#for me..this kind of means that some pictures from when he’s 20 or something…

[sunlightfeeling]

(SPOILER for anyone wants to watch it) okay great cause i watched it last month and i love kimutaku dearly but him being naohito fujiki's (younger) brother just did not seem... plausible. and then i look up fujiki's bday and he actually is older than kimura i was shocked

yeah, and honestly it’s still hard to believe that fujiki’s older/practically the same age as kimura like…he’s always seemed younger than he actually is to me

For fair comparisons sake: I’ve watched Tsuki no Koibito and Hotaru no Hikari S2…both came out in 2010, and have a similar cutesy romance theming going:

??? like…you’re telling me the man all the way to the left is the same age as the guy in the screenshot to the right?? lmfao, no…no way

drop the skincare routine fujiki, please and thanks 🙏 🤲

[softtdaisy]

hiii ! I love your writing, you are very talented ❤️

Could I please request a dad!spencer fic where he and reader comfort their daughter after her first heartbreak?

heal the heartbreak / Spencer Reid

summary. when your daughter gets her first heartbreak, Spencer and you are here to remind her that love can be beautiful

words count. 2 241

what to expect. sweet, Spencer is super in love with reader. I chose to not name the daughter and I tried to make her ex as neutral as possible (you can tell me if I made any mistake!)

a/n. I'm sorry for the little wait on this one but I loved the idea a lot, dad!Spencer has my heart honestly I want a family with him too!! thank you for your kind words it means a lot to me 🫶

criminal minds masterlist | F1 masterlist | general masterlist | request

Spencer loved a routine.

For years, he didn’t even realize he needed one. He loved being a profiler; he loved working at the bureau. He loved knowing that every day would be a new one, a new experience, something new to experience and to remember—even if sometimes he wished he could forget some aspects of it.

Spencer's life was fine until the day he met you. With a job that was an overwhelming surprise every day, he realized how important it was to have a pillar to rely on. Someone to meet after work, someone he knew and that knew him. Someone that made him feel like his life had another meaning other than just being Dr. Spencer Reid.

You were that someone.

And for years you gave him that. The hug when he came home, the comfort discussion over dinner, the cuddle in bed. The phone call when he was away, the “I love you” text when he had to stay over at the office. 

And then you gave him more. 

A family.

Spencer couldn't help but smile at the picture on his desk. You, him, and your daughter were all laughing because he made a stupid dad joke in front of the photographer. That. That was all Spencer needed. The relief of knowing that no matter what happened at work, at the end of the day, he’ll have you both.

Even if your last text was quite…confusing.

“Code red. Can you bring ice cream from David’s friend? Love you x.”

Spencer stared at it for a minute. Whatever this code red meant—he would remember if you had chosen a code name for the situation, right?—he texted that friend to order everyone’s favorite ice icecream. He didn’t even need to give more info apart from that it was for you three. You had ice cream night anytime he would come on from a case that lasted multiple days. 

Spencer couldn’t wait to know what the emergency was. So, he finished his file quicker—nothing too difficult for him. And ran to hand it to Hotch. Who was very much surprised to see his agent this early? “Already?” he asked.

“Well, we have a code red at home.”

“Code…red?”

Spencer shrugged. “I don’t know what it means either, but I have to pick up some ice cream before coming home.”

And Hotch’s face lit up. He wasn’t a stranger to this type of situation. And the look he gave Spencer was the expression of a dad who knew what a code red could mean. “Sounds like your daughter needs you. You can go.”

After a 20-minute trip and a visit to the shop where David’s friend told him, “Good luck”—why” does everyone seem to understand the situation except him?—Spencer was finally home.

And the least that can be said was that nothing screamed emergency. The TV was on, with your favorite rom-com playing, and you were in the kitchen making dinner. Humming a familiar melody that sounded like home.

“What does code red mean?” was the first thing Spencer said when he entered the kitchen. 

It wasn’t until he spoke that he realized he could have scared you. But he didn’t.

The love you shared meant that you could feel him entering any room before hearing or seeing him. You knew the love of your life was here, and you welcomed him with a sweet smile.

