to eat her hand locks into a grip on yours, large bruised and callused palm completely encircling your wrist as she weakly tugs you back towards her. you slowly sit back down and sit still as her head rubs into the side of your leg. the neon lights keep flashing as she visibly struggles with something before opening her eyes. the room flashes red, then purple, then blue and her hand grips yours tighter.

"'m sorry."

"its fine, vi. just fall asleep."

[transformers-spike]

"Cybertronians reacting to getting kissed", in which kissing is not something cybertronians do as an act of affection, so they're completely new to the human concept of kissing to express romantic love. Talk me one Knock Out who is so versed in wooing but doesn't know two shits about human kissing, and finding himself kissed for the first time. Or Starscream who's gonna freak out. Or Megatron who doesn't even know why you're smashing your intake against his

This is such a good question, anon, I've been rotating it in my head for a while now

Knock Out is well-versed in the drag and frag technique. He’s probably one of the youngest members on the Nemesis, still old as balls by our standards, but some rebellious youngin’ by theirs. He’s all about sliding in with a smooth pickup line and buttering you up until he reaches the “let’s get down to business” level, where he starts flashing his biolights in a “come hither and frag me” display. When it comes to human kissing, he’s… improvising to say the least. He’s seen humans make out in a wide variety of drive-through horror movies (many with questionable acting), and while he doesn’t “get” why we do it, he does his best to lean into the act and find what makes it so pleasurable by our standards. When you do kiss him for the first time, he’s already been hyping himself up for months, and whatever smoothness he tries to apply immediately disintegrates because oh fuck, your lips are so small and he has so much to give. He’s absolutely suffering despite the confident front he’s putting up. After absolutely fumbling the bag, he’ll ask you how he did. “Mid,” you’re tempted to say. But the hopefulness behind those smug optics stops you in your tracks. Starscream must have had a very confusing interface life even by Cybertronian standards. But there’s no way he didn’t get frisky back when he was Air Commander of Vos, even if the workload was immense. Although that’s probably the most action he got in his entire life, and even then the closest equivalent to “kissing” by their standards is merging EM fields and hoping for the best, a careful manipulation of wavelengths to fall into perfect sync. We humans do not possess a hyper-developed EM field, which is enraging for Starscream because what do you mean you smash intakes??? Mass-displaced or not, the only fluids he accepts in his intake are energon and transfluid, thank you very much. Kissing is a bad idea, and you’ve learned it the hard way, so good job! Now you have to deal with his drama queen ass acting like you just spit in his mouth. Worst thing is, he is interested in trying it again, but with his stipulations (aka watching him fail to figure out how to kiss you). He doesn’t even fail in a funny way, he’s so bad it’s concerning, you’re half tempted to contact Knock Out and blackmail him into sending you Starscream’s medical file.

Megatron was… surprisingly abstinent back on Cybertron. Yes, he’s been around for a long time. Yes, he used to be a gladiator at some point. And yes, it had its perks, but he was always more of a “sensitive spark” than a typical casanova. He had more important things to focus on at the time (mainly surviving the pits of Kaon and, before that, not offlining in a freak mining accident). Honestly, who knows what he did as a politician, whatever freakiness he had going on while trying to depose the government is none of our business and I am totally not typing this with a fusion cannon to my head.

He’s been through so much; fought countless beasts and fellow gladiators, avoided assassination attempts and blood-thirsty mutinies while leading a millennia-long war. Nothing can surprise him anymore. Yes, you’re a weird little freak for smashing intakes with him, but you need not fear for your safety. He’s… intrigued by your display of affection. You can mumble excuses all you want, but you’ve smashed intakes with him and it can’t be undone. Watch out for those sharp teeth and prepare a tetanus shot just in case. You have to deal with the consequences of your actions whether you like it or not, especially when he’s got a claw under your shirt and another down your pants. Your lips are bleeding and you pray it’s an accident, if he gets a taste for human blood you’re done for.

[tinytalkingtina]

Your Loss, My Gain

Rating M | WC 665 | Ao3 link

Tags: past Tommy/Eddie, first kisses, self-esteem, Gay Tommy/Eddie, Steve is some flavor of queer it's not important for this story what label he uses, established Steve/Eddie, possessive Steve, hurt/comfort, implied/referenced blow jobs and anal sex, use of the f slur

Written for the STWG Novembr 9th prompt "True hate's kiss" Thanks to steddiecamerarollgraphics for the divider

Steve shot straight up from the bed.

"Who?!?" Eddie shrugged. 

"Tommy H. The summer before my freshman year."

"What was that, 1980?” Steve asked, doing the math in his head quickly. “Shit, Tommy and I weren't even friends yet. Didn't know he ever talked to you before you started selling weed.”

