#and I try and I try to get me what I need

[azmaarts]

To enhance the experience, I made clipped parts of the soundtrack by tnbee you should listen to: https://youtu.be/DZ4qLlzC0ic

Please DO NOT watch the video... Just loop the song for the 33550336th time with me. :3

[egregiousderp]

I had a teacher try to pull the exasperated “he just likes you” when some kid was pulling my hair and I swear, something flipped in my head like a switch where I waited, seethed, turned, and kicked that kid full point of the toe in the crotch like I was performing karate. And as he bent over and his friends recoiled in horror, I said, “it’s okay. I like you too.”

Honestly, if you're a kid and an adult tells you "they're just trying to get a reaction out of you :)" as a response to being told that some younger kid is tormenting you, that should count as full permission to punt that little shit. Like I would never hit a child, but if you're seven years old and a five-year-old is being a cunt at you and adults just tell you "oh they just want to find out what happens if they keep doing that", wouldn't only be fair to let them know what happens if they keep doing that?

Siblings should never be left responsible of raising each other, but if adults have decided that they are allowed to fuck around, wouldn't it only be your right - or even downright duty - to let them consequently find out?

[dcxdpdabbles]

Danny: *Gag* It's okay. Almost done. A few more bites. You can do this, Fenton. *chew* *Gag, chock gag*

Damian: Oh, for Pete's sake! Fenton! Stop it! It's just a salad! You do not have to retch every time you have some! Especially in the school cafeteria! It's gross!

Danny startled: Oh sorry, Mr. Wayne, I didn't mean bother you.

Damian: Tsk. Don't call me Mr. Wayne, we are the same age. Now, what seems to be the problem? Why must you make that noise every time you eat a salad?

Danny: I'm sorry, I don't know why I do that, but every time I try to be healthy, I just gag. My mom says it because I'm a picky eater, and I just have to force myself-

Damian: Your mother is a fool. Forcing yourself to eat something that causes such a repulsive reaction means something else is obviously at play and not you being picky. What part of the salad makes you react?

Danny: *Frog blink*

Damian: Fenton!

Danny: Oh-sorry- the lettuce?

Damian: Are you allergic?

Danny: I don't think so.

Damian: You don't think so? This means you had never had a professional check to be sure, does it not?

Danny: Um-

Damian: I know a free clinic that will test you. If you are not allergic, then it's likely a texture issue or something psychological. Whatever the reason, no more forcing yourself to eat it. Do you understand?

Danny: Um-

Damian: *Slams hand on table* Do. You. Understand?

Danny: But....the salad is all I can afford off the Academy menu and we aren't allowed to bring outside food.

Damian: No matter. I will purchase your meals from now on.

Danny: What!? I can't accept that! I don't want to take advantage!

Damian: Hmmmm so your sense of justice and pride are a issue? Then do something for me in exchange for the meals.

Danny wary: What is it?

Damian: The animal shelter need more volunteers. They do not have enough funds to hire someone full time but the animals are the ones suffering for it and I will not stand it. You will accompany me to the shelter everyday of the week to help out in exchange for five meals out of the week. Do we have an accord?

Danny: *frog blink*

Damian: FENTON

Danny: Yes! Yes, ugh, yes I can do that.

Damian: Good. Now, let's get you some lunch that wont make you sick. Up, pretty boy.

Danny dazed: Okay.

[batsandbirdbrains]

I need an au where Batman doesn’t reveal his identity to the Justice League until after Nightwing joins. But it’s just Bruce who takes off the cowl, maybe during a meeting where Nightwing was busy with Blüdhaven or Titans things and couldn’t attend.

It had been after a huge family meeting. A series of family meetings, really, held in the Batcave. Because the batkids want everyone to know (several select friends on their respective teams already knew but were sworn to secrecy), and they were tired of wearing masks all the time (both figuratively and literally, especially during downtime team bonding sort of situations).

So Bruce Wayne is revealed to the Justice League. And the whole Batfamily relaxes, because Bruce has insisted, always insisted, that if one of them revealed their identities, the rest would follow like dominoes. It was so obvious, Bruce insisted. They didn’t work with complete morons, he said.

Then one day an abrupt meeting is called, they received urgent intel on a case they’d been tracking for months now. But Bruce and Dick had been at a charity event, so they decided to just show up in civvies since most others would no doubt be arriving in a similar fashion. It was an abrupt meeting, yes, but as of now there was no plan to immediately head out and act on the intel. Besides, they can always use the spare suits the keep on the Watchtower.

But then when they arrive in the meeting room (last, unfortunately, because they’d been held up by reporters), the whole room goes stiff.

“I know you told us your identity,” Green Lantern huffs, muttering and it’s still really weird under his breath, “but you can’t just bring your kid up to our headquarters!”

There are many murmurs of agreement, and Bruce scoffs while Dick lets out a snort of a laugh.

Bruce is so offended that:

Hal Jordan thinks he has any right to try and scold him

Hal Jordan is trying to tell him where he can and cannot bring his kids when Bruce funds damn near the entire Justice League out of his own pocket

And that Dick is now looking at him with the smuggest smirk he’s had on his face in years.

“So you were wrong,” Dick says in a sing-song voice. “What have you been telling me for YEARS now? You can’t tell your friends, Dick, it’s not just your secret! You said. You can’t tell anyone or else the whole family will be found out, Dick! You said. We don’t work with a bunch of complete morons, Dick! You said. Puh-lease.”

Dick is smirking at him, and Bruce covers his eyes with a palm, resisting the urge to groan.

“Don’t say it.”

“I’m gonna say it!”

“Don’t say it, Dick.”

“I told you so!” Dick says in his snottiest voice. “I told you so, I told you so, I told you so! Jay and Timmy both owe me two-hundred bucks! I’ve been telling you so since I was eight years old!”

“The Justice League didn’t even form until you were ten.”

“That’s beside the point!” Dick says flippantly, then skips over to the pair of chairs Batman and Nightwing usually sit in. He plops down in Nightwing’s usual seat, still smirking, and throws his feet up on the table while the gaggle of superheroes watches him with their eyes bugging out of their heads. “Nice to formally meet’cha, without the mask of course. I’m Dick Grayson, but you all know me as Nightwing.”

Bruce lets out the most exhausted sigh they’ve ever heard, and he sits down heavily in his usual seat.

“Please tell me Damian was not included in your little betting ring.”

“Oh of course he was. Jason and Tim both owe him a hundred dollars. I get double since I’m the one who got to prove you wrong.” Dick is already texting Damian to get the security footage as proof. They have to keep it separate so Tim can’t delete it.

“Wait a minute,” Flash says, “are all the Waynes vigilantes?”

Dick snorts, then giggles, then looks at the constipated look on Bruce’s face and giggles some more.

“It’s a family tradition!” Dick says. “Gotta train your pre-pubescent kids to follow after the Bat, after all.”

“That’s enough,” Bruce grunts, and it’s so jarring for them all to see him use Batman’s tone with Brucie’s face. “Don’t we have intel to discuss?”

“Right, right,” someone says, then clears their throat. “So our inside source got us these documents…”

The meeting continues as normal, but Dick looks over at Bruce after a couple minutes and wiggles his eyebrows. Bruce slaps him upside the head and tells him in a hushed whisper to pay attention.

“How did we not know that was his dad?” Hal whispers to Barry.

Barry just shrugs. Bruce glares at both of them, and they shut up instantly and turn back to whoever’s presenting. Dick is practically giddy.

[darlingsblackbook]

Zayne × Nurse!Reader - Part Six

The breaking point

Part One - Part Two - Part Three - Part Four - Part Five

Love & Deepspace Masterlist

I | I was already tired, not just the kind of tired after a long shift, but the kind that’s been weighing down on your chest for weeks. The kind you try to ignore by staying busy.

II | I had a stack of paperwork in my arms, folders that needed filing, numbers- just, paperwork. It was not my favourite task to do, but gave me something to do. Something that I could distract myself with.

III | I walk behind the cardiology reception desk with my eyes low, just to pick up the rest of the papers I need to continue. Pretending I do not hear the familiar whispering tones that always seemed to settle when I was nearby. I’ve gotten good at pretending. I pretend a lot lately.

IV | “She’s acting weird,” one of them said. Her voice had that hushed excitement people use when talking about someone just out of earshot. "Don't you think?”

V | "Acting?” The other voice followed like venom wrapped in silk. “She’s always been weird. You remember how she used to stutter around Doctor Zayne? Now suddenly she’s pretending he doesn’t exist? Please.”

VI | I gripped the folders tighter, like holding onto them would anchor me to something solid. My cheeks burned. I knew people noticed, but I didn’t think… I didn’t think it had gotten this bad.

VII | “Maybe she figured out he’s way out of her league,” The same voice said, not even trying to lower her voice anymore. “Smart girl, even if it took her long enough.”

VIII | I didn’t look at them, just took what I needed and left to continue with my work. Or I tried to, but one of them- the one with the snake venom voice, stepped just slightly into my path. Her shoulder knocking into mine, sending every single piece of paper flying out of my arms like leaves caught in wind.

IX | The sound of paper hitting the floor echoed down the hall. My stomach dropped along with it.

X | “Oops,” She said, far too sweet.“You alright? You’re almost shaking. It can't be because of nerves, though. I mean, Doctor Zayne isn’t even around right now."

XI | I just stared at her. For the first time, not with fear. Not even with sadness. Just... disbelief. “What did you say?”

XII | Before she could open her mouth again, another voice cut through - calm, cold, and unmistakably unimpressed. "That is enough."

XIII | I felt a shock, like a lightning bolt struck me, at the sound of that voice. Zayne... I could hear his footsteps as he approached, yet did not dare to turn to face him. He wasn’t rushing at all, but something in his aura made the air shift. The same way it does right before a thunderstorm.

XIV | The nurse paled. “Doctor Zayne- I was just-"

“If I were in your place, I'd be very careful about my next words” Zayne interrupted, his eyes hard. “Do you even get any work done, or do you just sit around and whisper to each other all day?”

XV | She stumbled for a response, but he did not give her a chance to come up with any excuse. "Pick the papers up."

XVI | She blinked, as if she could not believe what she was hearing. How he was talking to her. Ironic, seeing how she had been talking to me. It's not funny anymore when you become the target. "D-doctor Za-"

XVII | "Did you not hear what I said? Pick. Them. Up." Zayne demanded, voice just as cold as the evol he wielded.

XVIII | Everyone was quiet. The kind of silence that buzzes behind your ears. She bent down with shaking hands, gathering papers like her life - or job - depended on it. Maybe, in that moment, it did. When she had gathered them all, she stood up but kept her head down, avoiding everyone's gaze. Then, she tried to hand the papers over to Zayne.

XIX | His eyes didn’t even flicker toward her. “Not to me,” he said, then nodded his head my way. “Her.”

She turned toward me like I was a executioner. She shoved them into my arms with a scowl but I could see her hands trembling.

XX | “Now apologize,” Zayne said, voice still flat. “Like a professional. Not like a child forced to say ‘sorry’ at recess.”

XXI | Again, the bitch started blinking as if they were as dry as a desert. “Doctor Zayne-”

XXII | “Apologize,” Zayne snapped. “Or you will not have a place in this team anymore.”

XXIII | The silence turned deadly. Her mouth twitched. Then, finally, through gritted teeth, she forced out, “I’m sorry.”

XXIV | “For what?” Zayne pushed for more.

XXV | Her eye actually twitched at that. “For- knocking into you. And being… unprofessional.”

XXVI | “There we go,” Zayne said, in a mocking tone as if he was speaking to a child. “Now go back to your desk and do your actual job instead of treating this hospital like a playground.”

XXVII | At that, she fled. And just like that, I was left alone with him.

XXVIII | Zayne looked at me. And the ice in his face shifted, melted. The voice I adored so much lowered. “Are you alright?”

XXIX | I turned and ran. Bolted down the hall, because at that question, with that tone- coming from him - something in me had snapped loose. I couldn’t let him see it, the tears, the pain, the way his concern gutted me wide open - the shame. All kinds of things raced through my mind, but there was one dominant thought- He had heard what she said.

XXX | I flung the stairwell door open and collapsed on the cold steps, pressing my palms to my face. I didn’t want him to follow, but I knew he would.

I felt it the door open. That sudden shift of air pressure. The soft click of a handle that carried more weight than any shout ever could. His footsteps were not rushed, they were decisive. Heavy with something that made my breath catch.

I didn’t lift my head. I couldn’t. I stayed seated on the second step from the bottom, but wrapped my arms around my knees like that could hold me together.

“I didn’t mean to scare you,” Zayne said. His voice was low again, no ice.

I shook my head, to disagree and because I didn’t know what to say. Because my throat was too tight to let anything out. He thought I ran away because he scared me?

He didn’t sit next to me, not at first. He stayed a few steps above me, towering, but at a respectful distance. Like he knew I was splintering and didn’t want to push.

“This isn’t the first time, is it?” Zayne asked. “The way she treated you. The way she talked. She's probably not the only one either, is she?"

My lips parted, but nothing came out.

“It’s been going on for a while,” Zayne answered his own question. “And I did not see it."

I finally looked up at him. My vision was blurry, lashes wet, and cheeks flushed from the pressure in my chest. “It’s not your fault.”

Zayne flinched. Literally. Like I had hit him.

"You didn’t know,” I whispered. “How could you? You’re not… you’re not supposed to know everything happening in every hallway.”

“But I should’ve seen you,” he said. “You pulled away. You barely even looked at me the last few weeks. I noticed, and I still didn’t-”

“Because I had to,” I interrupted. My voice cracked. “Do you know what they were saying about me, Doctor Zayne?”

He didn’t answer, because he couldn't.

“They said that I was throwing myself at you. That I didn’t deserve to be here, that I was just some pathetic little nurse with a crush who thought smiling at a doctor meant I had a future.”

I saw the way his face twisted, something between rage and heartbreak. It hurt to see that expression on his face, it made me want to scream.

“So, I kept my distance, I stopped speaking unless I had to. I became so fucking small just so I had no way of giving them something to talk about anymore.” I said, my voice breaking.

“They don’t get to talk about you like that,” Zayne said, after a moment silence. “They don’t get to decide your worth. And I don’t give a damn if you were smiling at me or the walls. You earned your place in this department. Every day.".

My eyes welled up again. “You really didn’t know?”

“No,” he said, firmly. “And I hate myself for that. I saw something was off with you but I thought something might've happend in private and I did not want to intrude- I still should’ve asked. I just wanted to give you space- time- to come back to yourself again-"

Zayne took a step closer, slow not pushing. "I sincerely apologize, I can't take back what happened to you but I can make sure that you'll never have to experience anything like this ever again."

AND THEY LIVED A HAPPILY EVER AFTER. Yo, I am no good in romantic scenes, I can't help but cringe at every sentence- angst is my speciality- BUT I tried my best okay. 😗🙂‍↕️ I finished this while listening to gummy bear and ppap to keep myself awake lmao.

Taglist : @sylusgirlie7 @jeonjenny @notsurewhattocallthisblog8888 @draftbeerbibi @weebinator01 @satorustorm @asilaydead @ninaandtuna @gremlinartstudio @keyiswatching @dreamlesssleepsaga @eurynam @amerti @neobitch127 @m30wk1ttycat @yuurisfavblog @dysphxriaii @zainaaryam @floofycookie @beesin03 @thatpersonnamedrook @chiikasevennn @ollie-the-fae @dramaticalsachan @babylilxc @minsified @destinysrequiem @xsammijoanneex @hirostrvw @pepperushia @starllight613 @seris-the-amious @moonlight-inthe-sea @luvvhue @gojosballsack69 @ellarchives @xinnn6 @marmandarina @kithyyy @aixyraus @marmandarina @goomimii @evadnesworld @reirakurenai @estiesbestiesworld @albenyx @asgwendollie @avis-writeshq @sohhzzy @elizabeth-von-winken-universe @bitchynightmarepost @treeteaofversailles @mwritin6s @happygalaxymilkshake @dprweganggang03 @nommingonfood @cadesthings @insidious-innocence @sharieb @pinksaiyans @needvbunni @gawa-ng-gabi @craic-on-a-cracker @canthavetoomuchchaos @neobitch127 @edens-melodies @sanzy4 @betsybetts @animegamerfox @lemonn015 @astudyoftimeywimeystuff @sunnyilis @safeinyourheart @bluelilyofthevalley @vintag3u @jlynns-posts @69-gojos-wife-69 @burn-it-all-for-your-love @whimsicalcup @blitziwitch @roschea-arts @seung185 @lalaluch @jadeymeciela @everywherestrs @mrwind-upbird

[cosycryptid]

Eddie has always enjoyed giving people nicknames, it’s just something creative he does that makes people stick in his brain. He’s never forgotten a face and it’s mostly because he has names to go with them.