“First, a kiss,” you asked. You noticed the confusion on Spencer’s face out of the corner of your eye. You bit your lips, trying not to laugh when he approached to give you the quickest kiss on the lips. Because there was one thing Spencer wasn’t laughing about.

Well, two. 

You and your daughter.

And so when he wrapped his arm around your waist, something he did so casually that he didn’t question it, and put his head on your shoulder, he appreciated the moment for a second. Just one second when he thanked the universe that it brought you into his life.

But he didn’t waste another second. “What is going on?”

You turned down the tomato sauce before turning to face your husband. “Your daughter had her first heartbreak.” 

You brought a hand to his chest and caressed it softly while he swallowed the whole situation. “Wait a minute.” Spencer finally said. “There was someone who could break her heart in the first place?” He had a little menacing tone in his voice, something you haven’t heard in a long time. 

The caress turned into soft taps. “See,” you laughed softly, “this is the reason why you didn’t know about it.” 

But you explained in the big lines that yes, your daughter had been seeing someone from her high school. Someone you didn’t know much about, so you couldn’t answer any of Spencer's questions. All you knew was that they were in the same class and same acting group. And that, apparently, it has been over since…a couple of hours now.

“What did she say?”

If you weren’t convinced already, Spencer’s worrying look was the last proof you needed to know this man was the love of your life. And the greatest father a child could hope for.

“That she was going to die alone, that all lovers are shit, but to tell Daddy that she loves him.” 

Spencer’s cheek got pinker, and you couldn’t resist giving a small kiss on his nose. He was always so adorable any time you or your daughter would share your love for him. Like after so many years, he still doubted that you truly loved him. 

When you would give your whole life just for his smile. 

As an answer to your kiss, he put one on your forehead before asking, “Should we go see her?” 

“I was waiting for you,” you replied, taking his hand.

You checked your sauce one last time before following Spencer to your daughter’s room. You watched as he took the lead, walking in front of you and knocking at her door with a melody that he created with her. It started when she was a kid, a way to protect her from his work and make sure she wouldn't open the door to anyone but you and him. You honestly thought the habit would die once she became a teenager, but there is nothing that can fight the link between these two.

And you weren’t surprised to see her open the door a few seconds after that. Nor were you when she immediately went into his arms and grabbed your hand to not make you feel sidelined. Yes, that was 100% Spencer Reid’s daughter, someone who would always make sure nobody felt rejected around her. Even when she was the one with a broken heart.

After a moment, Spencer took her little face in between his hands. “Do you want to talk about it?” 

She shrugged but still guided the both of you inside. When she sat on the rug, her back against the bed, you did the same. Each one by her side. And soon she had her head on Spencer’s shoulder and her hand still in yours—there was nothing like a hand massage from her mom. 

“I hate love,” she mumbled. You and Spencer both looked at each other, knowing pretty well how it felt. You both went through some shit moments in your personal lives before meeting each other. “Why does it have to hurt? It sucks.” 

Spencer felt it right in his heart. He remembered thinking something similar years ago. Probably when he was his age, more certainly later. He had never been a lucky teen with love. And most of his young adult life wasn’t successful when it came to relationships. Failed date, ghosting, difficulty dealing with his job and his partner… yes, it wasn’t as great as he wished it was. 

But the difference with his daughter was that Spencer didn’t have anyone to complain to. He couldn’t talk about it with his mom, sadly. He didn’t have many friends back in school, and certainly some that he couldn’t trust with his feelings. And at the BAU…he was just being selfish. Most of them would have listened, for sure. But he imagined their reactions and provoked his own insecurities.

Spencer didn’t want your daughter to go through the same thing.

“You know,” he started, caressing her back softly. “Love is definitely not an easy game.” 

“You’ll fall for people that won’t love you back. You’ll fall for people that will be unreachable. You’ll fall for people that you thought would never hurt you but will hurt the most. And you will probably believe that you can’t fall in love again more times than you can count.”

You couldn’t stop looking at Spencer while he said all this. Knowing most of these stories, remembering each thing he had told you. And his words echoing in your own memories. 

“It will hurt, sweet pie. But it will be worth it, you know why?”