Eddie blushed.

"When his family first moved here they were in the trailer park for a year before his dad came off of active duty. We spent a lot of time running around together. It's just…” He picked at a loose thread on the blanket. 

“One day he was upset we were going to different schools in the fall, kept saying I was gonna forget him. He looked so sad, I couldn't stand it anymore. Just kinda-" He gave the quickest peck to Steve’s lips. “And told him I couldn’t forget my first kiss.”

“Oh. What'd he do when you did it?"

Eddie curled up and put his head in Steve’s lap.

"Kissed me back for a second before he punched me in the face, called me a fag, and threatened that I'd better not touch him ever again or else he’d beat the shit out of me.”

Steve stroked Eddie’s hair. It had the desired effect when some of the tension left his boyfriend’s shoulders, and Eddie closed his eyes as he continued:

“Never gave him a reason to worry after that. By the time he got to high school too I’d already joined Hellfire and found new friends, and he was busy with basketball and swimming. So it’s not like we crossed paths much. Least ’til I started dealing.”

Steve remembered how insistent Tommy had been to go put up with “the Freak” alone at any party where Eddie showed up.

“When he bought weed off you, did he…” he asked carefully. Eddie barked out a hollow laugh.

“Yeah, yeah he’d have no problem with me touching him when he was drunk off his ass, and him and Carol had broken up for what, the fifth time that year? Had it down to a choreographed dance: We’d make out for a bit then he’d push me down to the ground, ‘cause it’s totally fine to get a blow job from another guy. It’s not gay if you’re not the one on your knees you know.”

Steve felt wetness on his leg.

“And the worst thing? I let him do it. Every single fucking time. Didn’t have enough respect to shove him away. Figured this ‘true hate’s kiss’ shit I got from Tommy was the best I was gonna get so might as well take the stupid scraps of affection he bothered throwing my way. Not like there was anyone else lined up to take his place.”

Steve waited until his boyfriend’s breathing evened out before speaking up.

“Hey.” He tilted Eddie’s face until he could see his red rimmed eyes. “Fuck Tommy.”

That startled a laugh out of him.

“Sweetheart, I love topping for you when the mood strikes us, but I really would prefer not to fuck another closeted guy for the rest of my life.”

Steve laughed and scooped Eddie up in his arms.

“Please, like I would want to share you with anyone else. Really, fuck him for trying to have it both ways, and fuck that town that convinced you to give up.”

Before Eddie, Steve had always tried to squash the little voice in his head that insisted he go all out and show how badly he wanted. But now, as he held Eddie tight, he didn’t mind letting the little voice out.

“You’re mine.” 

He was going to keep Eddie for the rest of his life. And the crazy thing was, he was pretty sure Eddie wanted the same thing, judging by the awestruck expression and blush on his face whenever Steve got possessive like this.

“Your loss Tommy,” Steve thought as he ducked down to kiss Eddie. He was going to keep his happy ending.

Author's notes -You can't convince me that sports-obsessed Steve isn't good at math -Read another story that made Tommy's family a military one and rather liked the idea, so I decided to add that in here too

On a personal level, this was an awful week where I spent a lot of time in hospitals/a funeral home. This had been mostly written before that all happened, and I wasn't sure if I should post it. Managed to find a moment to feel comfortable sitting down and finishing it, so I'm just gonna put it up as is for now.

[otterloreart]

What's in the Box?

PONY PONIES IN THE BOX

If you've been following along you may have seen that @queenofsquids printed the Takara-inspired BJD last week, both in a "mini" test form and a full-sized one. The full-sized one was supposed to be in yellow, but the pure yellow resin turned out to be a more orangey tone. She incredibly generously offered to send me the orange pony BJD

And then

She incredibly incredibly again generously sent not only the little test takara-bjd in grey BUT ALSO printed my original takara 3D model and sent that?! This is so unbelievably kind and generous. I was so surprised when I opened them all!

I'm not sure if you were all aware but I actually dont have a print of the original "Takara duplicate" doll. I did get the seapony PLA printed at the library (and it was my first ever 3D print!).

For my second print, I got the Dollightful bunny doll printed because I wanted to have experience with jointed dolls made by other people before I put more complex models out. So I figured it would be a while before I got the chance to see my newer models printed.

So like its actually so kind of @queenofsquids to send these but also it's really meaningful to me because I started the takara project where I became obsessed with them over a year ago. It's so amazing to see this thing that frankly I spent so much time fiddling with (even if there are some imperfections; more about that later) and hold it in my hands 🥹 I just keep looking at them and smiling

Also I immediately stole the clothes off my NaNaNa dolls and put them on mini-takara-bjd. They're a little short but fit pretty well!