Typically, he refers to acquaintances by their last name, friends by something jokey and embarrassing, and foes by nicknames that are a little mean and cutting.

Then there's Steve Harrington, who falls into his own category entirely.

Before, when he claimed to dislike Steve it would be:

“Perfect Harrington.”

“Steve Harrington the gorgeous with his flowing locks.”

“Guess what Mr. Hot Sports Man did now.”

“Can you believe Beautiful Steve Harrington and his merry band of assholes?”

“God, look at Mr. Distracting showing off his amazing chest again. He’s such a poser.”

“I was trying to order my usual, but then Steve ‘Dreamboat’ Harrington was behind the counter and he used his evil sorcery to make me say ‘1 scoop of vanilla’ by mistake. Now he probably thinks I'm boring.”

He said the names in a mocking tone, but it always ended with just a hint of something longing. His friends would shoot each other knowing looks across the room whenever he came up with a new one for one of his Steve related tirades.

Then they started to become friends and the names took on a more teasing, flirty nature, which then slowly gave way to softer and more tender names like 'Stevie' and 'sweetheart' and 'honey'. The knowing looks from friends became looks that said 'here we go again' and Steve's reactions went from intense, puzzled stares to warm smiles.

One day, when Eddie's running late for their fortnightly movie night, the rest of the party decide to say something about it.

"So, I have to ask," Mike says. "What kind of magic spell have you cast on Eddie?"

Steve looks up and sees that everyone is staring at him. "Huh?" he blinks. "Were you talking to me?"

"Yes Steve, he was talking to you!" Dustin exclaims. "Who else here in this room does Eddie regularly shower with mushy pet names?"

"Okay, they're not 'mushy pet names'," Steve argues, rolling his eyes. "They're just nicknames, he gives everyone nicknames. I don't see why it's a big deal."

"Steve, he gives everyone else nicknames. Yours are something else." Max points out.

"How?"

"How?" Lucas asks. "Steve, last week he walked into me by accident, said 'Sorry Sinclair’ and then turned to you and went 'Hey, angel. How are you today?'." He puts on a sickeningly sweet voice for the second one and Max laughs.

"Yeah and what about that time he threw a sunscreen bottle at Mike and said 'Stay safe, pasty', then saw you putting yours on and said 'Need help getting your back, darling?'" Max adds. Her and Lucas are snickering to each other by the end of it.

Mike frowns. "Don't know why he called me that. He's just as pale as I am."

Will pats him on the back. "Don't worry about it, he called me Bowlcut Junior two days ago when he was asking me to make a perception check."

"Oh so that's what the Bowlcut Senior thing was about," Jonathan mumbles.

"Steve, he likes you," Robin says, clearly spelling it out. "Or at the very least it's obvious you're one of his favourites."

"He does call you an awful lot of things even me and Jonathan wouldn't call each other," Nancy adds carefully.

"Eddie's just a sweet guy," Steve says.

"Eddie Munson is not a 'sweet guy'," Mike retorts, bewildered. "He killed off all of our characters in last week's session because we were ten minutes late."

"I mean if he went to all of that effort planning and preparing everything then you could have at least turned up on time."

"Thanks, mom."

"I did warn you guys he wouldn't be happy with us," Will points out with a grim expression.

Before anything else can be said, Eddie walks in with Gareth and Jeff trailing behind him. Everyone tries their best to look casual. Most fail. Luckily, Eddie's attention is zoned in on two people.

"Hey Sweet Prince, and Henderson and others," Eddie greets them. "I'll be right back, just gotta run to the bathroom because I was checking something under the van just now and it looks like I got into a fight with an octopus."

He lifts his arms, which are covered in oil.

"Oh shit," Steve says. "Yeah, no problem. Feel free to take a shower and borrow some clothes if you want, we'll wait."

"Thanks, sugar." He calls behind him.

The party's eyes are locked on Steve when he turns back to face them, causing him to flinch a little.

"What's up guys?" Gareth says as he and Jeff make themselves at home, finding a spot on the carpet.

"Yeah, you all looked super awkward when we walked in just now," Jeff adds. "What's that about?"

"We were just trying to get it through Steve's head that Eddie is basically in love with him," Robin fills them in. "Also, I don't know if I should be a little offended that we're 'and others'."

"Oh that," Jeff says, way too casual. "Yeah that's been a thing for years. Even back when he was pretending not to like Steve."

"Wait what?" Mike asks.

"Oh yeah, he used to call him things like 'Handsome Harrington' or 'Beautiful Steve Harrington' every time he talked about him," Gareth shrugged.

"Oh shit," Dustin says. "One time I tried to get him to hang out with us and he said no but he called you 'Pretty Boy Steve'."

"Can you guys just let this go?" Steve sighs, clearly getting annoyed. "It's just a thing he does, it doesn't mean anything."

"Yeah, sure," Jeff scoffs. "Keep telling yourself that. What are you trying not to get your hopes up?"

Steve is too quiet for too long, and he hates the way his friends expressions turn sympathetic toward him.

"All I'm saying is, do it back to him and see how he reacts," Gareth says with a knowing smile. "I dare you."

The opportunity doesn't arise until later, when Eddie gets up to go to the kitchen half way through the movie. He comes back with two drinks, one of which he hands to Steve while lifting the other to his lips.

Robin gives him a look that says 'what are you waiting for?' and Steve takes a deep breath before accepting the drink with a casual, "Thanks, babe."

And that’s all it takes.

Eddie’s hand jerks, his brain short-circuits, and the drink completely misses his mouth. A splash of soda hits his chin, and the rest pours out on the Harrington's expensive carpet. Then he just stands there blinking like he’s been hit with a stun spell.

His brain seems to come back online when he sees Steve's shocked gaze switch between him and the liquid soaking into the carpet.

"Oh shit! I'm so sorry!" Eddie shouts, no longer in control of his volume. He sprints to the kitchen and returns just as fast with paper towels, dropping to his knees to try and soak up the spilled beverage. His face is bright red in a way Steve's never seen on him before.

Steve is still frozen, half-standing, watching Eddie frantically blot the carpet like it personally insulted him. The rest of the group is silent for a beat—stunned into stillness by the sheer velocity of Eddie’s reaction.

Then Robin breaks the silence with a quiet, “Oh my god.”

Max snorts. “I think you broke him.”

“Like, for real,” Dustin adds, eyes wide. “That was a full system crash.”

Eddie doesn’t look up. “Don’t mind me, just ruining your house and my dignity in one fell swoop.”

Steve finally moves, crouching down beside him. “Eds, it’s fine. Seriously. It’s just soda.”

Eddie glances up at him, eyes wide and still a little dazed. “You called me babe.”

Steve smiles, soft and a little shy. “Yeah. I did.”

Eddie stares at him for a second longer, then groans and drops his forehead to the carpet. “I’m never gonna recover from this.”

Steve laughs, nudging him gently with his shoulder. “You’re doing great, sweetheart.”

Eddie lets out a muffled noise that might be a whimper or a laugh, it’s hard to tell. But when he lifts his head again, his face is still red, and his smile is blinding. And Steve forgets they have an audience.

"I think I know a way you can make it up to me," he grins.

"How's that, babydoll?" Eddie asks, confused, but hopeful.

Steve pulls Eddie in for a quick kiss and says, "Take me out tomorrow night, when I finish work?"

"Absolutely," Eddie beams.

Their moment is ruined by fake gagging noises from the kids. "This is worse than Dustin and Suzie serenading each other with Never Ending Story," Lucas comments, receiving a middle finger in response from Dustin.

"I'm assuming band practice is off tomorrow then?" Jeff smirks.

"Sorry guys," Eddie says still looking at Steve with a tender smile. "Something incredibly important just came up."

[ao3commentoftheday]

Hi! Lately, I've been trying real hard to start writing again after a break of a couple of years, and it's simply not happening. I took the break to begin with because I figured that I could pick up writing fic again easily when I felt less burned out. But each time I've tried since 2025 started I can barely get the words out. I keep telling myself I need to go slow and build up to it, but my brain blanks after a sentence or two, with or without an outline. I can force myself into a drabble or two, or even a flashfic, but it feels like pulling teeth the entire time. I even tried going back to old drafts and adding to them (unsuccessfully). Nothing works! I'm getting more and more frustrated and angry with myself for taking this long of a break from being creative. Do you have any concrete recommendations for what to do when the ideas/words/characters/whatever just aren't coming? My brain is mush.

(I love this blog. So excited to see you back.)

I'll tell you what I do, but I also want to encourage folks to add their thoughts on the notes. This is very much a situation that can be worked on in a million different ways, so any one particular take might or might not work. Often, frankensteining a bunch together is the better route.

I've currently got two creative hobbies: writing fic and making site skins for AO3. When a site skin isn't working, I just have to drop it. I've been attempting to redo my glowy blue Tron skin from like 4 years ago and every time I go back to it, I just get frustrated and need to stop. I don't have a clear idea of where I want to take it, and so nothing looks "right" because everything feels wrong. For site skins, I need to have a solid idea to latch onto in order to get anywhere with them.

For writing, it's kind of similar. It's a LOT easier to write when I have an idea that really lights a fire under me. However, I've found that I can write even if I just know what the end goal of the story is. Even if my ending is just "and then they bone" at least I know where I need to get my characters in the end, and that guiding principle is really helpful because most of what my characters do in the fic is going to be aimed at that end point.

I don't know if it's just the way that you've phrased it in this ask, but it seems like you can't see the story for the words. If you're focused too much on the act of writing then you might need to back away from that for now and work on just imagining the story first. Spend more time daydreaming or lying in bed staring up at the ceiling and picturing your blorbo in situations. Get into the habit of thinking about the story before you start writing the story. Then the writing part is just transcribing the picture that's already clear in your head.

I well understand the frustration that comes when you've got something in you and no way to get it out. Whatever else is happening, the way you used to go about writing fic doesn't work for you anymore and now you need to discover a new method. Maybe it's handwriting in a notebook instead of typing on a screen. Maybe it's dictating into your notes app. Maybe it's chatting it out with a bestie over coffee or in a DM. Maybe it's something else.

Let's see what other people suggest for you, and then you can cobble together a method of your very own. Good luck, anon! I'm rooting for you ❤️

[buckysleftbicep]

bent and bruised (3) 𐙚 b.b

pairing: new avengers!bucky barnes x fem!ex-hydra!reader

warnings: nsfw, 18+, minors dni, dub-con/non-con sex under HYDRA's captivity (flashback), unprotected sex, non-consensual experimentation (flashback), physical violence, sex in captivity, forced scientific experimentation, very heavy angst, longing, unresolved tension (tw: ptsd, some scenes of sexual violence)

summary: you were built by HYDRA to please the soldier—then left for dead. years later, bucky sees your face again. but no amount of time can erase the way you once whispered his name through tears. inspired by this request

word count: 5.5k

author's note: hi loves! i finally am done with chapter 3 and gosh, am i excited for you guys to read it 🥰! i am falling ill and i injured myself rock climbing today, i'll still do my best to write as much as i can! 💓 i hope you enjoy this chapter! love ya guys and please stay safe out there! 💌

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The darkness felt alive, thick, almost viscous, like it was clinging to your skin, crawling into your lungs with every breath you took. 

It didn’t feel like fantasy, not even a nightmare. It felt like something stolen—something real.

A memory sealed deep beneath your skull, pried open when your defences were at their weakest.

You were cold. Naked, spine pressed to metal, breath rising in fast, fogged bursts. 

And he was there, his weight above you, surrounding you, moving inside you with a slow, trembling urgency that made your eyes sting. You couldn’t see his face, not fully. It was shadowed, blurred around the edges like someone had smudged your memory, but your body knew him. 

Every inch of him.

The stretch of him inside you wasn’t rushed or cruel. It was slow, deliberate, almost like he was afraid to let go. Like he was carving your shape into himself one thrust at a time, just in case this was the last.

His mouth hovered over your shoulder, breathing hard, jaw tense. You could hear it—the effort, the control. The need shaking just beneath his skin.

His hand chilled and sure, cupped the side of your jaw with gentle care, thumb brushing the edge of your lip. The other hand, trembling, held you steady at the hip.

He moved deep. Deep and slow and careful, like he was trying to stretch time thin around you. Each grind of his hips into yours was a silent plea: remember this, remember me.

Your hands clawed at him, not out of fear. But out of desperation. Your fingernails sank into the muscle of his back, dragging down warm, sweat-slick skin. And he welcomed it. Welcomed the pain, welcomed the proof that you were still here. That you wanted him.

“I can’t…” His voice was a rasp in the dark. “I can’t let them take you.”

“You won’t.” Your words were a whisper, wet with tears, barely audible over the wet slick of bodies moving. “Don’t think about them. Not now, just stay with me.”

He kissed you, messy, shaking, like it hurt him to let go even for breath. And you swore you tasted salt.

“You have to leave,” he said against your mouth, each word catching on a thrust. “If I don’t come back, you get out. I told you the route.”

You shook your head. “I’m not leaving you here.”

His breath hitched. You felt it, his entire body tightening, hips pressing harder, deeper, slower.

“Please,” he begged. “Don’t give them a reason to take you too.”

“I’m not afraid of you,” you whispered, lifting a shaking hand to his cheek. You could feel the heat of his breath there, the slight scratch of stubble, the single tear that slipped free and landed on your wrist.

He stilled, just for a second, his forehead came to rest against yours as he rocked into you again, slower this time, deeper, as if he wanted to live inside your body. 

As if this was the only place he’d ever been safe.

“Don’t forget me,” you whispered, barely holding back your sob.

He kissed you again. A sound tore from his chest.

“I won’t,” he said. “I don’t care what they do. I won’t forget you.”

You came first, it wasn’t loud. It wasn’t explosive. It was quiet and shattering, a raw, full-body tremble as he moved inside you, as his name fell from your lips in a cracked whisper. He followed with a low, pained moan, spilling into you with a final, stuttering thrust that felt like goodbye.

His arms wrapped around you like he could keep you there. Like if he held tight enough, the world wouldn’t come crashing down.

But it always did.

Before he could breathe your name again, before you could kiss him one more time, the dream split open.

A hand. Rough. Grabbing your wrist.

The warmth of his body vanished in an instant. The metal table beneath you went cold.

You didn’t struggle. Not yet. You were too stunned, too afraid that fighting would mean punishment for him. 

For both of you. You were yanked backward, your hands clawing toward him in instinct, but never reaching.

He reached for you. But you never quite touched.

You turned your head, mouth parted in a soundless cry, but even then—even in that final, searing moment—you couldn’t see his face. Something was blocking it, blurring it.

Like it had been taken from you on purpose.

Like they’d forced you to forget the man you once would’ve burned the world for.

The light above you was too harsh. Cold and artificial, buzzing faintly with that fluorescent whine that made your molars ache. 

For a long moment, you didn’t move. The air felt thick in your lungs, heavy and clinical, laced with antiseptic and faint copper. 

Your vision swam, your skull throbbed in pulses. A bandage tugged at your temples when you shifted, the gauze rough against your skin. And you were drenched in sweat.

The fabric of your medical gown stuck to your body in damp patches, clinging like a second skin. The sheets beneath you were twisted, tangled around your legs like you’d been fighting ghosts in your sleep. 

And maybe you had. Because even as the dream, no, the memory started to fade at the edges, the ache didn’t. The echo of him, his weight, his breath, his hands, lingered like bruises beneath your skin.

Your breathing stuttered.

