#That picture of in the second left corner looks like he's staring at the camera

[sheep-from-rad]

Photograph (Platonic Batman x reader) (second half inched on the yan territory)

Notes: I made a joke that I wasn’t held enough as a child. Well, jokes on me because it was apparently not a joke. I'm still shit at making endings, help Merry Christmas folks <3 

Masterlist 

dividers by: @strangergraphics

“Isn’t this for newborns?” 

Bruce sat shirtless on the room’s armchair. The room didn’t exist until this week, back then it was just another one of the big guest rooms inside the mansion. From formal, vintage patterned, dark green wallpapers it changed into a soft pudding yellow (Jason’s suggestion)  and the corners are filled with soft plushies. He looked down on his shirtless self again as Alfred stood by the crib to prepare the four month old infant. Years of fighting rogues but it was the thought of holding a baby that made him nervous. 

He takes a silent pride on his body, from his back muscles to his strong arms, from bruises and scars, he wears them like an intangible medal. He thought that the media would question how a businessman like him would have such build but he was easy to conceal it with his ditzy public persona. Ladies did love it but then again holding a lady and holding a baby are two different things. 

“You might have missed their newborn days but bonding as father-baby is not too late”, Alfred explained. “Ah, skittish like your father when it was his first time holding you” 

Bruce’s hands protectively closed around the sleeping babe. He reclines as Alfred helps lay the baby on his chest, one hand on the head and neck and the other under their bottom. Skin to skin and warm. Warm. He didn’t know an infant could produce such warmth. Is this how his father felt the first time he held him? The feeling of happiness like a small glowing bubble melting in his soul, a warm innocent light in the gloom. 

He tensed again when he felt his little baby moved, their tiny arms stretching with all their might. “Alfred I think they are —” Before he could finish his words, he found himself staring at a pair of (eye color) eyes with their little lips curled in a curious ‘o’. They can barely lift their head for a long time but keep doing so to keep the little staring contest going. “What are you doing? Are you memorizing me?” He cringed a little especially knowing that he just butchered the movie quote. The little cringing turned to a small panic when the baby’s little trembled. He braced himself for a wail but instead he was greeted by a gummy smile and a giggle. 

A giggle! Sure he missed the days of them being a newborn but they were here to witness the giggle milestone. “You think dad is stupid for quoting it wrong?” As if understanding his words, their giggles turned louder. “Master Bruce, language please.” The master of the house didn’t hear the older man nor the sound of the camera going off, capturing the moment. A picture, one of the many to cherish in the later years. 

✮⋆˙(alternate ending here because I can’t make up my mind) ✮⋆˙

Bruce found himself in the room that he hasn’t been in for years. Each step that he took was heavy as his heart, echoing regrets and apologies that needed to be said not just in words but also in actions. 

The room was empty with the exception of the barebone furnitures and thin sheet of dust. The only sign that someone once lived in the now lifeless room was a picture frame that was left behind and placed facing down. It was left behind as if mirroring how they had abandoned you. “Where has time gone?” he asked, taking a seat at the edge of the bed. He is envious of his younger self in the picture. He wished he could turn back time, hold you close and hold you tight, and reclaim the promises he had forgotten to do. Forgotten like the pictures and the memories and the wallpapers in the room. All yellowed on the edges and faded. 

The small sound from his phone snapped him from his trance, he had to compose himself before picking it up. 

“Dick?” 

“B, we found them” 

“Bring them home”

[theonottsbxtch]

GIVEN ENOUGH | LN4

an: nessa barrett's new album has been pure inspiration i swear to god, listen to given enough while reading this because LORD, i fully felt bad for this version of lando even though i wrote him

wc: 2.8k

LANDO EXHALED, HIS JAW TIGHTENING as he glanced at her from across the room. She was draped in a crimson dress that clung to her like a second skin, every inch of her perfect for the cameras that flashed relentlessly. The evening air was heavy with champagne and ego, the kind of event he loathed, but his manager had insisted. "Keep the image alive," they’d said. The golden couple, the picture of perfection. But the truth of it all lingered like poison in his throat.

She caught his gaze and smiled—small, distant, rehearsed. He knew the curve of her lips too well to be fooled. That wasn’t a smile for him. That was for the photographers. For the sponsors. For the endless charade they’d both been roped into.

Lando took a sip of his drink, amber liquid burning his throat. The taste was bitter, but not nearly as bitter as the memory of last night. Or the night before that. The endless cycle of her tears, his apologies, the shouting, the silences. She always cried so beautifully, like it was an art form, and he hated how it disarmed him every time. How it left him apologising for sins he didn’t remember committing.

Haven’t I given enough? The thought tore through him like a cold wind. He clenched the glass tighter, ignoring the laughter that rippled around the room. She always needed more—more attention, more promises, more of him. And he’d given it. Again and again, until he didn’t know what he had left.

And yet, she stood there, radiant and hollow. He couldn’t decide if he wanted to hold her or disappear entirely.

“You’re staring,” her voice came, soft yet sharp, as she stepped beside him. The closeness was suffocating, the scent of her perfume almost too much.

“Am I?” His tone was flat. Detached.

“Yes.” Her smile didn’t waver, even as her words dropped lower, meant only for him. “You should try looking at me like you actually care.”

He laughed, quiet and humourless. “Funny. I was just thinking the same about you.”

The corner of her mouth twitched, a warning, but she didn’t say anything else. She turned back to the crowd, her hand brushing his arm in a way that seemed deliberate, calculated. It was always like this—a performance. For everyone else, they were untouchable. Together. But behind closed doors, there was nothing left to save.

For a brief moment, Lando wondered if she knew how much she’d drained him, how much she’d taken. Probably not. She’d smile, shed a few tears, and take more. Because that was what she did best.

And he’d let her. Every single time.

Lando adjusted his tie, trying to loosen the invisible grip around his throat. The gala was a success, he supposed—if success was measured in hollow conversations and counterfeit smiles. The air hummed with whispers of power, of wealth, of people pretending to matter more than they did. She thrived in it. He endured it.

As she floated away to join another circle of admirers, he downed the rest of his drink. It was always like this: her holding court while he played the silent shadow. To the outside world, they were the perfect pair. To him, it felt like being dragged across broken glass.

His phone buzzed in his pocket, the vibration pulling him back to reality. He fished it out, hoping for an excuse to leave, but the screen only held a reminder of tomorrow’s schedule. Another meeting, another event, another night like this.

He sighed, setting the glass down with more force than intended. The sound drew a few glances, but he ignored them. Instead, his eyes found her again, across the room. She was laughing now, the soft, melodic sound he used to adore. Now it only made him tired.

“Rough night?” The voice came from behind him, low and sardonic. Lando turned to see a man, older, sharp-suited, with the kind of smirk that made you want to punch him.

“Just another one,” Lando replied, his tone clipped. He didn’t know this man, didn’t care to.

The man nodded, his gaze sliding to where she stood, radiant under the chandeliers. “She’s something, isn’t she? Always knows how to light up a room.”

Lando didn’t respond. He didn’t need to.

The man chuckled, a knowing sound that grated on Lando’s nerves. “But I suppose that’s the thing about women like her. They take everything you’ve got and leave you wondering if it was ever enough.”

Lando’s jaw tightened. The words cut too close, too deep. He turned back to the bar, signalling for another drink. The man didn’t push further, just gave a slight nod before disappearing into the crowd.

When the bartender slid the glass toward him, Lando stared at it for a moment, the amber liquid catching the light. How many of these nights had he survived? How many more could he endure?

“Lando.” Her voice was soft, cutting through the noise.

He turned to see her standing there, her smile as flawless as ever, though her eyes held that familiar edge. The one that always seemed to ask, Are you going to fight me, or are you going to give in?

“We should leave soon,” she said, brushing a hand over her necklace. “People will start to talk if we stay too long.”

He almost laughed at that. People always talked. It was the only constant in their world.

“Right,” he said, his voice devoid of emotion. He grabbed his jacket, the movement sharp, deliberate.

As they walked toward the exit, arm in arm for the sake of appearances, Lando felt the weight of her against him. To the onlookers, they were untouchable, unstoppable. But he knew better. She wasn’t leaning on him. She was pulling him down, piece by piece.

And no matter how much he gave, it was never enough.

The ride back to the hotel was suffocating in its silence. Lando stared out the window, watching the city blur into streaks of light and shadow. She sat beside him, her fingers scrolling idly on her phone, her face unreadable. They didn’t speak. They rarely did anymore unless it was for show.

When the car finally pulled up to the grand hotel, she stepped out first, the driver opening the door for her as though she were royalty. Lando followed, loosening his tie as they made their way through the lobby.

They looked like a power couple—walking in step, polished and composed. Heads turned as they passed, whispers trailing behind them like a faint echo. It was always the same. People admired what they thought they saw.

When they reached their floor, the elevator doors slid open with a soft chime. She stepped out first, her heels clicking against the marble. Lando followed a step behind, his feet heavier with each stride.

She stopped in front of her door, the number gleaming under the dim hallway lights. “Goodnight, Lando,” she said, her voice smooth, pleasant. Polished for the cameras that weren’t even there.

He nodded, already turning to head to his room further down the hall. But then her voice stopped him.

“Lando.”

He turned back, his hand still on the keycard in his pocket. She stood there, her hand on the doorframe, her head tilted slightly as she studied him.

“You’re in a mood tonight,” she said, her tone light, teasing, but there was something else in her eyes. Something sharp.

“Am I?” he replied flatly, his exhaustion bleeding through.

She didn’t answer. Instead, she took a step toward him, closing the distance between them. Her perfume reached him first, soft and heady, the kind he used to find intoxicating. Now it just felt cloying.

Her hands slid up his chest, her touch feather-light, deliberate. “You don’t have to sulk,” she murmured, her voice dropping lower, almost a purr. “You could come in. Stay with me tonight.”

He stiffened, his eyes searching hers. “I thought you said goodnight.”

She smiled, that perfect curve of her lips that had fooled so many. “I changed my mind.”

Before he could respond, she leaned in, her mouth brushing his. It wasn’t gentle. It never was with her. Her lips moved against his with a hunger that felt practiced, calculated. Her hands slid to the back of his neck, pulling him closer.

He didn’t move at first. He didn’t want to. But then her tongue traced his bottom lip, and he gave in—not because he wanted to, but because it was easier. Because blowing off steam with her was less complicated than the alternative. Because if he left her standing in that hallway and found someone else, people would notice. They’d talk. They always did.

His hands found her waist, gripping tighter than he intended. She moaned softly against his lips, her body pressing into his as if she could melt into him entirely. It was almost enough to make him forget the hollowness behind it all.

Almost.

He broke the kiss first, his breath uneven. She leaned back just enough to meet his gaze, her lips slightly swollen, her expression unreadable.

“Come on,” she whispered, her fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. “No one has to know.”

The irony of her words wasn’t lost on him. No one has to know. As if they weren’t already a living spectacle. As if their lives weren’t dissected and discussed by strangers every day.

He nodded, wordlessly, and followed her into the room. Because it was easier. Because it was expected. Because it was all he had left to give.

The door shut softly behind them, the click of the lock cutting off the world outside. Her heels echoed against the hardwood floor as she stepped into the room, shedding her wrap and tossing it onto a nearby chair. The suite was immaculate—too pristine, too perfect, just like everything else in their lives.

Lando stood by the door for a moment, watching her. She didn’t glance back, already unfastening the clasp of her necklace and setting it on the dresser. The silence between them was thick, stretching taut like a thread ready to snap.

She turned, her eyes locking onto his. “Well?” she asked, her voice soft but challenging. “Are you just going to stand there?”

He shrugged off his jacket and draped it over the back of a chair. His movements were slow, deliberate, as if he were stalling for time. He didn’t know why—he already knew how the night would go.

She closed the distance between them in two strides, her fingers hooking into his shirt and pulling him closer. Her lips found his again, more insistent this time, and he let her. His hands settled on her hips, his grip firm but distant. She pressed her body against his, the warmth of her skin bleeding through the thin fabric of her dress.

“You’re so tense,” she murmured against his lips, her hands sliding up to his shoulders. “You need to relax.”

He almost laughed at that. Relax. As if he could. As if this—they—weren’t part of the reason he felt like he was drowning. But he didn’t say it. He just let her guide him, her movements fluid and precise, like a dance she’d perfected over time.

Her hands moved to the buttons of his shirt, her fingers deftly working them open. She kissed along his jaw, down his neck, her breath warm against his skin. He closed his eyes, trying to will himself to feel something. Desire, anger, anything. But all he felt was the gnawing emptiness that had been with him for months.

She pulled back just enough to look at him, her eyes searching his. “You’re quiet tonight.”

“Just tired,” he said, the words coming out flat.

Her brow furrowed slightly, but she didn’t press. Instead, she reached for his hand, guiding him toward the bed. “Come here.”

He followed, his steps heavy, his mind already elsewhere. She sat on the edge of the bed, her hands trailing up his arms as she pulled him closer. Her lips found his again, her kiss slow, sensual, calculated.

For a moment, he let himself get lost in it. In the warmth of her skin, the softness of her lips, the way her body moved against his. It was easier than thinking, easier than feeling.

But even as he sank into the motions, a voice in the back of his mind whispered the truth: this wasn’t love. This wasn’t even connection. This was survival. For both of them.

Her hands slid lower, tugging at his belt, and he let her. Because if he stopped now—if he pulled away, if he walked out—he didn’t know where he’d go. Or what he’d do.

And so, he stayed. Not because he wanted to, but because it was what was expected. Because it was what he’d been trained to do. Give enough to keep the peace. Enough to make it through the night.

But even as he moved with her, his body going through the motions, his mind drifted. And he couldn’t help but wonder how much longer he could keep giving before there was nothing left of him at all.

A little while later the room was dark except for the faint glow of the bathroom light spilling into the corner. She’d slipped out of bed without a word, the soft click of the door barely registering in the haze of his thoughts. Lando lay on his back, staring up at the ceiling. The sheets were tangled around his waist, their warmth suffocating despite the cold air in the suite.

He ran a hand through his hair, his chest rising and falling with measured breaths. His body felt heavy, his mind heavier. The act itself had been mechanical—motions he’d gone through so many times before, with her, with others. It should’ve been release, a momentary reprieve from the weight he carried. But instead, it only added to the weight.

In the bathroom, water ran softly from the tap, and he could hear the faint shuffle of her movements. She was thorough, always. Her routine was perfect, every step deliberate. He imagined her wiping off her makeup, smoothing out the lines that cracked her carefully crafted image. She’d come out in a silk robe, her hair pinned back, her expression serene, as if none of it ever touched her.

But him? He was cracked straight through, and no amount of polishing would make him whole again.

He pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes, exhaling sharply. His mind churned, fragments of thoughts colliding like shards of broken glass. He could end this. He could say the words, let it unravel, walk away. She’d be fine. She always landed on her feet. And him? He’d finally be free.

But what then?

Lando swallowed hard, his hand falling back to the mattress. The truth of it burned in his chest, heavy and bitter: he wouldn’t end it. He couldn’t.

Because this—this mess of a relationship, this performance they lived—was the most stability he’d ever had. It was the closest he’d come to something resembling a home. And even though it was killing him, it was better than the void that waited outside of it.

He clenched his jaw, staring at the ceiling as if it held answers. There were none, of course. Just the same gnawing emptiness that followed him everywhere.

The bathroom door opened, and she stepped out, exactly as he’d imagined: her robe cinched at the waist, her hair swept back, her face bare but flawless. She glanced at him briefly, her expression neutral, then moved to the other side of the bed.

“Goodnight,” she said softly, slipping under the covers.

“Goodnight,” he replied, though the word felt hollow.

He lay there for a moment longer, the silence pressing down on him. Then, with a sigh, he pushed back the covers and swung his legs over the side of the bed.

“Leaving?” she asked, her voice calm, almost indifferent.

“Yeah,” he said, reaching for his shirt on the floor. “I’ve got an early morning.”

She didn’t respond, simply turning onto her side and closing her eyes. It was the same every time. No argument, no questions. Just this unspoken understanding that this was how it worked.

He dressed quickly, buttoning his shirt with practiced efficiency. His tie was a crumpled mess in his hand, but he didn’t bother fixing it. As he grabbed his jacket and shoes, he cast one last glance at her. She looked peaceful, like a portrait in a gallery—beautiful, untouchable, and completely detached.

He stepped out into the hallway, the door clicking shut behind him. The silence out here was colder, emptier, but he welcomed it.

As he walked toward his room, his shoes dangling from his hand, he felt the familiar weight settle on his shoulders again. The routine was almost comforting in its predictability. Wake up. Smile for the cameras. Go through the motions. Give enough to keep the world spinning.

Because if he didn’t, he wasn’t sure what would happen.

And that terrified him more than anything else.

the end.

taglist: @alexisquinnlee-bc @carlossainzapologist @oikarma @obxstiles @verstappenf1lecccc @hzstry8 @dying-inside-but-its-classy @anamiad00msday @linnygirl09 @mastermindbaby @iamred-iamyellow

[sunshine7queen]

@yuujispinkhair

I LITERALLY CANT GET ENOUGH OF HIM

THE ANIMATORS ARE HEAVEN SENT

THEY FINALLY GOT TO COOK

[alexiroflife]

"drunk wishes"

[part 2]

fluff, clingy gojo, friends in love

high school!gojo satoru x reader

Synopsis: years ago, satoru's habit of drinking on school nights constantly led him to ask for you, desperate for your company. of course, you couldn't blame his constant need for you on anything but the alcohol... right?

to sum it up: seventeen year old satoru was a clingy drunk & suguru and shoko always left him for you to take care of

WC: 5,665

Warning(s): alcohol use

The second your phone rang, screen lighting up to reveal the group picture of you, Satoru, Suguru, and Shoko squeezed into frame, you knew that the book you were currently halfway through would have to wait.

With a sigh, you tossed the book to the side and picked up the group call, dreading whatever was about to greet you next.

Shoko’s contact bubble was blank, for she was likely asleep at this hour. Satoru was the first to stick his head into the camera, followed by a pending bubble from Geto that eventually revealed his exasperated expression.

“(Y/n)!” Satoru slurred, grinning cheerfully into the phone. His snowy hair and bright eyes peering over round glasses were the only thing in frame as he stared intently down at his screen. The scene behind him was dark. It looked like he was standing outside somewhere, and it took you a few seconds to notice that Geto’s background resembled the very same place. “Where’re youuuuu?” 

You pursed your lips in amusement, entirely too familiar with this situation. “Hi, Toru. How are you feeling?”

“Amazing, now that I get’to see y’er pretty face,” he grinned, his persistent flirting doing very little to surprise you. “D’you know that new bar down the street does’t ID check?!”

“No, I didn’t know that. You had some fun there, huh?”

“S’much fun,” he sighed, words blurring into each other. “But then I got bored, s’we went to th’ store ‘nd got snacks. Isn’t that right, Sugu-boo?”

His phone shook with the wobbling of his feet, revealing his black haired best friend standing close by as he turned to look over his shoulder at him. 

You held back your laugh, glancing at the time to see that it was nearly two in the morning. Not only that, but the three of you in addition to Shoko had class in about six hours. Why the hell those two were out this late, you had no idea, but you couldn’t have said that you were surprised. After all, they did this at least three times a week, per Satoru’s influence, of course. 

Suguru shook his head with a tired exhale, holding the camera down. “He’s driving me insane,” he grumbled, brows angled with irritation.

You were quick to move from your bed and shuffle across your dorm to grab a sweatshirt. You already knew where this call was leading. “What the hell are you guys even doing?” you asked. “You know what time it is, right?”

“Yeah, we do,” Suguru hissed, turning to eye a babbling Satoru. You could see the black haired boy’s eye twitch. “But someone dragged me out of bed because he didn’t want to be out alone.”

“Figures,” you laugh. “Where are you now?”

“The convenience store around the corner,” he answered. “We’re literally five minutes away, but Satoru said he wasn’t going to walk any further unless you were here.”

The said boy raised his phone up over his head, the camera peering down at the two tall men from a high angle. Satoru’s eyes went wide and mouth gaped in childlike awe, as if he were showing you some whimsical discovery through the lens of his camera. He dangled a small bag in his free hand, showing off his haul. 

“Look, (Y/n)! C’me see what we got you ‘nd Shokoooo! Suguru, sh-show her y’re stuff,” he urged, a lazy smirk dancing across his face. He nudged Suguru in his chest, the contents of the strongest student’s bag knocking against his best friend repeatedly. A vein bulged in Suguru’s forehead. His bedtime was supposed to be two hours ago, and he was steadily growing more agitated. 

“I’m gonna kill him, (Y/n). Please come take him off my hands.” 

“What about me, huh? I could’ve been asleep, you know. Or studying, like how you two are supposed to.”

“Oh, shut up. I know you weren’t doing anything important.”

You glared at him through your screen. “This is how you treat me, huh? The designated walker for when you get tired.”

“You know how it goes,” Suguru smirked lightly. “Satoru’s needy.”

“(Y/n),” he groaned. “Sugu doesn't love me anymore, s’you have to come take care of me the way- y’know how-to- how you always do,” the blue eyed seventeen year old droned on dramatically. “Pleeeaaaaaase, I miss youuu-”

His singing was disrupted with the tumble of his phone from his hand to the ground, the device hitting the pavement with a smack. His screen went black after landing face first and you watched Geto look down at Satoru boredly, for he had likely been expecting just that to happen. 

Satoru gasped loudly, bending over to retrieve his phone clumsily. Suguru panned his camera to show the sight to you, the white haired boy’s long legs spread stiffly as he leaned from his torso to pick up his phone. “(Y/n)! NOO! M’so sorry!” he cried out.

There was shuffling on his end and a dizzy spin of the camera before Satoru’s face came back into view in his small FaceTime square. “I didn’t mean’ta drop you, pretty, don’t be mad,” he whined. 

You shook your head, swiping your dorm key from your desk and heading to your door. “I’m on my way, Suguru,” you said, ignoring Satoru’s drunk babbling. 

“Please hurry, I can't take much more of this.”

You were quick to rush out of your dorm when you ended the call, cutting off whatever sweet talk your intoxicated friend was about to pull out next and the agitated ‘Shut the fuck up!’ that boomed from Suguru.

You knew this routine like the back of your hand. Either Satoru, Shoko, or Suguru would call you or the group chat, depending on who was out on a given night, to ask you to come over and babysit drunk Satoru, who had always found himself pleading for you the moment liquor settled into his system. 

Though Satoru was the strongest sorcerer and overall person you had ever met, his tolerance for alcohol was painfully low, which you all supposed was why he liked to drink so much. Satoru was so used to being the best at everything, to not having to struggle or experience every day pressures and trials of weakness that the rest of you had to endure. 