And if your daughter barely moved her head, just simply to look at Spencer, he moved his eyes to put them on yours. He gave you a look that lost your heart many years ago and still does every single day since. 

“Because one day you’ll find the person made for your heart, and love will make perfect sense.”

You couldn’t contain the smile that grew on your face. And it became even harder when he gave you a smile back.

But the silence was short-term.

“Ugh, did you just make a love confession to Mom over my broken heart?” she complained. But she moved her head just a little to look at you. “No offense, Mom.”

“None taken,” you replied with a laugh. “But your dad is right. I can’t tell you how many times I was in the same position, crying after a breakup, thinking I could never get better.”

“But you have something that this idiot doesn’t.” You added, brushing some hair away from her face in a lovely mention.

And you met two confused faces: your daughter, who couldn’t see what she could have when she was only counting the pieces of her broken heart. And Spencer, who couldn’t see where you were headed to.

So you moved your face closer to her to whisper, still loud enough for Spencer to hear, “A dad, uncles, and aunts that can make a body disappear.”

And you knew you won when you heard her laugh. 

“That’s not the FBI’s job!” Spencer replied, pretending to be shocked when it wasn’t the first time you actually mentioned this. That was probably the first thing Penelope said to your daughter when she was born. So it seemed logical to remind her that she had a whole support group ready for her.

“Oh, come on,” your daughter said, turning to her dad again. “You wouldn’t do that to me? Your daughter? Your sweet pie? The most precious thing in your life?”

You bit your lips at her reply, and you knew what Spencer’s look at you said. This is your fault. And you couldn’t blame him—it was indeed your fault.

“How about we stop discussing the whole murder thing?” Spencer suggested and brought the bag he had taken in the room in front of you two. “And start eating ice cream.”

More than the ice cream you had after rough cases, you had ice cream for dinner some time when it was necessary. It was something you started with Spencer when adult life was just too exhausting to follow the rules. And yes, you did get sick more than once after eating only ice cream. This explained why you still made dinner in case any of you three needed a real meal. 

But tonight was a night where being an adult was too much. Your daughter had a brief view of what it looked like, and it seemed like it was too early for her—and Spencer could say it was definitely too early for her to be heartbroken.

So you each got your bowl with your favorite flavors and toppings, and you toasted with your spoons.

Soon you were reminded how much your daughter was a copy and paste of Spencer when she asked for his silly facts and stories about cases or…basically anything that was on his mind. You watched as they argued about some scientific things you couldn’t understand.

But mostly as she hugged her dad when she finished her bowl. “Thank you,” she whispered.

She gave you the same treatment before getting up and saying she needed to take a shower to “wash this whole day away.” 

It was just the two of you sitting on the floor of your daughter’s bedroom—echoing some of the sleepless nights you had when she was little. “We did a great job,” you laughed, even if you meant it. 

But when you turned your head, Spencer was looking at you. With no fun, no. With love.

“I love you,” he simply said before leaning in to kiss you. A sweet and short kiss that didn’t even last, but his hand on your neck did. Enough so you could say you love him back right against his lips.

“You know she’ll kill us if she knows we kiss in her room?” You also said, against his lips. 

And this time, Spencer’s face was all fun. 

And happiness.

Oh, how happy he was with his family. 

[dandylovesturtles]

Using a random number generator for the angst prompts: 20 Starved + 30 Dangerous Temperatures

... and Leo, of course.

OH GOD OK

uh so. I had an idea. and I decided to write it for this ask I got forever ago. And then, uh.

it really

really got out of hand.

This is a pretty dark fic (even for me) and at the current moment in time it is hurt/no comfort. I do intend to write a part 2, probably tomorrow, but as of the time I'm typing this author's note I've been writing for around 5+ hours straight and I need to take a break! So please, if you don't want to read all this without the comfort included, feel free to wait for the next part before reading! I'll link it and the end once it's posted.

Content warnings: Kidnapping, confinement, psychological torture, nonconsensual voyeurism (I guess this is the best way to put this; Leo isn't doing anything sexual but it's still violating), mild violence, HEAVY ANGST, Leo just having the shittiest time possible.