Some design notes/planned adjustments under cut

-The neck and arm balls are definitely too blocky, this doesn't impact the movement but it is very visually obvious

-Queenofsquids mentioned this but the arm bean is too big and gets stuck in the arm sockets.

^^ These two issues are the most obvious upon brief inspection but are also easy to fix so I'm gonna put out a version ASAP adjusting the file. Call it the version Version 1 Hotfix. Both of these should be fixed in the existing models with a bit of sanding.

-The legs are like just a touch too blocky and I think you can also see lines in the head and chest areas ;-; I think this would depend on the printer, like it might be fine in PLA due to the lower resolution. This can also be buffed out but I can adjust it with some effort

-> I think the blockiness issues come down to the fact I was trying to make the models not too high resolution because then the file size is massive, can't import into cura properly, and even slows down *my* beefy computer. that's why it might take a bit for me to adjust all of these pieces, especially the legs because they have a lot of booleans that lag blender. basically i leaned in the other direction and went a bit too far with some pieces.

-legs are very thin at the bottom (ran into this issue with the dollightful bunny doll too and had to redo quite a bit actually to make it neat)

-The bottom of the heart on the knee in particular is an imperfect fit. I was getting errors in Cura because of some issues related to the knee so I had to remesh it, if you'll remember, so I will need to maybe go in and redo that one :/

-The line around the eyes could be a touch more pronounced, its supposed to be somewhat stylized eyelashes

-I need to play with the arms/legs more to figure out potential issues with the existing joints. But they do at least work and hold poses. I'm not sure if people would prefer anything more complicated like locking joints or if this level of poseability is acceptable

Other things I want to experiment with

-hand pose variation

-nose/mouth variations? it is actually kind of funny to imagine you could switch the expression out to a little :o face or a c: or :3 type of thing

-pegasus/unicorn/fluffy hoof variants like i had planned before

so much stuff :0 and I haven't even finished bunny doll, although at least her paint job is basically done. Once I string the big BJD I can also test posing.

[chronically-ghosted]

^ me trying to figure out how gideon consistently crawls inside my brain, finds the dieter i didn't even know i needed, and drags him out into fics by his hair

(if this was the piece you were talking about that was just "good", i'm coming after you with a claw hammer)

listen i dont even know where to start so i'ma just hurl some BREATHTAKING LINES AT YOU

You trail off, drawing your legs up and out of his lap, his thumb presses down on the arch of your foot once more before he lets it go.

this this this this INTIMACY IS STAGGERING . . . and then you drop, they're not even really together?!? you can feel his nerves, his worry that he maybe overstepped, that maybe reader doesn't feel the same way, but he would literally do anything to hold even a second longer, especially if this is it, if you run away totally freaked out after his offer...

Dieter had listened, sympathised, and then eaten you out for dessert just to make you feel better about your situation.

bruh this is why i am in love with the mere concept of dieter bravo - supportive boyfriend af but also willing and able to make your brain drip out of your ears

It hadn't been anything but a displaced, alone man and an exhausted, untethered waitress sitting in a booth and sharing free fries because chef made too many and they'd only go to waste. It had been whispered giggles, and sharing ridiculous Hollywood horror stories, and 'same time tomorrow' over and over again. No one in LA had made you laugh. Not until you met him.

i'm going to bite you come into your house and bite you on the forearm this is INSANE BEHAVIOR and i need about a 100k fic about this, okay?

That's how you know he wasn't making a joke. That's how you know your hurt his feelings. That and every look he's ever given you, every smile that lights up his eyes that's only been for you. That and the way his hands never stray far from you, always grounding himself with the touch of your skin to his.

intimacyofbeingknownintimacyofbeingknownintimacyofbeingknownintimacyofbeingknownintimacyofbeingknownintimacyofbeingknownintimacyofbeingknown

"I'd treat you good, you know. We wouldn't even have to live together or anything…it can just be a way for you to stay. That's all. I didn't think it would be so bad for you" God, you've had him right in your grasp this whole time. The two of you dancing around your feelings all because of fears you didn't even fully realise you had til now. "I'd- I wouldn't even tell anyone you were my wife, if you didn't want me to. I wouldn't expect anything from it. I just…fuck," You turn him around with a pull to his arm, shake your head and bite back something hopeful and beautiful that inches up your throat, "I don't want you to go"

i could literally post the rest of the fic from that first line on but jesus christ this came right for my kneecaps with a two by four. "I'd- I wouldn't even tell anyone you were my wife, if you didn't want me to. I wouldn't expect anything from it." I WANNA BLAME THE TEARS IN MY EYES ON THE TIME OF THE MONTH BUT NOPE ITS JUST YOUR GORGEOUS WRITING

gideon i wanna hold you up like a baby simba. you accomplish so much with such short dialogue and setting. there are so many layers here, so many words at play, and it's 1.1K - absolutely stunning. thank you SO MUCH for this

((and if you wanted a write a follow up where dieter shows her what it would be like if they were married, how he'd treat her well . . . i won't complain A SINGLE BIT))

it might be nice

Dieter Bravo x f!reader

Warnings/Tags/Notes: 18+. FEELINGS. Angst. love. just...feelings. Mention of f receiving oral, reader is a not a us-citizen (visa stuff), commitment and intimacy issues all round, did I mentioned feelings? This just kinda started writing itself, i appreciate there isn't enough Dieter in it but it is what it is. Unedited, unbeta'd.