Nothing in his life posed a challenge for him, so when he stole a moment to find something that lowered his inhibitions and eased him into a state of malfunction and playful instability, it was like taking a break, a breath of fresh air after having been submerged underwater. He liked the way alcohol buzzed through his brain, melted through his bloodstream, and dumbed him down to a simple, wasted mess. 

It reminded him that he was still flesh and bone in a world that raised him up as a god. 

So he went out and drank quite a bit, and you, naturally, were his caretaker during those frequent times. 

You never thought Satoru meant anything by his clinginess toward you. After all, he was Satoru Gojo. He was fawned over by all women, and as one of his closest friends, you had witnessed his constant indulgence in their infatuation over him. 

Satoru never acted beyond his captivating smiles and provocative words. It was all a game to him, something to keep him entertained and to raise his already astronomically large ego. 

Therefore, when he called you over and over, told you that you were gorgeous, and blabbered about how much he loved to have you by his side, you thought nothing of it. Satoru was your friend, and you would look after him over and over again solely because of that fact. 

The four of you were bonded, closer than anyone else on your campus. You may have been a bit too cliquey for others’ taste, but you all loved each other dearly, and that’s all you assumed Satoru’s drunk words were: love for a friend being portrayed incorrectly due to the alcohol. 

And boy, did you love Satoru dearly, as much as you loved Shoko and Suguru. You loved him so much that you’d rub his back every time he’d throw up into your toilet and bring him fresh clothes for the morning every time he was too hungover to make it back to his dorm. 

You loved him so much that you’d take care of him as long as he allowed you, as long as when you were sober and he was intoxicated, he needed you in a way he would never need you when his mind was clear and alert. You loved him so much that no matter how each compliment and loving gaze he tossed your way in the midst of his drunken stupors sent butterflies swirling through your tummy, you’d allow yourself to bury your feelings deep down.

After all, the sun would always rise and the haziness of his eyes would always disappear, and he would always have to go back to being Satoru Gojo. The strongest who needed no one.

You arrived outside the convenient store a few minutes later, approaching your two friends slowly. The 24-hour convenience store sign provided the only source of light amidst the darkness and buzzed softly over the boys’ heads. 

Suguru was leaning beside the store entrance against the wall, hands in his pockets, eyes closed, and head resting against the brick. Satoru was sitting on the curb with his legs splayed out before him and his bag to the side, humming some song loudly to himself. 

He was quick to catch sight of you once you stepped into his vision. His face lit up and he jumped to his feet, stumbling to the side before rushing over to you sloppily. He clung to you immediately, long arms circling around yours from the side and pulling you to his chest. He leaned his head atop yours, his glasses crashing against your forehead painfully.

“Finally, y’took forever,” he moaned, leaving you very little room to breathe. You huffed, clenching your jaw and craning your neck out to try to find some space for oxygen. You patted his arm with your hand stiffly, unable to move much more than that.

“I know, I know. Five minutes was just so long,” you agreed sarcastically, to which Satoru nodded aggressively.

“Way too long.”

Suguru pushed himself off of the wall when he heard your voice, opening his eyes and sauntering tiredly over to the two of you. You looked up at him from where you stood, trapped, and you could see a smugness dancing in his fatigued eyes despite his agitation. “Don’t look at me like that, dick,” you seethed. “Your lazy ass couldn’t walk him back?”

“I told you, he wanted to see you,” he shrugged. “Besides, you and I both know it’s physically impossible to get Satoru to do something he doesn’t want to do. He’s such a big baby.”

He eyed the blue eyed sorcerer who poked out his tongue childishly, tugging you closer into him. 

“Just tell m’you hate me, Sugu,” Satoru frowned. 

“Yeah, yeah.” The dark haired student leaned down to grab Satoru’s bag and hand it to you. “Here. I’m walking in this direction,” he pointed behind him.

You scrunched your brows. “That’s gonna add like fifteen minutes to a two second walk,” you pointed out.

“If it means peace and quiet, so be it,” he sighed. 

“Awee, tired a’me already?” Satoru giggled, raising an arm to poke Suguru’s stiff shoulder. 

“Yes,” he deadpanned. “Good night, you too. Be safe and text me when you’re in. And for the love of god, get this idiot to sleep when you get back,” the seventeen year old sweatdropped.

“You say that like it’ll be easy,” you seethed. 

“Mhm.”

With that, Suguru turned over his shoulder and walked off, leaving you and Satoru alone once again. 

“God, he’so moody,” Satoru chuckled. “W’don’t need ‘im anyway. Got all I need right’here.”

“He’s your best friend, Toru. You’ll always need him.”

“Mmmaybe, but dn’t tell ‘im that. It’ll go to his big head.”

You laughed.

“Alright, Toru, come on,” you nudged yourself away from his embrace. He released you, but was quick to sling his arm over your shoulders as you guided him around with your hand on his back. He leaned slightly over you, causing you to trip under his weight. He was so tall and heavy, draping himself comfortably over your figure. He already had absolutely no concept of personal space, but it was so much worse when he was under the influence. “Okay, yeah, one step at a time. Let’s get you home,” you guided sweetly.

“‘Kay,” he mumbled. “Mmm, some ramen would b’good right now, don’t y’think?” he murmured. “Should’make some when we- when we get back.”

“Sure. Okay. We can make some ramen,” you lied. You silently prayed he’d forget the suggestion once he was in his dorm. 

Satoru spent the entire walk yapping, swaying back and for and bringing you along with him. He’d almost made the two of you fall about ten times, and what was meant to be a quick walk lasted double the original time. You were sure that Suguru had already made it back to his dorm by the rate the two of you were moving.

The sight of Satoru’s dorm room was like seeing the gates of heaven open before you. You exhaled in relief when you approached his door, which was irresponsibly unlocked. The guy had been out for hours and hadn’t even bothered to secure his room. 

You shoved the door open, pulling Satoru in with you. He removed his arm from around you after what felt like hours and stumbled forward, falling face first on his carpet. You closed your eyes and took a deep breath after setting his bag to the side, for you knew that you would not be getting to bed soon simply from that action alone.

Satoru groaned, turning his head to the side to breathe. His glasses had risen up over his forehead crookedly, revealing his glassy ocean eyes and snow white lashes fluttering sleepily over them. “I could sleep right’here,” he mumbled, limbs spread out like a starfish.

You shook your head and closed his door behind him. You pulled out your phone quickly, pulling up Suguru’s contact and snapping a picture of the ridiculous sight before you. You sent it along with a message letting him know that the two of you made it safe.

Seconds later, Suguru responded with a ‘yeah, good luck with that.’

You put your phone on the dresser, crouching down over him. “Well too bad you’re not going to,” you said. You grabbed his arm and tugged at it. “Come on, big guy. Let’s get you on the bed.”

“Why?” he pouted, closing his eyes and poking out his glossy bottom lip. 

“Because you’ll regret it in the morning when you wake up with an aching back.”

“But I don’t wanna get up,” he groaned, allowing his body to go limp as you mustered up all your strength to pull at him. You grunted, tugging him backward as best as you could. 

“Don’t make this so difficult,” you groaned. “Get up!”

“Noooooo,” he whined. 

“What the hell have you been eating?!” you asked breathlessly. “You weigh like two hundred pounds!”

“Maybe y’re jus’ weak,” he snickered to himself, and you almost dropped his hand and walked out of his room. 

“Maybe I should just beat your ass,” you grumbled. 

He turned to smirk at you, eyes glinting with hazy mischief. “Try it. I won’t go easy on you.”

You couldn’t help the blush that fought its way to your cheeks under his gaze. Even drunk, he knew how to get under your skin.

“Shut up,” you grumbled and he laughed. 

You tried again, yanking his arm, but to no avail. He wouldn’t budge. 

“Ugh! Satoru!” you shouted in frustration. “I can’t stand it when you get like this.”

The Gojo’s smile fell, brows curving in distaste. “Who the hell’s Satoru?” he frowned.

You blinked, lowered his arm and leaning down by his side. “What?”

“Y’call me Toru. What happened’ta Toru?” he repeated, childishly, eyes gleaming with impatience. 

“Yeah, well, when you’re not pissing me off, you’re Toru” you tilted your head to look him in his eyes. “Why?”

He groaned loudly, his dramatics so boisterous that they could probably wake up the rest of the hall. You cocked a brow, releasing his arm as he shifted around, twisting himself onto his back and flopping about. “Why d’you do this t’me,” he complained, lifting his arms up and into the air.

You sighed. “What are you on about, drama queen?”

“Pick m’up.”

“Oh, now you wanna get up, huh?”

“If’t means ’m Toru again, yes,” he pouted again. “Pick m’up,” he demanded once more.

You scoffed a laugh, standing to your feet and leaning over him. “So dramatic,” you said as you grasped his outstretched hands, leaning back to pull him up. He assisted you this time, bringing himself to a seated position before you helped him onto his feet. He stumbled again and you held onto his hands, leading him over to the edge of his bed.

“F’ryou,” he responded, plopping down onto his comforter. He leaned over unstably and you caught his head, guiding him back upright. He hummed softly, leaning into the warmth of your palm, eyes half lidded. “Thank you.”

“I got you, Toru,” you smiled, bending down to tug his shoes off. When you did, you missed the wide beam that stretched across his face at the sound of his nickname rolling from your lips. 

After setting his shoes at his door, you went to move about his space familiarly, walking over to his bottom dresser drawers and pulling out an old tee and sweatpants. 

Satura watched you lazily, eyes dragging along your figure as you so carefully picked out his clothes. He could feel his heart thrumming in his chest like a rhythm, his flushed cheeks growing warmer simply from the sight of you.

You walked back over to him, clothes folded over your arm. He smiled up at you in a daze, appearing like a giddy school boy sitting there patiently for you. You gave him a strange look, placing his clothes next to him on the bed and removing his glasses from his head, setting aside on his lamp lit nightstand. 

When you turned back to him, his eyes hadn’t left you. His pupils were blown wide and his lips stretched into a dumb grin. He spread his legs out and leaned back on his elbows tiredly, admiring you, for the first time tonight, with no words.

“Why are you staring at me like that, weirdo?” you rose a brow.

His smile widened. “Y’just so pretty.”

Just like that, butterflies swarmed as if on cue. Your brows drew together as you looked at him, examining his face for any detection of mischief or deception, but you found none. His gaze upon you was so raw, so full of ardor and sweltering tenderness. He looked like a puppy dog watching you in such a way, and you tried your very hardest to keep your legs from turning to jelly beneath you.

You cleared your throat, looking down and busying yourself with unfolding his clothes. “You’re drunk.”

“On you.”

God, he just wouldn’t stop. His presence was so suffocating, it filled the room with its weight. You felt as though you were going to lose your breath if he kept looking at and talking to you like that.

“Stop,” you sighed, tossing his shirt at him. It hit his face softly, rolling down into his lap. Even that hadn’t been enough for his eyes to rip from your face. He simply reached blindly for the fabric, gaze unwavering. 

“You gon’help me change, pretty?” he asked gently, looking to you expectantly.

“Now what makes you say that?” you questioned, though you both knew full well that you were going to do just that. 

“Cause’you’ve done it b’fore. When I was black’out.”

You whipped your head up at him to find a teasing expression on his features. “There’s no way you remember that?!” you said, incredulously.

He giggled to himself slightly. “No, Shoko tol’me.”

You internally cursed the brunette for betraying you in such a way. “Asshole,” you muttered to yourself, leading Satoru to laugh louder. 

As if on instinct, sat up straight and held his arms out. “M’ready,” he cheesed.

“You’re such an idiot, you know that?” 

He didn’t respond as you walked up to him and stood between his spread legs. He was suddenly silent, observing you closely. You could feel those eyes glued to you, burning into your skull like a line of blue fire. You held your breath, keeping your eyes on your fingers as they reached for the top bottom of his collared shirt. 

You had done this so many times, on so many nights, and the majority of the time, he was either passed out or too drunk to keep his head up and pay attention to what you were doing. This night, however, he was more alert than he had been at this stage of his intoxication. He must not have gotten very far into his drinking, you had thought to yourself. 

He was still pretty drunk, but the gleam in his eye made you question if he would forget this moment like he usually did when you helped him into more comfortable clothes. 

His chest rose and fell delicately under your hands. You popped one button open, then the next, and the next. Your soft fingers brushed against the smoothness of his skin occasionally, the white haired boy jumping slightly every now and then at the contact. 

Satoru broke his eyes from you for just a second, looking down and following the buzzing vision of your fingers working down his shirt, freeing his abdomen for you to see. You could hear his soft breaths, deep and long, as though he were breathing manually, desperately finding a way to recall how to inhale and exhale properly. 

He looked back up at you once the entire shirt was undone, a bashful tint on his cheeks. You were so careful with him, so attentive, so patient and loving with your touch. Shoko and Suguru had always looked after him when he drank by making sure he got home safe when you weren’t around, but they never took care of him the way you did so gently, so earnestly. 

Flashes of your touch and your face would strike him during those early morning hangovers, feeding into the initial yearning he already harbored for you within his chest and his gut. He knew you were always there, in his dreams and his fragmented memories, but he could never recall how or why so clearly.

So now, he soaked you in, devouring each feather light touch and tug at his clothing. He was captivated by the way you moved around his room as though you lived there, like you’d been there a hundred million times over in this exact position. How you talked to him with a tinge of coddling and kindness in your voice that he rarely detected through your normal day to day. 

You handled him with such care, as if he were going to break, and it baffled him. It baffled him how he, one of the strongest individuals to roam this earth, was nothing but putty at your loving hands. He felt so vulnerable sitting there before you, staring intently at your face as you tugged his sleeves down each arm and pulled his shirt from his body. He had expected to feel cool, but he was surrounded by nothing but warmth. Whether it was you or the liquor, he wasn’t sure, but he could feel himself slipping into a trance induced by your beauty and your care. 

Everything in his vision was vibrating except for the vision of you, constant and comforting. He wanted nothing more than to melt into you, to allow you to envelope him within your arms. He wanted to stare at you until he couldn’t see anymore, to memorize every curve in your jaw and dent in your brows, the twitch of your nose and the hitch of your breath, the swipe of your tongue over your lip and the flutter of your lashes over mesmerizing, gentle (e/c) eyes. 

He was so drunk, yes, but you were doing very little to sober him up. He felt like he was floating and falling into you all at once.

You grabbed his t-shirt in your hands and spread it out, reaching your hands through the hole to stretch it over your friend’s head. He poked his head through the neck hole, hair messily sprawling over his forehead as a result, and pulled his arms through the sleeves, disorientedly. 

You still hadn’t looked at him. You were already moving to grab his sweats when you felt a hand reach up and snake over your waist. 

You jumped, snapping your eyes up to his finally. His brows were pinched together and his lips were parted, the blue of his irises a stark contrast against the pink shade of his face. You were close, your legs bumping the edge of the bed while Satoru’s legs caged around you. You stopped suddenly, his touch catching you off guard.

He didn’t say anything. He only snaked his other hand around you, settling them on your hips, leading your heart to slam into your chest.

“S-Satoru, what…” you trailed off, losing yourself in his eyes. There wasn’t a single thought behind them except you. “What’s wrong? You want me to stop?”

His Adam's apple bobbed with a gulp he took, thumbs rolling over your hips experimentally. He looked down, over your body, watching his hands grasp your waist gently as if the feeling and the sight of it weren’t real. He could hear your heart pounding, see your blood rushing, practically taste your nerves despite his drunken state.

You were so overstimulating. Worse than the five shots he’d tossed back.

“Toru?” you called him again. He saw your lips move before the sound registered within his brain, the sweet address sending shivers down his spine. He could barely keep himself upright, but he needed more of you. 

“Why’dyou do’this?” he mumbled, unsure of what he was even asking.

Your nose scrunched in that cute way it did when you were confused. “Huh?”

“Y’always… look after’me. Always’take care’a’me. Why?”

You were growing nervous. Your heartbeat was loud enough, you were sure Satoru could here, and your face was hot to the touch. “Because… because you’re one of my closest friends, Toru. I care about you.”

He shook his head slightly. “‘S’not th’same.”

“What do you mean?”

“S’not th’same as Sho ‘n Sugu. S’different. You’re different.” 

“I…” you weren’t sure what to say. He had you cornered, trapped into him with no escape. You were hyper aware of his fingers gripping your waist softly and his eyes eating you alive. Your senses were through the roof, and you wanted to run and break away from this contact, from this feeling, but you couldn’t. You were frozen. 

You could feel him tugging himself closer, leaning into you, pressing you closer. 

“You’re drunk, Satoru. You should get to bed. We can talk about this tomorrow, when you’re sober,” you tried to change the subject.

“No,” he refused. “Please, no. Please.”

His hands trailed up your waist, feeling all around your body. You were perfect, too perfect. He couldn’t get enough of you. 

His hands reached your arms, then your shoulders, and finally your face, cradling your cheeks softly within his warm palms. 

You pursed your lips, eyes scattering over his face as he gazed at you. He drew your face closer, his sharp nose brushing yours. He was so close, you could smell the alcohol on his breath. 

You lifted your hands to grasp his wrists, preparing to pull his hands from your flustered face.

“Satoru,” you warned. “What are you doing?”

“Don’t want y’to’go,” he whispered, thumbs smoothing over your hot skin. You shivered, your mind battling against itself as you tried to decide what to do.

He was drunk. He had no idea what he was doing. He was just being clingy.

“Please. Please stay, (Y/n). Need’you.”

“I’m not going anywhere, love,” you told him, meeting his eyes directly. “I’m right here.”

“But’don’t leave tonight. Y’always leave. Don’t. Stay. Sleep w’me.”

Your heart swooned, ached, swelled. Satoru was always so needy, but never to this extent. He was practically falling apart before you. 

He stared at you longingly, brows curved as if he was going to cry. “Please, pretty. Please.”

This boy had you so weak. There was nothing he could have asked for that you wouldn’t have said yes to. It was why you were always showing up at his side in the middle of the night when he called for you, why you let him lounge around your room at any hour of the day when he was bored, why you brought him snacks when he was too busy training to eat, why you let him drag you and the others about simply because he wanted you all to tag along with him everywhere. 

Satoru Gojo could have asked you for the moon, and you would have pulled it down by a rope just to see him smile at you and feel his arms wrap around your frame as he pulled you into an overbearing hug. 

You loved him to death. You loved him more than you thought your teenage heart capable of loving anyone, and you feared his knowledge of your feelings because of how prideful he was, because of how many girls harbored the same crush, and because of how many confessions he received on a daily basis. 

You wanted to protect yourself from heartbreak by the world’s most desirable boy. You didn’t want to make yourself look so pathetic before him, more so than any ordinary person already was, but the way he begged for you… the way those big eyes drew you in and his hands framed your face, the way he looked at you as if you were the only thing that could save him from his mental torment had you giving in completely.

“Okay,” you nodded, releasing his wrists to cup his face in return. He swooned, hands falling into his lap as he submerged himself in your touch. “Okay, I’ll stay.”

A whimper fell past his lips as he fell into you, head collapsing into your chest and hands gripping around your thighs. Your hands moved to his back, stroking him soothingly as he clutched you to him, murmuring nonsense. You could tell his intoxication was tipping into exhausting by the way he slumped into you, and you sighed. He was going to be the death of you, this one. 

The time ticked closer to three once you had managed to get him to let you change him out of his pants and gurgle some mouthwash before going to bed. He kept himself close to you for the rest of the night, whether it was by clinging to your shirt or holding your hand or leaning his head over your shoulder. He had gone completely nonverbal, relying on his actions instead to convey his desperation for your closeness to him. 

You had finally managed to get him into bed at 3:30 am. He plopped down into his messy sheets, face smothered by the pillow and feet hanging off the edge of the bed. He was too tall for his own good. 

You were busying yourself with turning out his lights when you saw his hand twitch out, grasping through the air. You knew what he was asking.

You slipped your shoes off and pulled your sweatshirt over your head, leaving you in your night tee and shorts. You carefully climbed onto the soft furniture, grabbing Satoru’s outstretched hand. He turned himself to face you immediately, yanking you down into him. You squeaked, collapsing beside him on the bed. 

He didn’t let you move to grab the comforter to pull it over your body. Instead, he threw his arms around you and buried his face into the crook of your neck, securing a leg over yours and trapping you against him for the final time that night. 

You tensed, Gojo’s hair brushing softly against your chin as his warm breath fanned contently against your neck. He curled himself into you, clutching you as though you were his last lifeline. 

He stroked his hair softly, scratching his scalp as the beat of your heart lulled him into sleep. 

You exhaled softly, staring up at the ceiling as sleep slowly overtook your body. You prayed that Satoru wouldn’t remember this night. He normally woke up late, so you hoped that you would at least have had time to slip from his room in the morning and disappear into yours. 

You wanted to forget everything. You wanted to forget the way he looked at you, the way he held you, the way he touched you. You wanted to bury it all deep down, to move on as friends like you always had been and always would be. You wanted to leave it all behind, but Satoru had a hold on you that you could not escape. It was the effect he had. Consuming, powerful, and entirely too dangerous for you to indulge.

Satoru was a needy drunk. That was all you could chalk him and the intimacy of this night up to be. A consequence of his intoxication.

But somewhere deep within you, somewhere you did not bother to explore, a spark of hope glimmered for your love, a spark that made you believe just for a moment that Satoru loved you too.

[katszumi]

“stare at her longer people might confuse you for a stalker.” mina said for only his ears to catch, not for the paparazzi that’s incoherently shouting at them.

katsuki unintentionally peeled his eyes away from you, his face contorting. “wasn’t staring.” gruffly, he responded.

he placed a fist over his open dries van noten blazer. he straightened his posture, broadening his shoulders for the picture being taken ahead. once pictured, the two of them both took a few steps down the carpet, preparing to restart the process.

mina refused the urge to snort at his words. he wasn’t fooling anyone, the look on his face even contradicted his own words.

the pink woman placed a hand on her hip, shifting her weight on her left leg as she pushed her right leg forward a smidge. “don’t lie to yourself,” she paused her words, allowing the paparazzi to take her picture for the nth time. “i get it though, she’s beautiful, especially tonight.”

in his head, katsuki immediately agreed. you were the most beautiful woman within a five mile radius, hell, maybe even in the entire country of japan. there wasn’t another woman katsuki could name that could compete with you.

a few yards down, you were busy doing a useless interview with some fuckin’ extra he’s never heard of. your smile was from ear to ear, your gaze daring and fierce, and your aura alluring. all of it was for free for a person that did not deserve any bit of it at all. if katsuki had a say, the reporter should be on his knees, kissing the ground you walked on, thankful he was able to breathe the same air as you.

finishing up one of their last poses, mina and katsuki sideways walked down the carpet once more, angling themselves towards the thousand cameras in front of them.