Your thighs trembled slightly, just like they had in the dream. You blinked again, harder this time, trying to separate reality from the remnants of sleep.

But then you felt it. The pressure.

A weight.

Your right hand. It wasn’t free.

You turned your head, slowly, cautiously, as pain bloomed sharp and hot at the base of your skull and saw him.

Bucky was slouched in the chair beside you, body folded forward like gravity had been pulling him toward you the whole time. His vest was still streaked with ash and dried blood, flecks of dirt clinging to the grooves.

His shoulders were tense even in sleep, the faint tremor of exhaustion still clinging to his limbs. And his hair—dark and damp—hung forward over his face in a tangled curtain.

But his hand…

His hand was wrapped tightly around yours.

Like it was the only thing keeping him in this reality, like letting go would send him spiraling back into whatever hell he’d barely crawled out of.

You shifted beneath the sheets. The sound of the fabric must’ve been enough.

He jolted awake.

His head snapped up, eyes wild at first—blinking rapidly, trying to shake off whatever nightmare he’d fallen into—and then his gaze locked on you. Just you. Like the rest of the world didn’t matter.

“(Y/n)…?”

Your name sounded like a prayer in his mouth. Half-broken. Disbelieving. His voice cracked, catching on the syllables like they hurt coming out. He leaned forward, gripping your hand tighter without realizing it.

“You’re okay,” he whispered, voice hoarse. “god, you’re okay.”

You tried to sit up, instinct more than anything, but the world tilted sharply. Your head spun. Pain flared in your ribs.

“Hey—slow,” he murmured, his hand sliding behind your back without hesitation. Gentle, careful. He helped you up just enough to get your bearings. His touch was steady, familiar.

Too familiar.

You blinked up at him, and for one, heart-stopping moment, something stirred in your chest.

Recognition.

It wasn’t clear, it wasn’t clean, but it was there, a flicker of knowing, almost like your soul remembered something your mind couldn’t quite reach.

You stared at him—at the shadows beneath his eyes, the worry carved into the corners of his mouth. At the quiet desperation in the way he watched you, like he was afraid you’d vanish again.

“Where am I?” you asked, voice dry, barely more than a rasp.

He cleared his throat, gaze flickering down to your wrapped head, then back to your eyes. “The compound medbay. You were airlifted in after the explosion, you hit your head pretty hard, you, uh, you’ve been out for hours.”

You swallowed thickly. The memories were fractured at best—gunfire, smoke, heat. The sound of your own pulse thundering in your ears as something collapsed behind you.

Then nothing. Until the dream.

You nodded slowly. The silence stretched between you, heavy and uncertain.

So you did what you always did when things got too quiet.

You cracked a joke.

“Guess I’m not getting a bonus, huh?”

It came out weaker than you’d meant it to, but his lips twitched. Just slightly. A half-smile. It didn’t reach his eyes, but it was there.

“I could talk to HR,” he said softly, smile still on his face.

You let the silence return after that. Just long enough to find your breath again. To sit with the way your hand still rested in his, and how neither of you seemed in a hurry to let go.

You looked at him, really looked at him. And once again that strange flicker stirred in your gut. 

Like déjà vu with teeth, your chest ached, but not from the fall. not from the wound.

From absence. From the quiet kind of longing that made your skin itch with need.

You exhaled slowly. “Thanks,” you murmured.

His eyes dropped to your intertwined hands, then back to your face.

“I’m just glad you’re alright,” he said.

But he didn’t let go.

You let him hold you. Because deep down, something in you whispered, 

You’ve always let him.

The hours passed strangely.

The kind of sluggish, liminal time that only existed in sterile places like hospitals, where the world outside kept spinning and you stayed still. 

A nurse had come and gone, checking your vitals, scribbling notes on a clipboard, murmuring something about mild concussion symptoms and rest. 

None of it stuck, your head was too full. Not of pain, not of fear, but of sensation.

Like the memory hadn’t faded. Like it was sitting just beneath your skin, simmering.

Bucky had barely moved. He sat again at your side, no longer gripping your hand like a lifeline, but still near. Watchful. His gaze flicked to you every few minutes like he didn’t trust the machines to tell him whether you were breathing.

He’d changed out of his vest at some point. Worn joggers now, a black t-shirt that clung to him like a second skin, sleeves tight around his biceps. His hair was pushed back from his face now, slightly damp, as if he’d splashed cold water over himself just to stay conscious.

You didn’t say much. Neither did he.

Eventually, he stood. Moved to the far counter where a plastic jug and a few styrofoam cups were lined up. You watched the flex of his shoulder, the quiet way he moved—efficient, unthinking, like he was forcing his hands to be useful. Like if he stopped, even for a second, it would all catch up to him.

He came back and held the cup out toward you, waiting until you were steady enough to reach.

Your fingers brushed.

It was so small, a blink of contact, the backs of his knuckles against yours. 

The barest slide of skin.

And it hit you.

Like a crack of lightning across your spine.

Your breath caught—sharp and involuntary—as heat flooded your system. It wasn’t just a reaction. It wasn’t random, it was familiar.

You saw it—felt it—all at once.

The weight of his body between your thighs. His mouth hot and wet and relentless, tongue curling just right, the muscles in your abdomen tightening as your hips bucked into him. 

His hands gripping your thighs, spreading you wider. His hair gripped in your fist, the way he growled low in his throat when you tugged just a little too hard.

That voice—familiar and foreign all at once—rasped your name like a secret drawn between your thighs, aching with recognition you couldn’t explain.

You gasped aloud.

The cup slipped.

Water splashed across the sheets, cool against your thigh.

Bucky froze mid-step, half-turned to sit again, his eyes snapping to yours instantly. His brow furrowed, voice low and careful.

“You okay?”

Too fast—too sharp—you nodded.

“Yeah. Just dizzy.”

Your hand twitched.

He saw it, your fingers, still trembling.

You reached down to adjust the cup with a shaky grip, turning it upright, avoiding his gaze even as the weight of it pressed into your chest like a stone.

But he didn’t move, didn’t sit.

You weren’t sure what he saw in your face. But you felt what was in yours—confusion, panic, a quiet desperation to understand why your body remembered the shape of his tongue and the sound of his groan like it was etched into your DNA.

He stepped forward finally, slow and careful, retrieving the cup from your hand.

You didn’t stop him.

Didn’t speak.

The pulse between your legs hadn’t faded. Neither had the echo of that voice in your mind.

“Don’t forget me.”

He turned back to the counter, as if giving you space.

But he’d seen it.

The flicker in your eyes and the truth in your trembling hands.

The next day passed in pieces.

You weren’t cleared to leave the medbay yet, not with the swelling still lingering behind your eyes, not with your vitals climbing and dipping like a body trying to remember how to live. Time moved slow, blurred at the edges, but it didn’t stop the visits.

The first to arrive was Yelena.

You heard her before you saw her—the distinct thump of combat boots against linoleum, the door creaked open on a soft hinge, and there she was, dressed in her vest and scuffed jeans, holding a plastic cup of electric-green jello like it was some prize.

“Bob swears this shit will fix everything,” she said, plopping it down on the table beside your cot. “I don’t believe him, but you know, points for optimism.”

You managed a tired smile. “If I eat that, I’m pretty sure I’ll die for real.”

Yelena grinned. “Yeah, but then you’ll stop scaring the shit out of everyone.”

You were about to respond when she looked past you, brows lifting slightly, head tilting just enough to catch the shape of him where he stood near the window.

Bucky.

Leaning against the far wall, arms folded over his chest. Silent, watchful. The kind of still that looked practiced, but wasn’t neutral. 

Not around you.

Yelena’s gaze bounced between the two of you, her mouth twitching at the corners.

“You know he hasn’t left, right?” she said casually, tearing the plastic lid off the jello and handing you the spoon. “Not even for a piss break. Bob started taking bets about whether he’s just pissing in the corner when no one’s looking.”

You snorted weakly. “You’re disgusting.”

“And you’re blind,” she retorts playfully “Seriously, it’s like you’re his long-lost soulmate or something.”

You looked over at Bucky.

He was pretending not to listen, but the way his jaw twitched told you otherwise.

You sighed, shaking your head slightly. “I don’t think he even knows me.”

Yelena didn’t argue. She just shrugged, popping a piece of your jello into her mouth with a grimace.

“Doesn’t look that way to me.”

There was something unsettling about her tone. Not teasing anymore. Not really. Just, observant, sharp.

And she wasn’t the only one.

You noticed it later, when you were being wheeled through the corridor for a scan.

John stood near the breakroom, munching on chips like he didn’t have a care in the world, but his eyes tracked Bucky as he hovered at your side, never more than a step behind.

Ava was more subtle. She paused mid-sentence when she saw the way Bucky steadied your elbow as you slid back into bed. 

Her mouth pressed into a thin line. No comment.

No one said it out loud.

But they all knew.

And Val noticed too.

She found Bucky in the supply wing an hour later, sorting through gear he didn’t need. He was coiled tight, shoulders hunched, like he’d been bracing for the inevitable.

“You’ve been distracted,” Val said sharply, her heels clicking to a stop behind him. “You sat in that room like the world fucking ended.”

Bucky didn’t turn around, his knuckles were still bruised. A cut on his cheek hadn’t fully closed.

“She almost died,” he said, voice low. “I’m just watching out for her.”

Val crossed her arms. “Bullshit. That wasn’t concern, that was clearly something else.”

He was silent.

“I pulled her file.”

That made him pause. Not move. But pause.

Val’s eyes narrowed. “You knew her back when you were still with HYDRA, didn’t you?”

Still, he didn’t answer.

The silence was an answer in itself.

Val’s voice softened slightly. Not with sympathy, she didn’t traffic in that, but with a clinical sort of caution. Like she’d stumbled too close to something that still had fangs.

“She doesn’t remember you, James.”

He tensed.

“Don’t make it worse,” she said, voice low now.

You hadn’t meant to hear it.

You weren’t eavesdropping, not exactly.

But the door had been left partially ajar. You had wandered out of the medbay for a walk, trying to shake the strange hum beneath your skin. 

And now you stood there—just outside their view, barely breathing—as the words echoed like a gunshot in your skull.

“She doesn’t remember you, James.”

Something inside you cracked.

You stepped away before they could see you, the hallway narrowing around you, colder somehow than it had been before.

And still, despite the ache in your skull, the tremble in your fingers—you couldn’t help but remember the way his hand had stayed wrapped around yours. 

All night. All morning.

Like letting go might undo something neither of you knew how to name.

It always started the same.

Darkness and god, the cold, that silence between screams, the kind you could only hear inside a HYDRA cell.

He didn’t dream of it often, not fully. But sometimes, when he blinked too long, or sat too still, the memory crept back in, a loop stitched beneath his skin.

This time, it hit harder.

Because he’d seen you again. And this time, you didn’t remember him.

Bucky was outside the medbay, back against the corridor wall, jaw clenched, trying to get a handle on his breath. But inside, his mind was somewhere else. Somewhere deeper, somewhere they’d taken from him piece by piece.

It came back in fragments. 

You were beneath him.

Not now.

Then.

Laid out across the metal table they left in his cell because it was easier to clean. Your wrists bore the faint marks of the cuffs they usually kept you in. 

But they were gone now. Gone because he was inside you, moving slowly, carefully, desperately, like every second mattered.

“James…” you whispered. Not a question, a plea.

His name in your mouth broke him open.

He bent lower, breath trembling against your cheek, the rhythm of his hips slow and uneven, like it hurt to let himself feel this much.

And it did. It fucking did. But it was the only thing left that made him feel human.

“I’ve got you,” he rasped, metal hand sliding up your jaw. He cupped your face like you were something sacred, thumb brushing your temple. His flesh hand gripped your hip, anchoring himself to the warmth of you. “I’ve got you.”

You touched his face—shaking fingers against stubble and sweat.

Your voice was thick, near breaking. “They know.”

He nodded. A single, broken motion. 

HYDRA hadn’t said it aloud. But they didn’t need to, but the punishments had changed.

The monitoring increased. The “exercises” became more frequent, more violent, the moment emotion slipped through the cracks of control, they pounced.

“We can still lie,” you whispered, arms wrapping tight around his shoulders, like if you could just hold him close enough, none of it would matter. “We can act like we don’t—”

“I can’t lie about this anymore,” he choked. “I can’t watch them hurt you and pretend I feel nothing.”

“Then don’t,” you said, fingers slipping into his hair. “Then don’t, James. Just—stay. Just be here. With me.”

He kissed you—long, shaking, open-mouthed. Not possessive, not frenzied. Just full. Full of everything he never got to say. Of all the ways he’d memorised the slope of your throat and the shape of your breath.

When he came, it wasn’t with a groan, it was with a whimper. His entire body shuddered, forehead pressed to yours as he spilled inside you, whispering your name like a confession.

But the second he collapsed against your chest, it changed.

The door slammed open.

Bright lights. Boots. Orders barked in Russian.

“No—no, wait—” you started to sit up, but rough hands grabbed you.

Bucky’s arms were yanked from around you before he could blink. “Leave her alone!” he shouted, struggling against two guards who held him by the arms.

You were still bare, skin sticky with sweat and cum, legs trembling from aftershocks when they dragged you upright by the shoulders.

He fought harder.

One of the guards pulled a gun, pressed it to your temple and he stilled instantly.

The other looked at you, then laughed. “Told you they’d get fucking compromised.”

“Guess it’s chair time for the whore,” the first one muttered. “The freak’s next.”

“No—” Bucky’s voice cracked, panic splitting wide in his chest. “No, don’t—”

He lunged. Got one arm free. Reached for you.

You reached back.

Your fingertips brushed.

And then you were gone.

Bucky flinched so hard he nearly dropped the gear in his hands.

Back in the present, he braced his palms on the table, eyes squeezed shut, breath tearing in and out of his lungs.

They’d dragged you from him, taken you straight to the chair. Just like they always threatened, just like he always feared.

And the worst part?

HYDRA thought it worked.

They thought they’d erased you from him, wiped the memory clean, rinsed out every whisper of your softness with static and steel and blood.

But they missed something.

Because the first time he saw you again, the real you, alive and free and standing in that hallway with your eyes full of fire, something inside him lit up.

He didn’t just remember you. He felt you.

And every time you spoke to him now, every time you looked at him with that faint glimmer of recognition you couldn’t place, he felt it again.

The very thing HYDRA tried to kill.

The thing they called weakness.

The thing they were sure could never bloom in men like him.

Love.

The dreams didn’t stop.

If anything, they got worse.

Every night you fell asleep, your body betrayed you. Pulled you under like it wanted to remember. Like it had been waiting.

And every time, the darkness greeted you the same way—with the chill of metal under your spine and the scent of damp concrete. Skin against skin, heat blooming in places that made you wake up shaking.

You still couldn’t see his face. But your body knew him.

The dreams weren’t violent. Not in the traditional sense.

But they were unbearable all the same—soaked in desperation, soft moans that made your throat ache when you woke up with them on your lips. 

You’d feel him above you, inside you, every roll of his hips slow and aching, like he was trying to memorise the shape of you before someone took it away.

His voice, “I’ve got you.”

And then it would shift. The air would change. Cold fingers gripping your arms, dragging you backwards.

Always the fucking chair.

You’d wake drenched in sweat, chest heaving, thighs trembling, your own voice caught somewhere between a scream and a sob. 

Some nights, you could feel the phantom press of his body against yours for hours after. You’d flinch at your own reflection. You couldn’t explain it to anyone. 

Especially not him. Because Bucky had started looking at you like he knew.

Like he remembered something you didn’t. And you couldn’t take it anymore.

So one night—when the compound had gone quiet, long past midnight—you slipped out of your bunk, barefoot and sweating through your tank top, and padded your way down the empty corridors.

 Every flicker of light made your skin crawl, every camera made your stomach churn. 

But you kept walking until you reached it:

The archive room.

It was locked, of course, but you’d seen Ava punch in the code before and your fingers moved on instinct.

The light buzzed overhead as you stepped inside.

The room was colder than you expected, humming with the low static of electronics. Rows of drawers. Digital logs and hard backups. Most were encrypted. 