I HOPE?? YOU ENJOY??? hahahaha....

btw this is set between S2 and the movie (though tbh its canon compliance is... /waves hand)

-----

When Leo imagined himself getting captured by some kind of shady, quasi-governmental agency intent on imprisoning mutants, it was never anything like this.

When he let his mind go there, he always pictured that he would be strapped to a table. Maybe muzzled. That scientists would stand over him, scalpels and drills in hand, and start to take him apart. That they'd examine him piece by piece, and wouldn't give him any anesthesia while they did it.

But there is no table, no muzzle, no restraints at all. He's just in a room.

Well, a cell, technically - the steel door is locked, and there are no windows, no furniture but a bare cot in one corner and a lone toilet in another. But it doesn't really look like a cell. It looks like a room.

A very, very white room. White walls. White ceiling. White tiles (with white grout, even). The toilet is white, a roll of white toilet paper on the floor next to it. The only things that aren't white are the cot and the door and Leo himself.

They took his gear and his weapons, because of course they did. Since the door is steel, he already knows he's not breaking it down; he gives it a half-hearted slam anyway, just to say he tried. He should be able to just portal out, except he hasn't learned how to use his portals without his swords to channel his ninpo through, and there's nothing in here with him that he can use to make new ones.

So he's stuck. He's going to have to wait until someone opens that door for some reason. Or, of course, until his family swings by to pick him up. Though, if possible, he'd like to escape before that happens. The image in his mind, of sitting outside his cell and grinning at them as they arrive to rescue him, is too cool to pass up.

He's not sure how long it's been already. He knows that they knocked him out after ambushing him, and he doesn't know how long he was unconscious. The heavy molasses feel of his head and arms when he woke up suggests that he was drugged. It's wearing off now, though, which means he has a clear head to take in the all of nothing that's in the room with him.

He sits on the cot he woke up on and waits for something to happen.

There's no way for him to tell time, but he thinks it's an hour or so later when there's a sudden beep, and then the sound of a metal panel sliding up. It's a slot near the door that has just opened - inside the revealed alcove is a bottle of water.

He comes to it curiously, taking a long look around the bottle. The slot doesn't open straight through, and even if it did, it's not big enough for anything more than his arm or a foot to fit through. He thinks it must function like an airlock, or maybe they slid the bottle down from somewhere above - he feels around just in case, and finds that the slot is enclosed on all sides but his. Probably his airlock theory, then.

As soon as he removes the bottle, the panel slams shut again.

"You're really determined to keep me in here, huh?" he says to whatever hidden cameras are watching him. He carries the water bottle back to his cot, but doesn't open it, instead setting it down on the floor by the wall. The paranoid part of his brain, the one that doesn't miss a trick, is reminding him that drinking the water is probably a bad idea. Who knows what they might have put in it?

He sits on the cot for awhile longer. Still, nothing happens.

"I'm getting pretty bored in here," he says for the audience that must be somewhere. "Come on, you have a one of a kind turtle in here, and you don't even want to talk to me?"

Time passes, slow and quiet. Leo goes through periods where his anxiety spikes and he starts to wonder if he's been abandoned by whoever brought him here, before the boredom eventually numbs the anxiety back out. Another bottle of water is eventually delivered, and this one he keeps in his hands after retrieving it. It's completely unlabeled, not even a "Use by" date printed on the bottle itself, so it doesn't provide much mental stimulation. He spins the bottle to make little whirlpools inside, because it's something to do.

He's trying to make the fastest whirlpool he can when he hears a sudden click, different from the beep of the water bottle hole, and he looks up just in time to see a large section of the wall in front of him turn black, and then light up to show the room beyond his cell.

He jolts, setting the bottle aside. He knew they must be watching him, but somehow he didn't catch that part of the wall was a whole window.

His audience isn't very large - five people, unless there are others he can't see. Two wear lab coats, two wear fatigues... but the one who comes to stand directly in front of the window is wearing a black suit, with steel rimmed glasses. He leans forward, and speaks into a small microphone.

"Inmate 24365," says the suited man. "I am Agent Bishop, of the Earth Protection Force. My subordinates tell me that you can speak and understand the English language. Is this correct?"