Words: 1.1k

Summary: It's more than enough. Having what you have with him now.

"We could get married"

You look up from your book, drawn back from your far away to the sound of his voice. Dieter is looking at you expectantly.

Your eyes widen as you process the four words that just left his mouth.

"Dee, we…why would we…" You trail off, drawing your legs up and out of his lap, his thumb presses down on the arch of your foot once more before he lets it go.

The conversation had moved on hours ago. Over takeout you'd mentioned trepidation over being able to stay in the country, struggling with your visa and having no sponsorship since you couldn't seem to get a fucking job right now.

Dieter had listened, sympathised, and then eaten you out for dessert just to make you feel better about your situation.

It helped. He'd been pretty mediocre but extremely enthusiastic when you'd met, but now you'd taught him some tricks he knew just how to turn your mind off for a moment.

The conversation was finished the moment he put his mouth on you, or so you thought. He could help you pay for an extension but he wasn't influential or wealthy enough to sway the embassy into letting you stay longer.

"I'd bribe the fuck out of them if I could, you know that"

You did know that. You knew he'd do anything for you. He'd been saying it since the day he met you, once famous (more like infamous) movie star turned rehabilitated recluse with no one willing to be by his side until that day.

He'd met you in a Dennys, of all places. 3am waffles served to his lonely little corner booth because he found it hard to sleep these days, and he got hungry at random times. You took the late shifts because they paid the best, and you could be available in the day for calls from your agent that never came.

It hadn't been sexual at first. It hadn't been anything but a displaced, alone man and an exhausted, untethered waitress sitting in a booth and sharing free fries because chef made too many and they'd only go to waste. It had been whispered giggles, and sharing ridiculous Hollywood horror stories, and 'same time tomorrow' over and over again.

No one in LA had made you laugh. Not until you met him.

Dieter hadn't heard genuine laughter in years. Now he got to hear it every night.

Back in the now, you shake your head. He's being silly. He's trying to make you laugh again.

"Don't be stupid" You playfully shove his shoulder with your foot, but his face falls into a frown, and you feel a little crack in your heart at the sight. You watch as he stands, rubbing fingers across his forearm and muttering a little 'Stupid, yeah'. The tremor you feel inside you is nameless, and you will it to remain that way.

In the last six months of your knowing each other, there have been times when you've felt this same feeling. An ache at the thought that he could be anything other than happy. You'd long since left Dennys for the upward trajectory of the Cheesecake Factory but still when the late shift rolls around you feel a tug at your lips and a name on them, even when you'd seen him only hours before.

You're not an item, that's the thing. You're not a couple. Neither of you have ever said the words outright, no 'I want to be with you', 'I want to be yours'. Not to each other, at least.

It's more than enough. Having what you have with him now. It's enough, it's enough, it's enough. Enough that he will sit up all night long and read lines with you again and again and again. Enough that he tells you not to come over on his bad days but you do anyway, and hold him while he cries.

It's enough to be just this. Because more would only make it hurt more when he relapses, when you have to leave.

When you have to leave…

You close your book, set it down on the table that's strewn with pages for your latest audition. Last night he'd coached you through every single line, and then told you with passion just how perfect you were. You can hear him in the kitchen, and you know he's making himself a decaf latte with way too much caramel syrup and a dash of the kitkat sprinkles because that's what he always makes when he might be starting to crave something else.

That's how you know he wasn't making a joke. That's how you know your hurt his feelings. That and every look he's ever given you, every smile that lights up his eyes that's only been for you. That and the way his hands never stray far from you, always grounding himself with the touch of your skin to his.

"Dee…" You pad up to him slowly, watch as he tenses at your presence. Another prickle in your chest, you can't let him think you don't feel...what it is that you feel.

"Would it be so bad?" He asks without turning, the tinge of dejection in his tone making you reach out. "I'd treat you good, you know. We wouldn't even have to live together or anything…it can just be a way for you to stay. That's all. I didn't think it would be so bad for you"

God, you've had him right in your grasp this whole time. The two of you dancing around your feelings all because of fears you didn't even fully realise you had til now.