But the old paper files? They hadn’t been touched in years.

You found yours quickly.

The folder was thin. Too thin.

You pulled it out, sat at the dusty metal table, and opened it with hands that wouldn’t stop shaking.

It read like a blueprint. 

The first few pages were the usual medical entries, redacted fields, scans of your brain with parts blacked out entirely, notes in tight handwriting you didn’t recognise.

“obedience pattern successful.”

“tactile tolerance linked to subject B.”

“adjustment complete. subject remains compliant during post-coital monitoring.”

Your blood ran cold.

You flipped faster now, pages blurring—until you stopped on one that made your stomach drop:

SUBJECT: (REDACTED) STATUS: modified PURPOSE: designed for compatibility with subject B. Both neurological and physical responses show optimal pairing rates under induced stress. "Recommend continued dual-conditioning."

You weren’t just a prisoner. You were a match.

Not by accident but by design.

You were altered to match someone else’s frequency. Someone whose name had been blacked out. 

You pushed back from the table hard enough to make the chair screech.

Your hands were cold and your legs moved before your thoughts could catch up.

You found him alone in the gear bay.

It was 1:42 a.m and Bucky didn’t see you come in.

He was sitting on one of the crates, hunched forward, a disassembled rifle across his lap that didn’t need cleaning.

His hands moved out of habit, not necessity, almost like he needed something to do or he’d lose his mind entirely.

You didn’t clear your throat. Didn’t announce yourself.

“James,” you said softly.

He went still.

Not startled. Just… quiet.

He didn’t turn. “Yeah?”

You stepped forward. Just a little.

“Did you know me?”

A pause, then a breath that didn’t sound right.

“Why do you ask?” he said without looking up.

“Because I’ve been dreaming of a man I can’t see.” You swallowed hard.

His jaw twitched, you could see the tension in his spine, the way his fingers stilled against the rifle’s frame.

He didn’t speak right away.

“Please,” you breathe, the word trembling. “I just… I need to know.”

When he finally did, his voice was lower. Rough.

“I did know you,” he said. “Back then.”

You blinked.

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

He exhaled through his nose, slow and quiet.

“Because I didn’t know if you remembered. And I didn’t want to trigger something. Or… hurt you. Again.”

He set the rifle aside.

Your throat tightened. “What exactly did HYDRA do to me?”

He looked at you then.

Eyes shadowed, haunted.

But more than that—ashamed.

“You mean what they did to both of us.”

You didn’t speak. Just let the silence thrum between you. Let him fill it on his own.

Bucky’s hand curled into a fist on his thigh, his thoughts moving behind his eyes like storms.

“They took us,” he said slowly, voice thick. “People they thought would survive the process. Then they rewired us bit by bit. Broke us open and built us into something they could use.”

You didn’t move.

“They paired us.” His voice cracked slightly. “They said we were compatible. That we wouldn’t fight back, that if we were conditioned together, we would obey them together.”

“Did we… did we know each other?” you whispered. 

“Not exactly,” he said.

Your chest twisted, a cruel kind of ache, not quite grief and yet not quite rage.

You nodded once. Just to show you heard him.

But the silence that followed said everything else.

Because there were things he wasn’t saying. You could see it—flickering just behind his eyes.

He was holding something back. And still, even with all of it swirling inside you, all you wanted to do was reach out and touch him, just to feel if your body still remembered what your mind had forgotten.

But you didn’t.

The hallway was dark when you stepped out.

Not silent, nothing in the compound ever really was, but hushed, like even the walls had quieted to let the night breathe.

A low mechanical hum pulsed through the air from somewhere deep in the infrastructure, the soft whirl of vents sighing overhead. 

The lights had dimmed to their after-hours glow, casting the corridor in washed-out blue and gentle shadows. It was the kind of quiet that made you feel like the only person left in the world.

Most of the others had long since gone to bed. Earlier, you’d heard Ava’s laughter drifting up the stairwell, John’s heavy boots crossing the upper floor. But now, the compound had settled. 

The soft click of your door shutting behind you echoed. Bare feet touched cold tile, and your body gave a small involuntary shiver.

The cotton hem of your shirt brushed your thighs, the oversized sleeves half-swallowing your hands. You hadn’t bothered to grab socks, you hadn’t planned on going far.

You didn’t know why you’d gotten up, only that the stillness in your room had started to feel suffocating. The bed too empty and the quiet too damn loud. Something had been pressing against your chest all evening, some aching weight that wouldn’t name itself, but throbbed just beneath your ribs.

And that’s when you saw him.

He was sitting on the floor just outside your door.

His back was against the wall, legs folded in front of him—one drawn up, the other stretched out. His jaw shadowed with stubble, damp strands of hair curled behind his ear, like he’d showered but hadn’t cared to dry all the way. 

He looked tired. Not in the way people did after long days—but the kind of tired that burrowed in. 

He didn’t move when you opened the door, didn’t shift or scramble or explain.

He just looked up at you slowly.

No surprise, no embarrassment, just quiet recognition, like this was exactly where he was supposed to be.

You didn’t ask him why.

You simply stepped forward—and sat.

The floor was colder than you expected. Your knees drew up close to your chest, hands resting loosely over your shins. You sat beside him, not touching, not speaking, but close enough to feel the shape of him in the silence.

You both stared ahead for a while.

Not at anything. Just… forward. Breathing.

The silence between you wasn’t empty. It wasn’t awkward anymore, not sharp with hesitation the way it had been in the beginning. 

It felt full now. Comfortable. Heavy with everything that didn’t need to be said, and everything you were still afraid to ask.

After a long stretch of stillness, you heard him exhale softly beside you. A sigh, but not a frustrated one. A releasing one, almost like he’d been waiting for you to speak first.

And eventually, you did.

“It’s funny,” you whispered. “You make me feel safe, and I don’t know why.”

Your voice barely carried, but he heard it. 

He didn’t answer. Not with words.

But his head turned slightly, just enough to shift the air between you. Just enough to let you feel the full weight of his attention settle gently on your profile.

You stared straight ahead.

“It’s like I remember you,” you said, your throat tightening around the words.

He still didn’t speak.

But he shifted. Just barely.

You felt the subtle movement first—then saw it. His right hand, which had been resting palm-down on the floor, curled slowly into his lap. His fingers flexed once, then stilled. 

Your own hand was resting beside you, limp and open, your knuckles brushing against the edge of your sweatshirt.

Then, slowly, so slowly it made your breath catch, he reached.

His hand drifted toward yours.

Not fast, not accidental, but deliberate.

You watched, frozen, as his fingers hovered for a breath—just a breath—before his calloused ones slid beneath your palm.

And then he threaded them between yours.

A single, quiet interlocking.

No squeeze. No pressure.

Just presence.

It was the gentlest kind of intimacy, just his fingers laced with yours, as though your hands had always been meant to fit like that.

And maybe they had.

You didn’t say anything. You didn’t have to.

Because the moment he touched you like that—quietly, openly, with no expectation and no fear—something deep in your chest stopped shaking.

And for the first time in days, your breath came easier.

You didn’t look at him.

But you let your thumb press the faintest pressure against his. And still, he didn’t speak.

But his hand stayed in yours. Warm and steady.

As though letting go was not an option.

a/n: i hope you enjoyed this chapter, if you did, please leave a comment or reblog! i appreciate your support <3333 💌

taglist: @poisntree @moth-maam56 @ravenswritingroom @heymydearheart @secretdiaryofzai @whitelaxe @ficmeiguess @its-in-the-woods @chronicallybubbly @stell404 @overwintering-soldier @emilyswortwellen @vampirehimejoshi @chimmysoftpaws @herejustforbuckybarnes @s0urw00lf @cheeseman @onlyforyuto @hibiscy

[deliwrites]

𝕐𝕠𝕦'𝕣𝕖 𝕆𝕦𝕣𝕤 // Saja Boys & Huntr/x

// DATE // 30th of June 2025 → 1st of July 2025 // PAIRING // Huntr/x x Fem!Reader x Saja Boys // WARNING // !!!Mention of a su*c*de attempt through song lyrics!!!, Morally gray actions, involuntary chocking, harassment, more award show shit that I struggle to write xD // WORDS // 3.3k+ // SUMMARY // At a music awards show, Y/n unexpectedly wins a coveted prize, thrusting her into the spotlight with a powerful, raw performance that captivates everyone — but behind the scenes, tensions simmer as old wounds and unseen dangers threaten to unravel her hard-won success.

// Part One // Part Two // Part Three //

“There are only a few awards left to be given to some truly incredible artists!” Minjun says almost like he’s sad it’s nearly over.

“Oh absolutely,” Seyeon nods enthusiastically. “You know what I look most forward to?”

“What’s that, Seyeon?”

“The performance the next winner will be giving us!”

“Oh my, you’re right!” Minjun gasps in playful realization. “And it’s for none other than the ‘Heartfelt Voice Award’! I hope you guys are ready to cry. Because I sure am!”

“Wait…” panic settles into my chest. “Can- can you guys-“ I can't finish as breathing becomes to difficult. Even if it wasn’t certain yet, I couldn’t stop the panic at having to perform so unexpectedly.

“What’s wrong?” Romance asks, noticing the fast rising and falling of my chest.

“-Undo it.”

“Undo what?” Miras voice is laced with worry.

“I- I,” I stammer, my eyes not leaving the hosts as an envelope is brought to them. Watching the envelope like I can see through it and read the name on it.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Rumi pulls me into her chest, grounding me. “Take a deep breath,” she takes one waiting for me to take one with her. Then gently lets it out, I do the same but mine is shaky. “Try again.”

“I can’t perform,” I whisper, voice trembling, shaking my head finally turning to look at her. “I can’t do this.”

“Sure you can!” Jinu says with a confident grin on his face. I just shake my head.

“Y/N!!” The shout of my name startles me. I freeze, eyes returning to the stage. My picture presented on the big screen. The hosts look somewhat puzzled. As do I.

There is polite clapping as Rumi gently nudges me to get up. I leave my small clutch with them, looking back at them as I hesitantly start walking. “You’ve got this!” Zoey says giving me two thumbs up, beaming.

“She wasn’t supposed to win,” it’s a grumble that she doesn’t hear while she slowly makes her way to the stage. But the others do. Eight pairs of eyes turn toward the voice. Jaewon. Staring daggers at the back of his head. None of them say anything… but the message is clear. Standing up, clapping louder than anyone else in the room. A push. A warning. And she needs it. Every last bit of it.

My legs feel like they might give out with every step I take, my heart still bounding in my chest. Once I reach the stage and am given the award I awkwardly stand in front of the mic. “Thank you, I-“ my words falter, my eyes meeting a glaring Jaewon. But then excited movement from above him brings a smile to my face. A wave, encouraging smiles and a nod that says ‘you can do this’ from Jinu. “I didn’t expect to win tonight,” I say honestly. “But it is truly an honor, thank you so much to those who listen to my songs, support me and especially voted tonight,” looking at the award as the words settle within me. “Really… thank you,” Stepping back from the mic I’m met with more applause a bit more sincere this time.

“Let me take that real quick,” Seyeon says gently, taking the award from my hands. “Good luck!” With that she and Minjun disappear at the side of the stage. The lights dim just enough to shift the mood, and then my song starts playing. Closing my eyes, I take one last breath and sing.

Finally hit the ground I'm at the bottom now Never thought I could be this low Felt like falling down an endless hole No, I don't see the light And I don't hear God Crawling in the dark Now my limbs are cold Screaming out "Help" but it just echoes

A silence falls over the room. Everyone listening with bated breath. All consumed by the unexpected depth of my voice. By the ache woven into every note, the weight of words no one dares to speak out loud.

Only one way out of here I don't think I can reach it Everything I hold dear Erased by all of my demons My sorry is sincere I've just lost all of my reasons Reasons left to stay

When I open my eyes, I’m stunned to find I’ve become the center of attention. No one is talking, everyone is quite literally staring. Wide eyed, stunned faces, confused but pleasantly surprised. As if they expected a whisper but got a storm.

So, if this is goodbye Please, don't count my cry as a sin No, I don't wanna die But it keeps getting harder to live And I put up a fight But now I've got nothing to give So, if this is goodbye, goodbye, goodbye I hope someday to see you again

The song is emotional and raw. It captures everyone in the room even the ones who didn’t know her before this very moment. She had already captured their attention when she walked in. Clumsy, quiet, walking with uncertainty. But hearing her sing this song live, it hit different.

It’s like a string got pulled tight between them and her. A need to protect. To have. To understand. And something more dangerous; an obsession.

There's nothing you could've said Nothing you could've done different It was always between me and my head Never meant to hurt you in the process But I just can't keep holding on Wish I could believe that things will get better Wish I could just flip a switch in my mind Then I could fix how I feel altogether Then I could mean it when I say I'm fine It's never that easy and neither is life Don't think I wanted to leave you behind I tried, I tried, I tried

This song, it wasn’t for Jaewon. That much was obvious. But who was it to?

The answer.

Herself.

So, if this is goodbye Please, don't count my cry as a sin No, I don't wanna die But it keeps getting harder to live And I put up a fight But now I've got nothing to give Nothing, nothing So, if this is goodbye, goodbye, goodbye I hope someday to see you again If this is goodbye I'll see you If this is goodbye Open up my eyes I don't know where I am And everything is blurry My mom's holding my hand Turns out I was in a hurry But God had other plans He said my goodbye was early Now I've got a second chance

I stood in pure silence for a moment. Everyone shocked at the emotional impact this song had on them. In the end a couple of tears were shed.

“That… was…” Seyeon enters the stage once more. Tissue in hand. Letting out a sigh as she shakes her head struggling to find the right word. “… beautiful,” is what she settles for. That seems to put the room back in motion as applause suddenly, loudly rings around the room.

Startled, tears gather in my eyes. “Thank you,” I smile through tears.

“This award,” Minjun starts as he too returns. Holding up my award. “Is extremely well deserved,” I thank them once more before exiting the stage. Climbing my way back up the stairs. I’m stared at, even get a bow here and there as I pass them. I bow back like I don’t deserve their respect.

When I get back to my seat Zoey and Rumi are crying while Mira is obviously holding back her tears.

“That was so… ethereal,” Zoey sniffles. Standing up to pull me in a hug. “You deserved this award! Even if you didn’t think so.”

Taking her phone from her clutch while she talked to the girls was almost too easy. Even when she sat back down she hadn’t noticed how Baby easily manipulated the device to unlock with his demon powers. First he found her phone number, saving it in his own phone.

The causality of how he handled it and the guys keeping her distracted made it go unnoticed for much longer. The guys had quickly noticed what their maknae was up to. Making sure he would get it done. Easily installing spying software, hiding it from her, but making sure it worked from his own device. It wasn’t about invading her privacy. It was about keeping her safe.

By the time she reached for her clutch again, it was back in it place, exactly where she thought she’d left it. Missing the pointed look Mira gave the maknae as if to tell him he better share what he finds.

“Wow,” I sigh, grabbing my clutch, using it as a fan. “Thank you,” glancing both ways trying to meet their eyes. As I thank them for their - undeserved - support. “I would not have been able to do that if it wasn’t for you,” a blush tinting my cheeks but I blame it on the heat in here. In reality there is air conditioning in the room making sure everyone was comfortable.

“Of course,” Abby smirks, but I know he’s genuine.

“It’s nothing, you needed a push,” Mira shrugs casually. “You deserved it.”

“Thank you, anyway,” I make sure they know I’m being sincere. “But I really need the bathroom now,” I chuckle awkwardly receiving understanding chuckles back. Getting up I follow the signs to the bathroom.

Inside the bathroom, I take a moment to freshen up a bit, I look at myself in the mirror. A genuine smile still playing on my lips. “I did it,” I mutter, barely believing my own words. “I actually won.”

Taking my phone from my clutch, my notification wall is full. There are new followers on every social media platform I have. Mentions of my performance. Clips, screenshots, reactions. And of course all the posts the Saja Boys and Huntr/x created to support me and my song.

Mentions of my other songs too. People finding them, loving them. It makes me feel warm. Loved. Seen.