“still, i wasn’t staring.” he refused her words again.

flashes of white surrounded the area, the cameras whining at every second, every angle of the duo being snapped at.

“sure, bakugou.” this time, mina allowed a small chuckle to part her lips. “heard a certain hero is courting her.”

like a black cat, katsuki’s ears sharpened at her sentence, his eyes darting towards mina only for a second. “bullshit.” he called it. he doesn’t remember you mentioning anything similar to that.

but he reminds himself, what relationship did you two have for you to tell him things like that?

“don’t shoot the messenger, just what i heard.” a smirk quirked up the corner of her lip, mina sending one final pose.

it couldn’t have been true. it was impossible for a rumor about you to have gone around without katsuki hearing about it. mina must’ve been trying to lure him in, to make him slip-up. yeah, that had to have been it.

he wasn’t going to fall for mina’s ridiculous plan.

without thought, katsuki looked over at you once more, his eyes analyzing you more than he’d like to admit.

while it was true he wasn’t going to fall for her stupid plan, it was also true that you’ve had more of a certain glow to you lately. your eyes had been more softer and your smile seemed more genuine.

nah.

he wasn’t falling for it.

but, as soon as his foot touched the end of the red fabric carpet, his legs were taking themselves towards you and that shitty reporter. for why? of course it was for a completely different reason than to what mina said.

almost as if you were reading his mind, your head turned, your soft eyes meeting his fervent vermillion irises.

“katsuki, what a pleasant surprise.” you greeted him with your usual bright smile.

the reporter that was granted all of your attention also ogled at katsuki. mainly because he interrupted a private interview, but also because it was the katsuki bakugou in front of him.

katsuki stood aside of you, still letting all of the focus to be on you, but close enough that he placed his hand on your back gently.

“had to make myself known. feel like you’ve been tucked away all evenin’.”

instead of letting you reply, the reporter finally took his chance to speak up again. “dynamight, what are your thoughts on y/n swiftly climbing the ranks?” the reporter pushed the microphone in his face.

katsuki raised his brow at the male, but nonetheless he opened his mouth to reply.

“what else do you want me to say? obviously it’s well-deserved. these fuckers been sleepin’ on her for way too long, it’s about fuckin’ time.” his voice harsh, but his words were somewhat kind. “she’ll be dominating the charts in less than no time.”

“do you see yourself collaborating with y/n anytime soon?”

now, you looked at him, waiting for his answer.

“if she grants me permission.” katsuki met your eyes once more. “only the best of the best can work with y/n.” mina’s words entering his mind from earlier, he removed his eyesight off of you, back onto the reporter.

“so, that means—”

he interrupted the male, “that means no shitty extras. at all.”

needless to say, katsuki did in fact fall for mina’s antics. the truth coming out days later that there was no rumor of a hero courting y/n, but rather a mind game mina played on him for shits and giggles.

also a few days later, katsuki came across a new rumor that was headlined in the press, but this one he didn’t necessarily mind so much.

Y/N AND DYNAMIGHT WORK BUDDIES, OR MUCH MORE?

[oh-no-its-bird]

Special edition Christmas fic where genin aged team 7 decide hatch their newest plot to see Kakashi's face: using mistletoe

Because if they trap him under it with someone, he'll surely have to take his mask off to give them a kiss! ...Right?

(Sasuke thinks this is fucking stupid)

The entire thing is just a fucking slapstick comedy as Kakashi goes "what's the funniest way I can go along with this." And decides he will in fact lower his mask and give a kiss to everyone the kids corner him with. But only when they look away / blink / their view is obstructed

The kids are chasing him around with a string on a stick w mistletoe tied to the end of it, and every time they miss seeing the kiss (and his face) hey scream even louder

Reactions range from "???!?????!?!??????" (Iruka) to straight up passing out (Gai) to laughing hysterically with a bright red face (Kurenai) to just sort of freezing up like a deer in headlights (Asuma)

Kakashi, having way too much fun, makes a shadow clone to pull the Sukea thing again. And the kids get "Sukea" on board, thinking he can take a photo the second Kakashi pulls his mask down for a smooch. Kakashi has WAY too much fun, essentially role-playing with himself and swooning dramatically. Then, at the end, Sukea goes, "Oh no the camera's memory card is gone, Kakashi must have stolen it :((" and the kids all scream in agony

They try to get him to describe Kakashi's face and Sukea gets all coy and goes "umm... its kind of... indescribable?"

(They get another person to try to snap a photo of him but they turn out to be a freezer so they don't take the picture. When the kids harass them ab it they just giggle a little maniacally ab his face)

This does escalate to doing this shit w enemy nin btw. Funniest option is obviously Tobi but I'm also raising u a really freaked the fuck out Itachi looking like an angry, surprised cat after Kakashi gives him a peck on the cheek (Sasuke is gonna fucking KILL HIMSELF)

Obito gets the full makeout session bc its funniest.

He shows up looking for a dramatic fight but like halfway through his villain speech, team 7 dangles the mistletoe over him, and he's so thrown off guard he just kinda "???? excuse me I'm kind of in the middle of—"

Kakashi, who is a) in too deep to stop the bit now, and b) recognizes a good way to throw off an enemy, fucking launches himself at him, pushes Tobi's mask up just enough to kiss, and starts to make out w him

His back is turned to the kids and they're all scrambling to try to catch a single glimpse, but he keeps his back to them as they scream and run around (thus prolonging the kiss)

Kakashi is totally checked out of the actual kiss, this is all fun and games to him. Obito is having a fucking religious experience wrapped in a manic episode flavored internal breakdown topped off with a very loud high pitched kettle noise that may or may not be confined to his brain

This lasts for like a solid minute before Kakashi releases him and readjust his mask, pats him on the shoulder and goes "sorry about that teehee"

Obito just kinda 🧍‍♀️ and they stare at eachother for another solid minute as team 7 screams and cries and throws up in the bg

Kakashi, seeing the opportunity to leave and avoid what was for sure going to be a potentially devistating fight: "cool. So, anyways. Bye lmao." And runs for it w his students

Obito is left tanding still as a statue in the middle of the clearing. After like 20 seconds alone he starts hyperventilating.

Merry Christmas everybody 👍

[covenofagatha]

A dance with death (and her wife) (Part 2)

A look into Agatha and Rio's home life, and you are reeling from having The Witch and Lady Death in your motel room

Word count: 4200

Warnings: mentions of murder, manipulativeness, light gaslighting

The same morning you get called to Westview, Agatha Harkness wakes up to find her wife, Rio Vidal, staring at her. 

“If you were going to kill me, how would you do it?” Rio asks, and Agatha raises an eyebrow. 

“Good morning to you, too,” she groans, propping herself up on her elbows to get a better look at Rio, who is lounging in the chair in the corner. “How long have you been watching me sleep?” 

Rio shrugs. “You make it sound like I’m some serial killer who’s about to murder you.” Her eyes widen conspiratorially and Agatha snorts before plopping back down. 

“She’s getting here today, you know,” Agatha says and she can hear Rio’s breath hitch. 

She leans forward in the chair. “When do you think she’ll come see me?” The eagerness is evident in her voice, and Agatha knows how she feels. 

“Once we pull off our little ‘Welcome to Westview’ stunt tonight? I bet no time at all,” Agatha answers. 

Rio grins, seemingly satisfied with the answer, and picks up the skeleton mask sitting on the dresser. She fiddles with the strings and holds it up to her face. “I wouldn’t be surprised if that Miami director books the appointment himself. Do police detectives usually include a business card to their wife’s therapy practice in their information file to the FBI?” 

“Better hope he doesn’t just pull her off the case,” Agatha remarks, ignoring the question, and finally gets up out of bed and walks past the bouquet of purple azaleas on the vanity. “He’s pretty serious when it comes to protecting her. Especially after…” 

“No,” Rio cuts her off and Agatha looks at her wife in surprise. Rio puts her mask down, stands up, and walks over so she’s face-to-face with the older woman. She reaches a hand out to put it gently around Agatha’s throat, who doesn’t even flinch. Rio smirks and drags her hand downward so it’s resting over her heart. “We’re finally getting what we want. Do you know how long we’ve been waiting for this? For her? I’m not letting her go.”

Agatha tilts her head to the side, thinking for a second. “If I were going to kill you, I’d fill a syringe with air and inject it into your bloodstream under your toenail. The death would mimic a heart attack and the track mark would be almost impossible to find. I’d tell the authorities that you were under so much stress as a therapist that it eventually took a toll on your body,” she says slowly, clinically even, watching Rio’s hazel eyes get dark. 

She hums and looks down at Agatha’s lips. “You really know how to make a lady swoon.” Rio gives her a quick peck and leaves the room so her wife can get ready for work. 

On her way to the kitchen, Rio steps into the spare room in the hallway and takes a deep breath, feeling the tension seeping from her muscles. The table in the middle of the room is covered in vials, all Agatha’s doing. They don’t call her The Witch for nothing, Rio thinks. She picks up her own dagger and twirls it between her practiced fingers while she admires the handiwork on the left side of the room. 

From ceiling to floor, the wall is completely covered with you. Every single case file you’ve profiled for, pictures of you from now all the way back to your childhood, transcripts from Quantico and college. Rio’s favorite photo hangs front and center, the one of the scar you got from dealing with the Scarlet Killer, all rough and jagged. 

Rio would’ve made it prettier. 

Patience, she reminds herself. 

The trap has been laid. All that’s left to do is wait. 

***

You turn the entire motel room upside down, scourging for anything else the killers may have left behind: a camera or a listening device, or maybe even a clue. 

Nothing. 

And then you kick yourself for touching everything because now you can’t even test for prints. Plus, it’s a motel room so you’re not sure you’d be able to narrow it down. 

The phone is in your hand dialing Tony back before you can think. He doesn’t answer and you slam it down on the bed in frustration. 

They were here. The Witch and Lady Death were in your room. 

You draw the blinds and deadbolt the door, making a mental note to ask the front desk to change the locks. How did they get in? How did they know you were going to get food? 

A cold feeling sinks into your bones. They must be watching you. 

And what’s to stop them from coming back? This time though, when you’re in the room? 

Anyone could be next. Agatha’s words echo around in your head and you didn’t realize just how true they are until now. 

You don’t realize you’re hyperventilating until you feel dizzy and gag. Then you run to the bathroom and puke into the toilet. Wiping a hand across your sweaty forehead, your mind spins with what to do. 

You could call the police, but you don’t think they would do any good, especially after you’ve tampered with evidence. There were no cameras in this motel, you had already checked. 

Pacing back and forth, head in your hands, you try and try and try to think of what to do. 

And finally you think of something. 

You punch in the number and hold the phone up to your ear. 

It rings three times and then there’s a click. 

“Dr. Rio Vidal’s office, if this is an emergency please hang up the phone and call 911. If not, this is Dr. Vidal, how can I help you?” 

You take a shaky breath and press your fingers to your forehead to stave off the incoming headache. “Um, yes, hi, I was calling to see if I could make an appointment? The sooner, the better.” 

There’s shuffling and then tapping of keys on a computer. “What’s your name?” When you say it, you hear a sharp inhale and then a cough. “Sorry about that. How does 1 pm tomorrow sound?” 

You blink. You didn’t realize you’d be able to get in that fast, but you suppose in a small town like Westview, not many people are going to therapy. “Yeah, that would be great. I’ll see you tomorrow then. Thank you.” 

“Bye, Agent Y/L/N,” she says. You frown. You never told her you were an agent. But you figure it’s been announced that you’re coming, so you brush it off. 

You take a quick shower and then get into bed, trying to relax and maybe get some sleep. You promised Tony you’d get five hours a night, but you’ll be lucky if you even get one. 

At every groan and creak, you jump and grab your gun, sitting up completely alert. It’s always the wind or a tree branch or the building settling. 

You lay under the sheets, hand gripped around your weapon, and you don’t sleep a wink. 

When you get to the station the next morning, the first person you see is Agatha. She looks up at you, takes in your new outfit, and smiles brightly. 

The killers replaced all your clothes so you had no choice but to wear the new ones until you’re able to go shopping. You wouldn’t be surprised if they laced the fabric with something and you end up dead before lunch, but it’s snowing today and you had nothing else to wear. 

“Have a good first night in Westview?” She asks and you cautiously glance around the room. 

“Can I talk to you for a minute?” You ask urgently, voice low. Concern flits onto her face and she nods and stands up. She pulls you into the evidence locker. “They were at my motel last night,” you hiss. 

Agatha’s hand flies to her mouth. “The killers? Are you sure?” 

You nod furiously. “I had left to get food and when I came back, the door was open and they had packed my suitcase with all new stuff—” You motion down at your body and she checks you out again. “—and perfume and then they circled ‘lovers’ on a sticky note I had to tell me their relationship and they left the flower on my table!” 

“Slow down,” Agatha says and you realize you’ve been talking so fast that you haven’t taken a breath. She puts her hands on your shoulders. “Did you see them? Did they come back?” 

“No, not yet at least. I don’t understand, if they wanted to kill me, why not just wait until I was there? Or asleep?” 

“Maybe they didn’t want to kill you,” Agatha suggests. “Maybe they just wanted to send you a message or something. It’s pretty big news that we have a profiler from the FBI here to help stop them.” 

You frown. “So they wanted to let me know they’re not scared of me?” 

She shrugs. “Maybe, maybe not. Who knows what they’re thinking. But the most important thing is that you’re okay. We can send over some officers later to test for evidence, if you want.” 

“It’s no use, I tore the place apart last night,” you say, shaking your head at your own stupidity. She squeezes your shoulders. 

“Hey, don’t worry. Like you said, if they wanted you dead, you’d be dead. Let’s go out there and work on catching them so you and everyone else in Westview can sleep easy, yeah?” 

You nod, feeling a little better but then you pause. “Agatha, are you afraid?”

Something flickers in her eyes before it's quickly replaced by humor. “I think they know better than to break into the home of a decorated detective such as myself,” she says haughtily and you can’t help but to laugh. She chuckles too, but then something in her face changes. 

Before you can ask what’s wrong, she leans in and sniffs up your neck. You freeze and find all the air in your lungs gone. 

“New perfume?” She mutters. 

You had put it on this morning without even thinking about it as your usual had also been taken. Thanatos. The Greek personification of death. 

Or as Freud defined it, a person’s urge to die. 

“Yeah,” you stutter. Agatha finally pulls back and her blue eyes are dilated. You find your gaze dropping down to her mouth again and you want to feel her lips on yours. 

“You said they packed your suitcase with all new stuff,” she says in a hushed voice and your heartbeat picks up. “Did they give you that too?” 

“Yes,” you whisper, and instead of looking disgusted, like you thought she would, she looks excited. 

She leans back in and presses her face into your neck and are you imagining her lips ghosting against your skin or is that really happening? It feels like your entire body is on fire. 

They trail up, light as a feather against your jugular vein, and she’s at your chin when the door slams open and you jump back. She winks and then she’s turning on her heel and walking out. It’s an officer, trying to book evidence, looking very confused. 

“Making friends, Miami?” He jokes and your face flushes before you quickly leave the room before finding Agatha and the rest of the detectives back in the room with the case information. 

You tirelessly pour over every single detail for the next few hours to no avail. You toss out theories but Agatha always finds something that doesn’t add up and you’re always back to square one. 

But then it’s time for your therapy appointment, so you drop your pen down to the table and gather the pages of your chicken scratch to throw in your bag. 

“I have to head out,” you say hastily and Agatha glances up. 

“Hot date, superstar?” She teases and the memory of her mouth on your neck burns through you. 

You shake your head. “Just uh, going to the doctor.” 

She raises an eyebrow daringly and smirks. “Have fun.” 

You give her a tight smile and then you’re in your car driving to the office. There’s people walking on the street on your route and you can’t help but wonder which of them might be the next victim. 

It’s always been hard to not get too attached to the people in the towns you work at. Looking at them, knowing tomorrow they might not be alive, it takes a toll on you. 

That’s part of the reason you get so attached. The waiting, the not knowing. It eats away at you. 

Dr. Vidal’s office is tucked away in the corner of a string of workspaces in a building, and you feel something weird in your stomach as you walk up the steps. For the third time in the past 24 hours, your scar sears with a pain you haven’t felt since right after. You have to stop and breathe deeply before opening the door. 

A woman sits at the front desk typing on her computer. She barely even looks at you and you stand at the desk for a moment before clearing your throat. 

“Um, hi, I have an appointment for one? I’m Y/N,” you say and it’s like she’s finally realized someone’s standing there. 

She hums in acknowledgement and scrolls until she finds your name and clicks. “The doctor will be with you shortly.” 

You tap the desk and go sit down, wiping your palms on your pants. It’s only a few minutes before a door opens and your name is called. 

Walking into the room, the first thing you notice is the thick smell of nature. And then you see plants everywhere. Bookshelves line the walls, full with books and pots of every type of plant and flower you’ve ever seen. Your eyes narrow, but you don’t see anything purple. 

And then you see Dr. Vidal sitting behind a large desk. You tentatively take a seat in one of the chairs across from her, squirming under her intense gaze. She’s an attractive woman, hair pulled back into a tight bun and brown eyes that seem to stare into your soul. There’s not a hair out of place on her desk; everything is meticulously organized and right where she needs it. 

You clear your throat. “Big plant lover?” You say, and it’s an incredibly awkward way to make a first impression. You’ve never been good at therapy, or with uncomfortable silences. 

But she doesn’t seem to care, finds it almost amusing. Her tongue pushes against the inside of her cheek and she settles forward. “So, what brings you to therapy?” 

You don’t even know where to start. “I just got to town, and um, oh – I’m a profiler, by the way, for the FBI. I’m here working on the case with The Witch and Lady Death.” 

“Lady Death?” Dr. Vidal asks, giving you an intrigued look. 

“Oh, we figured out that there’s actually two killers. That’s what I nicknamed the other one, because apparently she’s been seen with the bottom half of a skeleton mask on her face. Wait, this is all confidential right?” 

“Of course,” she assures you, voice smooth as honey. “Anything you say here doesn’t leave this room unless you threaten to hurt yourself or someone else. So, you’re here about the case?” 

You nod, playing with the hem of your sweater. “Yeah, you could say that. I sort of have some obsessive tendencies when it comes to cases like these, and I just wanted to get ahead of them before I spiraled again.” 

“What does a spiral look like for you?” 

Chewing on your nail, your gut twists and you can feel Wanda’s knife jabbing into you. “I stop eating, stop sleeping. The work consumes me, I can’t take a break. I don’t want to take a break. There’s just this overwhelming need to catch the killer and I won’t stop – I can’t stop – until I find them. It can be dangerous.” 

She nods and writes something down in her notebook. “Why did you become a profiler?” 

“To help people,” you answer immediately. “I like reading the killers, figuring out what they’re thinking, getting inside their heads and beating them at their own game.” 

“When did you start knowing you wanted to do this? Why not just become a detective or something?” 

This one takes a bit longer to think about. “I don’t know, I just remember being a kid and wanting to…” You trail off, suddenly feeling confused. “I’m sorry, I don’t really know what I was going to say.” Something is weird, wrong even. What were you thinking of? 

“No, don’t apologize,” Dr. Vidal says, laying her hands on the desk with wide eyes. “You wanted to what as a kid? What happened that made you want to think like a killer?” 

A dull ache starts to throb against your skull the harder you try and think about it. “I don’t know,” you repeat, pinching the bridge of your nose. “I’m not thinking like a killer, I’m figuring out the way their brain works. So I can catch them.” 

She leans back and crosses her arms. “What do you feel when you think like them?” 

“What does this have to do with–” But you’re cut off by a blinding burst of pain and then glimpses of something you can’t quite explain flash through your mind. 

Snow. 

Trees. 

A clearing in the woods. 

Red birds flutter from the branches, startled by something. 

You hear your name and the images are gone. Dr. Vidal is watching you closely, breathing heavily. “What was that?” 

Shaking your head, you try to make sense of what just happened. Memories or hallucinations? “Um, sorry, I don’t know. What was the question?” 

Her eyes are dark and they remind you of Agatha’s in the evidence locker. How she had leaned down and smelled the perfume you were wearing. You shift in your chair. 

“I was asking what your coping mechanisms are for when you start to feel yourself spiraling,” she says, and you’re still a little foggy, but you’re pretty sure that’s not what she asked. 

You think you might be going crazy. “My boss back in Miami was pretty good about recognizing when I needed to take a step back. I’m trying to not get too involved and make sure I’m eating and staying hydrated and sleeping enough. And I’m here, so I think this should help.” 

“That’s what I’m here for,” Dr. Vidal says with a smile. “If you ever start to feel too drawn in, take three deep breaths and then do the 5-4-3-2-1 technique. Are you familiar?” 

You almost roll your eyes. That’s exactly what they told you to do during your mandated therapy. Name five things you can see, four things you can touch, three things you can hear, two things you can smell, and one thing you can taste. It was meant to ground you and reduce your anxiety. 

“Yeah, I’ve tried it a few times, but it didn’t really work for me,” you admit and she waves dismissively. 

She quickly scribbles something down and rips out a chunk of paper, sliding it across to you. “This is my cell,” she says. “Call me anytime, day or night, if you ever need to talk. Sometimes that’s the best way to calm down. I know you’re new here, but do you have anyone else, maybe someone you’ve been working with that you could talk to if you need to?” 

“There’s this one woman I work with that’s pretty nice. She’s the main detective on the case, so I think I could reach out if I really needed to,” you say and she looks pleased. 

“Detective Harkness?” Dr. Vidal asks. 

In a small town, people are bound to be familiar with each other. “Um, yeah, do you know her?” 

She smirks. “Very well. She’s quite attractive, don’t you think?” 

The question catches you off-guard. Is everyone in this place weird? “I mean, sure, of course. Are you allowed to say that?” 

“Well, she’s my wife so I would hope so.” 

Your mouth drops open. Her lips on your skin, ghosting along your neck, filling you with heat and a need for more. “Oh, I’m so sorry for saying that, I had no idea, obviously. We just work together.” 

“Don’t be, doll. I’m sure the two of you would make quite the pair,” Dr. Vidal says, and you ignore the possible unprofessionalism at the pet name. She doesn’t seem offended at all, only fascinated. 

You shift in your seat again while trying to figure out what to say. “Well–” you start, but she cuts you off. 

“Let me guess, she’s been flirting?” 