"I'd- I wouldn't even tell anyone you were my wife, if you didn't want me to. I wouldn't expect anything from it. I just…fuck,"

You turn him around with a pull to his arm, shake your head and bite back something hopeful and beautiful that inches up your throat,

"I don't want you to go"

Your arms are around his middle, a stifled sob as you bury your face against the soft, worn fabric of his favourite t-shirt - your favourite by extension because everything he loves you love too. He smells like him.

You breathe him in.

He smells like home.

You look up at him and smile. Not the pretty smile you give to casting agents - the one that makes you look perfect - but the big, happy, loving one he saw the very first night you two met in that Dennys at three in the morning on a random Tuesday. The one he gives you back is the same; he's smiled a thousand times on camera, in films and press appearances and award shows. No one else but you has ever seen this smile.

You take a deep breath. The crack in your heart starts in fusing back together.

"We could get married"

[ssentimentals]

hello can you do n. 30. "you own my heart" with Dino, but with a context..? (if you want) so the reader is a singer but also a director/producer and she directed Dino's mv video/or movie and they spent a lot of time together and got feelings for each other. thanks

of course i can :) thank you of course for requesting, hopefully you will like it! 💜

fluff prompt: 'you own my heart.'

dino doesn't get attached. there are so many people that come and go with the course of his job, it makes no sense to open up your heart for someone who's going to leave anyways. throughout the years dino worked out the wholy technique of talking a lot without really saying anything, of being friendly and polite without letting someone come close, of holding people at the distance without them feeling/knowing it. dino, not humbly, thinks he's amazing at it. or he was amazing at it until you came along.

'last day on set!' someone cheers. 'finally this project is on its finish line!'

normally he'd be happy too. he loves his job, he does, but he is usually immensely satisfied when they can wrap up any project. not this time though. he glances at the back, his eyes immediately find your lonely figure as you go over the script again and again. he's trying to be subtle with his looking, of course; there are so many eyes on him, he doesn't want to start any stupid rumors that can hurt any of you. but he also can't stop looking, because this is the last day of him seeing you. after today you will leave on another project with another people and dino will just... stay. with his stupid heart that somehow decided to break all rules and fall into you. he will stay all alone, because you will leave without looking back, just like others before you did. dino wonders if he's brave enough to break the cycle.

'dino, on the position, we're starting!'

last days are always emotional and they always end up in some cozy dinner place, with drinks being shared along with hugs and teary words. dino's been watching you like a hawk this whole time, catching your eyes more and more until you not subtly point to the balcony. his heart is beating too fast for it to be normal, when he pushes the door and lets warm sea breeze welcome him. you're staring at him with a small smile, looking all flushed and pretty. 'dino, hi. sorry for pulling you out like this, but i think we need to say proper goodbye to each other without the whole crowd, you know?'

he knows. he also knows that he doesn't want to say goodbye to you, not now, not ever if he can help it. still, he's a professional, so he answers with: 'yeah, i thought so too. this project, making it with you was great, honestly. i'm very thankful.'

he's sincere and you can feel it, he knows. your smile grows wider and your cheeks if possible grow even pinkier and oh, he can't stop himself now. dino gives you compliment after compliment, watches with adoration as you start refusing them, shaking your head, laughing happily. god, he can't lose this, he can't lose you.

'you own my heart,' he blurts out, taking your hand in his. you freeze, blinking at him with wide eyes, but your hand trembles his, when you squeeze it. this has to mean something, right?

'oh, dino,' you let out quietly, tears sparkling in your eyes. 'i-'

'this does not have to be a goodbye,' he says, hoping he's conveying his message clearly. 'i don't want it to be a goodbye. not for me and you.'

you take a deep breath and when you exhale, your gaze is sharp and your hand is no longer trembling. 'okay.'

'okay?' dino asks, unsure.

you laugh a little, nodding. 'okay. i also don't want this to be a goodbye.'

dino doesn't kiss you because everyone would be able to see. he does, however, pull you into a hug far more intimate than the ones he gave others and presses his lips into your ear like a promise: 'not a goodbye, then. it's a 'see you soon'. very soon.'

a/n: request your own here! <3 - nini

[xoxoavenger]

The Devil You Forgot

pairing: Dean Winchester x Fem!Reader

summary: Y/N gets captured by a group of demons with a strange pattern.

word count: 2506

warnings: canon typical injuries, low-grade torture (like punching and non-graphic knife stuff)

a new player has entered the ring. welcome to the party, Dean Winchester

masterlist

"It's almost like you don't think I can handle myself."

"You know that's not true."

"Okay, then let me go."