I exit the bathroom relax, distracted even. A bit too distracted apparently when I get the air literally knocked out of me. Pushed into the wall right at the archway to the venue hall.

“Wha-”

“Shut up!” I recognize the voice immediately. Anxiety lighting a fire in my being. Eyes wide, they find his. His face is contorted in anger. “You weren’t supposed to win,” his hand balls into a fist, rising, but he knows he’s still in public. Lowering the fist he grips my upper arm instead. Tight enough to create bruising, making me squirm and whine.

“Let go of me,” my voice is small. The fear in my eyes only making him chuckle.

“No, this is how you should have looked,” he continues, voices nearly growling the words at me. “I orchestrated this. Made sure you were nominated for a song no one even knew. Made it so you had to sit with those you looked up to,” tears form in my eyes. I knew it... I knew I shouldn’t have been here. His other hand lands on my shoulder, thumb laying at the base of my neck. Pressing hard, making it uncomfortable to talk or swallow.

It seems my arms decide that they now have the strength to try and push him away. But it doesn’t work. He’s stronger than me.

“You should have ran out of here, crying! Like the weakling you are,” his voice stays the same, unfazed by my trembling attempts to push him away from me. “How did you win?” there is real anger laced with genuine curiosity. Thumb pressing harder onto my throat.

“Because she deserves it,” the voice stuns both me and Jaewon. It’s Mystery. Before I can react, Jaewon quickly pulls me to his chest. I cough with the pressure now gone from my throat. He acts like he didn’t just have a bruising grip on me. Like all he wanted to do was hug me as a way to congratulate me on the win. Even if it was all a lie to protect his image.

The way Mystery was positioned had given Jaewon the false idea that no one had caught his cruel actions towards her. But Mystery knew. They all knew, even Huntr/x who were currently performing unable to protect what was theirs. Even if she didn’t know it yet.

“Oh, I wasn’t accusing,” Jaewon continues, feigning sincerity, but the sharp tone in his voice betrays him. “Congratulations on your win, Y/n,” the way he says my name. It's sharp and I know it’s a warning. Mystery takes my hand, pulling me closer to him so I’m not in Jaewon’s reach.

“Thanks,” it’s forced and breathless as it leaves my lips. I let Mystery lead me back to our seats. Trying to fake my confidence like nothing happened.

They all know something happened, but don’t point it out. From the way she walks and sits down stiffly. Trying to portray that genuine happiness she showed earlier. Only it doesn’t reach her eyes. They know now is not the time to talk about what they all witnessed. Instead, they watch quietly, guarding her in their own way.

The rest of the award show luckily goes by swimmingly. I hate to have to say goodbye to the eight who already meant a lot to me. Now more than I ever thought possible.

But I knew this was probably the first and only time I would get to talk to them. At least for a good while. The girls gave me a hug, squeezing me tightly. Letting me know once more that I deserved the win. I’m not sure how to say goodbye to the guys. Jinu just tsk’s, and pulls me in for a hug as well.

Even if he makes it seem nonchalant he can’t stop himself from breathing in her hair as she hugs him back.

Mystery makes sure to squeeze tightly, like a reminder that he’s there for her.

Baby playfully rolls his eyes at her, poking her sides to make her jump before giving his own hug. Gently petting the top of her head.

Abby smirks, teasing her. Saying that she only wants a hug so she can feel his abs. She chuckles genuinely, making all their hearts melt.

Last is Romance who will gladly take a hug, lingering for longer than needed. Placing a peck on her soft cheek, causing a soft flush to her face.

Missing the way the girls glare at the boys with envy.

My manager had been surprisingly quiet the next day. Normally he would start calling me the moment the sun woke.

Now it’s Monday, two days after the K-pop Rising Stars Awards. Still, it’s radio silence from my manager. I had messaged him myself to ask if he saw my win. He hadn’t even read it. Nothing.

With Luminara Entertainment right around the corner from the dorms, I headed there early. I needed answers. Arriving around 8 am, I waved at Juna at the reception desk. She smiled gently but there was something almost rehearsed in it. Shrugging off the feeling I head for the elevator making my way to Kyungsoo’s office.

Outside the office door I heard voices. So I at least knew he was in. Knocking softly on the wooden door, I wait. The conversation grew silent immediately. When Kyungsoo finally cracked the door open, his eyes barely met mine.

“Hey, I messaged, but I didn’t hear from you,” I tell him, confusion clear on my face. Partially because he’s just peeking out of a small slit in the door but mostly because I hadn’t heard from him.

“Y/n, I’m so sorry,” I can tell immediately that it’s not sincere. Voice flat, lacking his usually somewhat warmth. “I’ve just been really busy. Just continue working on your songs in the studio. I’ll check in with you soon,” before I could respond the door closed again.

Busy or not, it was clear I wasn’t a priority. He didn’t even congratulate me. Tension rose in my shoulders like something was up but I couldn’t put my finger on it.

His phone dings with a new familiar chime. Y/n opened her phone. Picking up his own from where it rested on the coffee table.

They had been given an off day after holding a concert on Sunday the day after the Award show. The five of them relaxing a bit. Though that wasn’t the only thing going on.

Mystery had done a full deep dive on Jaewon, turns out the only reason NIOR7 was doing as well as they were. Was because of daddy’s money.

Jinu, who sat next to Baby, recognized the sound too. All of them knew what it meant, having observed her activity since she left the venue. Including making sure she actually got home safe. Not leaving the outside of Luminara dorms until they saw her face in one of the windows.

A new message came in.

Jaewon Enjoying your win

She didn’t start typing, but didn’t move away from it either. Why had she not blocked him yet? As if she heard their thoughts, she excited the chat. Going to her blocked numbers. A list of at least seventeen blocked contacts showed up. All named Jaewon.

It didn’t matter whether she blocked him. He would just get a new number and keep tormenting her.

Jaewon Not for long, I'm sure

What does that even mean? What is he up to?

Abby who stood behind the couch looking at the screen with them. “I’ll call the girls.”

When they had gotten back to Honmoon Tower after making sure Y/n had gotten back safely. The girls insisted on making a pact. Not believing they would actually share everything with them if they didn’t make a pact. They vowed to keep each other updated on everything happening with Y/n. No secrets.

The pact sealed with a tattoo of a tiny flame appearing on their ribs as a reminder, and as punishment. If they were to forget to share something, important or not. The tattoo would slowly start burning, growing stronger the longer it takes. Only stopping when the information is shared.

All they heard was Abby saying ‘It’s about Y/n’ and they appeared in their living room. Worry clear on their faces. Dressed in gym clothes, a sheen of sweat covering their skin. Still a little breathless.

“What is it?” Zoey ask, finding a seat next to Baby as Abby hangs up the phone. Rolling his eyes at their appearance playfully.

“Jaewon, he just wont stop tormenting her,” Jinu explains. “I think it’s a threat but I can’t be sure,” taking Baby’s phone from him to show Jaewon’s last message to her.

“It has to be,” Mira confirms, obvious anger at the man harassing their girl. “What else can you do with this?” she asks, talking about the mirror image of Y/n’s phone.

“A lot,” Baby smirks. “When she’s asleep I can activate her phone and look through it.”

“And if she is using it? Can you listen to what she’s saying?”

“I could yeah,” Baby nods, going to the settings and activating the mic on her phone and the speaker on his own. Her voice immediately filling the space.

“What are you talking about?” I chuckle at the absurdity of my current situation. “You’re dropping me?”

“Yes, I am,” Kyungsoo says. There is uncertainty in his voice, his posture stiff. “Effective immediately.”

“What? But my contract-”

“It’s doesn’t matter,” he cuts me off. “Because of a morality clause. The label believes it’s best to part ways with the recent… controversies surrounding you.”

“Controversies? What controversies?” he avoids my gaze as I dig for more answers.

“That’s not for me to say,” he shrugs awkwardly casual. “You have 24 hours to get out of the dorms.”

“Twenty-fo- What? That’s not enough time! Where am I meant to go!?”

“You’ll figure it out,” with that he walks out, slamming the door to the studio.

“What?” my voice a quiet whisper as I sink back down onto the couch. “What am I gonna do?” I ask myself, my voice shaky.

Bzzz…. Bzzzz

Glancing at my phone which still sat on the coffee table where I left it when Kyungsoo came in.

Unknown Hey, how is your day? It’s Romance by the way.

// Part One // Part Two // Part Three //

Taglist:

@strayharmony943 @ghostlyworld @zariahthewitch @ateezswonderland @bunnytea10 @levifiance @katzline @ch1cky-093 @justanindiangirl12 @mxvoid26 @m-1mi @raineandcl0uds @mel3484 @apelepikozume @kangsae-byeokfan @zero-jpg @planetpearlsworld @sylus-h3ll @sy1ock

I hope everyone got tagged correctly!

[abyssyby]

what are your opinions on syslus getting jealous? like i usually don't consider him as someone who would get jealous, but i do eat those fics up and wonder in what circumstances he might actually experience jealousy (as in romantic ofc)

wanted to know your opinions because i love your characterization of him the most (you could write something with that too if you're comfortable, id be very grateful)

ʕ ꈍᴥꈍʔ: hi anon! dw, i eat those jealousy fics up too— love it when he gets all huffy n puffy over someone else getting your attention ngl.

i personally think, given his draconic qualities of wanting and needing to hoard, claim and possess, sylus is inclined to be one to get jealous. not simply because he’s petty and he doesn’t like others looking at or touching what is his (though i see him disliking that very much too)—but because he will always have the wounds of isolation in his heart. Though he portrays himself to be incredibly secure and collected, he still hoards each ill-gotten memory of abandonment and rejection like etchings in his bones. 

and now that he has you— who chose to be with him, to belong with him, to bind your soul to him so that he would never live or die alone—he bears the incredible weight of being unworthy of the one who loves him. 

so to me, his jealousy is rooted in this: this belief that no one has wanted him before you, and so why now? the pain of not being all you need, because you should be able to lean on him, rely on him on anything your heart desires. the trauma of being seen as a monster; when will you snap out of it and find someone easier to love? 

and though he tries to keep himself in check, communicate as much of the things that shake his heart and wound his loyalty, sometimes in can get a little much for him too

sylus x reader | angst, comfort, fluff, jealous!sylus, clingy!sylus, exploring a few deeper wounds of his jealousy!

“You like him—your partner.” he points out one evening as he walks beside you beneath the canopy of falling golden leaves. dried foliage crunch beneath your feet as you stroll down the paved path between the rows of overarching trees. 

He’d come to pick you up at the association, one hand occupied with a canvas holder with two tall cups of boba tea. 

He waited on a bench across the street, mindful of how people perceive him. Considering how you’ve stressed about your colleagues seeing him out in the open and fraternizing with you. 

So he wears his cap to hide his hair and his sunglasses despite the sunset to hide his eyes, changed his leather coat into a long, brown velvet one. He waits until you notice his presence, instead of ambushing you into their territory, as you so colorfully put. 

There, as he waited, he saw you emerge from the double doors speaking lightly to another man he recognized as the one you are paired off with often. One you’d mentioned was your hunting partner— assigned, designated, and in someways, chosen. 

You slurp at the straw, boba congealed into a mutated blob restricting any airflow into your mouth. “Hm?” 

He knows you’re listening, he resumes his musings. Needs to keep speaking, fueled by the bubbling bile in the base of his throat he absolutely despises feeling. “You seem comfortable.” 

The tone is unmistakable— it wasn’t accusing or a jab, but a mindful observation drenched in a distant dismalness. Giving your lungs a rest at trying to inhale your drink, you look up at him. His eyes are far off, the smoothness between his brows are crumpled, so minuscule only you could have caught it. And his soul, intertwined with yours, flickers like a candle disrupted by a breeze. 

“We’re friends,” you tell him, preferring his warm hand now to the cup, lending an icy one to his searing touch. His shoulders melt, fingers close in on yours like he’d been dangling from the edge of a cliff, now relieved to have found leverage. 

You continue. “He’s very kind.” 

“I’m glad to hear that, sweetie.” he says, although it comes out monotonous. Words from a script he simply read on cue. Your brows furrow, and you feel that flicker again. 

You dig your heels into the dirt and tug him to a stop with you. With a sigh, he parallels you and meets your gaze. 

“Sylus—,” 

“Your day is the most important of all the reports I listen to, your gossip, your rants, your rambles.” he knows he might be talking too much now, that it might be overdoing his sorrow, but… 

When he saw you exiting with your partner, laughing hysterically at just a single word from him. So simple, so basic. Likely taken out of context, an inside joke or a tail end to the rest of an unheard story. 

But when he heard such a laugh for the first time from you and he was far from the cause of it. When he saw how much you actually talked with your hands and your face more than your words, how you spoke and spoke and spoke to your partner in those few moments more than you ever did to him. 

He felt it in his chest—muscle tearing open fiber by fiber. In his lungs that fill with smoke. And in his mind, the beast, snarling at him to take you away. 

And to what? back to him who could never make you do the same? to him who grates on your nerves? to him who is so difficult to remember, however more to love? 

His face is a mixture of anguish and disappointment, a storm raging behind his carmine eyes that focus on your face. Eyes that search yours for any confirmation, any indication that you want to go—leave. Because you should prefer ease, you should prefer comfort and security. 

While he can give you all of that, he can give you anything you wish for and all it takes is for you to say it out loud— it will always come with a cost. 

His life is danger. His being is monstrous. His love is scorching. 

Your cold boba-tea frozen hand is a balm to the world in his mind that alights itself in flames as you cradle his face. His hand comes up to hold yours, press it closer to his skin. He shuts his eyes, breathes in the scent of your wrist— pulse and perfume. “Do you wish more from me?” 

“Oh, Sylus.” you frown, quick to pull him down and plant a cold kiss on his cheek. A grumble escapes his throat as he leans into you, fully lets his head fall onto your shoulder. Closer, closer, closer. “No.”

“I want to claim all your laughter. Have my ears be the only one that hears it.” his words rumble in his chest, rough and aching—like it hurts him to admit.

His voice is reminiscent of a tremble of thunder, rattling stained windows of a cathedral; such power in a whisper.

“I want to be all you need. All you want.” he grounds out into your ear. Your knees buckle at the weight of his confession. He holds you to him by your waist, positioning you in a firm cage of his arms.

Outside, you are a picture of two bundled up lovers sharing an innocent embrace, caressed by the autumnal breeze. Seeking warmth in each other. 

But beyond appearances, you are a raft Sylus is desperately clinging to as he is cast out to an angry sea. Inside, he fights the battle between making sure you are his and being a reasonable, rational partner. 

He nuzzles his nose into your neck, uses your scent to keep himself from causing a scene or saying something that might scare you off more. He only wants to do right by you, only wants to be what you deserve. 

And he’s stronger than this petty jealousy that courses through his veins at the sight of you giving someone else a smile he wants to have too— like the morning sun he wants to usher into the darkness. He wants it, like a deprived child, he wants it to be mine, mine, mine.

“What did he say to you?” he asks plainly, resolve slipping from his fingers at the memory of your laughter. Growls it. Cringes as he says it, but his head is too filled with smoke that he can’t find his filter.

Your throat dries. His voice is entirely different now, a caving of the earth, lightning striking a tree open in a forest. For a moment, fear grips your heart, but it dissipates just as quickly as it comes when you see his eyes.

Red rubies, a diamond slit of obsidian right in their centers. His brows knit painfully together, like he’s warring with something. Holding it back and keeping it from attacking you. 

“Nothing.” you say, and immediately you know it’s the wrong answer.

He looks away. Not because he dislikes your answer, although he very much does, but because of the way you say it. 

Whispered, careful, guarded. 

Proving his fears to be true. How can he ask you to love a monster? He isn’t easy, he’s far from it, he can be meticulous and cold and absent—all of which you don’t deserve. It’s not a choice he’d make for you, so why would you choose him? 

“Nothing I can remember now, Sylus.” your voice cuts through his thoughts like bullet in cold air. He finds you catching his gaze, begging him to look back at you. Your fingers catch his chin, like he does to you so many times, and guide him back home. “Not now that I’m with you.” 