Fuck. What do you even say? Is Dr. Vidal going to be mad, say she can’t treat you anymore? It’s not your fault, you hadn’t done anything. 

She scoffs. “You’re such a pretty young thing, I can’t blame her. You’ll have to come over for dinner with us some night.” 

“Um, is that allowed?” You ask, blinking slowly. You have absolutely no idea what is going on. Is your therapist suggesting a threesome with you and her wife and woman you’re working with? 

“Getting a meal with your support system? Why wouldn’t it be?” When she phrases it like that, it’s hard to find an error with her logic. 

You shrug. It would be nice to be able to talk freely about things. And you’re sure Agatha has told her about the case already. “Yeah, okay.”

“Is there anything else you want to talk about?” 

The question weighs on your mind as you chew on your lip and debate whether or not to tell her about the images you just saw. You don’t remember ever being in those woods. “Do patients ever, I don’t know, see things while they talk to you? Like false memories or something?” 

This gets her attention. “What did you see?” 

“Snow, and woods, and a flock of birds. I don’t know, it felt familiar but I’ve never…” You try to put it into words, but you don’t know how. 

“What happens when you try to follow that memory?” She asks and you close your eyes, but there’s nothing. 

“I–I can’t. There was like a pain in my head when you asked about what made me want to think like a killer, and then I saw it, but it’s not happening now.” You sound defeated, a testament to your frustration. 

Dr. Vidal frowns. “Do you know what repressed memories are? And I never asked you that.” 

It’s like the floor tilts under you and you stare blankly at her. You can only focus on the latter part. “No, you did, I remember…” You start to breathe heavily, panic rising in your chest, and she comes over to rub at your back. “I don’t understand.” 

“It’s possible you’re feeling a little overwhelmed by all this. I think you need to go home and get some rest. Did you sleep last night?” 

It makes sense to you now. You didn’t sleep at all, your brain is just playing tricks on you. “No.” 

She nods. “Go home. Take a nap. Let’s book a follow up, though. See if we can get to the bottom of those images.” 

You choose to come back in three days in the afternoon again and then you drive back to the motel. Your exhaustion suddenly weighs a ton and all you have to do is stumble in your room, collapse on the bed, and you pass out. 

The snow crunches underneath your boots as you trode through it. Branches claw at your legs through your pants and the wind whips your cheeks. 

It’s cold, but you can’t feel it. 

Where are you going? You don’t know, but your legs do. They take you through the woods into the clearing. 

You stand alone for a few minutes and then you hear someone – something? – approaching. 

A purple wolf. 

You crouch down to your knees and it saunters up to you. One eye is a piercing blue, the other is hazel. 

So familiar, yet otherworldly. You don’t understand. 

It opens its mouth to say something, and you’re leaning in to make sure you hear it, when –

Your phone rings and it jolts you awake in a cold sweat. You roll over in bed to find you’ve been asleep for hours. You reach for your phone when you realize that you’re completely naked. 

How did that happen? 

When you were younger, you know you had problems with sleep-walking, but you would always keep your clothes on. You file that away to talk to Dr. Vidal about next time. 

“Hello?” You say groggily, not even checking who’s on the other line. 

“It’s Agatha,” the voice says and it’s like a bucket of cold water gets thrown on you. “There’s been another murder.”

[sturnsreader]

scars

TW: self harm

!! requested by @sturns-posts !!

౨ৎ ⋆｡˚

“y/n?” you heard your boyfriend, matt, call from upstairs. you sighed and made your way up stairs to find matt on his laptop. you walked around the corner and smiled walking up to him.

“yes matty?” you asked cheerfully.

“are you okay?” he asked sounding concerned.

“yeah, why?” you asked confused at by the sudden worry.

“well, im just worried about you.” he sighed. you noticed that he kept looking back down to his computer screen to making glances at your arms.

“you would tell me if you weren't, right?” he asked.

you gulped wondering what he knew.

“yes, baby, please dont worry about it.” you nodded quickly before turning back to go downstairs.

he grabbed your waist and pulled you back into his arms playing with your hair.

“are you sure you’re okay?” he asked again repeating himself. you nodded into his chest before he pulled you back leading you into his room. he didn’t say a word, just sat you on his bed and opened up the screen. on the left hand side of the screen was a recent picture of you in mcdonalds that a camera man had taken, on the right hand side was the same photo just zoomed into your wrist. your scars visible for the world to see. you read the headline over and over in your head sighing.

'HAS TWITTER TROLLS PUSHED MATTHEW STURNIOLO’S GIRLFRIEND OVER THE EDGE?'

“what is this? you told me you stopped a while ago and if you felt like that you were going to tell me. did i do something wrong?” he asked pointing to your wrist on the screen with teary eyes. you couldn't speak, your whole throat had closed up.

he noticed and pulled you onto his lap staring into your stinging eyes.

“i love you so much and i want nothing but for you to be the happiest girl ever. i let anyone hurt you. whether they're old or new, i don't care because i'm here for you now and i always will be." he smiled before kissing your forehead softly. a tear escaped your eye making you smile.

“we don't have to talk about this now, whenever you're ready.” he smiled resting your head onto his chest as he wiped the tears off.

| 2 hours later |

“hey, i know you wanted to go to the cabin back in massachusetts, so were going with nick and chris tomorrow morning!” he said with a smile while tucking your hair behind your ear.

“baby, you didn’t have to”

“shh, i wanted to.” he said as he hugged you around the waist.

you waited at least 10 seconds before letting go. matt’s hugs were the most comforting thing ever. “can you help me pack, please.”

matt shook his head up and down with a big smirk while grabbing your hand and walking downstairs to the bedroom.

“oh, how long are we staying.”

“since were with nick and chris we are staying for a week and a half, but soon we can go alone.”

he was digging through the closet trying to find a bag big enough before you made him stop.

“i love you so much.”

“i love you more, my love” you could tell he meant it. “we are going down to nick and chris’s house tomorrow morning at 4 am. i know its early but i want to get there earlier, if its okay with you.” he said right after he found a perfect suitcase to fit all your stuff.

| two days later |

“hey babe i was scrolling through things to do here and there is a tattoo parlor like five minutes away from us can we PLEASE get tattoos together!” nick said excitedly.

“shut up you have been rambling about tattoos the whole time we-“ chris said as you cut him off.

“nick i would LOVE to get a tattoo with you and i know exactly what i want. follow me!” you said as you go to find matt in the store.

“im getting a tattoo with nick and i just want you to draw stars around my scars.” you say while going through your purse to find a pen.

matt looks at you in awe as he takes the marker and draws the cutest stars ever. you start to tear up. you look up at him as he concentrates on drawing them all.

౨ৎ ⋆｡˚

not my best work but i tried 🥲🥲

i hope you enjoyed and if you have anything you need to talk about message me! i love you guys sm🩷.

[tigerf00d]

Got a Photograph, Picture of

Pairing: Spike x Reader

Other Characters: the Scoobies (mentioned)

Tags: explicit NSFW/smut, blood drinking, photography/nude photos, no use of y/n, gender neutral pronouns (afab body, sorry y'all, working with what I know.)

Word Count: 3.7k

Summary:

“Spike?” You centred him in the frame made out of your thumb and forefingers, pretending to line up the camera.

“Can vampires take pictures?”

Your vampire counterpart paused from where he was leafing through a book, looking up at you curiously.

“Well, yes. But often not very well.”

A/N: Title from the Def Leppard song. This is a second part but can be read as standalone! Also available on my Ao3. As this is explicit, you are (as always) responsible for your own consumption of media. That said, if you stay, please enjoy!

Read the first part here.

You were both sitting in Spike's room below the crypt, bedroom painted gold with warm rays that faded as the sun set. His ‘bed’, which really was just a bedframe and collection of fabrics as he claimed a mattress was “too soft” after a century of sleeping wherever was convenient (see also; the floor), was propped up in the corner.

It was strange. Ever since your mutual confession a month ago, you had been around his place, around him, much more. You’d seen his bed before, but now that you’d slept in it? (And that was ALL… I swear on Giles, Buffy.) There was a familiarity you hadn’t expected.

“Spike?” You centred him in the frame made out of your thumb and forefingers, pretending to line up the camera.

“Can vampires take pictures?”

Your vampire counterpart paused from where he was leafing through a book, looking up at you curiously.

“Well, yes. But often not very well.”

“You know that’s not what I meant. Can you have your photograph taken?”

“Depends on the camera. Why do you ask?”

“...No reason.”

He looked at you flatly, faux unamusement painting his face, but you knew the truth.

“Sure, I’ll just take your word for it then, shall I, poppet?”

You nodded, and he just kept staring at you.

Had there always been that many bricks in the wall? It was obvious that you couldn’t hold his gaze, but it was difficult to resist him. One more look can’t hurt, can it? It’s not like he was still looking, surely. He was. pale eyes and that scar that sat so effortlessly over his brow. peering up at you.

“Pet.” Spike said lowly, “What’s the reason?”

“Ok, you're right. There is a reason.” You pause at his smug smile. “Don’t let it get to your head. We were reading this magazine and-”

“We?”

“The Scoobies, well, Willow and Xander mostly.”

“Mhmm, go on.”

“Well, they had this, er, column. On… intimate things, I saw one of the ideas and thought I could adapt it for us to do.”

“So instead of just askin’ me if we could get it on, you decided to ask if I could have my picture taken?”

He was trying not to laugh, lips twitching as he tried to keep a straight face.

“No! I just, one of them was talking about giving boudoir photos to your partner or whatever and I thought it would be nice to just have a clean and wholesome picture of you.”

“What for? It’s not like we do anything without each other, except when I go out to eat.”

“And during the day.” You murmured, watching the dawning realisation in his expression.

“Oh, so is that what this is? Hm? Already so attached to me, is that it, love?”

You frowned, rubbing your palm apprehensively, “Maybe I shouldn’t have said anything.”

“No, no, we’ll take your pictures. Did you bring the camera?” He looks at you knowingly.

“Well, I only have a digital one, and it’s not the best—”

He cut you off,

“Digital is better, at least I look normal on the screen. It’s the silver in the developer that’s the issue.” You nodded and went to find your bag, which you had left near the worn-down entrance to the crypt.

As you returned, the bleached-blond vamp was nowhere to be seen. It was still light out, and you had just been in the crypt itself, which left either the entrance to the town’s underground system, or… you spun around and saw the vamp leaning against the wall near the door with a bemused smirk on his face.

“You're not getting rid of me that easily.”

“I didn't think so.” You huffed a laugh before raising the camera. “I’ve got it. Where do you wanna sit?”

Spike frowned, looking around his bedroom before laying down on his bed.

“Here? Are you sure?”

“You kneel over me to take it, an’ that way, we both get to enjoy the view.”

You rolled your eyes, “Uh huh, anything else?”

“Yes,” Spike drawled before he quickly sat up, removed his shirt, and lay back down. “Now it’s gonna be memorable.”

“Everything you do is memorable.” You grumbled, moving to straddle his hips.

“What was that?” he had excellent hearing, and you both knew it.

“Nothing, Spike,” unable to wipe the smile plastered on your face. You saw him struggle not to smile below you.

Spike liked to tease. That much was obvious to anyone who saw the pair of you together, but even more so he liked for the other to join in, to acknowledge the teasing and throw the ball back to his court. He was ever the brat that way.

You sat down slightly, trying to frame the image better through the tiny window.

One of his arms moved to cushion his head, tilting his face closer to the camera, and the other wrapped around your leg, and you felt him palm your thigh.

“Spike.”

“Yes?” he responded, feigning obliviousness.

“Your hand, it’s distracting.”

“Oh.” the vamp responded all too suddenly, eyes glittering with mirth.

You took the picture.

“A little warning, love?” Spike blinked, the bright light leaving green remnants in his vision. You smiled at the pixelated version of him on the screen.

“Sorry. You just looked so…”

“So?”

“So… you. I couldn’t help myself.”

He looked at you softly before slipping back into his comfortable persona.

“Do I get one of you, then?”

You shrugged, “If you want.”

Rolling off of him and pushing the camera into his hands in one swift motion, you asked, “Where do you want me?”

“Same as me.”

You moved to lay on your back so he could reverse the positions, but he grabbed your shoulder and looked at you expectantly.

“What?”

“Take your top off.”

“Spike. I’m not wearing anything underneath.”

“What? It’s nothing I haven’t seen before.”

“That was different, I was injured.”

Spike conceded, tilting his head before continuing, “Still. For me? It'll be collarbones up, cross my undead heart.”

You thumbed the hem of your shirt and rolled your eyes, “Only for you. Got that?”

“Wouldn't dare to dream of having it any other way.” He assuaged.

Top now removed, you lay back down as Spike eyed you appreciatively through the viewfinder.

“It's the same for you, y'know.”

“What's that, love?”

“I'm not going to show anyone your picture. That is unless you want me to.”

“Appreciate that, pet. Now, hold still. Or better yet, as you so wonderfully put it, do something you-ish.”

You looked at him begrudgingly,

“I did not say ‘you-ish’, William.”

“My first name, you wound me.” He muttered, trying to focus.

“You're a vampire. It’ll heal.”

Spike lowered the camera minutely to level you with a frown, which you couldn't help but laugh at. Eyes stinging with the same green remnants he had experienced moments ago as Spike captured the moment. You sat up, moving one leg over the other as he waited momentarily to inspect the screen before looking at it fondly and putting the camera to the side, picking up your shirt, and just holding it.

“Well, now. What to do?”

“Now I put my shirt back on, and we get you something to eat.”

“Ah, not so fast love. I ate earlier. So we'll have to think of something else.”

“It would help if you gave me my shirt. Then we could actually go places, Spike.”

“Why don't we stay in tonight? It's perfectly nice in here.”

You look around the barren room, cobwebs lining the ceiling.

“In your… crypt?”

“Well, where else do you propose?”

“I did say ‘out’, didn’t I? But… You have a point. You’re certain that you’re not hungry?”

“Positive, love. Though I could be tempted if a certain someone was offering.”

You gasped, squinting at Spike suspiciously. He had drunk from you once before, but it was (unfortunately) in the least sexy way possible, involving a certain mystical terror stalking vampires for their undead energy and subsequently placing Spike on house arrest, but seeing as he didn’t actually have a house, he had boarded with Giles at the time, much to the pair’s mutual enjoyment. To put it simply, it was a whole ordeal that had whisked Giles away for longer than desired, and Spike had to feed somehow: enter you. Could you have bought pig’s blood? Most definitely. Was the idea of asking for pig’s blood and it being sold out due to Hellmouth shenanigans somehow more embarrassing than anxiously offering your arm to the man? Jury’s still out on that one. Perhaps the answer lies in the way you have thought about it on and off at least twice a week since the event had occurred, say, two years ago. But let’s not examine that too closely.

“I see.” You responded finally.

Spike tilted his head in a way that let you know he was observing you. Or, more accurately, confirming a suspicion.

“Why so quiet all of a sudden?”

You scoffed, “I’m always quiet, Spike.”

“Maybe so, love, but not like this. Something on your mind? I didn’t bother you with the blood talk, did I?” He was choosing his words carefully, no doubt leading you somewhere.

“No, Spike. You know I don’t mind that.”

“So what is it?”

“Have you been reading my diary?” you blurted.

“Why? Is there something in there I should be reading?”

Hook, line, and sinker. Damn it, you really had to get better at figuring out exactly what he was trying to confirm before trying to evade it.

“...No.”

“No? Nothing to do with me drinking your blood?”

You blinked up at him, eyes wide like a deer in headlights. “Why would I write about that?”

“I don’t know, pet, but you’re awful nervous for someone who has nothing to hide right now.”

“Well, I’m not. Hiding anything, I mean.” Spike’s eyes tracked the movement as crossed your arms over your chest, protecting yourself from the cool air from below the crypt.

“That’s good.”

You both stared at each other for another beat, before he rolled his eyes dramatically.

“I may have seen you writing your diary.” Spike admitted,

“WHAT?” You yelped at the same time that he continued, “Did you know you mouth words when you write? Adorable, really.”

“YOU’VE BEEN WATCHING ME??”

“Vampire, love, get with the program.”

Taking a moment to catch a breath and re-centre yourself, you nod slightly in understanding. Altogether unsurprising that he did that, still a little creepy, but also weirdly heartwarming now that you had your ten seconds.

“Cool. Cool, so… so what, was this a set-up to get me to admit that maybe I might have a slight thing for vampirism or…?”

“Slight?”

“Spike, you know that’s not why I’m here.”

“Only teasing, pet. No, for once, this hasn’t been some elaborate ruse. But when opportunities arise.”

“Ok, so… so, what? You want to drink my blood?”

“Among other things.” He murmured.

“Spike?” You hesitated, watching his expression closely. “What if I said yes?”

He shrugged, “Then I would drink your blood.”

“Is that all?”

“If that's all you wanted it to be.” Spike moved closer, causing you to lay back onto the soft blankets below you, arms falling to your sides. His arms were either side of your body, crowding you in.

Spike smirked as he heard your heartbeat pick up and your sharp inhale at his closeness.

“But we both know…” He said lowly, eyes focused on your lips, “That it's not all you want.”

He surged forward, capturing your mouth in a passionate kiss. Breaking apart after only a moment to watch your lips chase his own. Spike lifted himself up slightly to gesture for you to move further up the bed, to which you complied.

Now able to blanket you with his own body he began to plant soft, teasing kisses along your neck, caressing the soft flesh with the sharp tips of his teeth, but never puncturing.

An open-mouthed kiss at your collarbone,

“Something the matter, love?”

You whimpered, “Why aren’t you doing it?”

Two more kisses, a nip at the base of your throat, still not hard enough to break skin.

“You have to ask. I want you to ask for it, pet, to really mean it.” His tongue laved a path along the smooth column of skin up to your jaw, followed soon by more kisses.

“Please, Spike. I want you to. I want your bite. For…” You hesitated and to your dismay his motions stopped alongside this. “For you to feed on me.”

Spike smiled conspiratorially, “Naughty naughty, pet.” The tantalising drag of his teeth stopped at the junction between your neck and shoulder, he moaned as he finally pierces your skin, your blood trickling into his mouth as your eyes flutter closed.

“Spike,” You whisper, tilting your head so that he can get a better angle. Feeling his smile against your skin is so different from seeing it. Spike's hands moved down your sides, the fingertips of his right hand skating across your ribcage, pressing his palm to the warm skin, feeling your heart's erratic beating beneath it. He's careful not to jostle you when he raises himself off of you.

“Always so eager to please.”

Softly, he kisses the tender spot, lapping up the sluggish drops of blood leaving the wound. You moan softly, craning your head to the side further still.

The tell-tale click of the shutter and bright flash startle you into squinting up at him, or rather, into the camera.

“Sorry pet, you just look so beautiful like this.”

You look at him properly, smiling from the compliment but still blinking off the light-headedness and adrenaline. His lips are tinted red, cheeks flushed and a sparkle in his eye from the experience, and though he always does to you, in this moment especially he looks alive. Gently you take the camera from him and snap a picture in return.

“So it's like that, hm?”

“Yes.” Had your voice always been that breathy? You disposed of the camera to the side once more.

Spike huffed an amused laugh, dipping down to mouth at the other side of your neck, moving next to kiss your collarbones, then the top of your chest.

“This alright, love?”

“More than alright.”

He enclosed one of your nipples into his mouth, rubbing the other teasingly with his hand. Swapping when he was sufficiently satisfied with your reactions, and then kissing down your rib cage.

“And this? This alright too, pet?” There was an addictive playfulness in his tone.

“Spike.”

“Use your words.”

“You could do just about anything to me right now and it would be alright.”

“I'll keep that in mind.” He promised, tugging at the elastic of your bottoms with his free hand.

In a sudden burst of confidence you removed them, leaving only your underwear remaining.

“Someone's eager.”

“You're bullying me.” You protested.

“You're the one that likes it, love. I can tell.”

His hand smoothed over your hip, “Though I am partial to it, myself.” He admitted, pushing your underwear to one side and running two fingers between your folds. “See? Proof. You like it even more than I do.”

You lifted your hips and he took your bottoms off, listening to your silent pleasure.

Wrist turned to the ceiling, he pushed one finger in slowly, allowing you to adjust to the bizarre feeling.

“Would you please just touch me?”

“As you wish.” He murmured, inserting another finger and beginning to pump them in and out of you rhythmically.

Spike may not have ever been particularly religious, but he certainly understood worship. The circular motions of his thumb against your clit was ritualistic, a practised demonstration of devotion; the soft spoken encouragement as he pressed hot kisses around the bite mark a prayer. Perhaps in another life his moniker would have been ‘the Devoted’.

“Oh God.” You moaned, fruitlessly trying to close your legs and white-knuckle clutching at the sheets in an attempt to warn him.

“Just Spike will do, love.”

You could feel his erection rubbing against the soft meat of your thigh as he began to rut into the bedding right beside you, pants still on. His desperation despite being dedicated to your pleasure at this moment was so palpable you couldn't help but succumb to his wishes, orgasm bleeding new life into your body.

You breathed deeply, boneless, and reached your arm down to palm at him through his pants.

Spike grunted, lifting his body away from your hand and standing to remove the remainder of his clothes.

You reached for him, pulling him down to kiss. The motion was as easy as though you had stolen kisses from Spike hundreds of times.

“Feel good, did you love?”

“Something like that.” You smiled up at him.

He laughed softly before pressing himself between your legs.

“Beautiful.”

“You say that to all your lovers?”

“I've only got one, so yes.”

You didn't know what to say to that, but judging from his quietly (for once) pleased expression you could tell he had sensed the way your cheeks had heated.

You readjusted to lean back against the makeshift headboard, from this angle you could see him better.

Spike's dick was surprisingly pretty. Slightly curved, larger than average, but longer than it was wide.

“Seen something you like, pet?”

“Definitely.” You made a grabbing motion to him and he slotted himself between your legs. The tops of his thighs touching your own.

Spike bent over and kissed your chest affectionately as he used his hand to run the head of his erection through your folds. Gathering wetness at the same time as teasing your clit.

He lined himself up, free hand beside your head to support himself as he entered you slowly, once again giving you time to adjust, all the while shallowly rutting in and out of you.

Once you had adjusted enough for him to bottom out he began to thrust deeper Into you.

“Such pretty noises, love.” Spike's eyes roved your face, listening to your whine in response and the soft moans that followed it as he began to increase his pace.

The hand not supporting him held your chin as he dipped down to kiss you and swallow those sounds for himself.

“Could you– fuck–” You cut off with a whimper.

“What love, what is it?”

“Could you bite me again, please?”

He hung his head and groaned in response.

“Please, Spike, would you?”