"Qué?" Leo asks.

Bishop does not look amused. "Inmate 24365," he says, "you have two options. You can cooperate with me, answer my questions, and we will make your stay here more comfortable. Do not cooperate, and we will make your stay uncomfortable. Do you understand?"

Leo pretends to hem and haw over this. "How comfortable are we talkin'?"

"I'm sure you would like some dinner."

"You know, I'm not really hungry." He says it to be difficult, but it's actually true - the uncertainty of the situation has put his stomach in too many knots to want to eat anything. "Maybe if you offer me some comic books? Or a TV?

To Bishop's credit, his face doesn't so much as twitch. He keeps his steely eyes locked on Leo. "Answer our questions, and you will receive food. Do you understand?"

Leo stays noncommittal. "What are the questions?"

He's expecting Bishop to ask about his family. He's not expecting what comes next.

"How many gateways are there between New York City and the hidden yokai enclave?" he asks. "How are these gateways accessed? What kind of defensive capabilities do the yokai have?"

Leo keeps the surprise off his face. Bishop thinks he's a yokai.

This is, overall, a good development. Bishop might not know about Leo's family, then, or at least not know that they live on the surface. This means the Earth Protection Force likely isn't pursuing his brothers, which means they will be safe until they can help Leo get out of here.

He doesn't let the relief show through, either. Bishop doesn't know anything, and now Leo just has to ride out the next few hours until the calvary arrives.

"You know," he says, "I think I'm good with my current levels of comfort."

If Bishop is mad or frustrated or dismayed by this choice, he doesn't show it. His expression stays stony as he stares in at Leo, sizing him up.

"Very well," he says after a few more seconds. "I will see you tomorrow, then."

The window goes dark, and then turns stark white to match the walls. Leo wants to go over and tap at it, see if it feels different when he touches it, but knowing that Bishop is surely still there, watching him, keeps him rooted to the cot.

He goes back to making whirlpools with the bottle. If they aren't going to entertain him, he isn't going to entertain them, either.

-----

Another water bottle comes some time after his talk with Bishop. He finally opens this one and takes a cautious sip. Nothing tastes off or strange, so he drinks more. They don't want to feed him, but they're fine keeping him hydrated. No reason to stay thirsty, then.

He wishes the water calmed the anxiety still roiling in his stomach, but if anything it just makes him feel even more energized. He bounces his foot and surveys his room again, looking for any weak spots or access points. He can't see anything, though, other than the areas where he knows the water bottle hole and window are; even the vents that relentlessly blow cold air into the room are well hidden.

Knowing that there are people standing just outside his cell watching him, like some kind of zoo animal, puts him on edge. The window is so big that he's pretty sure the only blind spots are either directly underneath it or right by the door on the same wall. After debating it, he leaves his cot and sits on the floor underneath the window, surveying the room from a different angle now and still coming up empty. At least they're going to have a harder time staring at him.

His eyes catch on the toilet in the corner, directly across from the window. It's not in the blind spot, and realizing this makes his insides lurch uncomfortably - hopefully he has a chance to bust out before using it becomes necessary.

Though, he's not sure when that chance is going to come. If they have a slot to pass him water, they could use that to pass him food, too, so it's unlikely that anyone is going to open the door unless they need to take him out.

So maybe his fantasy of being outside when his brothers arrive isn't going to happen. Well, that's okay; he'll just be sure to make some other part of their escape totally rad. That will make up for the embarrassment of getting kidnapped a block from Run of the Mill.

(Seriously, some kind of ninja he is, to let a bunch of human soldiers sneak up on him.)

He drains the water bottle, then starts to roll it back and forth across the floor, like a cat batting at a toy. Leo's not sure what's worse right now: the worry or the boredom. There's nothing to look at and no one to talk to, just an empty room with him and his water bottles.

He's too keyed up to sleep, and the fluorescent lights are still on, anyway. He has no way of telling what time it is, so maybe it just isn't that late yet. And even sitting here, in the blind spot, the idea of closing his eyes while people are watching makes unease crawl up his spine. Staying awake is the easy choice. He'll sleep after he's out of here.