His heart swells thrice its size at your reassurance. At how your careful fingers remove his hat and brush away the matted down hair by his ears. How you kiss his cheeks, his nose, his mouth—uncaring of who might see or catch you. Uncaring of getting caught. So willing to show the world he is yours. 

How you see right through him. That despite his humiliating show of possession, you pinpoint its exact origins. 

“Tell me what you’re afraid of.” you’re so calm and he is filled with gratitude. You lead him to a nearby bench and he practically curls himself around you as you sit. His arm wounds around your shoulders, slips his knee beneath your thigh so your one leg dangles off of his, and his nose is buried back into the junction between your jaw and your throat. 

“I want you to be happy.” he says, hesitant. His mouth moves, opens like he needs to say more— but no other words follow. 

“I am happy.” you nudge him gently. “My boyfriend picked me up from work today, and he looked handsome in his new coat. And he gave me boba tea.” 

He snorts, fingers splaying out on yours as you begin to play with the ring on his middle. He’s keenly aware of the wind that blows your hair in your face, his other hand comes up to shield your eyes and hold some bundles back behind your ear. Painfully honest, he whispers, “I’ve never heard you laugh like that.”

You lean your cheek onto the top of his head. You feel his lungs draw breath, even and slow, but know his heart is racing. He seems to fixate on the ring you spin on his finger, brushing his thumb over the nail of yours as if to encourage you to keep doing it. 

Leaning deeper into his frustrations, you ask, “Does it sound different?” 

He snuffs, a dragon puffing smoke out his nostrils. “It was radiant.” he says, breaking your heart even more. 

You pause, scooting that little bit closer to him as the dimming sky turns the air into a nipping chill. You huddle close and lend him your undivided attention. 

“I hate that it was for someone else.” he confesses quietly. 

You brush his cheek. “But that doesn’t mean you don’t make me happy, sylus.” 

His eyes squeeze shut as you ask, “You’ve made me laugh plenty of times, my love, help me understand why this shook you so much?” 

You’re lost. After everything you’ve been through, all you’ve shared, you can’t help but feel the sting of distrust as he worries for your loyalty. And rarely is he like this, aside from the times he acts on his jealousy— pulling you close, making sure whoever tries his or her hand at claiming you knows who they would be up against by a press of his lips to your temple or a caress of his hardened fingers to the soft curve of your jaw. 

But the way he is now—genuinely upset, wary and at the verge of a quiet surrender he struggles not to make a show of—makes you mourn something that looms in the distance. What if he thinks you’ve but put a mask on before him? or does he not believe that who you are with him is the barest form of you there is? You believe firmly he does not think so little of you that you would prefer someone else over him, but… 

He swallows, adam’s apple bobbing to push his anxiety down. You’re relieved to see him so open to share, at least. Look forward to him bringing you some clarity. But you don’t expect clarity to come in the form of jagged shards of broken glass. 

“In the worst of my nightmares, there is one thing that truly petrifies me.” slowly, he takes your fingers in his and brings them up to his lips to cool them with his breath. thawing the freeze, keeping you comfortable. “And that’s when you look at me, turn and walk away.”

You hold your breath, because you’re sure that the next one you let out will usher with it the tears that burn behind your eyes. 

“When you see—truly see—the fiend I was. the monster I am.” he mutters, a muscle in his jaw feathering at how tightly he’s clenching his teeth. “How shameless and greedy I am—how proud I am to be. 

“And you, my dove. Beautiful, brilliant sun. Why burn to ashes when you can burn in light?” 

It’s silent.

Whether it was the cold or the tension, you don’t have time to figure it out before you’re trembling. Ribs rattling, muscles tensing. It is your turn to use him as a raft as you drown in his devotion. For now, you see—that as much as he loves you, he thinks he is poisoning you. Knowing that, his fears then lie there: that his poison has begun to spread and will be the cause of his loss of you. 

“Stupid.” you choke, squeezing your arms around his shoulders, pressing your tear-streaked face into his neck. Then, you laugh, grim and wet and raw—a laugh you yourself had never heard before. “Idiot dragon.” 

He wraps you in his coat and rubs circles on your lower back. The park has cleared, a single streetlamp illuminates the pair of you. There is no sound but the rustle of leaves and the thrumming of your hearts. 

“I burn where I want to.” you grit—not angrily, just through the uncontrollable rattling of your jaw. “I burn with you.” 

He stares. To say he was taken aback by your words would be an understatement. He is dizzy, knocked back and shattered into a wall. He could crumple at your feet, he could kiss you until you both see stars. 

“We were talking about some dumb lunch thing where another hunter took the last empanada right before his eyes and before he could cuss her out, it turned out to be the captain and I thought it was funny because it happened to me last week and now it’s all so trivial and it’s not even funny—“ you ramble, words stuttered and stumbling out of your mouth like a waterfall. explaining yourself, doing everything you think will soothe the earthquakes in his mind. 

As you speak, Sylus watches you with the softest of looks. wiping stray tears away with light fingers, brushing more of your hair back from your eyes, placing his palms over your cold cheeks, your frozen ears—you barely notice, too engrossed in telling him everything. Anything, really, to show him that he will always be ground zero. He will always be the only one ever to witness you as your purest self. 

and you doing so means worlds to him. 

“And this afternoon, Tara was supposed to—don’t, don’t kiss me! I have snot!” you shriek as he leans to press his warm lips to your freezing face. he chuckles as you scream, drawing you closer, closer, closer. Saying I don’t care with his actions as he kisses you anyway. Slow, warm and consuming. I love you.

And so easily, he forgets why he ever doubted you, feared you’d love him any less than what you already show him. When you so simply complete his day with your voice, when you so effortlessly choose to love him then and now. He places his heart back in your hands, unconscious how he’d clutched it tight in his, and feels the weightless joy you wash over him once more. 

He tucks your squeals into the chest of treasures in his mind, along with the atrocious laugh you gifted him as you called him stupid. Never mind the one you gave your hunting partner now, his is much better.

Your light is his to hold, keep and hoard for eternity—and you, yourself, offered it to him as you burn.

✧˚ ⋆｡ more sylus thoughts ✧˚ ⋆｡

thank you so much for sending in this ask & for reading! (˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶) .ᐟ.ᐟ

[mattscoquette]

SUB!PERV!MATT CALLING YOU TO GET HIMSELF OFF matt sturniolo.

matt had been pent up all week, and had been craving a release. the littlest things would set him off, causing his dick to strain against his boxers in the most inconvenient of times. so when nick was out with one of his girlfriends for the night, and chris was with a friend, matt took this as the perfect opportunity to get himself off. 

he was in his bed, boxers and sweatpants pulled down and his dick in his right hand. his left hand held his phone as he scrolled through your instagram, his right hand pumping his cock, desperately bucking his hips up. 

on a normal night, matt would cum in minutes from your pictures alone. a little bit of cleavage and your sweet smile? he was absolutely done for. so he knew it was bad when his normal rotation of pictures weren’t working. 

he furrowed his brows in frustration, stroking his length as he tried to imagine it was your hand instead, but it wasn’t helping. 

matt threw his head back, squeezing his eyes shut, trying to fasten his pace. some muffled moans left the back of his throat — but it wasn’t enough. he needed more. he needed you.

matt scrolled through your pictures once more, hoping he would find the perfect shot to get off to, yet nothing pleased him. 

he let out a frustrated sigh, closing the instagram app, his thumb hovering over the phone icon. he knew it was desperate, but maybe your voice would give him that little boost he was looking for. he scrolled through his contacts, pressing on your name and letting it ring. you were always a big texter, so he expected your call to go straight to voicemail. even if it was just you saying “hey it’s me, leave a message,” in your sweet voice, he would probably cum from that alone. 

what matt didn’t expect was you to pick up after the fourth ring. 

“hello?” your voice said softly through the phone speaker, “matt?” you asked. matt felt shivers running down his spine — the way you said his name. he could picture it perfectly, your lips spreading apart, a string of saliva connecting your tongue to your teeth as you waited for an answer. 

matt shifted in bed, the ruffling sound of the sheets taking over your speakers. you distanced your phone for a second as matt settled down, a hint of worry appearing on your voice, “why are you calling me so late?”

“i, uh,” he stammered, his mouth going dry as he racked his brain for some lame excuse, “just saying hi.”

you grinned, laying back against your sheets, amused by all the ruckus matt was causing over the phone for just saying hi. 

“uh huhhhh,” you purred, “just saying hi at 11:27 at night?”

he nodded, trying to string together his alibi as the words came spilling out of his mouth, his cock twitching from your sultry voice. “yeah, yknow, couldn’t sleep, figured i’d see if anyone’s up.”

“right,” you cooed softly, “and you’re not at all touching yourself right now, are you?” you asked, the tone of uncertainty in your voice teasing him.

“n-no” matt mumbled, holding his breath. fuck, he got caught. you weren’t convinced — you could hear the small whimpers through your speakers, and you were almost sure the wet, squelching sounds were from matt pumping his own cock. 

you smirked to yourself as you heard the slick sounds of matt’s dick on the other line of the phone, your pajama shorts wet with arousal as you heard him hold back his sounds. 

“you sure about that matty?” you teased, your voice breathy, “it sounds to me like you are.”

“fuck,” matt cursed out, running his fingers through his hair in a failed attempt to soothe his nerves. “‘m sorry— i just— i need you.”

your fingers found their way below the elastic of your bottoms, slowly running your fingers up and down your slick folds as you continued to talk matt through it. “yeah, i bet you do,” you said softly, letting out a nearly inaudible moan, “calling me in the middle of the night just so you can get off.”

“can’t,” matt said, and you didn’t quite understand what he meant. before you were able to ask, he spoke up again, “can’t cum without you” he confessed, squeezing his eyes in embarrassment, as if you were there, watching him closely. his pleas only got you wetter, your digits moving faster through your folds before reaching for your clit. you held back a moan, not wanting to give in — at least not so fast.

a small giggle slipped past your lips, coming out as more of a sigh, your brows furrowing slightly as you tried to string your words together. “of course you can’t,” you practically whimpered, “always creeping around, stealing my things, and now you need my voice to cum.”

you can hear how out of air matt’s becoming — his answers are slower, almost as if his mind was becoming foggier as his high approached. “you just…” he started, “you just look so— beautiful” matt said, his strokes turning sloppier. he was trying to hold back, he wanted to have your approval so badly. a few praises would be more than enough to make him cum on the spot. 

“please,” matt whimpered softly, a choked moan escaping him, “i wanna cum so badly.”

you let out a soft chuckle, your fingers slowly teasing your clit, your hips bucking up into your palm as your own orgasm was upon you. “you wanna cum?” you repeated, trying to get everything out of him. “not until you tell me how much of a perv you are.”

matt couldn’t help the moan that left him, his voice cracking as his eyes were screwed shut, his knuckles turning white as he gripped the phone tightly. his chest heaved, his breathing coming in shallow and ragged pants as he attempted to speak.

“sh-iit,” he hiccuped, “i’m a perv, i need you so badly, please just let me cum.”

“you’re such a pathetic little thing matty” you spoke, slower this time, also trying to keep yourself from cumming. thinking about matt fully submitted to you, listening to your commands only added to the wetness between your legs, a small pool of juice appearing on the sheets underneath you. “if i tell you what i’m doing… will you cum with me baby?”

“god, yes, i’ll do anything,” he cried out a little too desperately, “please.”

you moaned quietly, just low enough for matt to hear through the receiver as you murmured breathlessly, “i’m touching myself to you too.”

a loud groan comes through the speaker — matt wasn’t expecting that. he enjoyed being degraded and humiliated by you, but the fact that you were also turned on by it, by him, made the knot in his lower tummy harder to hold. “please,” he begged. you couldn’t see it, but his eyes were filled with tears, his aching cock ready to release at any second. “please— ‘m gonna cum!”

your own orgasm was about to crash down over you, but you held it just a second longer to whisper, “go ahead baby, you can cum for me.”

matt let out a pornographic moan, echoing throughout the whole house as his dick shot out spurts of hot, white cum all over his tummy, his body convulsing as he rose out his high. the sounds of his moans and whimpers in your ear were enough to make you finish, gnawing down on your bottom lip as you came on your fingers, working yourself through your orgasm.

the line went quiet on both ends, the two of you laying in a mess of your respective sticky sheets. you waited a moment before speaking up, your voice quiet and raspy. “matt?”

“yeah?” he said softly, his voice hoarse.

you paused for a moment, debating your words, before sighing underneath your breath. “night night baby.”

𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬. ⋆˚꩜｡ a collab w my best girl @mattybsgroupie ♡︎♡︎ this is much longer than my usual blurbs but it is sooooo yummy :p also this is the CLOSEST they r getting to fucking !!!

[loveharlow]

↷ ⋯ ♡ᵎ Towards The Sun

Dad!Rafe Cameron x Mom!Fem!Reader [ more rafe content ]

SYNOPSIS & WC─•❥ [1.9k] Marrying a man whose known to have a temper wasn't for the weak, but with your newborn daughter in the picture, you're especially determined to make sure he knows that the cycle won't continue.

WARNING(S) & A/N─•❥ part of @zyafics MRGA campaign, based on Towards The Sun by Rihanna, swearing, mild violence, yelling, mentions of substance/alcohol abuse, mentions of rehab/therapy, mentions of relapsing, their baby is named Eve

YOU KNEW WHAT you were in for when you got involved with Rafe Cameron. Or so you thought.

You were no stranger to his drug addiction, his temper, or the pressing family issues that seemed to trigger it all. And you weren't there to be his savior by any means. But you loved him, and it was clear he needed help.

You saw a light within him that no one else seemed to, and although it wasn't your job to bring it to the surface, you made it your mission anyway.

You spent the majority of your relationship teaching Rafe that everything didn't need to be a battle, that the world wasn't against him. After six months together, you'd helped him get clean and sober. After a year, you'd encouraged him to start therapy for his anger, him being hesitant until you told him you were pregnant and that it was non-negotiable.

And now, a year into your marriage, you had an eight-month-old daughter you both loved very much. Your number one priority was fostering a safe and stable environment for her.

But like all progress, it has the potential to go backward.

You were sitting on the couch in the living room of your and Rafe's home, your daughter sound asleep beside you, laid out on the hand-knitted blanket your mother had made for her. The TV was on, playing one of your favorite movies, when the slam of the front door echoed through the quiet house, rattling the framed photos on the hallway table.

You flinched, a hand instinctively going to your heart. It wasn't the usual gentle click of Rafe coming home, the one that meant he'd had a good day, that he was still fighting his demons and winning. This was different. This was the sound of a storm brewing, a beast coming out of hiding.

You pushed yourself up from the sofa, glancing at your restful child. "Rafe?" you called out, your voice tentative.

He was in the kitchen now, his back to you, shoulders hunched. He was silent, but his breathing was so heavy you could hear it across the room.

At his silence, you sighed, gently scooping up your daughter, careful not to wake her as you stood, cradling her against your chest. Walking over to him slowly, you spoke once again. "Rafe," you started, standing next to him as he took deep breaths. "What's wrong-"

"What isn't?" he snapped, pushing himself up from the counter. He shot you a glance as he turned away, one you recognized. And one you didn't like. "Apparently, my father's trying to collaborate our development with another business. I mean, does he know how stupid that is?" Rafe ranted, hands moving wildly as you stood in place, dangerously still. "Not only is it fucking stupid, it means I'm moving down in the ranks. Again. After he promised me—" He slammed his fist on the counter, a force so large the ground underneath your feet shook.

"Rafe—"

"After he promised me I was next in line!" he shouted, face turning a dangerous shade of red.

You hadn't seen this side of Rafe in so long that it was hard to digest, but you weren't going to let it spiral. He'd worked so hard to get where he was now; you weren't going to let one mishap upend it all.

As he heaved in the kitchen, you quietly exited the room. You rocked your baby, trying to keep her asleep amid the chaos brewing in your family home, as you walked down the hall and to her nursery. You gently laid her down in her crib, turning on her mobile before silently leaving and softly shutting the door.

You could still hear Rafe talking to himself, the clanking of dishes in the kitchen ringing out as you took a deep breath, making your way back into the kitchen.