“Yes, I think I can manage that.” Came his strangled reply. He drove into you harder, muttering about good manners and sweet little desperate things, peppering kisses down the opposite side of your throat to where he had fed before.

You tilted your head and moaned, the sound spurring him on as he slowed to better control his thrusts. You could barely think, trying to fuck yourself down onto him further.

As he ran his teeth down the side of your neck teasingly, Spike's hand moved from your chin and snaked down to in between your bodies to rub your clit, while imprecise due to your combined wetness, the motions pushed you closer to completion.

“Please Spike. Please now, I need it. Need you to feed on me.” You slurred angling your neck to better present it even further.

He hummed, placing an open mouthed kiss just below your pulse point in warning, and then broke your skin with his teeth once more. Both Spike and yourself moaned, his rhythm faltering as he worked to push you over the edge and drank your blood simultaneously.

You moved your hips in circles slowly, aiming to even the score before you came for a second time but trying not to move him too much and risk his control over his feeding.

When he unlatched himself from your neck this time, Spike had a feral look in his eye, allowing the thinning blood trail to simply trickle out rather than cleaning it like last time as he leant down to kiss you. His pace sped up once more as he created love bites around your collarbones, connecting the two puncture wounds. You were unravelling quickly, but so was he.

“Spike, cum in me.”

“Are you sure, love?”

“Certain.”

He paused quickly, amusement showing when you whined, as he readjusted the arm that had been supporting him to thread his fingers through your own. Spike’s thrusting then resumed, though now his rhythm over your clit was more controlled and deliberate as he tried to time your releases. He leaned more fully into you, allowing his weight to push him into you deeper. Your body seized, feeling weightless and alight all at once, pulling his head down to kiss at his jaw and around his mouth as you orgasmed for a second time.

Desperately, he used his whole weight to push him as far into you as he could on his final thrust as you clenched around him wildly. Spike came inside of you with a groan, holding himself up long enough to kiss the corner of your mouth and roll slightly to the side before becoming boneless on top of you.

After allowing you both a moment of reprieve, Spike pulled out, sitting back on his knees and began to push the cum back into you.

You were panting slightly, a combined sheen of sweat misting over the pair of you.

“You alright?”

“Mm.” You blinked slowly, stretching and then pulling yourself up to be eye level with him.

You kissed him again, this time with less urgency behind it. When you leant back you inspected his face. The kiss-swollen lips, the little remnants of eyeliner he had had on smudged slightly and his hair was sex mussed. Smiling somewhat sleepily now, you reached for the forgotten camera, pushing your head into the crook of his shoulder, to which he rested his cheek on top of your head, taking the camera from you to get a better angle with his longer arm, and took a photo of you both.

“You're a dream, pet.”

You hummed amicably before blurting “I need a shower.”

He chuckled at you, “I think that can be arranged. If:” he said, adding the condition, “If I can join you.”

“Deal.” You angled your head to kiss him once more and smiled when you heard the shutter sound off just before your lips connected.

[pasukiyo]

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐡 𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐞 | bradley bradshaw

bradley “rooster” bradshaw x f!reader 5,207 words warnings: smutttt, oops unprotected sex summary: you were the most beautiful girl bradley had ever laid eyes on. and he was going to prove he was worth your while. he was gonna make sure you took his picture.

 Bradley and the rest of his squad erupted into applause and laughter as Penny rang the bell, indicating some poor old fuck had left their phone on the counter again. “Right, well I…” Bradley began, handing his pool stick to Nat, “…am gonna go get a drink on the newbie. Rounds, anyone?” 

 He counted the amount of hands raised before making his way over to the bar, resting his elbows on the counter and leaning into it as Penny approached. “Make that five more on the newcomer,” Bradley said, holding up five fingers and beaming at a middle-aged man on the other side who scowled in response. Penny snickered, “coming right up, Roost.”

 Bradley tapped his fingers against the top of the counter to the beat of the Kenny Loggins song blasting through the speakers, the lyrics muffled, drowning under laughter and unnecessarily loud conversations. The Hard Deck was packed tonight— there were groups of people everywhere, leaving little space to roam around. 

 He snorted to himself at the thought of the poor bastard who had to buy the whole joint rounds tonight. 

 As Penny placed two out of the five beers in front of Bradley, he let his eyes wander to the entrance where a figure had just emerged, the door swinging shut behind them. It was a woman— running her fingers through the hair atop of her head as she slithered her way through the crowd. Just as Bradley was about to look away, he felt his heart stutter in his chest, darting his gaze back to the silhouette in a double take. 

 She was wearing a tight, slate gray Fleetwood Mac shirt tucked into little jean shorts, a camera bobbing up and down against her hip, held there by a black strap around her shoulder. Bradley felt his eyes watering as he stared, almost forgetting to blink as he watched her push her way towards the bar and…

 …oh. She was coming his way, and that was when it occurred to him that the last open space at the bar was right beside him. 

 She was making her way around the bar, and Bradley couldn’t pry his eyes away from her hips as they swayed with every step she made, weaving her way past Coyote and Hangman where they stood beside the pool table. Bradley could already feel his blood boiling when Jake did a double take, eyeing her up and down as she passed. 

 He was hopeless— but now he knew for certain that he had to talk to her tonight. 

 When she finally stepped up to the seat beside him at the bar, he could smell lavender— was that her perfume? She turned to spare him a glance, the corners of her lips curving into a friendly smile as Penny set the last three beers down in front of him. She grinned over to the new girl, holding up a finger. “Just one second,” she said. “The group over there have been staring me down like hawks.”

 The girl beside him laughed and brushed her hair behind her ear, shaking her head. “It’s no problem,” she replied, waving her off, and Bradley turned to look at her again once Penny had turned away. His gaze ventured down to her hip where her camera hung, and he cleared his throat, nursing his own bottle of beer to his chest. 

 “You take pictures?” His words tumbled out of him, and he mentally cursed at himself. Not even a hello, Rooster? 

 She turned to look at him, and Bradley felt his skin grow warm at the way she eyed him up and down, her lips curved into a crescent. “Only things I feel like are worth remembering,” she replied, rolling her bottom lip between her teeth as their irises surged into one another, and Bradley felt his jeans tighten just a little more at her words. He brought the rim of his bottle to his lips, taking a small sip of beer. 

 He nodded and hummed around the glass, setting the bottle back down on the counter before turning to face her, leaning a single elbow on the bar for support. “Hm. So what are things you feel are worth remembering?” He asked, and she tilted her chin towards the ceiling, sighing as she rested a fist on her hip. 

 “Let’s see…” she began, pausing to think. “The sunset over the ocean, rainy days, the little ducks that always find their way in my yard…”

 Bradley furrowed his eyebrows at this, and she glanced over at him, a wrinkle in her own brow. “You’re judging me,” she said, and the corners of his mouth twitched, raising his bottle to his lips to hide the fact that he was smiling. He shook his head as he took another mouthful of beer, and she narrowed her eyes. “No, you’re totally making fun of me.”

 Bradley couldn’t suppress his chuckle any longer and he placed his bottle back down on the counter, shaking his head again. “No, no, I’m not making fun of you,” he replied. “But ducks? Come on, what about things like… I don’t know…”

 He contemplated his words as they rested on the tip of his tongue, and when his gaze met hers again, he felt like he was burning. He felt like he was alive, more alive than he’d felt in a very long time. For years, Bradley only worked, worked, worked. Ever since his mom died, it’s been all he’s ever known. 

 But now, looking at her, he wanted to get to know her. He wanted whatever she could offer him, and he hoped she’d come to want whatever it was he could give her, too. 

 It was crazy, totally and completely insane, but the second he laid his eyes on this ridiculously beautiful girl beside him, he felt like he was being given another chance. He just had to take it. 

 “…guys at bars wearing Levi’s and Hawaiian button-ups?”

 He watched as her eyes ventured down his body again, and he saw the moment her lips began to curve into a smile before she dropped her head, her hand slithering behind her neck. His chest heaved with a laugh when she giggled, shrugging her shoulders. 

 “I don’t know,” she replied, gazing back up at him with those ridiculously beautiful eyes. “Are you worth my while?”

 Oh. He could feel those words straight through his jeans, and he suddenly had the urge to take her hand and lead her to the bathroom to take care of it. Instead, he grinned at her behind his beer just as Penny started to make her way back over. 

 He was definitely going to make sure she remembered him. 

 “Oh, I’m sure of it,” he replied, leaning in closer. “Can I buy you a drink? Or…” he gestured with his head over to the man across the bar. “…let me get you one on the poor bastard buying rounds for everyone tonight?”

 She tried to bite back her grin as he ordered a round for her, watching as the bartender grabbed another bottle of whatever beer he was drinking, sliding it over to where she sat. She wrapped her hands around the bottle and glanced over to the man beside her, who was raising his own bottle towards her. She couldn’t hold her smile any longer as they joined the glasses together in cheers. 

 “Jesus Bradshaw, you gonna make us wait all night?”

 They both turned towards the pool tables where Nat and the others were staring, eyes narrowed in glares. At the realization that Bradley was with a girl though, the corner of Phoenix’s lips curled into a small smirk as she made her way over to the bar, grabbing the other four beers in front of Bradley. 

 “It’s your go, Roost,” she said, grinning at the girl beside him. “Clear shot with the 8.” Bradley winked at her over the top of his bottle as he pushed away from the bar, gesturing with his head over to the pool table. “Alright, get your camera ready,” he tittered, grabbing a pool stick from Bob. 

 She watched as he circled around the table, eyeing the 8 ball in the middle, squeezing a single lid shut as he leaned down to eye the cue ball. She watched the pool stick as the end slid between his middle and forefinger, and after a few practice motions, he thrusted the end into the cue ball, knocking it into the 8. She watched the black ball as it rolled down the green baize and into one of the pockets, and he threw his hands into the air in victory, turning to face her. 

 “You gonna take a picture of the best 8 ball player there is?”

 The corners of her mouth twitched and she shrugged, “I don’t know. I mean, it wasn’t that impressive.”

 Nat tried to hide her laugh with a cough, the others snickering behind their beer while Bradley’s face fell, narrowing his eyes. “Not that impressive?” He scoffed, and she shrugged again. “Right. So you’re not gonna make this easy, are you?”

 She laughed as he sauntered back over to the bar, taking back his place beside her. “I never said I was easy,” she replied, a glimmer in her eyes. Bradley leaned in, “you gonna make me work for it?”

 She leaned in too, her arm brushing against his, his skin seared in her touch’s wake. “If you’re up for the challenge.” 

 Bradley’s gaze flickered down to her lips, and he contemplated giving everything up and just kissing her right then and there. But then his gaze ventured lower to the slate gray t-shirt she was wearing, the cogs in his brain beginning to turn. 

 He was going to make her remember him. He was going to get his picture taken. 

 “You like Fleetwood Mac?” He asked, grabbing his beer and gesturing for her to follow him, to which she obliged, pushing away from the bar. She glanced down to her t-shirt as they circled around the bar, cocking an eyebrow towards her hairline. “Yeah?” She replied, watching as he made his way to the far wall, bending down towards an outlet and yanking the black cords away, much to the whole place’s dismay when the music came to an abrupt stop. 

 Angry shouting permeated the bar as Bradley placed his beer on the top of the piano she stood next to, cracking his knuckles and rolling his neck along with his shoulders. “Well, I’m afraid I don’t know how to play any Fleetwood on the keys,” he snickered, tilting his head back and eyeing her through his aviators. 

 She felt warmth pool between her legs when he swiped his tongue between his lips, and she shifted in her place. 

 “But I can play a mean Great Balls of Fire.”

 Dramatically bobbing his head around, he played the first set of keys, looking her straight in the eyes as he began to sing. “You shake my nerves and rattle my brain,” he began, and she crossed an arm over her chest, using it to support her other elbow as she brought a hand to her lips, veiling her smile behind her digits. “Too much love drives a man insane.”

 The others— his friends, she guessed— joined him at his side, laughing behind their beer bottles. But his eyes were set on her, and he even nodded down to the camera at her hip. “You broke my will,” he paused to play the following keys, “but what a thrill.”

 His friends joined in as he sang the main line, “goodness gracious, great balls of fire!” and the crowd erupted into cheers and laughter as he dragged his fingers down the keyboard. She bit her nails to suppress the laughter bubbling in her chest as he continued to sing, and she could make out a cocked eyebrow behind his glasses. 

 He sure as hell was working his ass off for that picture. 

 “Kiss me baby,” he sang, rising from his seat, his fingers still on the keyboard. She approached the back of the piano as he leaned over, their faces so close now she could practically taste the beer on his breath. She smiled when he threw his head back as he sang, “ooh, that feels good, baby.”

 He was glowing as he sang, fervently playing each key of the song. She felt like she was being drawn into him, almost as if he were magnetic and she was metal. He threw his hands down on the keyboard and leaned in closer until she could feel the hairs of his mustache prickling her skin, his lips a phantom over hers while he sang, “I wanna love you like a lover should.”

 He pulled away to play the next keys before he was right back in front of her face, “you’re fine,” he chanted, “you’re so kind.” He tossed his head back again and when he came back, their lips brushed, and she could feel her skin burn when he sang, “I’ma tell the world that you’re mine, mine, mine, mine!”

 Bradley fell back down onto his seat, moving his body to the beat as he continued to sing the song. He watched as she giggled, a flush on her cheeks as she reached down to her hip, her fingers clutching the black object at her hip. 

 And here it was, the moment Bradley’s been waiting for.

 “Come on, baby, you’re driving me crazy,” he sang as she turned her camera on, bringing it up to her face. He watched as her forefinger rested on the button on the top, and right as he sang the chorus again, “goodness gracious, great balls of fire!” he could see her finger press down onto the button. 

 Bradley was ecstatic, his heart beating harder than it ever had before as he practically shouted the rest of the song, slamming his fingers down onto the last notes of the sound as the crowd hooted and hollered, erupting into applause. But none of that mattered, not when the most perfect girl he’d ever come across thought he was worth remembering. 

 He grabbed his beer bottle from the top of the piano as he circled around it, practically stumbling into her body, only partially because Nat and the others were crowding around him. 

 “So?” He raised his voice to be heard over the sea of people around them. “Was that not the best rendition of Great Balls of Fire you’ve ever heard or what?”

 She laughed and dropped her head, suddenly aware of how close his body was. And now she was suddenly aware of the ache between her legs, realizing how much she wanted him. And when she gazed back up at him, she knew he was thinking of the exact same thing. 

 “It was definitely something to remember,” she replied with a giggle. She rolled onto the tips of her toes, curling her forefingers around the belt loops of his Levi’s before tugging him even closer, her breath a whisper on his skin. “I, for one, thought the singer looked ridiculously sexy playing the piano.”

 Bradley could feel his breath as it hitched at the base of his throat, her words piercing right through the denim of his jeans and to his cock. With his hand not holding his beer bottle, he grabbed her waist and pulled her closer until her hips surged into his, and the way her gaze moved down to his lips did not go unnoticed. 

 He was fucked. 

 “Yeah?” He murmured, to which she nodded, feeling her own breath wavering, suddenly having the biggest urge to kiss his beer-stained lips, to have his body even closer. “Yeah,” she replied in hardly a whisper before his lips were on hers, his mustache deliciously prickling her skin as she wrapped her arms around his neck, barely holding onto her own bottle of beer at this point. 

 It was by far one of the craziest things she’d ever done— making out with a man she met half an hour ago in a cramped beachside bar. But when his hand slithered to the small of her back and drew her closer into his body, she never thought anything had felt more right. 

 Bradley pulled away, bringing the rim of his bottle to his lips to down the rest of his beer before reaching behind her to set it down on the nearest table. With her hand gripped in his, he led her through the sea of tipsy people, weaving their way between swaying bodies. He could see the restrooms up ahead, but there were so many people in his way, too enraptured in their conversations to see that he clearly needed to get through. 

 He pressed his lips together in a grimace, squeezing her hand before turning to face her, pressing his hips back into hers to be heard over the speakers somebody had plugged back into the wall. “What if we took this out to the parking lot?” He muttered close to her ear, and she blinked up at him, a smile tugging at her lips. 

 “You’re not going to beat me up, are you?” She asked teasingly, pinching her bottom lip with her teeth as she eyed the hair just above his mouth when the corner curved into a smirk. “Not in the way you’re thinking, at least.”

 She could feel the heat as it crept up her neck and to her cheeks while Bradley guided her through the crowd and towards the exit. She felt like she was floating, like she was walking on a cloud as the man in front of her pushed the door open, holding it until she had passed through before letting it slam shut behind them. She watched as he fumbled around in his Levi’s pocket, fishing out his keys all whilst leading her toward an old blue Ford Bronco. 

 Bradley was buzzing, just itching to get his hands on this seemingly perfect woman he had on his arm, practically tearing open the back seat to his Bronco and helping her up into it. She laughed as she leaned into the far car door, watching as he climbed in himself, crawling all the way up her body until his face was mere inches away from hers. He grabbed the strap of her camera and pulled it down her arm, reaching over to place it in the passenger’s seat. 

 “Gotta say, this was not how I expected my night to end,” she tittered, reaching up to once again curl her fingers into his belt loops. His mustache grazed the skin just below her nose, once again tasting the bitterness of beer on his breath as it lingered over her flesh. His eyes were a deep, velvety golden brown and she was basking in them as if they were warm, soft bed sheets. They were devouring her, and if he hadn’t been between them, she’d be squeezing her thighs together to ease the tension at her center. 

 “Me neither,” his voice was lower than before, raspier. And she moaned. She literally moaned at the sound of his voice, and she used the belt loops of his jeans as leverage so that she could grind her hips up into his. “But fuck, am I the luckiest bastard in the whole world tonight or what?”

 She grinned as she tugged him down to her lips, her mouth crashing into his. She was sweating, and he was practically already melting into her like candle wax, and his lips, they were soft as well as their movements were rough. The shorts hairs of mustache pricked her skin in a delectable way, and she removed her fingers from his belt loops to instead weave them through the umber locks of his hair, whimpering against his mouth as she gave his roots a firm tug. 

 It wasn’t long before he was shouldering off his cream-colored Hawaiian button up, pulling away to slip the white tank top underneath up and over his head. His lips were surging back into hers as he worked the buttons of her little jean shorts, trailing his kisses down her jaw, to her neck, all the way to her collarbone as he dragged the denim down her legs. He pushed the slate gray Fleetwood Mac shirt up until it bunched just below her bra, his lips venturing down her stomach and past her belly button as he pulled the shorts away from her ankles. 

 She was a whining, moaning mess, her back arching up off of the tan leather seats as he pulled her shirt over her head, letting it fall to the floorboards. His hands were warm and big as they cupped her breasts over the lace of her bra, kneading her flesh as he placed kisses on her chest, sucking dark marks into her skin. She was panting now, and she swore she could feel a bead of sweat drip down the side of her face. 

 “Shit!” she gasped when he reached around to unclasp her bra, practically tearing it from her shoulders and tossing it into the empty front passenger’s seat. He was like a man starved when he pounced, groaning against her flesh when he gathered an erect nipple in his mouth, gazing up at her through hooded lids as he sucked. 

 She pinched her bottom lip with her teeth and squeezed her eyelids closed when he released her flesh with a wet pop, trailing sloppy, wet kisses in the valley of her breasts to tend to the other. She writhed beneath him, and she could feel herself throbbing for more. 

 “Please,” she mewled when he pulled away from her nipple, his chin wet with spit and his irises a deeper shade of brown, and she swore she could see the moment his pupils expanded when he gazed down at her. His fingers began to fumble with the buckle of his belt, and her chest heaved when she inhaled a shaky breath, humming in anticipation. 

 “Want more, baby?” He asked, to which she nodded her head up and down vigorously, her lips parting in a gasp as she let her gaze linger on his chest, the toned, tanned skin of his stomach. She didn’t think she could get anymore lucky— being underneath the most perfect and gorgeous guy she’d ever laid eyes on. 

 She felt the sudden need to pinch herself to make certain this wasn’t just a dream. 

 He tossed his belt into the front seat, tearing the button up and his zipper down, and she watched as he peeled the denim from his legs and…

 …oh. He was pulling his boxers down at the same time and she felt as if she could foam at the mouth at the sight of his cock as it sprang free. It came to no surprise that he was big, but now that she was actually looking at it— the way the pink tip glistened with pre-cum, and he was so hard, the veins were bulging from his flesh. She was throbbing now more than ever, and she was quick to hook her fingers under the hem of her own panties, ridding herself of the last article of clothing on her body. 

 And when Bradley looked down, he groaned. She was so wet, he could see her slick as it oozed from her, sliding down her slit and creating a pool on the leather seat. He wrapped his hand around his girth and gave himself a few pumps while he shimmied his way down the seat until he was eye-level with her pussy. 

 “So goddamn wet,” he muttered, and she could feel his breath on her clit, she could feel the rasp in his voice pulse through her. “All this just for me?” He asked in a low murmur as he pressed wet kisses to the inside of her thighs, dangerously close to her heat. She bit down onto her lip and hummed, nodding her head in reply. 

 “Mhm,” she gasped when he kissed just above her clit. “Oh fuck, please!”

 She was grasping his hair again, tugging hard at his scalp. But if it bothered him— which it didn’t— he didn’t make a show of it. 

 “‘Please?’” He repeated, eyeing her through heavy lids, the hairs of his mustache grazing against her clit making her go feral. “Please, just touch me already!” She whined, bucking her hips against his face, and his lips were a crescent against her pearl as he drew her into his mouth and sucked and oh, she thought she could come right then and there. 

 Her lips fell agape as he flicked his tongue up and down her aching bud, bowing his head so the tip of his nose was against her clit whilst he mouthed at her entrance. His tongue pried her open and she shrieked, arching her back and curling her toes and tugging harder on his hair. Her vision began to blur as she stared up at the ceiling of the Bronco, and when he managed to work his warm muscle all the way into her cunt, she squeezed her eyelids closed. 

 She was in utter bliss, never had sex felt this good, and they were just getting started. She’d never had anyone go down on her before, and now that she knew what it was like, she simply couldn’t get enough. The man between her legs was too good, his lips and his tongue and his mustache too fucking good. 

 She really needed to get his number after this. 

 But now she was close. Oh, she was so dangerously close to her orgasm, she could already see white. She panted and peeled her eyelids open, looking down at him to see he was already staring up at her. He rubbed the bridge of his nose against her clit as he lapped at her entrance and her vision blurred with the haze of tears. 

 “Oh, baby,” she cried, “I’m so close. I’m so fucking cl—“

 She was stopped mid-sentence by her moan, and she ground her hips into his face and she could feel her climax as it just started to begin and—

 —then it was all gone. 