"Y/N,"

"Dean," Y/N took a deep breath, hoping she wouldn't hurt her boyfriend in the next couple seconds. "Babe, it's just food. I think I can pull it off." Dean breathed through his nose and pulled his lips in, and she knew this wasn't the last of their argument.

"You don't understand. These are-"

"Demons?" She cuts him off, wanting to slap him. "You mean the same creatures I've killed multiple of? By myself? Or is there a new breed that I'm unaware of?" She steps forward, and Dean takes a step back. He's been slapped by her before, he knows when he's crossed a line.

"I just want you to be safe, that's all." He says with his hands up. She rolls her eyes, grabs her Glock loaded with the demon-trap bullets she carved herself, and walks out.

"Oh man, you really handled that well." Sam says from his spot on his bed, computer in his lap. Dean lifts his head up and looked at the ceiling, wondering why his girlfriend was so hellbent on going to the diner alone. She doesn't need to, they could use this as some alone time, but no, God forbid Dean ever gets any alone time with her.

"These demons are just smart, is all. Smarter than the ones we usually fight. It'd be better to go in pairs." Dean tells his brother, who just shakes his head as he goes back to tapping away on his computer. They were trying to figure out why the demons would be here, in the middle of nowhere, Texas. So far, Sam didn't have any leads at all, but it wasn't like Dean was helping.

"She'll be fine, you know her. She's great at this stuff." Sam offhandedly said. Dean knows he's right, and that's what makes him upset.

"I know, but why would she not want me to come with?" Dean asks, shucking off his jacket and sitting on his bed. He puts his head in his hands, not sure what to do alone.

"Holy shit," Sam says, causing Dean to look over. His brother is staring at the laptop, concern etched on his face.

"What? What did you find?" Dean moves over, wanting to see the action.

"I'm comparing all the victims," Sam starts, grabbing some papers of the missing and murdered people. "I mean, we knew they were all women, but I just found this article about Fatima, and apparently her boyfriend had just asked her dad for permission."

"Permission for what?" Dean asked, and Sam almost hit him for the stupid question.

"To marry her, dumbass." Sam said, and Dean just blinks. "And when we went to the Kapnen's house, Loreli's sister said that her boyfriend was planning on proposing. Had the ring and everything."

"Fuck," Dean mutters, getting off the bed. He's in a daze as he begins to grab his jacket.

"But why are the demons taking women who are about to be engaged? How would they even know?" Sam is still looking through the town's papers online, trying to see if there was anything about the third missing woman.

"We have to find Y/N." Dean growls, emotion threatening to crawl up his throat. He's pulling it back, making sure to bottle that shit up for another time; this is something he's usually great at, but right now he's having trouble forcing the emotion down.

"What? Why? I just told you that the demons are going after women who are about to be engaged." Now Sam's the one who's about to be slapped, and he feels sick as he realizes what Dean is about to say just before he says it. His eyes go wide, even before his brother turns around. 

"Sam, Y/N is about to be engaged." Dean holds up a box he's been carrying around for approximately half a year, on the inside pocket of his jacket so Y/N couldn't feel it.

"Shit."

~

Y/N's not quite sure how the demons got the up on her, but she's now in some dingy warehouse basement with a bag over her head. She owes Dean a big apology and probably some sort of makeup-food-sex that she's been denying him for about a year.

They take the bag off and it scratches her face. Her hands are tied behind her back, her legs tied to the legs of the chair. Her mouth has also been bound, and she thinks the demons expected her to have been crying. But she stares at them angrily, blinking as they all furrow their eyebrows.

One of them slaps her, hard, and she keeps her head turned that way so they don't see the tears brimming. She will not cry in front of these demons, even if the moisture in her eyes is soley from the shock of nerves on her face.

"Feisty one, she is." One of them growls, and she smirks through the mouth binding as she turns back to them.

"Let's see if that mouth has the same attitude?" Another demon says, and she accidentally winces as they roughly rip the gag from her jaw. She cocks her head as she rights herself, wishing she could brush the hair out of her face.

"Why so quiet, honey?" Another demon smirks, grabbing her face. She looks around and realizes they're all men, which is a little weird for demons. They usually come in different genders, but she doesn't have time to think about why. She goes back to staring at the man holding her, maintaining eye contact. "What, you don't have anything to say?"

"You haven't asked me anything, dumbass." She grunts out, ripping her face from him. He just leans back as his friends seem to think that was at least a little funny, if the smiles on their faces are anything to go by.

"We don't need to ask anything, sweetheart." A demon said, and she just frowned sarcastically.

"Right, okay." She nods, laughing just to piss them all off. "Then what am I here for? Is it because you want him to come here? Because believe me, this little trap wouldn't have fooled him even when he was a teenager. So I'm gonna give you the chance to untie me and maybe he'll let you live. But even then, I honestly don't know that he will." They all stare at her, before one starts laughing and sets them all into a bought of laughter. She just blinks, not sure what they're laughing at. Is this not a trap? They have to know who Dean is, what he'll do to them.