"He's such a piece of shit—"

"You need to calm down," you said bluntly, rounding the corner and standing before your husband with your arms crossed, eyebrows set into a firm line.

"C-Calm down?" Rafe said incredulously, his wild gaze now on you. It was the middle of the night, the only light being the flash of colors coming from the TV.

"Yes, that's what I said," you assured him, walking closer to Rafe as he shook his head, scoffing as he opened the cabinet where you kept your glasses. "You're losing control. Don't let go of everything you worked so hard to fix, Rafe—"

"Yeah, 'cause that's all you fucking care about," he snapped, slamming the cabinet shut and letting the glass clank against the countertop. "I get screwed over by my dad, again, and you're worried about my temper—"

"Don't talk to me like that," you snarled, your face twisting in mild anger. "And don't act like you had no part in this. I told you to stop working for your dad a long time ago—"

"And go where, huh? With what money? If I don't work for him, he'll take everything," he argued, opening the liquor cabinet and pulling out an unopened bottle of whiskey you'd forgotten about.

You tried not to keep alcohol in the house, but it was an old engagement gift you'd overlooked.

Rafe wasted no time unscrewing the cap, moving to pour it into the waiting glass before you snatched it from underneath the tilted bottle.

"What're you—"

"If you drink that," you motioned to the whiskey bottle, "that's it." You informed him, jaw clenched.

Rafe squinted in your direction, bottle still in hand. "...What're you saying? That...that if I drink this, you're going to leave me? What you think one glass is gonna make me relapse or somethin'-"

"That's exactly what I'm saying," you told him. Your heart was pounding in your chest, but you needed to stand your ground. "You're letting one bad day send you back to where you were before. And I love you, Rafe. But I'm not your guardian angel. I did my part, I helped. But I won't go through that again." You said, all in one breath. "We... we have a daughter now. I won't let you turn this house into a war zone."

Your breath hitched. It had been years. So many hard-fought months and years. So many late-night talks, so many tears, so many meetings he'd dragged himself to, even when every fiber of his being screamed to just give up. And he'd done it. He'd been doing so well.

And as much as you wanted to make sure he'd stay that way, you wouldn't force it. You wouldn't prolong what might be the inevitable, because if that was who he was, then you needed to know now so you could get out before it was too late. Rafe had to make his own choices. To prove, by himself, that he could be the husband and father he vowed he would be.

And he could see it in your eyes — the looming possibility of heartbreak standing next to the motherly instinct to protect your daughter. He could see the battle in your mind in the reflection of your eyes.

And he hated that he was the reason for it.

On the drive home, all he could see was red — his father's indecisiveness and unwillingness to give Rafe the recognition within the company that he deserved, sending him down a path he'd abandoned long ago.

But as he stood, staring at you, his wife, the mother of his only child, in the eyes — he recognized just how badly he was hurting those who actually cared about him.

Your hand held out in front of him is what pulled him from his thoughts, pulled him from his rage. "...Either give me the bottle and go calm down, or me and Eve will be gone by morning, and you'll be left to clean up the pieces, by yourself this time." The words pained you to say, but they were necessary.

Rafe needed to be pulled back to reality, to be reminded that his actions had consequences, that he wasn't just an individual anymore — he was part of a whole. He was a husband, a father, a part of a family. Your family.

And if he wanted to keep it together, then he needed to act like it.

One drink wasn't worth losing either of you, he realized. And with that realization and a deep breath, he lowered his arm, handing you the open bottle.

A weight was lifted off your chest at the possibility of having to tear apart the family you wished upon stars for, that you cherished so much.

Taking the bottle from Rafe's grasp, you wasted no time in pouring it down the drain — watching the amber liquid flow, your heart just a little bit lighter.

"...I'm sorry," you heard Rafe mumble from beside you, turning to find him standing with a forlorn look on his face.

You sighed, placing the empty bottle beside the sink, leaning your back on the edge of it. "I won't lie to you and say it's fine. Because it's not, Rafe," you started, looking your husband in the eyes. "I understand you're upset. We all get upset. And I know you want to scream and break something and lash out at everyone, but you can't. Because it's not just about you anymore." You explained, throwing a hand out in the direction of your daughter's nursery. "I'm exhausted enough as is. I can't mother you, too. I won't."

Rafe nodded, dragging a hand down his face. "No, I get it. I get it..." His voice lowered as his eyes grew glossy. "I just feel like, every time I do something right, something goes wrong and sends me back so far, and I can't—" He cut himself off, a tear rolling down his face as he turned away from you.

"...Hey," you stepped closer, a hand on his shoulder. "I'm here. I'm always going to be here, Rafe. As long as you're there for yourself, too. I love you, and I married you because I love you for who I know you are. So, I'll always help you. But I just don't want you to throw yourself off a cliff and expect me to go with you. That's not what this family is." You comforted, hugging him from the back.

The sound of your daughter's soft cries broke through the light tension in the room, Rafe's neck snapping towards the sound. "Shit. I didn't wake her, did I? I'm sorry, I know it probably took forever to put her down—"

"It's okay," you squeezed your husband from behind, ducking under his arms to stand in front of him as his own hands went to your waist. "She was actually asleep for most of the day, she's probably hungry." You reassured Rafe. "Do you want to feed her? I think she missed her dad..." You spoke softly, running a hand down his chest as the other wiped his face free of tears.

"Yeah," he nodded. "I missed her, too. Both of you." He smiled faintly, kissing the top of your forehead. "I'm still learning, but I'll get it right one day, okay? I promise." Rafe told you, ducking down to peck you on the lips.

"I appreciate that," you whispered, lips just barely touching his as he pulled away. "And I appreciate you. Let me go and get her," you told Rafe, pulling away and going to get Eve from her room, returning to the kitchen with her in tow.

Rafe's eyes immediately lit up at the sight of his daughter, a genuine smile forming on his face. "Hi, Princess," he cooed, arms outstretched as he took her from you. "I missed you all day..." He spoke softly to her. "C'mon, let's get some food in you."

You smiled at the sight of your small family, something you'd always dreamed of. It wasn't perfect, quite far from it, but it was safe, stable, and most importantly, it was yours.

©loveharlow.

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[c0sm1cp0tat0]

Yandere! Saja Boys x Reader

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4

Accept it. Accept it. Accept....it??

Accept their feelings for you?? But you didn't know how. Did they demand you to reciprocate or merely stop resisting their feelings? You didn't even know WHAT feelings they meant, either.

Did they really like you?? Five of them? Five men, no, demons? That was ridiculous. They must not know what temporary attraction is. Thats why they keep driving you crazy and telling you how they'd die and kill for you.

You stumbled now after your side jabbed into a piece of furniture. You were on the run. On the run as in, through their huge ass penthouse, that is.

"Come on, [Y/N]~ The fans want it, so you can't run from ittt~!!" Abby's voice was like the eery hiss of a very beautifully patterned, very poisonous snake in your ear. He was hot on you heels; he didn't even need to try. Infact, you sussed out that you were actually the only one running here. He was about to catch up to you with just his relaxed strides.

You're wondering what's happening right now? A week ago exactly, you'd signed to be their manager. You were allowed back home-- briefly. But then you were thrown into this quick sand-pit of gigs, fan meets, approving merch. Other things that you could have sworn they were able to do themselves.

You spent more time with them that you ever had when they held you captive. You had a feeling they had a part to play in that.

And somewhere along the way, the fans had sussed out a few things. The prime one being how all five of the members looked at you when you weren't looking. That person they all said they already liked?? I wonder who they guessed that out to be.

The members didn't even care. They'd throw their arms around you in public. Fix you with this 'you're making me feel some typa-way' kind of stare while ON CAMERA. Watch you much too intently as your sorted through paperwork during fan meets. Yes, fan meets, as in the one event in which they're supposed to focus full attention on their FANS.

But the worst thing is, you'd expected the fans to do something. To rage. To demand refunds for the lack of attention. And then the Saja Boys would have to fire you and you'd be free. Instead?? You saw comments under the upload of the meet on Youtube.

"Guys GUYS GUYS. The Saja men are hot n all... but hear me out....THEIR MANAGER."

"Omg yea"

"She's clueless man"

"They're S. M. I. T. T. E. N."

"She's adorableee I wanna carry her in my pockettt"

"TAKES CARE OF THEM SO WELL OMG"

Now, there were things online. Fanart. Fanfiction. Direct messages to you, to the members. Asking if you were together. Asking for something you learned as fanservice.

There were shipwars. Now, Jinu had explained this one to you but you still didn't quite get it. Fans... fighting over...who you looked best with?

There were comments that you had to read through in order to delete the hateful ones.

"OH. EM. GEE. [Y/N] and Abby. have y'all SEEN the size difference?? So cute!!!"

"Dumb bitch, [Y/N] X MYSTERY for LIFE have you seen them?? [Y/N] literally has him on an invisible leash!!"

"I don't know, I think I like Jinu and [Y/N]'s love-hate relationship better. Remember when he hugged her and she called him a melonhead?? ㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋ XD,"

"HAHA uncultured swines, y'all ever heard of Baby x [Y/N] x Romance??"

"TRY ME, OT6 FOR THE RUN AHHHHH"

You'd shut down the laptop then. It was too late to delete those either way; the PR manager of their company had already seen.

And decided that they could make some bank off of this. And when a higher-up decides that there's money to be made?? You're delusional if you think you're getting away unscathed.

To top it all off, the Saja Boys were all too happy to encourage this shipping nonsense, too.

So here you were, dashing from the truth. Panting, eyes widened. You kept on looking back. You were going in circles around the huge penthouse complex. Through every single room. By now, you were in a full-on sprint. You looked back. Abby was still right behind you.

And you were so busy looking back, you didn't notice the solid chest that you were about to bash into.

"Don't you know we can teleport? Tsk, tsk, tsk." Jinu tutted with a smile, clawed finger coming under your chin and lifting it so that you looked up at him like an angry albeit guilty child.

Ten minutes later you were pushed into a fancy studio. Tried to slip away, was dragged right back.

The professional photographer hired looks you up and down, chewing his gum obnoxiously loud. He had you figured out in seconds.

"Hmmm, not a normal manager are you? Quite young. Not a bad face. Not bad at all." He paused, regarding your tense shoulders. "Relax yourself hun, you're gonna earn in millions for this."

The first reference pose he showed you already had you rushing for the exit.

"Oh no no no you don't." Jinu smiled, grabbing you by the collar and lifting you right off your feet.

"You're our manager now. Keeping the fans happy is one of your commitments. This is one of your commitments."

So now, you found yourself propped upon Abby's lap. Your feet weren't touching the ground. He'd been grinning like a madman as you struggled to climb into his lap and he'd lifted you up, helping you. Now he was all professional. Arm loosely draped around your waist, leaned back. Staring at the camera with sensuality.

Your arms were twitching around his neck, aching to tear away. under your own biceps, you could feel his own, thrice the size of yours and solid as a rock, flexing.

You only realized now how big he truly was.

While you'd lost weight out of stress, he'd become even more beefy in preparation for the photo shoot.

He could feel you slowly start to tremble. Smiling in pleasure, he leaned in, "Don't worry darling, I won't crush you." He knew you were wary of him in particular due to his physique. Such a caution was...how does he say it... fucking adorable.

"Yeessss...yes yes yess give me all that emotion. The anxiety." Photo dude's eyes swivelled to Abby, "The attraction. [Y/N], don't be shy and lean in a bit closer, will ya babe? It's not everyday you get to sit on the lap of a top idol."

But you didn't want to. The photographer was only doing the top half of your bodies, so it couldn't properly be seen that you were on his fucking lap. Your left leg was subconsciously stretching, trying to reach the ground. How would your boyfriend react to this if he were still alive? Your frown deepened.

While the members leaned into fully assess the photos captured, their eyes sparkling with facination, you hung back, wondering if you could make a break for it now.

The next round was just as if not even more appalling. You were hiccuping, feet tripping and sliding against the floor as you tried to book it to the door. Jinu was smiling happily at the concerned-looking photographer. His large hand held the back of your collar, effectively preventing your escape.

"Sorry, she's very shy."

The photographer tuts, almost pityingly, "Oh, darling darling, we can't have this shyness in the entertainment industry...not if you wanna make the big bucks."

The rest of the member's eyes swivelled and darkened as the man smeared lipstick carefully over your rosebud lips.

While you were still fighting the urge to sprint, he had the audacity to even cheer you on "Don't be shy, get that man!!"

So you walked hesitantly towards Romance, hands shaking in tiny fists. He was leaned back lazily on the red velvet sofa being used. One side of his pretty lips quirked up. Lips that were also painted in that same shade as yours.

He beckoned you with a finger. And when you got barely into arms reach, he reached out and snatched you towards him.

"The whole face, he said, baby." The pinkette man almost snarled into your ear, fine brows furrowed cockily as his small smirk grew into a full on wicked smile.

You winced. Romance didn't hold you still or anything. You had to do it yourself. The handsome pinkette leaned in, cedarwood and rose scent engulfing you. His smirk returns, entertained as he notices your knuckles whitening on the couch fabric, stopping yourself from pulling away.

"We don't got all day." The photographer snarked.

Romance had no qualms of speeding it up. His large hands framed your face. At each peck on your cheek, your nose, your chin and forehead, you winced. You were trying not to struggle. But your legs still squirmed in protest. It was so adorable.

Soon, your face was covered in lipstick prints. Romance's eyes began to glow. He shut it down immediately. His marks. All over your pretty little face Fuck.

Click, click, click.

You tried not to wince at every audible shutter of the camera.

"Oh lord, even I would pay for these. Look at the emotions in his eyes."

When it came your turn, Roman actually had to tighten his hold to stop you from shuffling away, "Keep tryna chicken out, huh? Too bad, you can't because you already signed the contract~" It was rasped in your ear.

You shook off his grip, eyebrows tight in frustration and determination. But it wavered way too easily as one of the boys whistled. Probably Abby. "Come on, sweets!! Just like you did to Jinu that night!!"

The photographer looked at the man with wide eyes then looked back to you. You smiled crookedly, trying to appear innocent. But that wasn't going to get you out of this. Nothing was.

So you shut your eyes, and got to work.

When you opened your eyes, Romance was slumped in your arms. Just like your own, every inch of his face was covered in hot pink lip prints almost matching his hair. Mouth in a blissed-out smile. Face heated. It was like he was on something.

The camera shutter went off, "Excellent," The photographer breathed, eyeing the shots with wonder.

Mystery's reference one had you stumbling. "Is this...really okay to publish to fans??"

"Oh, darling," Photography guy chuckled like he knew something you didn't. But you knew something too; that you didn't fucking want to know what he knew.

So you stood, as they put a fucking collar around Mystery's muscular neck. Put a leash on the collar and tied an intricate knot around your wrist with the end of it.

And while Malak looked thrilled at the idea of being tied to you, you shook your wrist, eyeing the ribbon unaffectionately.

"Woah!" Your finger dug into his back when he delves for your neck. You weren't used to such a sensitive place being touched. Your other hand went to his hair, tightening on his scalp.

"That's it, put those big arms 'round her, champ!! Nuzzle your face in a bit more. Nice and tight now!!"

And oh god, the blue-grey haired boy didn't have to be told twice.

You hadn't thought much about it before. But now they were all pressing into you one after the other and you couldn't help but notice how big they all were. Even Baby, the smallest of them all was much taller than you.

"How much longer?" You couldn't help but mumble now, as you sat leaned back against Baby's chest as per the photographer's instructions. His legs were on either side of you. He'd locked them around you at some point and laughed when you couldn't get free. But he did let go. You still couldn't flee though.

"Trés adorable!! Just like that!! Put your arms around her neck!!" The photographer couldn't even hear you. He was gushing over the sight of you two together. You just didn't understand the appeal.

You actually forced yourself to look at the photos this time. They were aesthetically pleasing to say in the least. Though you didn't like the concept, the photographer had made them into a masterpiece. In some shots Beni looked cocky, smiling at you satisfiedly from the back. In others, he looked at you with this...mix of feelings in his eye.