 She could no longer feel him between her thighs, and her eyelids shot open, watching as he hovered over her, his lips glistening with her juices, droplets of nectar littering his mustache. She furrowed her eyebrows as the corner of his lips tugged into a smirk and he leaned down to press them to hers, her own taste coating her tongue. 

 “Why’d you stop?” She whimpered when he pulled away, and he ran the pad of his thumb over her bud with one hand, wrapping his other around his cock with the other and giving it a few tugs. “Didn’t think I’d let you come yet, did you?” He sneered, and her bottom lip jutted out into a pout. He chuckled as he leaned down to press another kiss to her lips, and he lingered even after he pulled away. 

 She was losing herself in the soils of his irises, and she almost didn’t register what he said at first. 

 “Don’t worry, I’ll make it up to you in no time, darling.”

 She watched as he leaned away, still maintaining eye contact as he gripped her hip with one hand, guiding the head of his cock to her entrance with the other. She didn’t dare look away either, even when he pushed the tip in, even when the delicious stretch made her eyes well up with tears. 

 Moving slowly at first to give her time to adjust, he eased himself further into her until he was finally fully sheathed inside of her. He was so deep and she could feel every single inch of him, and she thought to herself that never had anyone reached the places inside of her he was reaching now. He was perfect, and they fit together perfectly like two puzzle pieces. 

 She wanted to cry. She would forever be grateful that she decided to walk into that ridiculously crowded bar despite her initial apprehension due to how packed the parking lot was. She would forever be grateful that she walked over to the smoking hot guy at the bar and gave him a chance. She was grateful for the night, for the universe, for everything right now. 

 Eventually, he began to pick up his pace, the windows fogging up with every heavy breath, every thrust, every smack of skin against skin. Her legs were shaking, and as he leaned over to hover over her, one hand kneading the flesh at her hip and the other clutching the car door behind her, she grabbed at his arms, her nails etching crescent moons into his skin. 

 “Oh, fuck,” he groaned, fluttering his eyes closed and tossing his head back. “You’re so tight.”

 She was squeezing him so well, he felt like he could hardly breathe. He slammed his hips harder into hers, feeling the coil at the pit of his stomach. He was so close to breaking, and he could feel she was too. 

 She could, in fact, feel the stretching of the rubber band at the pit of her stomach, and she was dangerously close to snapping. Tears streamed down the sides of her face as she whimpered and mewled incoherent nothings, just able to make out his silhouette in her watercolor eyes. 

 “I’m so… I’m gonna… oh fuck!” She mewled. “I’m gonna c… I’m gonna come!”

 He nodded as he pounded her harder, faster. She was clenching around him as she began to break, her body quaking in the wake of her orgasm. Bradley removed his hand from the car door behind her and gripped her other hip, practically slamming himself repeatedly into her as hard as he could, no doubt making the Bronco shake. 

 “Oh fuck!” He growled as he felt himself about to snap, and he managed to pull himself out just in time to unload all over her stomach, spurts of white coating her skin. She was blinking repeatedly to clear her vision, staring up at the ceiling of the car as he collapsed into the door behind him, his chest heaving as he chased air back into his lungs. 

 After a few moments, she managed to push herself up with her elbows to lean back into the car door, facing him as he wiped the sweat from his brow. If she had any energy left in her body, she’d crawl into his lap and kiss him until the sun rose back up the horizon. 

 But instead, she nudged his knee with her foot. 

 “You never actually told me your name,” she panted, and he squeezed his eyelids shut, throwing his head back against the window and covering his eyes with his palm. 

 “I never did, did I?”

 “Nope.”

 She chuckled as he pushed away from the door and scooted closer to her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders to press a kiss to the crown of her head. “Bradley Bradshaw,” he murmured against his skin. “And if you’d give me your number, I’d love to get you to take my picture again sometime.”

a/n; finally my first bradley fic!! mf has been on my mind so much and i can’t believe ive put off writing for him so long— i know this isn’t tom riddle or harry potter related but i hope you guys still enjoy because i really wanna start writing for bradley and my other comfort characters 🥹

[coff33andb00ks]

capture you - GR

summary: let me stay right here just a moment longer, the picture is so clear, please, let this last forever word count: 1k pairing: george russell x photographer!reader (lilli. it's lilli) warnings: just pure fluff a.n.: part two of my I need Lilli to have an amazing birthday series! this is once again for @maxlarens note: painting i describe (badly) is The Day Dream by Dante Rossetti <one of my favorite romanticism pantings>

He always used to see the camera first. It was his first sign that you were around. Then, as time passed, as he grew accustomed to you, he would see the flash of your hair out the corner of his eye and then the camera. He isn't sure when, exactly, but now he notices your perfume before he sees you.

He can smell it now as he chats with Mick and Lewis, and as Mick comments on tires George darts his eyes to his left for a split second. You're there, across the garage, your ever-present camera raised, and he knows he can relax now.

You watch him through the viewfinder, feeling voyeuristic even though it's literally your job. It's not your fault that he's so photogenic. The camera always focuses on him, and the rest of the team has given up teasing you for having more photos of George than anyone else.

Which is silly, because you make sure to take just as many photos of Lewis as you do George.

When you can.

If possible.

If you remember, which you never do.

You blink and he's in front of you. And, because you can, you snap a possibly unflattering photo of him – spoiler alert: it isn't – and lower the camera with a smile.

"We're still on tomorrow, right?" he asks.

You nod. "I've already reserved the passes."

His lips twitch into a fine line for a millisecond. He hates when you spend money on the outings you take together. Not due to some primal he-man must provide for woman instinct, but because—

"Goodness, Lilli, won't you let me spoil you?"

"You can buy me dinner," you say, smiling.

The fine line is gone, replaced by the smile you know and love. The one that makes his eyes crinkle and his rarely seen dimples appear. "Alright."

The rest of the day is hectic and then becomes chaotic, and for the first race weekend in nearly a year you have more photos of Lewis than George. You're gutted for him, for having to retire early at his home race, but you're so happy for Lewis. And George is too – chuffed to bits honestly. You're swept up in the celebrations and are nursing a small hangover in the morning when you climb into the helicopter for the brief ride to London.

George's hand covers yours, but he doesn't say anything, and you smile weakly, staring at your knees to keep your stomach settled. He used to tease you about your nerves when flying, now he offers quiet support.

You love that about him.

The museum is hushed and you stand in awe despite visiting it several times before.

George looks on, a fond smile that you don't notice pulling at his lips. He's been here once or twice before. Not with you, so this is new. He's used to seeing you always in motion, always bouncing and twisting and twirling to get the perfect shot. Even away from the job you're his hummingbird, flitting from one thing to another with boundless energy, leaving traces of ethereal beauty in your wake. But now you're still, your breath hushed as though too harsh an inhale would disturb the masterpieces that surround you.

There's a reverence in each step you take, a gentleness to every movement that he rarely sees. You're not there to look but to view, to study, to learn, to share thoughts. In a respectful murmur you read each placard and in each word he hears your passion for each piece you view together.

He could watch you like this all the days of his life. He wishes you'd brought your camera, wishes he'd thought to bring his.

Wishes he could freeze time so you could study every hall, every corner, every detail in every painting and sculpture while he studied you.

He can't, but he does take out his phone to take a photo of you. Chin tipped up, staring at a painting, your eyes sweeping slowly, and he can see the corner of your mouth tipped up. He doesn't check to make sure the photo comes out – doesn't matter, it'll never encapsulate how he feels in this moment – and lowers his phone.

You're staring at the painting like he stares at you.

George wonders if his love and admiration is so obvious to onlookers. Wonders if the painting – a woman in green, sitting beneath a tree – knows how lucky it is to have your gaze.

He reads the placard. The artist's name is slightly familiar, but—

"He was in love with her," you say, hushed and soft.

George lifts his eyes to the painting. "Was he?"

"They were having an affair, I think. But look at the way the tree shelters her, almost like a secret spot. And the use of green? It evokes a peacefulness, so she may have quieted his mind." You tip your head to study the painting some more. "I think the honeysuckle represented love in Victorian times, and she's holding some."

He takes in each detail as you describe it, the painting coming more to life. "Do you think she loved him? Or vice versa?"

"I like to think it was mutual," you murmur. "I hope she realized how beautiful she was to him."

You stand in silence for several moments before he speaks again.

"I wish I had the talent to capture my love in such a way that people will see it over a hundred years from now."

"Does love need to be broadcast?" you ask softly.

His hand slides over yours and you both sigh as your fingers interlock. "No, I suppose it doesn't," he whispers. "But it would be nice, wouldn’t it, for others to see the object of your adoration as you see it?"

"I don't need a painting, George." You look at him and he turns to look at you.

"I would give you the world if you'd let me, Lilli" he whispers.

"You already do," you promise.

[raelle-writing]

Was it even Jin's video that got posted???

I've been staring and trying to make sense of the angles in Keng's office for the past hour so I decided to do a write up and see if I can make sense of it... something is WEIRD.

WARNING: this post contains screenshots of SA, all those will be below the cut:

So when we as the audience are shown the shots of Keng and Non, we're shown two different angles. The first one, when Jin first opens the door, is of Keng and Non's legs. The second is of their heads/faces.

In earlier episodes we're shown a bit more of the layout of Keng's office, shown here:

But the angles just... don't make sense? When you analyze them. Like for example, here's what we see in episode 6 when Non comes to see Keng. The angle shown is of Non leaning decently far into the room, and then still only being able to see Keng above the barrier

When the video is uploaded to social media, we see this as the thumbnail, which appears to be shot at a low angle BETWEEN the two barriers. But that angle doesn't make sense when shot from the door.

You can see it in this shot of Jin recording, it looks like the extruding corner is in the way of whatever he's shooting.

Not to mention, in the shot of Non showing up to that office, the book shelf is pretty obtrusive of the view of what's happening. It seems like, in order for the shot of their heads to be what's shown in the thumbnail, the person would've had to be further into the room

Add on to that, the couch itself is way too small for someone to be able to see around the barrier one way AND the other way. So basically it was impossible for someone at Jin's angle to see BOTH the legs around one end of the barrier AND the heads around the other.

With the corners, the bookshelf, and the angle in mind, it seems to me that the only angle it makes sense for Jin to have seen and recorded without going further into the room is that of the legs, not their faces...

Especially since he records low, but the thumbnail picture is basically the same height as the couch... which to me, looks lower than where Jin is holding the camera

Conclusion: ????

Honestly I'm not sure. Maybe this was just BOC getting clever with their angles and shooting and they didn't think people would dissect the layout of the room this hard. I AM sure that Jin could only reasonably see the legs or the faces and not both.

And as I said above, the angle of the door and bookshelf and barriers lead me to believe that Jin could've only really seen their legs But then that brings up the question of how did Jin even know it was Non? He's angry enough that it seems like he did... unless he's angry in a completely different direction and is mad that a teacher is taking advantage of a student, but that doesn't seem to fit either, since the anger on his face seems personal...

Plus I want to bring this back. Top saw Keng and Non together and texted Tee that he knew where Non got the money. They could've guessed or spied on them to guess what Keng asked for in exchange. And who has the money to set up a hidden camera JUST to screw over Non? Por. I'm not saying that's definitely what happened, but Por HATES Non and wanted to get rid of him. I don't doubt Por/Top/Tee would hesitate to release that tape of Non if they got the opportunity...

I'm definitely grasping at straws, but something about this whole situation doesn't feel right. Jin isn't shown to post the video himself, in fast there's discrepancies from what's shown on his computer screen vs what's shown of the person uploading the video.

Changing a computer from light mode to dark mode is incredibly easy so I don't know why they would've left a mistake like that instead of fixing it in post-production. Plus it looks to me like Jin is looking at the already-posted video and crying over it, not that he's posting it himself (first screenshot is from the BTS for this episode btw).

I've been on the "Jin didn't post the video" train the entire time for a couple of reasons:

Jin isn't shown to click the button, only sit at his laptop, cry, and then eventually spill alcohol on it and short it out. If the writers wanted us to hate Jin then they would've just shown him posting it so that we could deal with the fact that he's a shit person. They didn't do that, so I don't think that Jin posted the video.

Because in episode 4, Flukes yells at Tee that he knows what they did, and he names both the broken camera AND the released video... but Jin wasn't present in this scene. Why yell it at Tee if Jin is the one who both took the video and posted it?

But with the question of all the angles shown and the doorway and bookshelf it makes me wonder... was the video even Jin's?

[cheegu3]

Enhypen - the glory (part 8)

summary; after rejecting one of the most popular boys at your new school, you soon realised that you'd done the gravest mistake of your life; these weren't ordinary boys, and now they were set on making your life a living hell - heavily based on the kdrama with the same name

warnings; swearing, mentions of sexual assault & masturbation, mentions of suicide, stalking, mentions of murder

genre; yandere

wc; 5.3k

pairing; enha x f.m reader

note; not really sure how to describe this chapter, maybe calm and then a storm right at the end ?? LMAO, but anyways thank you as always for your love and support <3 in case you missed it, I will be updating every Sunday now instead of every other Sunday, love youuuu !!

masterlist

You and the officer were pressed into the small space that was the security room in your apartment’s building. The guard was a small and old man far into his seventies who, at first complained about all the ‘’ extra work ‘’ you were giving him.

The nice officer had to show his badge and insist he was interrupting the investigation before he reluctantly sat down and started scrolling through the dates. You stood in silence, watching over his shoulder while the mouse scrolled and clicked frequently. 

At last, he seemed to have found what he was looking for. The cursor glided towards a small picture in the corner with the date of the night before, when Jake visited your apartment. 

‘’ I will just go through it briefly, ‘’ the old security guard mumbled, shaking his head when he saw just how much footage it was.

The video was fast-forwarded, while you and the officer watched, getting more impatient by the minute. Your eyes never left the screen. Many people who lived in the building passed by the cameras for a moment, it was so fast it was almost hard to tell them apart, but you were sure some of them were neighbors you had seen.

When the time at the bottom of the video got closer to when Jake visited your apartment, you leaned in. A young man with voluminous hair, carrying some bag passed by for a split second. 

‘’ Stop! ‘’ you shouted out, startling the guard.

He reversed and slowed it down so you had the opportunity to confirm if it was him. This time when it was at normal speed, it was much easier to see that it was in fact Jake. You watched as he made his way over to your apartment door, strolling all too casually for what he was about to do.

As if he could hear you, his head turned terrifyingly slow towards the camera. He stared into it for several seconds; the camera’s pixels only making him look even more psychotic. An eerie smirk ghosted over his lips, sending shivers down your spine.

Then he rang the doorbell and you spotted your dad. Jake’s entire demeanor switched, too easily, like it was second nature to him now. It reminded you of when you had the altercation with your dad and Jake the same night, and how he’d done it with ease then too. One second, the lustful and cocky eyes to you - the next, the innocent and begging eyes to your dad.

Your dad stepped aside, letting him in. The video had no sound, but you could imagine what they were saying since your dad told you a bit of it. The officer scribbled down something in his notebook, and the three of you kept watching with a newfound sense of focus and bated breaths.

The clock at the bottom said that five minutes had passed. Had he been in there for so long? Your face dropped, no- don’t say he was in your room while touching himself? You couldn’t hold back the loud gag that slipped out.

‘’ Are you okay, miss? ‘’

You nodded to the officer, still not looking away from the screen. The old man pressed on a key and the video sped up again. One minute more passed, then two, and then three. Suddenly, the screen went completely black. 

‘’ What happened? ‘’ 

The keys of the keyboard were pressed rapidly and repeatedly as the guard tried his best to reverse the footage. He tried everything; reversing didn’t work, so he tried going forward, reloading the footage, and even rebooting the computer - nothing worked.

You let out an exhausted sigh. ‘’ The footage is lost? ‘’

‘’ I’m sorry miss, ‘’ he squeaked back in response, now a lot more apologetic than before when groaning about it being a chore added to his daily stress at work.

It was very weird, almost like they knew you’d go back to your building for proof. It made sense however, when it dawned on you that they could’ve seen you at the police station if they were following you and hurried to get here before you and the officer did.

‘’ You can’t get it back? ‘’

The officer hurried to move when you while in distress tried taking control of the computer and almost pushed the security guard off his chair in the process, who only huffed at you.

‘’ Miss, there’s no use, ‘’ he calmly said.

But you felt anything but calm. You started trying to shake him off and break loose, gritting your teeth from how hard you were trying.

‘’ Let go of me! ‘’

The tightness only increased making you groan in pain. The harder you tried to fight him off, the harder he held you in place.

‘’ Miss, if you keep resisting I’m going to have to arrest you for battery against a police officer. ‘’

Your movements stopped and your passionate grimace disappeared.

‘’ What? ‘’

Seeing that you stopped fighting, you were freed. But you didn’t do anything. Your hands fell limp to your sides.

‘’ You scratched me, ‘’ he shrugged.

You almost felt like at a loss for words.

‘’ That’s not a big deal though, right? You’re supposed to be on my side. ‘’

It wasn’t a way of talking to a police officer that most would’ve felt was fine. You suspected that the fact that he was around the same age as you made you see him as an equal, and you hoped it made him want to help you more.

‘’ I’m still following the law. You were being aggressive. ‘’

His voice came out monotone, void of the same empathy it had carried before. For some reason it made you feel like a lump had formed in your throat.

‘’ Can’t you see why I reacted that way though? ‘’ you had to take a deep breath, that sounded very shaky when you felt like you were about to cry. ‘’ No one is helping me. ‘’

The officer looked at you blankly, taking a few seconds to answer. He took off his hat and ran his hand through his disheveled hair.

‘’ There’s not much we can do. We don’t have a warrant to go search his house for the item unfortunately, ‘’ a tear rolled down your cheek as you scoffed in disbelief at the situation.

‘’ For now, we will have to wrap this up. If anything new comes up, call us. ‘’

You had expected him to say that, but it felt so much more painful for it to actually be voiced out. You’d had high hopes for this; even if you didn’t have footage of him holding it, just seeing him leaving your house would’ve made you feel validated because the others saw him too.

It also felt like something huge had slipped right out of your hands. Something that could’ve been used against him in the end, when his support system had been taken down. For a moment you thought of going over to Jake’s house on your own, but you didn’t have any fight in you after everything. The officer told you to go home, and you did so with a heavy heart and dragging feet.

*******

Although it was a school day the next day, you didn’t feel like going. When your dad poked his head in, you were still lying in your bed, head turned away so he couldn’t see the dried tears from the night before.

‘’ I don’t feel good today, can I stay home? ‘’

‘’ Sure, hun. ‘’

You didn’t take sick days often so that was probably one of the reasons he let you this time. The door to your room was left slightly ajar, and it felt calming when he left the house and it was completely quiet. Maybe you could go to your part-time job and ask if they had a shift. You hadn’t gone in a while so some guilt gnawed at the pit of your stomach. But they were a small business that often didn’t ask for help either.

Before that though, you rolled over to the other side and picked up your phone while trying to rub the sleepiness out of your eyes. Several new messages greeted you. The ones from Yeonjun caught your attention in particular.

7:12 am

Grumpy cat: Soobin told me about the company and how we need to destroy them first to get to your bullies. We’re trying that today.

Grumpy cat: Text Yena to go to the building at around 4 pm today, wearing a suit, and make her bring her phone and headphones so we can tell her what to do.

7:43 am

You: How would we even get in?

Grumpy cat: Right under their noses

You: What? How the hell would we do that?

Grumpy cat: Fake it till you make it. Ask Yena if the people at the company would recognize her, otherwise, we’d have to change her appearance a bit.

You: She’s going in alone? 

Grumpy cat: We know they’re watching Soobin for certain and maybe you and me as well. Who else could do it?

You: I guess you’re right…But where will we be?

Grumpy cat: The café across the street, I’ll tell you more when we’re there. Bring your school books so it looks like we’re studying and come at 4 pm.

You tossed the phone and slowly got out of bed, stretching and yawning as you did so. Your eyes happened to land on the wall with the post-it notes. It still looked very empty. Likely it would remain that way for a long time unless whatever Yeonjun had planned for the day worked.

Ignoring the homework that was lying on your desk, you went to the kitchen to get some food and get ready for the day. After eating you decided to go for a quick shower.

Everything felt fine at first. You undressed and then stepped in under the hot water that made you wince. Then a thought washed over you, a paranoid one, that made all the hairs on your body stand up.

What if he went in here too and put up one of those tiny spy-cams? You jumped out of the shower, bulging eyes scanning everywhere in the room. Things started to get thrown all over the floor as you went down on your knees to search the cabinets too. You looked there, in the top cabinet, behind the shampoo bottles, and under the folded towels - but nothing. In the end, you just stood there, staring at all the things on the floor and feeling like you were slowly becoming crazy.

Before you let your mind ponder over that thought for too long, you hurried to finish showering at almost record speed and then ran to your room; scared to admit that you imagined cameras all over your house now too.

Within minutes you were out of the door and running down the stairs to get to your part-time job. Just rounding the corner to the last few steps down to the entrance you raised your head and met eyes with Heeseung.

‘’ What are you doing here? ‘’ you complained, a bit breathlessly as you walked right past him.

Heeseung whipped around to look at you. He was a bit confused about where you were going, but a small amused smile still adorned his lips.

‘’ Going somewhere? ‘’

You hesitated. Would he be angry if he knew you weren’t going to school? Heeseung noticed the hesitation and stepped closer, tilting his head slightly.

‘’ Why aren’t you answering? ‘’ a smirk slowly tugged his lips upwards, ‘’ Are you that scared of me too? ‘’

‘’ No! ‘’

‘’ Then what is it? You know we don’t like when you lie, princess. ‘’

You looked at the door, and so did Heeseung. Sensing what you were thinking, he swiftly moved to put himself between you and the door. To make sure you weren’t going to run to another door he put his hand into yours as well.

‘’ Well, wherever you’re going, I’ll come with. ‘’

‘’ What? Fuck no! ‘’

You tried pulling your hand out, but it was no use. The more you struggled, the wider his smile stretched as he watched you silently. Eventually, you let out a frustrated groan like a little child which made him tauntingly say, ‘’ Good girl. That wasn’t so hard, was it? ‘’

Too riled up to respond you just pushed the door open and stepped out. It was a lot colder than you had expected. You sucked air in through your teeth and scrunched your nose as the wind hit you. 

Heeseung rolled his eyes and you felt him move to take off his jacket, he was quicker than you thought, seemingly having read your thoughts again.

‘’ Don’t even think about running away. ‘’

You lied through your teeth, ‘’ I wasn’t. ‘’

The jacket was placed around your shoulders and despite it being quite oversized you happily put it on, sighing in satisfaction at the warmth engulfing you.