"You stupid bitch." One of them laughs, and then he flicks a knife open. She lets her eyes widen a little bit, but besides that she doesn't move, not wanting to give anything away. She can't help the whimper that escapes when he snatches her jaw, squeezing too hard and pulling her head to the side so that her neck is exposed. The horrible thought creeps in that they're going to slit her throat, and she can't even wiggle out of these stupid cords around her wrists because her legs are still tied to metal and she would just be dead before she could take a step.

The blade slices across her collarbone, and she grits her teeth. She will not scream, she refuses to, but she lets out a grunt of pain. Her breathing is more like a wheeze through her teeth, and she doesn't even notice that they've finished slicing into her until the demon lets her head go. She lets it drop and then picks it up immediately, taking in a deep breath and looking at the other demons, forcing herself to smile.

"What're you smilin' about, darlin'?" Another one asks, and she doesn't let herself falter even as the cut burns her skin and the blood drips down her chest.

"You either want something from me, or you like playing with your food." She says. She's just stalling until Dean gets there, which should be soon knowing her boyfriend. "Which is fine, I'm not kink shaming you. But come on, it's like you don't know who I am." This earns her a hard punch to the face, one that leaves her seeing stars. She's pretty sure she blacks out for a moment, neck stretching and causing her cut to pull open more. She hisses, keeping everything else inside. She doesn't breathe until she can feel her face again, pain radiating through her eye socket and cheek bone.

"How's that for playing with food?" A demon asks, but this time before she can respond she's being hit again by another demon.

"Got a leftie. Helpful, don't ya think?" He says, and Y/N can feel the blood on her cheek as she hits the cut on her chest with her chin. She yelps, but tries to laugh it off.

Dean will be here soon. He's gotta be close.

"What's so goddamn funny?" One of them asks, and she just shakes her head as much as she can.

"He's gonna kill you." She tries to take pleasure through the pain, but someone with a bunch of fucking rings decides to hit her and she whimpers in pain. She can't scream, can't let them have it.

"Who is?" One of them chuckles - the one with the knife. She looks at the knife for only a moment before she looks back at the monster's face. "Your fiancé?" They all laugh, and she would crinkle her eyes in confusion if one weren't swollen shut.

"He isn't my fiancé," She says first, not sure why she feels the need to tell the demons of all creatures. She's about to tell them just who she's dating when they all start laughing like she said the funniest joke ever.

"Not yet, isn't that right?" One yells to the others, who continue their laughter. He turns to her, sighing and wiping his tears away. He leans against the back of Y/N's chair, knife pressing into her left cheek. She breathes in through her teeth as she tenses, feeling the knife break the skin. "You boyfriend hasn't popped the question. But he's had that damn thing for - how long did you say it was, Kaleb?" He turns back, and a demon on the side has a face red with laughter.

"Seven months!" He screams, and Y/N forgets about the pain for a moment. She looks at them all, not sure if they're telling the truth or not. She would have noticed, right? With the amount of hotels they're in and out of and the fact that they have shared a bed for years now. She would have noticed at the bunker, because they share a room, and she's sure there's not a hiding place she doesn't know of. She doesn't remember what it's like to sleep on her own, and Dean doesn't sleep in sweatpants. So where was he keeping it? If, of course, he actually had it. Because demons lie.

And it's not like she was expecting Dean to ask. She knows he wants it - the whole American Dream, Nuclear Family shit - but he hasn't talked about it, so she assumed he wasn't ready. She knew he didn't want a family while he was hunting, which may mean never, but she also knows that Dean wants to be with her forever. So yeah, she thought about it, but she didn't want to push him.

"You're lying." She chuckled, face hurting as it scrunched. "You must have the wrong man. His name is Dean Winchester, may have heard of him?" Where is he?

"Wait," The demon in front of her pauses, and she's a little confused why they're not laughing anymore. Did they actually have the wrong man? The demon turns to one other demon in particular, who looks like he's about to piss his pants. "The man you've been watching is Dean fucking Winchester?" He screams, and Y/N blinks in surprise; they actually didn't know it was Dean.

"I only knew his name, not what he looked like! How was I supposed to know that idiot was him?" The demon hissed, and they looked actually scared.

"We're dead." One of others said, a hand going to cover his mouth. "He's gonna kill us all. He's probably already here-" The demon cuts himself off as blood starts to pour from his chest, light exploding from the space. He falls to the ground, and there Dean is, looking like the righteous hand of God. Blood is splattered over his face, but he's not hurt at all.