You looked back at him now and he stared back unwaveringly. His lips didn't turn up into that mean cocky smirk or anything as usual. It was his large eyes that spoke to you instead. Just... pure emotions. Vulnerability. Want. Deprivation. He was spilling himself out to you without even speaking. Without even hesitating.

"Last member, honey. Gee-wizz you must be having the time of your life." Photo guy said jokingly but also seriously you didn't know which it was. You hoped it was joke. You were not having fun.

Especially when Jinu grabbed your shoulders and steered you back to the couch.

You were in shorts. you could feel the taut fabric of his pants as photo dude directed you to put your leg over his. You were told to go closer and you hesitated.

"Come onnnn, you kissed me before without hesitation. You're thinking for this??" This guy had a slap with his name on it lined up if he didn't shut up.

It was the second time photography guy's eyes almost popped out of his skull. You scooted closer to Jinu and quickly said, "Jokes, ahaha. Jinu's really funny off camera." You couldn't help but wince. What a lie. Jinu made you do the opposite of laugh. The amount of times you'd held back tears at the idea of being unable to leave their house, god.

His hand was now on your ankle, caressing. Moving up further. Photo guy was drinking this up. "Juuust like that. Keep looking at her like that."

He wouldn't say much about your emotions. Probably because he could read out clearly how badly you wanted to leave from here. You were sick of being surrounded by these male demons. But no one would understand.

⌗☾︎ ‧₊˚ ︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶⋅₊˚☽︎⌗

It was almost as if they knew how badly they'd pushed you the last day. Today, you were allowed home while the editors did their work on the shots and the bodyguards alone escorted the boys to their gig.

And it was almost as if your body knew how fucking mentally drained you were. The next minute you got home, you were out cold in your own sweet, sweet bed.

Now, 2pm the next day and you were still dead to the world. Your small form submerged in the sheets. Not silken soft ones from the penthouse, but your own. Mediocre cotton with coffee stains. You were in heaven; a dreamless sleep like no other.

You weren't on alert. You were safe in your own home. Your own personal space.

You loved your personal space. But guess what? The Saja Boys love your personal space too.

While you were passed out still, your front door opened. "Tsk, tsk, tsk. She doesn't even have an extra lock on the door." The low voice of Jinu buzzed in the background.

Baby Saja was the first to find your curled up form, barely taking up half your bed. And yet so comfortably asleep.

"Damn, she's exhausted."

"We worked her to the bone so that she'd stay," Abby shrugged, huge form leaning upon the door frame with his arms crossed.

Romance narrowed his eyes. Was he jealous of your bed? Maybe. His hand closed around one of the bed posts. He shook it hard. The entire bed shook. Self satisfied he stood up straight. "This beds rickety. Unsafe for her."

They were talking so carelessly loud. Mystery wasn't talking but was creating his own racket as he crawled onto the bed beside you. Feeling the sheets, grimacing in dissaproval when he sees they're not soft and luxurious like theirs. But you weren't stirring.

You were on your stomach, small arms closed around your head pillow as you mushed it up close to your face. It wasn't difficult for the boys to admire you like this.

Leaning in, pecking your face, stroking your hair. Running their hands down the dips and curves of your body through the duvet. Enamoured, they were. Good for you, you didn't wake up and notice.

"Wakey wakey baby~ We got pizza. It's your favourite; BBQ chicken." Jinu smiled, running his hand through your hair. Never had they seen you in such a state of peace and calm and vulnerability. Even when you slept over at theirs, you forever looked high on alert. Eyebrows knitted together, mumbling as if you were attempting to repell these demons even in your sleep.

You stirred, and turned over, still dozing. They watched, calmly. Until Abby, the more thoughtless and callous of them all, scooped up your small form into his arms. He liked having you against his muscles like this. It was a fixation for him at the moment; how pliant and clueless and soft you were between his arms.

It was a small of a thing as an all-too-familiar ghost of breath against your neck that had you jolting awake. You opened your mouth for a curse but your throat was all closed up from sleep.

You scrambled away and sat up, rubbing your eyes. You chose to ignore the way you were woken up, "How do you know my favourite-??"

They exchanged looks. They may or may not have looked under your car seats for takeaway bills and learnt the contents off by heart.

They wanted to tell you, but they shrugged instead. "All humans like pizza. And these just seemed to be popular toppings."

You walked straight past them to the bathroom, yawning as you did so. They sighed in relief. Thank god you were too tired to give them second thoughts. At the same time they wanted your thoughts though. Seconds, thirds, all of them.

You were an angelic little thing. All flushed cheeks and droopy eyes. Voice husky. Unable to even comprehend what they were saying properly because you were too disoriented. It was the first time they got to see what you were really like after an actual deep sleep. You were fucking ethereal.

In a loose knit sweater and the smallest fucking sleep shorts, you were walking sin and had no idea about it.

Mystery smiled, ringed fingers stroking against the coarse fabric of your pillow. It was an immense joy that filled him as he watched you obliviously walk into the bathroom. He was about to make good on your promise to him.

⌗☾︎ ‧₊˚ ︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶⋅₊˚☽︎⌗

TAGLIST ༉‧₊˚✧↳ @yumekono @levifiance @amery-benson-cvii @wantstoliveinfantasy @osball @apelepikozume @st3f13ily @little-ponkan @strayharmony943 @lazy-panther @scara-simp69 @p1nkpaperstars @ryuucollapse @tatsuri-zomushiki @crescent-z @wpdarlingpan @natllo @daikiswife @kinichportablecharger @realifezompire @i-am-here3 @daiyanomochi @elevenbts @hornehlittleweeblet @reni502 @nonetheartist @sanaxo-o @mshope16 @calmmell @luna-looniesblog @doodle-with-rhy @starr-matterr @fidenciocryptidcreechur @chirikoheina @ceramic-raven @whatdoesthesenpai @megapintofmilkshake @lover-girl009 @yandereaficionado @moon0goddess @neuvilletteswife4ever @hurts-my-brain @consecratedvampire91 @moonchildjae00 @coolnekochan9961 @misdollface

[kenntoria]

synopsis ୭ ˚. ᵎᵎ you worry you’re talking too much and tiring nanami out—but he gently reminds you that hearing your voice is the most comforting part of his day.

you don’t mean to talk so much. you never mean to. but something about being around nanami makes it hard to stop.

like the silence he keeps between you two is a kind of warmth, a quiet invitation—not a cage. he’s not the kind of man who needs to fill space with words, but with him, you feel like your words can stretch out and breathe. like they can exist without being pruned down or apologized for.

and that’s dangerous. because you’ve always been a talker.

not in the “life of the party” way, not exactly. more in the way of someone who notices things and says them before deciding if they were worth saying. you narrate your own life, muse aloud about the sky and the way your toast burned and how you once had a friend who sneezed like a kitten.

you do this with nanami while he makes tea, while he reads the paper, while he unbuttons his shirt one button too slow after a long day—

you do this even when you know he’s tired.

and one day, halfway through a story about your neighbor’s parrot learning to curse in three languages, you stop.

you stop because you realize: what if he’s only being polite?

you’re curled up on the couch beside him, his thigh warm where it brushes yours, and you freeze in the middle of the sentence.

“—and then she said he was banned from the window, which is hilarious because—”

you blink. you swallow.

“actually. never mind.”

nanami looks up from where he was folding his glasses in his hands, brow slightly furrowed. “what happened?”

“nothing. i’m just…” you shrug, tucking your feet under you. “talking too much again.”

he’s quiet. not unreadable quiet, not the kind that says you’re right, but thoughtful quiet. the kind that means he’s carefully, quietly disapproving of that thought.

“do you feel like you talk too much?” he asks.

you laugh, but it’s a little hollow. “i mean, don’t i?”

“not to me, sweetheart.”

you look over at him.

he’s leaning back against the couch, looking at you with the kind of patient sincerity that undoes your insides. the kind of gaze that doesn’t flinch or waver, even when you try to hide how self-conscious you’re suddenly feeling.

“but you’re so quiet,” you say. “and you come home from all that work, and i’m just… rambling about parrots and the weird dream i had and that weird bakery guy who always gives me the wrong pastry—”

“i like hearing about those things.” he says it simply, like it’s a fact. not a compliment. not a favor. just true. “i like knowing what your day was like. what you dreamed. what you noticed that i missed.”

your heart squeezes. “yeah, but i go on for so long sometimes.”

he smiles, soft and tired and full of something so fond it borders on worship. “you talking my ears off is the best part of my day.”

you blink. “seriously?”

“seriously.” he turns to you fully now, pressing his knee a little more firmly into yours. grounding you.

“i spend most of my day dealing with cursed spirits or paperwork. everything is bleak or loud or dangerous. then i come home, and you tell me about the bakery guy and the rude parrot and how the sun looked on the windowsill. and for a while, everything feels… fine.”

he hesitates, then adds,

“you make things feel alive again.”

you can’t speak for a second. you just stare at him, wide-eyed and a little overwhelmed, because how is this man real?

and as if sensing that you’re two seconds away from short-circuiting, nanami shifts forward and reaches out, thumb brushing your chin to tilt your face back to his.

“don’t hold back with me,” he says softly. “don’t ever think you have to shrink yourself to keep me comfortable. i want all of it. all of you.”

your throat closes a little. your hands curl into his shirt, right over the center of his chest, and you rest your forehead there, hiding your face.

“…okay,” you mumble into the fabric. “i am going to finish the parrot story. you don’t get to back out now.”

his laugh rumbles beneath your cheek.

“i wouldn’t dream of it.”

and when you start talking again, you swear his arms around you tighten a little. like he’s holding something precious.

like the sound of your voice is exactly what he’s been waiting for all day.

[whimsicalwritersstuff]

── The Chicken incident.

Pairing: gumpy!Joel Miller x Reader

Summary: you're soft, a little impulsive, and deeply in love with your chickens. Joel… is trying his best.

Content warnings: Contains chickens, domestic chaos, stubborness, rural home outside of town and a LOT of flapping.

Word count: 668

Notes: I've had this cute little idea for soo long and I've been debating about it if I should or should not write it but went for it anyways, I loooved writing this one soo much and I hope y'all enjoy reading it as much as I did!! ^^ 💛💛

The first mistake was telling Joel you were just going to look at the feed store.

The second mistake was brining your wallet.

By the time you pulled into the driveway with a cardboard box chirping on the passenger seat, you knew you were dead.

"It's fine," you whispered to yourself, lifting the box out of the truck with both hands. "He loves animals. He loves me. He won't even be that mad." The chickens chirped louder, as if mocking you.

You tippptoed up the porch, box tucked in your arms like a sacred offering, hammering with both guilt and joy.

Joel was already waiting at the door.

Grey t shirt, scowl in place, arms crossed. Classic 'i heard that truck the second it turned on the gravel" stance.

"Tell me that ain't what I think it is," he said flatly.

You gave him your sweetest smile. "They're babies, Joel."

"That's a box of chickens."

"Six chickens," you clarified, as if that helped. "All hens. No roosters. Perfectly quiet. Very cute."

He blinked.

"You told me you were goin' for birdseed."

"I did get birdseed!" You nudged the brown paper bag with your foot. "For these bjrde. So technically -"

"You brought livestock into our house, honey."

"They're babies," you repeated, like that solved everything. "Little peeping marshmallows." You carefully opened the top of the box to show him. Six fluffy chicks blinked up at you, golden and downy and completely unaware of the tension in the room..

Joel stared into the box like it might explode.

"They're not even outside animals yet," you said quickly. "They'll need a warm crate inside for a few weeks. I'll set it up in the laundry room."

"So we're raisin' birds in the same place I wash my jeans?"

"They won't poop on your jeans."

"You sure?"

You hesitated.

Joel exhaled. "I should've known this would happen the second you walked into that damn sore in overalls and a Pinterest board..."

~~~

By the time evening fell, the chicks were tucked happily in a cozy crate under a heat lamp, and Joel had retreated to the porch with a beer and a deep sigh of resignation.

You joined him not long after, settling into the chair beside him, hands still smelling faintly like chick feed and sawdust.

He gave you a side glance.

"You love those damn birds already."

"Of course I do. They're babies, Joel. They chirp when I talk to them."

"You talked to 'em for twenty minutes."

"One of them leaned her name."

Joel took a sip of his beer, mumbling, "Jesus Christ..." But hisjps twitched in amusement. You leaned your head on his shoude. "You'llove them eventually."

"I won't."

"You will. You're gonna name them and build them a coop and everything."

"I'm not building no chicken castle."

You patted his thigh affectionately. "We'll see."

~~~

The next morning you were halfway through breakfast when a wild screech echoed from down the hallway, followed by a crash and a very loud southern:

"What the hell is that doin' in the shower?!"

You dropped your toast and sprinted to the bathroom.

There, stood a very bold, very unbothered chick, peeping wildly, wet feet leaving muddy prints on the porcelain edge of the tub.

Joel was half naked, dripping, holding the shower curtainike a shield,face somewhere between exasperated rage and absolute disbelief. "WHY is there a chicken in the shower??"

You clapped ahand over your mouth to keep from laughing. "Oh my god, peaches!"

"Peaches?! You named it?"

"Shes adventurous!'

Joel looked at the chick, then at you, then at the chick.

"She watched me get in the damn shower. Then she got in with me."

You stepped forward, scooping peaches into your hands like a contritle toddler. "She must've hopped out of the crate, I swear I closed the lid!" Joel wiped a hand down his wed face. "That he's saw me naked."

You giggled. "So what?? You're handsome."

Joel gave you warning glare.

~~~

That night,

Joel sat in the Livingroom, reading a manual on chicken coops, you passed by holding peaches, "she apologized for the shower thing." You said sweetly.

Joel didn't look up. "Tell her she's grounded."

"You're such a good chicken dad,"

"I'm not their dad. I'm their victim."

You leaned down and kissed his cheek. "Sure, daddy."

He glared. "Don't."

You winked and walked away, Barbara peeping softly.

Soon you and joel sat on the back porch with coke and beer respectively, watching the hens peck lazily in the grass. Joel sighed, his arm around your shoulders.

"They're a menace."

"They're our girls."

"You spoil 'em more than you spoil me."

"They'll lay breakfast. You just steal the covers."

He smirked. "They don't make you scream my name in the middle of the night."

You choked on your coke. "Joel! The chickens are right there.."

He kissed your cheek. "They don't speak English."

[rawme-price]

Do you sign the emotional torture rock before you throw it straight at my face?

I gave it a kiss just for u <33

Anyways here's a part 2 to dog shifter!reader :]]

"They fucking what?" soap paces the hospital room. he knew it was serious when gaz called him in the middle of the night, he just didnt expect it to be this serious. ur sat anxiously on the waiting chair next to the bed, hunched over with arms crossed. self-consciously, you try to hide ur scars. a disfigured copy of the ones soap wears.

"thats- that not okay! thats horrible! i mean, staying shifted for long periods of time is already harmful, but- against your will? its deadly!" hes ranting as he paces, and you have to bite back the urge to shift. if you were a dog, he wouldnt be looking at you expectantly, wouldnt want you to make any difficult decisions.

"it wasnt against my will...." you finally mutter out, eyes glued to the floor. even talking back, a small correction, makes the hair at your neck stand up. "i choose to shift. they dont force me."

soap pauses his pacing, looks at you, actually looks at you. you look small, even as a shifter, pressing into urself. you dont look at him, you try not to flinch when his shoes enter ur vision. it feels wrong, monstrous, to be sat in front of a real shifter. unlike you, he is something good, something better. you are just a creature damned from birth, destined to be *this*. soap leans down so you can see his face, and you startle a bit at the kindness you see there, surely meant for someone else. "when you say you choose to shift, is that really true? do they ever...ever make you feel like you should shift? maybe they dont say it, but theyre more rude when you dont, or they praise you when you do?"

you purse your lips, glance away, feeling horribly seen. it feels vulnerable and stupid, like ur a child being lectured about peer pressure and not a grown adult. you dont say anything but you dont need to, soap already knew the answer. he sighs, brows furrowed. "....why dont we get something to eat, yeah? im sure gaz is tired of orange slices and jello."

he wants to tell you not to be scared. he wants to offer help, escape. he doesnt know if you are ready for that.