‘’ So where are you going? ‘’

‘’ My part-time job. ‘’

‘’ Not school? ‘’

‘’ Is that why you came here? ‘’

‘’ We didn’t think you’d come after your little…tantrum yesterday, ‘’ he snickered.

‘’ It wasn’t a tantrum. Jake was being a bitch, ‘’ you scowled.

‘’ Yeah right. ‘’

You decided to ignore him from then on. If he wanted to come with anyway, that was his problem. Hopefully, he’d go home quickly when he realized you weren’t going to give him attention because really, all of them were starved of just that.

Heeseung had a car waiting outside that drove you to the address of your part-time work. Inside, the warmth of the temperature but also the family working there greeted you. They agreed to give you a shift while eyeing Heeseung curiously who kept saying he was your boyfriend.

No matter how many times you denied it and pleaded with your eyes to them, they still let him stay, sitting at a table where he had a good view of you at all times.

It was hard to ignore both him and your phone simultaneously. There were probably a million messages from Soobin on there asking where you were and if you were okay. Maybe he’d grow sick with worry and skip school to go to your house and see if you were there, only to be met with silence since your dad wasn’t home either.

You served some more customers and then after an internal battle, you picked up your phone during lunch break. Just like you thought, he had sent about a dozen messages, and many more missed calls.

‘’ Who are you texting? ‘’

You were sitting at the same table as Heeseung and although you wanted to not be suspicious, you also didn’t want to risk him seeing the display so you pressed against the wall and turned the phone away.

‘’ A friend. ‘’

‘’ A friend? You have no friends. ‘’

You laughed, feeling offended.

‘’ Yes, I do! ‘’

‘’ Who? ‘’

You hesitated again, chewing at your lip anxiously. Heeseung knew it was a habit of yours so you hurried to answer before he’d point it out or think you were lying.

‘’ S-Soobin…’’

There was no use lying anyway, they already knew about the two of you.

He hummed. You didn’t miss the way his eyes narrowed.

‘’ And…what does he want then? ‘’

You scratched the back of your neck.

‘’ Just- asking why I wasn’t at school! ‘’ you exclaimed, a bit too enthusiastically as you were proud of yourself for figuring out what to say mid-sentence. 

Heeseung nodded and then didn’t press further. Instead, he started talking about the other guys, right before your break was over and you had to do the last bit of the shift.

‘’ They really miss you. There’s probably not a single day that goes by without them talking about you. ‘’

You didn’t answer, just taking out the distaste you felt, at the poor rice on your plate that you poked angrily. 

‘’ Especially Jake, ‘’ he tried to hide the smile that appeared on his face.

‘’ But also Sunoo and Sunghoon. Said they feel like they haven’t seen you in a while, ‘’

He watched you pretending to be very busy with your food and knew how you were feeling on the inside, you didn’t need to tell him.

‘’ We’re thinking of inviting you over again. ‘’

You raised your head to look at him and he looked pleased you were finally paying attention. 

‘’ A…sleepover. I think it was Ni-ki’s idea. ‘’

You snorted, ‘’ Ni-ki’s idea? ‘’

He shrugged and smiled. You two almost looked like a normal couple until he had to ruin it, like always. ‘’ Well whatever you think about it, you still don’t have a say in whether to come or not.

You sounded tense, ‘’ Of course not. ‘’

‘’ Did you run into Jiyun yesterday? ‘’

‘’ No…who is that? ‘’

Liar

Heeseung would be sure to remember that for another time. He told you he doesn’t like liars.

*******

You were let go by Heeseung after the shift at your job, saying you were going home. You arrived at the café around the same time as Soobin and Yeonjun did, so you walked together, to a lone table in the farthest corner.

As soon as you sat down, Soobin started talking which immediately had Yeonjun rolling his eyes and pretending to cover his ears.

‘’ How did you run into them yesterday by the way? When you were running from them, ‘’ he asked.

‘’ I ran to the bathroom during lunchtime in case they would try to get to me. ‘’

‘’ And they were waiting outside? ‘’

You laughed humourlessly, ‘’ Yeah, but not for me. Remember that girl in the hospital? ‘’

‘’ With the burn wounds? ‘’

You hummed.

‘’ Her name’s Jiyun. We talked for a bit and that’s who they were waiting for. Seemed like they had her on a tight leash. ‘’

‘’ What did she say? ‘’

‘’ She said I should get closer to them, use them to my advantage. ‘’

‘’ Use them? Did she say how? ‘’ his eyes searched your face, but you were slightly caught off guard by his question and kept your own eyes trained in front of you.

‘’ Yeah, ‘’ you paused, chewing on your lip again, ‘’ Of course she did. To turn them against each other. ‘’

Soobin was quiet, making you feel a bit worried that he was going to press further. Just before you were about to say something again, he answered.

‘’ I guess that isn’t such a bad idea. But, it’s risky- very risky. ‘’

‘’ I’m not sure how to do it though. She didn’t tell me that part, just hope I figure it out quickly for my own sake. Oh, also she warned me about something! ‘’

‘’ A warning? ‘’

‘’ Yeah, she said she apologized for anything happening in the future because she didn’t have a choice. ‘’

Soobin frowned.

‘’ You always have a choice. ‘’

‘’ Not with them, ‘’ you said softly.

As much as you dreaded what she warned you for, you also knew that having been told that beforehand meant you wouldn’t blame her. If put in the same position, with those types of people many wouldn’t feel like they had any other choice, no matter how much they try to insist otherwise from an outsider's point of view.

‘’ Let’s start setting things up. Have you texted Yena? ‘’ Yeonjun interrupted.

You nodded, ‘’ She should be there now. I told her to download that spyware app Soobin sent as well, so you can get to the Wi-Fi through her phone. ‘’

‘’ Good. Tell her to put headphones in, ones with a mic. Then when she has texted that she’s ready we’ll call her and tell her what to do. ‘’

The phone was brought out of your pocket and you sent her a quick text. When she responded you handed the phone to Yeonjun. Soobin put his textbooks on the table and pretended like he was a good student, practically putting his head inside the books. 

‘’ That was quick, ‘’ he smirked, pressing the call button.

It was put on speaker so you and Soobin could hear as well. Yeonjun started tapping on his laptop, but you couldn’t see what it was from where you were sitting, just assuming he was preparing everything.

‘’ Hey Yena, ‘’ you said loudly when Yeonjun had been very impolite and not greeted her.

‘’ Hey. I’m outside the building now. I’m guessing I can’t talk much though. ‘’

‘’ Of course not, people would hear you. ‘’

‘’ Thanks, smartass, ‘’ Yena spat back.

You rolled your eyes and angled the phone towards you instead. ‘’ Tell me what to tell her. ‘’

‘’ First, she has to go in and sit in the café near the lobby, it’s open to the public. Eavesdrop employees' conversations. Then, when she sees a group going to the elevators, follow them and pretend you forgot your keycard- even better if they’re a group of men. Act dumb and aloof, but polite. ‘’

You said the same information to Yena who sighed so loudly you grimaced and held the phone away for a few seconds.

‘’ And then what, genius? ‘’

‘’ You go to the highest floor, the rooftop. Again, act the same way and try to find one or two guys, asking how to get the Wi-Fi because you’re a new employee. ‘’

‘’ Will that actually work? ‘’

‘’ I guess we’ll see. Either way, I might still be able to hack into the Wi-Fi as long as you’re there. ‘’

‘’ It will, ‘’ Soobin said, pursing his lips, ‘’ Pretty privilege, ‘’ he shrugged to you and Yeonjun who stared at him.

‘’ Okay, ‘’ Yena took a deep breath.

‘’ I’m going in. ‘’

No one said a word while the sounds of Yena’s heels clacking against the ground echoed on the phone. More and more voices started getting closer, but it was still hard to distinguish what was being said.

‘’ Hi, I’d like to order an iced coffee, ‘’ Yena said, making Soobin almost burst out laughing.

You patted his thigh to make him calm down and focus and it seemed to do the job, he stiffened and went quiet, joining the two of you with listening carefully.

‘’ Okay. That’ll be 7 dollars. ‘’

‘’ Thank you. ‘’

Footsteps could be heard again as she made her way to a table. You could hear from all the noise in the background that she had picked a busier spot to sit in. Your phone pinged with a new message from her, asking if you could hear them.

‘’ Yes, ‘’ you half-whispered, despite knowing she had headphones on.

You increased the volume on your phone and the three of you all leaned in to listen to the strangers’ conversation. It hadn’t been an important part of the plan but hearing a few keywords in the beginning, told you that you had lucked out on listening to the right people.

‘’ Did he say he was going to press charges? ‘’

‘’ Fuck no. You know what happened to the last guy that did. ‘’

‘’ Oh shit! The guy from marketing? ‘’

One of the guys in the group ticked his tongue. ‘’ Yeah, that guy. ‘’

‘’ He wasn’t here for very long. ‘’

‘’ Doesn’t matter. For some, they pick on them from their very first day on the job. It’s usually those that stick out, like speaking out against the CEO’s behavior or the work’s culture. ‘’

‘’ What about him? ‘’

‘’ I think he said something that pissed our boss off during the after-work thing. ‘’

‘’ Was he being weird towards the younger female employees again?‘’

A deep laugh slipped out of someone’s mouth. ‘’ What did you expect? That old man never stopped. ‘’

‘’ Not used to being told off, huh? ‘’

‘’ Yeah. So he bullies the ones who dare to relentlessly at the job. Usually, they quit quietly, but some…’’

‘’ Some…what? ‘’ a younger guy asked curiously.

‘’ Some commit suicide, or try to press charges and they end up dead like that poor guy. ‘’

‘’ And they’re never caught? ‘’

‘’ No. They’re way too good at what they do. There are some rumors that they have a whole team with just assassinators, you know? It always ends up being ruled a suicide and swept under the rug. ‘’

‘’ But if it doesn’t, because some rookie cop tries taking on the ‘ corrupted big CEOs ‘ on his own, then they’ll send some people to the police station, ‘’ a new voice chimed in.

‘’ They have people there too? ‘’

You already knew the answer, but it still felt like a knot in your stomach had formed.

‘’ Yeah. They take care of everything illegal they do and make sure the reports former employees make are never taken seriously. ‘’

‘’ I’ve heard they back up anyone who is connected to the top. ‘’

‘’ Their families and everything too. They might not have good relationships with their kids but at least they can pay their troubles away so they won’t bother them. ‘’

The group roared with laughter. You only scowled at their inappropriate reaction. It didn’t seem like they actually cared that much. They had just accepted it - that’s how it was and would always be.

‘’ Well guys, are we heading back now? ‘’

‘’ Into hell again, ‘’ one groaned.

The other side of the line crackled as Yena hurried to collect her things and get up in time. If she was too slow they would’ve already gone through the barriers.

‘’ Hey guys! Could you wait for me? I’m new here, I just forgot my keycard because I was in such a hurry this morning. ‘’

A few of the guys murmured or grunted in response which made Yena let out a gleeful sound, which was very much not like her.

‘’ Thank you, sweethearts. You are so kind! ‘’ she cooed with a faux, sickeningly sweet voice that made you cringe. 

‘’ Of course. If there’s anything else we can help with, just let us know. We’ve all been new at one point, ‘’ one guy joked. 

The three of you smiled as the perfect opportunity had just fallen into your lap. Yena didn’t have to go through the hassle of finding new strangers to ask for help from.

‘’ Oh, yes actually, ‘’ it seemed she realized the same thing. ‘’ I need some help with getting the Wi-Fi. They didn’t tell me anything about that. ‘’

It was quiet for some time before they agreed cheerfully. 

‘’ Thank you so much! ‘’

‘’ No problem, always happy to help, ‘’ the guy said back, in a very flirtatious way which made Yeonjun gag and look visibly disturbed.

Next, you could hear that she rode the elevator. She got out after saying her polite goodbyes to the others getting off and then she could finally talk since no one was around.

‘’ Do I even need to go up anymore? ‘’

‘’ No, but it would’ve looked too suspicious if you just turned around there, ‘’ Yeonjun said.

‘’ Have you got what you need? ‘’

‘’ Yup. I can see some files on my laptop since you made me get a way into the Wi-Fi. ‘’

‘’ Thank you for doing this, Yena. We wouldn’t have been able to do this without you, ‘’ you filled in.

A loud scoff came from the other side of the line.

‘’ You definitely wouldn’t, I’m too nice. ‘’

You and Soobin looked at each other, both grinning at the very false statement. 

You hummed, ‘’ You should hurry home now so they don’t see us together. Make sure to take a route so that you’re not visible to us, because then you’re visible to them too. ‘’

‘’ Got it. I’ll send you more photos in a few days, bye. ‘’

You hung up and then started a timer for ten minutes. It was just to be sure there was no way you’d run into her, although if the worst case was to happen you could probably just pretend you didn’t know each other; mostly, you were worried about them seeing Yena near Jay’s dad’s building as it might make them think something was wrong.

While the three of you anxiously waited for the timer to ring, Soobin and you collected your things and Yeonjun tapped away on his laptop. After finishing with the last few things you leaned forward to try and look at what he was doing.

‘’ What are you doing? ‘’

Yeonjun raised his head, looking very unimpressed with getting disturbed.

‘’ Just organizing the files and sending them to you two. ‘’

You weren’t even sure what files he was talking about since he never told you, but you didn’t have time to ask. The café was getting a lot busier all of a sudden. Groups of students from the school a few blocks away started pouring in, filling the space up quickly. 

‘’ Maybe we should go early, ‘’ you said, feeling a bit antsy.

There were so many people that it was hard to see everyone. Who knows if the one who followed Soobin today, and possibly you as well, decided to come inside the café?

‘’ Sure, ‘’ Yeonjun groaned.

You eventually made it out after having to push through a lot of people. While doing so, you tried to keep your head down and hoped that even if they were there they wouldn’t see you as the three of you exited.

‘’ Shit, ‘’ you burst out, ducking awkwardly inside an alley.

The others looked at you like you were crazy before Soobin’s eyes searched everywhere and when they finally landed in the same place, a low curse left his lips too. Only Yeonjun was left in the dark.

‘’ What the fuck are you guys doing? ‘’ he hissed, but crouched by your side anyway.

‘’ One of the guys is here. Outside the building to be exact. ‘’

‘’ Do you think he ran into Yena? ‘’ Soobin whispered.

‘’ I don’t know…maybe. ‘’

‘’ Who? ‘’

Yeonjun shuffled still while crouching to peek around the corner, he wasn’t really sure who to look for, however. Thankfully the café had just been on the other side of the street to where the building was, so you had a clear view of the stairs leading up to it from where you were now.

‘’ That guy, ‘’ you took Yeonjun’s hand into yours, making him stare wide-eyed at you.

Then you moved his pointer so it landed directly on the person you wanted him to see. It probably wouldn’t matter much anyway, but at least it confirmed you and Soobin weren’t crazy and paranoid. In the future, it could be helpful as well for him to recognize the guys in case he’d run into them.

Yeonjun’s eyebrows knit together, ‘’ That’s…him. ‘’

You and Soobin looked at him worriedly when he started shaking and his breaths grew more rapid.

‘’ Who? ‘’

‘’ The guy who killed my best friend. ‘’

Jungwon…

-

-

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[p1nkcanoe]

the polaroid collection: sunshine

this is part seven of the polaroid collection, based off of 'picture this'. you can either find the masterlist here, read on ao3, or read below:

Taking Sunshine’s picture had been difficult for two reasons. For one, just the knowledge that she was the last of his packmates that he had left to photograph had crafted a premature feeling of disappointment in his chest. After her, his naughty little collection would be complete. There’d be no more surprises caught with a flash and after that sex would just be sex. How plebeian. How boring… 

Second, the ghoulette had been waiting for him. She’d been waiting for the moment that he’d strike to cast her body in flash and film, all confident and smug with his stupid little camera between his palms and smile all toothy and wide. She’d been waiting, and that in itself made everything unexpectedly difficult. 

In hindsight, Swiss should have probably said no to the strap. If he remembers correctly the conversation went something like this: 

“Can I ride you, but also not?” Sunshine had asked, a little too enthusiastically while finishing up the baby pink polish she was painting onto his pinky toe. 

He’d had his foot in her lap as she painted it, his other flat against the bed, knee bent upwards. 

Swiss had barely looked up from his phone, where he was in the middle of a heated text debate with Rain and Dew over who took the last mango popsicle from the freezer. Only after sending his last text did he glance over the top of his screen to shoot her an amused look of intrigue. 

“What does that even mean?” 

“Cirrus and ‘Lus got a new strap. It’s big and purple and it has glitter, and I wanna break it in for them. Make sure it’s a good one, you know? Give it a test ride, if you will.” 

“So you want me to fuck you with it?” 

“Yeah,” she nodded, rolling her dandelion-colored eyes as if she wasn’t obvious enough before, “but I want you to wear it.” 

She’d capped the nail polish bottle after that and crawled up the ghoul’s body to shove a matching, lacquered finger into the center of his chest. 

“I think it would be fun.” 

There’d been a long pause while the multi ghoul had tried to picture the scene in his mind. He couldn’t, couldn’t make sense of why she’d want to rig him up with a toy no matter how hard he tried, but two dicks seemed more intriguing than just one in the end so he shrugged his shoulders and waved her off to go retrieve the thing, “Yeah, okay. Fuck it.”

“Oh, I will.” 

Then she’d left. Jogged off into the hall with a certain bounce in her step… and had returned with much more than just the new strap. 

“What’s that?” He’d asked, fingers hovered over his screen as his eyes raked over the items in her hands. 

The ghoulette had only bared her teeth in a wicked grin, “just a few accessories to go with it.” 

As it turned out, Sunshine’s unexpected accessories had been quite fun to put on. Kind of like a filthy, twisted game of dress-up in the interest of the ghoulette as he strips him bare in front of her standing mirror, only to redress him in the well-loved harness and help him move the silicone dick millimeters in each and every direction in order to find a position that “doesn’t smash his actual cock.” Then before he knows it she’s tightening the straps to a pastel pink ball gag behind his head and asking him if it’s too tight. 

He doesn’t know why he tries to answer her verbally, but the incomprehensible noises that come from his throat seem to surprise him. As does the wetness that already has begun to collect at the corners of his mouth. She reaches up to adjust the thing just a little more and then steps away and it clicks. Oh, she’s serious. 

The multi ghoul locks eyes with the ghoulette through the mirror, who stares back with a smug look on her freckled face, like she’s proud of her work already, and they’ve yet to even start the good part. Then he watches as she turns and descends to her knees, a small metal cage in her hands that he has no idea where it appeared from, and reaches for his (somewhat) soft dick. 

The cage is silly to look at. He’s never had one of them locked onto his own cock before, only ever seen them in explicit internet videos and that one random nude he randomly received from Rain… and for some reason his brain tries to convince him that it’s only a temporary detail –  that all of this is. Sunshine will take the thing off when the time comes, right? She’ll let him get hard, surely. She has to. She will. Right? 

Soon after that the time comes, and the ghoulette guides him backwards to lie on his back, and the thing (and all of the other accessories) stay securely on. 

Swiss will admit it. It’s oddly intriguing in an unfamiliar way when they begin to play – the ball gag and the stupid metal cage. There’s a strange arousal that he feels in his tummy when Sunny strips bare and climbs over him all slow and sexy-like, ignoring his flesh entirely to wrap her fist around silicone instead. The eye contact he thinks he could do without, though. It just feels bad to hold eyes with another as they lean down to lick at the thing and giggle at the pathetic noise that leaves him when he realizes it could be him. It could, but it’s not, and it’s not because for some reason he agreed to this. Satanas, is he cucking himself? 

He can’t even open his mouth around the right letters to plead or say ‘please.’ He just makes another stupid sound that gets trapped around the thing stretching his lips. 

He can only watch as she slaps the purple head against the flat of her tongue, moaning when she takes it a little deeper past her teeth, and then fluttering her lashes so beautifully when the silicone slides into the warm tunnel of her throat. And yeah, maybe this whole “play” thing is a little more serious than Swiss initially thought it was, because she’s actually sucking it like it’s his real cock. 

She sucks the thing obscenely at the tip, bobbing her head as the glittery ridge appears and disappears rhythmically between her lips, already shiny with spit, and both of her wrists work together in tandem to jerk off the remaining length of the shaft that her mouth doesn’t reach. 

Fuck, does Swiss wish that were him. Sloppy, messy head from one of the hottest ghoulettes he knows… (Pun fully intended.)

His dick throbs, stirring against the warm metal that restricts him like it forgets it can’t fill out. A thin line of drool drips from his lower lip down into the hair on his chest and settles. He barely feels it. He watches, distracted, as she drools similarly, but her saliva runs down the ridges of her fingers down towards where it begins to gather at the base against his skin. His skin. He really can’t believe any of this. His hands stay glued pathetically at his sides. 

Then she does what he really wishes she wouldn’t – she moves her hands out of the way and takes the thing so far down her throat in a single swallow that she gags. Sudden and harsh. The wet noise in Swiss’ ears as her muscles spasm could make him sob for mercy from the Gods below. But he makes a gorgeous noise instead – a fully fleshed, pleasured moan that sends a shiver down the length of his spine and makes his toes curl as if he could feel it. 

Something about that is mortifying. 

Sunny doesn’t make it any better. 

“Does that feel good? You like that?” 

He shouldn’t look, but he does anyway. He tilts his head down from where’d he’d thrown it back towards the ceiling and she’s pulled the cock from her throat and has replaced her mouth with her hand, stroking it from root to tip languidly and letting the frenulum ghost against her already-swollen lips as she breathes against it. Gasping. Panting. That smug grin is still there, multiplied tenfold now. 

Swiss’ brows knit together in bewilderment and his chest rises and falls wildly. Does that feel good? Of course it doesn’t. 

He can’t take his eyes off of her, no matter how hard he tries to pry them away. Her tits are heavy against either side of the cage. Warm. He’s sure he looks crazy. 

“You like it when I take you so far down that I choke on it?” 

There’s a dangerous lilt to her voice that Swiss has only heard maybe once or twice before. Once was when he passed this very room from the hall and had shamefully lingered around enough to listen in on whatever sinful pleasures she was putting a very whiny Mountain ghoul through during the middle of the day on a Wednesday, and the other time he’d experienced it himself (She’d somehow gotten him into a skirt and he’d never cum so hard in his life. Also, on a Wednesday…). 

The tone of her voice now is no different. She hums, the end of the noise rising in pitch slightly,  and lies a sharply manicured hand against the center of his tummy, tracing the valley of his sternum with her claw. Her skin feels molten, like fire against his. 