"He said it, darlin'," Y/N laughs, even though it hurts. "You're dead."

Dean uses the knife, and just the knife, to go through each demon. Y/N can feel her skull pounding, and by the time Dean gets over to her she has her head bowed.

"I'm here, baby, I'm here." He mutters to her, immediately cutting her bindings. He sees the leg bindings and knows that they did it so she couldn't slip out. He cuts those first, then moves up.

"Dean," She whispers, still not lifting her head. When he cuts her wrists she falls forward, and he grabs her.

"Hey, hey, it's okay. Get up, baby, come on." He holds her, one hand moving to her face to lift it up. "Oh, I'm gonna summon those sons of bitches to kill them again." He mutters as he takes in her wounds. He killed them with the demon knife, so he couldn't anyway, but it's a nice sentiment.

"Do you have a ring?" She asks, hoping he understands through the mottled words she was able to gargle out around the pain.

"What?" He heard her, but he's hoping her didn't actually hear her. "Come on, let's go, sweetheart. I gotcha." He kisses her forehead and begins to help her up, and she never breaks eye contact with him.

"Dean," She grabs onto his jacket with one hand, breathing heavily. He pauses, holding her as he surveys her injuries. She's got a couple cuts, bruises across her face, and he wants to stick the knife into himself for letting her go alone. "What's this?" She smiles crookedly, holding up the box that she had snagged from his pocket. He can't help but let his jaw drop slightly, shocked she slipped one by on him.

"You should give that back so I don't have to do this in a goddamn demon lair," He tries to smirk, but his heart is racing. He can tell his hand is shaking when she hands the box back, and he puts it in his pocket quickly before he starts helping her walk out of there.

"You're not even gonna let me see it?" She whines, and he just laughs into the cool air as they walk out the door.

"Not until we have a case on the coast." He tells her, helping her into the car.

"Fuck!" She yells, half a laugh behind it. "I'm never getting married!"

//

tags: @avada-kedavra-bitch-187  @one-sweet-gubler

[uwuyangeppie]

Good day,

I recently read your thoughts on yan Geppie x underworld reader during the lockdown. I was wondering how he would react if reader hates him and blames him for abandoning them and the underwold, they furiously ask him why he as the silvermain guard and a landau not even try to provide aid for not only them but the children trapped in the underworld. A bonus would be if reader was a part of wildfire (maybe Natasha’s assistant) and had to witness how the fragmentum and the lockdown cause the suffering of the underworld.

this was a bit tough to answer because i was trying to figure out how i'd twist it into a yandere gepard context. anyway i've chosen to go with a "reader who wishes to hates him because he's a yan, but unfortunately has empathy and compassion" type for this request. hopefully it's what you were after!

it started out like it would with any other relationship. in fact, gepard got quite far with you before you realised his heart was twisted- something he had denied, and will continue to deny. the landau family doesn't entertain blatant lies.

while you tried to separate yourself from him, he tried to tighten the control he had over you, even when you said you were helping out a woman called natasha in the underworld. when he yelled at you to stop going there, when you broke free from his grasp and ran down there anyway, and when the lockdown fell into place, right before he could go in and retrieve you-

well, gepard thought it was well and truly over.

so imagine his surprise when you come marching out of the clinic on your own, fury splashed across your face.

serval and the trailblazer immediately separate themselves from him, slipping past you and into the clinic. he doesn’t get to greet you at all- you immediately start ripping into him instead. he supposes it’s a thrilling time for those that hate the silvermane guards.

“all that crap about wanting to protect belobog, and then you left the people down here to suffer!”

he wants to clarify that he didn’t actually get a choice in that regard. you’d slipped down to the underground before he could retrieve you; even if he were to shut it off, it wouldn’t be until you were back in his arms.

you don’t give him the opportunity to cut in.

“there are kids down here, gepard! you could’ve at least tried to send extra aid, or done something! what a joke!” your voice is beginning to get louder- and his blood goes cold when he hears you damn near yell your next line.

“what, is it punishment for running away, or something?!” people begin to stare, wide-eyed. no, he really can’t have you saying things like that. he’s trying to build a strong connection with the underworld, and he also doesn’t want to be tried for kidnapping crimes!

like, yeah, he did do that, technically, but it was for a good cause!

“you CHILDISH, LYING, SON OF A-”

a woman comes out of the building and puts her hand over your mouth, silencing you for him. thank qlipoth.

“sorry about that. they get very… passionate.” she mutters something in your ear, and you avert your eyes, suddenly looking very bashful.

“sorry, gepard…”

“it’s okay,” he answers, his eyes glued to you. “i’ll just have to do better.”

as for what better is… well. he’s sure he can figure something out that leaves both you and him happy. you’re passionate about children, are you? he’s happy to give you one.