His jaw is already beginning to feel sore. 

“Tell me,” she says, “tell me how good it feels.” 

A quick puff of air huffs through his nose as the frustration builds beneath his skin. His jaw tries desperately to form words around the intrusion but nothing makes it past. He’s been muted. His hips suddenly twitch upwards and she replaces the hand on his tummy onto his hip bone to bruisingly press him back into the mattress. It’s all beginning to make his head spin and he isn’t quite sure how to feel. 

The multi ghoul’s brow furrows into a look of confusion mixed with something teetering on red-hot irritation. His fists bury themselves into the raised stitching on her comforter and he feels his claws catch on the individual threads. 

Time seems to stop for a moment. The only sound he can hear is the flood of his own blood pounding in his ears. Satan below, he can feel the harsh beat of his undead heart pounding against his ribs as she eyes him hungrily, looking him over like a predator to her prey. 

Swiss isn’t sure he’s ever been in a position so humiliating in his entire second chance at life, and he really isn’t too sure how he got here in the first place. 

Is this what Rain felt like? Dew? When he’d held them down and spit venomous words at their submissiveness? Made fun of them for their inability to put up a fight? Is this what Mountain feels when he slips into the ghoulette den late at night? Is this what they crave? This twisted, cruel feeling? Powerlessness? Humiliation? It’s strange. It’s… intoxicating. 

Sunshine gathers up a ball of saliva on her tongue and spits. It spatters the underside of the silicone cock and covers his lower tummy in a transparent, sticky glaze. It snaps Swiss back into his conscience but he barely has time to register her next move before the ghoulette is crawling up and settles over his tummy, her cunt pressed to his thick happy trail and her hands on either of his pecs. Her pinky finger spreads his own saliva thin until it’s cool and tacky. She’s absolutely soaked between her thighs. 

He knows it’s coming, but when she begins to move her hips, grinding over his abdomen and coating the length of it in slick, he feels like he nearly passes out. He’s so hard, yet not nearly hard enough, and his entire vessel pulses with the pulsing of his blood rushing through his veins like a rampant river. 

It’s the first time he’s been able to actually feel her on his body and it’s not nearly enough. She feels so good on top of him as she grinds. So hot, so slick. But he wants her on his dick – and not the fake one. He wants her to free him from his cage so he can inflate to fullness and impale her in an instant, make her pay for this torture that he’s putting him through until she’s begging for him and apologizing for this game she plays. But he doesn’t. Because she won’t. She’ll keep grinding and getting him all messy, digging her nails into his skin and pulling unrelentlessly at the curls on his chest until he’s raw. 

She dips her middle finger deep into her hole, all the way to the knuckle, and smears the wetness over his bottom lip. He can’t taste her – just another one of her games. Her taste gets lost in the saliva dripping from his lips like a broken faucet. But he can smell her and it hits his senses like a truck. His eyes dilate until that pretty gold is nothing but an eclipse in an instant. It takes everything in him to keep his fists clenched in the comforter. A few broken seams can be mended when it’s all over. 

She continues to grind, moaning with every slide across his abdomen with her eyes fixed downwards on the shiny trail she leaves behind. Swiss drools so heavily it begins to coat the underside of his chin and the dark front of his neck. Sunshine can only admire his ability to be so good for once. For her. She deserves it, afterall. How could he leave her for last? 

“Swiss, darling,” she sings and bends at the waist to lean over him. Her tits hang in his face just out of reach. If only he could get them in his- “You’re burning up. What’s the matter? Can’t take a little heat?” 

She runs the flats of her palms over the rounded tops of his shoulders and down over the tense, defined muscles of his biceps. He feels her warming them with that inhuman-like warmth and wants to feel them trail down the ridges of his ribs to fondle his balls and release his cock from- “Just a little more won’t hurt, will it? I know you can take it.” 

She almost sounds like she’s mocking him for things he doesn’t remember saying. 

Sunshine might as well be dabbled in the realm of quintessence with the way that her hands begin to trail down his sides, just like he needed them to. Her fingers skit over his ribs, leaving the lightest tickle in their wake as they go, and Swiss whimpers from behind the gag when she never stops. Her hands dance over the tops of her own thighs to find his hips. His cock throbs against the cage–he’s positive he’s leaking through the metal because he can feel it licking at his taint–and his lashes flutter closed when that manicured hand, so nice and warm, finds and cups his balls. Her other hand reaches for silicone. 

She sinks down over the entire  glittery thing in a single quick drop of her hips. 

It pushes every atom of oxygen from Swiss’ lungs. 

He can’t breathe. He can’t. Her hand is gone in an instant with the slide into her cunt, and she must be set on really trying to kill him because she instantly sets a brutal pace, doing all of the work herself without a care in the world if the ghoul below her feels like his lungs are burning or if the harness around his hips is tight enough to leave a mark. It’ll definitely leave a mark. 

She rides him like she’s been withheld of cock. Rising, dropping, she uses his body simply to support herself as she takes it, moaning loud and unabashed with every single wet slide up inside of her. And then suddenly Swiss begins to notice from behind a haze of drool and lightheadedness that she’s beginning to huff. Those pretty moans have gone harsh, punched out, and her thighs are braced tighter on either side of him. Her knees are pressed so sharply into his ribs that he’s beginning to choke around little mewls of pain. 

Her stamina is quickly waning and he wants to help ease that burning in her thighs before she slides off. She’s just too beautiful like this, all fiery, frizzy curls and gorgeous tits bouncing in time with the rest of her curvy body. For the first time since she mounted him he untangles his fists from fabric and tries to place them on her waist, but the Ghoulette is quick to notice through huffs of exhaustion and pleasure. 

“No, no, no,” she pants. Suddenly Swiss’ camera is dropped roughly into the center of his chest with a thud. He loses his breath once again – a quick stream of air from the nose. “If you wanna touch something then be useful and get that camera ready.” Then she says the thing that nearly makes him forget about the photo altogether: “For fuck’s sake, Swiss. Fuck me like you mean it.” 

His hips are rising from the mattress before he realizes it. Quick, stuttery punches. He tries to meet her like he normally would, but he still doesn’t have his hands and the angle is just all wrong. It’s awkward. Difficult for some reason, and no matter how he tries to punch his lower body upwards or wait even a second longer to find that good spot, it doesn’t feel right for either of them. His dick is in the wrong place. He hates it. 

“Fuck me, Swiss. Do it correctly.” 

There’s something venomous in her voice that makes Swiss head swim and his tummy tighten, but fuck, he’s really trying. 

Finally, after a couple poorly-timed thrusts and a tear of sharp claws into his waist, he begins to get it and the ghoulette is happy to meet his desperate thrusts with expert drops and rolls of her hips, moaning and cursing with her bottom lip tugged between her fangs. When her abdomen tenses hard and tight he expects to feel her squeezing around his dick. His body prepares for it, tensing on its own and preparing himself to try not to cum, but there’s nothing. Nothing except the odd, null sensation as his head catches up and remembers that that thing is not part of him – that the part that is is currently locked away, deprived of any and all pleasurable sensation. 

That cruel, metal cage… He’ll never use it again – neither for himself or on anyone else. He’d rather be sent back to the pit than experience this torture again, or submit anyone else to it for that matter.  

But Sunshine seems to be wholly enjoying herself, if the noises she makes and the squelching sound of her wetness around the toy’s girth is any indication. 

Swiss, on the other hand, is suffering. 

He can watch her bounce on his cock all day, can watch her grind for hours before having the thought of cumming even cross his mind, but the lack of stimulation is maddening. It’s a cruel illusion that somehow also manages to make his balls want to explode. 

His cock strains against its unforgiving confines. Throbbing. Hot. And he chokes out a garbled moan when she leans back and places her hands on his thighs to brace herself as she shows off all of her body to him. Her cunt takes that stupid cock so perfectly, stretching and molding itself to suck it back inside. She rises and lets the tip kiss her entrance before sliding back down and taking the entire thing to the base. It knocks a yelp from her throat. 

That should be him. He should feel it. He still doesn’t. He won’t. 

“I knew you’d feel this good. Knew I had to fuck this cock one way or another. And don’t I look so good doing it?” 

She’s goading him again. 

His fingers are gripped so crushingly tight onto either side of his camera that his knuckles are pale. He’s beginning to shake from his overwhelming need and desire to be freed. If it wasn’t locked with a key he’d do it himself. 

He needs to touch her, squeeze at the fat on her thighs and wrap his arms around her waist. A particularly hard drop has her plump ass slamming against the base of his dick and the multi ghoul cries out, loud and harrowing, from behind the bright pink intrusion in his mouth. His jaw aches so badly, his throat now, too. 

“Take it now,” she pants, eyes closed and mouth slack. “I like the way you cry out for me.” 

She rides him with a perfect bow to her spine to show off her body as one of her hands tangles its way into her curls and the other clutches on tightly to her right breast, kneading and groping the flesh. Her dusky nipple pokes out right above the webbing between her middle and ring finger. Swiss fumbles for the right buttons and waits for the blinking light to turn on, cursing when it seems to take twice as long as usual, and finally raises the camera shakily to line up the shot. 

He moans with every slap of her skin against his as if he’s tied himself to the silicone toy, and Sunshine seems to like that. She encourages him, commanding that he be louder and hurry it up because her thighs are really beginning to burn in this position. He struggles to get the frame just right because he’s unable to stay still. She must be trying to make this as hard as possible. Difficult – she makes everything difficult. 

He keens when she moans and Sunshine puts everything she has left into those last few bruising drops. She’s going to make sure he feels it. It may not be what he needs, but she’ll make him feel something in return for allowing him to have his silly little photograph. 

He snaps the picture randomly, in the heat of the moment, and if the picture happens to come out a little blurry in the end, who cares? 

Her tits, frozen in time, and the look of pure satisfaction on her face as she pleases herself and takes him apart is nothing short of perfect. He’ll never feel quite like this ever again.

Finally, Swiss’ polaroid collection is complete. 

[lovelybarnes]

The Blanket in The Box- B. Barnes

pairings: bucky barnes x reader, sam wilson warnings: I FORGOT TO INCLUDE THE TEAM I'M SO SORRY I'LL WRITE A SECOND PART, silly about: request! "What if fem reader got a blanket of bucky. how would he react? how would the team react? i just felt like if u write this promt u would give it the best justification." (THANK YOU SO MUCH for thinking of me so nicely thank you i hope you liked it!!). a/n: this fic won!! i hope you're ready. i hope i did the idea justice!! also i could not for the life of me think of a clever little title so i made it like a bones episode name. yay!

“Something came for you.” Sam is standing at your open door, fingers tucked underneath a large box that has his arms brawnier than usual and his brows up to his forehead, a false innocence in his eye that makes you think he knows exactly what he’s carrying.

You stare at the box for a second and try to think, recalling each order placed and its corresponding package received. You gasp. Sam’s lips prune up like he can read your mind, his fingers curving a little protectively. 

You leap from your bed and snatch it away from him, its weight surprising enough to slip straight out of your hands. You heave a foot over the sealed flaps and stare at Sam’s smile. “Go,” you say.

“What?” He exclaims indignantly, grin dropping. “That’s not fair! This whole thing is thanks to me—I should reap some rewards.”

“How?” you demand, bewildered. “They were my targeted ads. Mine.” You push your finger into your chest for emphasis.

"Sure. But would you have paid attention to those targeted ads without my mindful encouragement?" Hard shoving, more like.

"Yes!" you insist, eyes narrowed.

He drops his indignance and instead adopts pleading. “Please just let me see his reaction, you won’t even be able to tell I’m there—”

“No!” you push him out of your room and close the door, leaving him importunate on the other side.

He raps gently at the door with the base of his palm. “Just let me see it! I just want to see it in real life once.”

You press your lips together and crack the door open a sliver. He jumps back and stands ramrod straight, chin dipped hopefully. “Tomorrow,” you say. “You’ll be the first I show."

He looks at you dubiously. "You swear?"

You press your palm to your chest. "From the bottom of my heart."

He seems to accept your offer, glancing back up at you inquisitvely. You back up preemptively, gripping the doorknob tighter. He steps closer. "Will you please take a video, I'll do whatev—"

You shut and lock the door, turning back to The Box.

Apprehensively, you pace around the box, offhandedly snagging an intricate knife from the hidden curve of your closet. It's almost nerve-wracking when you push the blade against the tape, sucking in a giddy breath as you part the flaps open, tossing the weapon onto your carpet and tugging out the contents with great effort. It's doughier than you would have thought, covered with preservative tissue paper. You toss that aside as well, unfolding the blanket you wobble to your feet.

You gasp when you see it wholly, a hand grasping one end of the blanket, the other going to your mouth in order to stop the spiral into laughter.

It's amazing.

It’s greater than you could possibly imagine. Plastic-scented, sure, but you believe in sacrifice.

You hobble over to your bed, draping the blanket over the mattress. "Wow," you whisper, a little overwhelmed as you take in the details.

The Bucky at the top right corner is barely glancing at the camera, an obviously deeply zoomed-in paparazzi picture of him walking outside. Bottom Left Bucky is another papparazzi photo, this one of him holding your bag in a park. Bottom Right Bucky's hand is cut off, along with yours attached to it, but you can see your fingers peeking out behind another Bucky's head.

Top Left Bucky is side-profiled in a suit you remember from a gala, and another Bucky from the same night is in the middle, a little bigger. You recognize the image as one of the mandatory ones Tony ordered for the night, and it's clear why that one is meant to be the center of attention. It's clearer, the surly details of Bucky's face easier to make out; notably the closest thing to a smile a strange camera is going to get from him—the slightest, most sardonic painstaking curl of the corners of his lips.

Still. He's so handsome it makes your chest hurt.

His hair is neat and done in a way that accentuates his cheekbones, and the lovely splendour of his eyes translates even into blanket.

You lean in closer. "Huh," you say. "Did he always have such long eyelashes?"

One of your hands splays atop a grumpy picture of Bucky, fingers curling and uncurling on the fuzzy surface. Not bad.

For the real test, you pull an edge up and crawl underneath, pulling your chin to your chest to stare at the blanket from above.

"Warm," you mutter appreciatively, fisting your hands into a Bucky's face. You pinch it to your field of view, dragging a chunk off your ankle so you can observe this Bucky up close. You recognize his clothing as his mission gear. How someone got the picture is beyond you.

You're too busy picking at the blanket to notice the subject walk into your room, shutting the door very carefully once he's on the other side of it. "Hey."

You startle, meeting his eyes abashedly. You stretch out your fingers as far as they'll go over what you were looking at, but it's futile when there are twin faces on every other inch. Bucky hasn't seemed to notice your unease, and you try to get your limbs to relax so he won't.

"Hi," you force out, cringing when you sound doubtful. You clear your throat. "Heeey."

He frowns at you. "Do you know Sam is outside your room?"

"Is he?" you say. "How... strange."

Bucky gets to your bedside and stares down at you, dubious. "Are you feeling—" The back of his hand is grazing your forehead when he pauses, breath catching for what must be the first time. You don't stop looking at him, catching the contemplative inhale and subsequent eyebrow furrow when he realizes he isn't even sure what to ask.

You stare at each other for a few moments until his lips part again, index finger tapping on your blanket. "Is that me?"

"No," you lie immediately. "No, it's not."

"I'm pretty sure... I'm pretty sure that's my face."

"No."

"I know it pretty well."

"Me too."

"Why do—where did th—" He sighs, deeply and deflatedly.

"It's Sam's fault," you blurt. "Mainly. Or, actually, it's because of how shitty our privacy is nowadays. You're right. Things were better back in the old days."

"Where did you get this?"

"Etsy," you admit ashsamedly. "It was actually pretty expensive. I got an ad for it and it started off as a joke, and then..."

His head shakes confusedly, pupils flickering between each face on top of you. "Why... why do you have this?"

"I got an ad," you repeat.

"Sure. But... why?"

"I don't know. I generally try to avoid the Bucky Barnes edits."

"That's not what I... I mean why would you listen to it?

"I personally like it."

"How would someone make this?"

"A collage? I don't know, the internet is getting hard for me to understand."

"Why? Why would this exist?"

"Why not?" you counter.

He steps back, tongue sweeping over his bottom lip. His pupils erratic before they settle on a specific part. You try and follow his gaze, arriving at a shirtless image of him from a couple metres away, a towel draped around his neck.

“How did they get that picture?” He looks it over critically, a grimace on his face. He grows a little more horrified as he discovers more stills of him in different situations.

"You know there are these things of all of us? I found one for Steve. Mine's pretty creepy." You slip out from underneath it, standing guiltily next to Bucky. He's barely noticed you, a frantic finger drumming on Bottom Right Bucky's shoulder. "Tony has one of himself. I'm pretty sure he had it commissioned."

Bucky doesn't respond and you tug at his shirt. "Will you stop glaring at it?"

"I just... every time I think I get this century, aliens or Asgard or.... this happens."

You rub a soothing palm up and down his arm. "Okay, I'll give you that. That's fair enough."

"What are you going to do with it?" he asks, turning to you.

You cock your head. "What do you mean? What do you usually do with blankets?"

"Really?" He looks a little horrified.

"Yes, of course. Why else?" You grab his arm. "Touch it," you encourage, urging his hand to smooth over it. "It's soft."

"I guess."

"That's not something you can argue, Buck," you admonish.

"Wanna see?"

"No," you mutter, glaring at him. "It's gonna grow on you," you say menacingly.

"It won't."

"We'll see." You pat Middle Bucky on the head. "We'll see."

-

You like challenging yourself in harmless situations. Setting a ginormous plate on your non-dominant hand seems innocuous enough when the only thing threatening it is your impeccable balance, and after a particularly short mission, it serves to burn what's left of your adrenaline.

You step too confidently and your tray of cookies balances precariously on your palm.

You concentrate on each wobble, careful to not let anything slide too far. When you finally turn to your room, you let your shoulders slump from their place by their ears, only to regret it immediately when you tense again, sensing another presence the moment you step inside.

It's a relief for just a moment when you realize it's only Bucky splayed across your bed, because you realize he's sleeping very peacefully beneath the Bucky Blanket and your phone is in the pocket opposite to your free hand.

You gasp and subsequently snap your mouth shut, stilling in your doorway.

"My phone. My phone, nonono," you hiss in despair, needing to shut your eyes to concentrate but not wanting to look away. You suck in a beep breath, focusing on keeping the plate steady as you switch hands and pull your phone out.

"Ohh, I knew it. I told him," you whisper, taking a picture.

A shimmery glow takes on most of the weight, allowing you more freedom with angles. You're taking a slow step toward the bed when you're interrupted. You should've closed your door.

"No way," Sam chortles loudly. Your tray clatters to the floor, Bucky shoots up in the bed. "Nice nap, narcissist?"

it seems like every picture of him groans with Bucky.

[yc-idkwhy]

Rent a Room

(Spare me if I get any real life details wrong. It's a *fiction* for a reason 👍. Anyways. Enjoy! I had more stuff planned for this chapter but I sort of forgot alot of it. Apologies.)

Chapter 3:- Call

-----•Nick Nelson•-----

"Is this Will Solace?"

"Yep!"

Said a voice with a slight southern accent that was currently adjusting his camera until it settled in on a patio facing the walls of a light blue house. A golden curly blonde, freckled boy then came into frame and smiled at the two.

"Hello!" The stranger said.

"So you're looking to rent this room?" Nick heard Charlie say from beside him.

"Mhm!"

"May I ask why?"

Will Solace went on about how the camp he went to sends out campers for little trips alot of the time and how this one wasn't like one of those trips so he needed a room or something like that. Nick doesn't know. He was too busy looking at his boyfriend throughout the whole thing.

"And where are you from?"

"Well originally from Texas but right now I'm in New York." The southern accent somehow seemed a bit heavier in that sentence. Had Nick been looking at the screen he'd expect the guy to be tipping a cowboy hat right about now.

"Is that the room?"

Nick and Charlie moved out of the frame to give a one frame room tour.

"I mean I don't really need that, I saw the pictures..." Will said hesitantly.

"Oh I'm sorry"

"What did we say about the S word?"

"Sorry"

"Charlie!"

The two went on their "Sorry. Not sorry" chain for about another minute before remembering what they were originally doing but when they looked back, Will's attention seemed to be displaced too.

"Will?" Charlie asked.

"Oh what? Oh my bad. I think my little siblings are getting up to something. I need to check on that. Be right back."

He left Nick and Charlie staring at the screen, until in the far corner the door opened. A middle aged, retired, alcoholic man stepped out. Looking towards the same direction where Will went. The man turned his gaze and it fell onto the computer Will was using. He had a Diet Coke in his hand and just... stared at them for a few very long seconds.

Then the man started towards them. "Who the hell are you." More of a sentence than a question to be honest. "Uh I'm Nick Nelson and this is my boyfriend Charlie Spring, we-"

"Rick Olsen and Chandler Summer, got it."

"That's not-"

"That's all I needed to know jeez calm down you mortal."

"What?"

Instead of replying, the man took a veryyyyy long sip of his diet coke. By then Will had returned and was back on frame.

"Mr. D!"

"Sun Spawn!" Mr... D? Replied not so enthusiastically.

"What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be perhaps... Not here?"

"Are U suggesting I'm a nuisance?"

"I mean not really bu-"

"I can see when I'm not wanted. To think you were one of my favourites Solace."

The man started walking away.

"bye, I think." Will turned back to the couple. "Anyways where were we!"

"I-"

"Ignore him, really, please, please do that. Let's go over the details shall we?"

And so they did that (forgive me, I had stuff to write for the details part planned, but I forgot it all.)

"So I feel like I guess that's that it, feel free to look around the room when you get here, just not in the snooping sense. You can read any of my books if U get bored or something. I mean if you're into like a ton of greek classics and books based of them" Charlie said laughing lightly.

"Oh you're into that stuff?" Will glanced around his surroundings. "Maybe you'd like it around here then."

"I guess that's it. You can contact me the time you'd be arriving. Unless you carry around a knife or something. In that case please try not to arrive." Nick laughed with love at Charlie's joke. Will however had a more nervous laugh, probably at the accusation, he raised his hand to scratch the back of his head. And then Nick saw the bracelet that was on his hand.

"Oh my god, Char he's also bisexual, bring him in."

Will looked down at his bracelet. "Is homosexuality a leverage? Do I get a discount?"

"Yeah we should end this call now. It was wonderful meeting you!"

Just like that the call ended. Of course Nick had missed out on most of the important parts due to paying attention to Charlie instead.

"He's nice."

"Yeah, great news for me. My room probably won't be wreckt. The old guy was weird though"