So he sits under the window and rolls his bottle back and forth, back and forth, with only the sound of plastic on tile to keep his thoughts company.

-----

The first three water bottles came pretty regularly, but now there is a very long stretch where nothing is delivered. Leo is starting to think maybe it really is night now. They don't turn off the lights in his cell, though, and he has no controls to do it himself. At least it helps with the whole "staying awake" thing.

Just in case they've decided to suspend his water privileges along with the food, he holds off drinking any more for now.

Speaking of food, his appetite has finally decided to return. His stomach starts to growl at him after several hours (he thinks) of sitting in the floor, an annoying emptiness in his stomach. Knowing there's no food accessible just makes the hunger sharper, but he puts it out of his mind the best he can with nothing else to focus on. He can eat once he's free.

Which should be soon. Seriously, his brothers have to be on their way by now, right?

He's pretty sure it's been the better part of a day, if not a whole day, since he was kidnapped. And, okay, he's willing to give them some leeway; it's understandable if they got a late start. He did storm out of the lair after his latest fight with Raph, and no one ever came to check on him when he did that. Understandably, he thinks, because who wants to be around Bad Mood Leo? Not even Leo wants to be around Bad Mood Leo!

But he'd already turned back into Good Mood Leo by the time he left Hueso's, so surely they knew it had been more than enough time. They would have noticed when he didn't come home. They would have realized something happened. They would be looking for him.

And if they're looking for him, they'll find him! Obviously.

His stomach growls again, and Leo leans his head back against the wall behind him. Maybe he shouldn't think of being at Hueso's. Now he just wants pizza. Pepperoni and mushroom, maybe, or Hawaiian. Mix it up a little with the barbeque chicken.

Another growl. He groans out loud.

He stays awake, twisting and crinkling the empty bottle in his hands, until another full one finally arrives.

-----

No chance to escape comes before using the toilet is necessary.

He tried to hold out, he really did, but he ended up drinking more water to stave off the growing hunger, and it's lowkey cold in here, which doesn't help. Still, the issue of the window sends an uneasy shiver up his spine, doubting that any people outside will feel the need to turn away and give him some privacy. Maybe he should have gone while he suspected it was nighttime.

(Maybe he shouldn't assume they ever aren't watching him.)

He stands up and walks over to the cot, giving it a light nudge with his foot. In a stroke of luck, it isn't bolted to the floor, and it's light enough that he can lift it. The black mesh it's made of is tightly woven, enough that not much is visible through it. It will have to do.

He picks it up and drags it over in front of the toilet, propping it up on its legs so it makes a small wall between himself and the window. It's hardly ideal, but the semblance of privacy makes him relax somewhat.

(He can't think about how there are surely cameras in the room watching him from all angles, making his attempt at a barrier moot. He knows better than anyone that sometimes pleasant lies are necessary.)

After he does his business, he leaves the cot propped where it is; it's not like he's sleeping on it. There's no sink for him to wash his hands, but he's never been the strictest about it, anyway (much to Donnie's disgust). He returns to his spot under the window, squeezing the water bottle to the rhythm of the first song that comes to mind.

Only two verses and a bridge later, the window above his head turns black, then goes clear. Thinking that Bishop might have been watching him just now makes a cold, slimy feeling roll down his spine. Creepy!

"Inmate 24365," comes Bishop's voice through the unseen speaker. "Stand."

Leo doesn't. He stays right where he is, under the window.

Bishop waits only a few seconds. Then Leo hears him say, "Temperature down two degrees."

He gets up at that, turning and leaning his arm against the window. It strangely doesn't feel like glass, even though it must be. "It's already cold enough in here," he says. He wonders how they can hear him, when he doesn't see a microphone on his side.

"You were told your conditions would only be made comfortable after you answer our questions," Bishop informs him. "The same as before: how many gateways are there between New York City and the hidden yokai enclave? How are these gateways-"

"How about you answer my questions first," Leo interjects. "You keep calling me "inmate," but I haven't been charged with anything. Pretty sure you can't detain me without cause."

"The EPF is authorized to detain non-human inmates for as long as deemed necessary for the security of the United States," says Bishop smoothly. "Probable cause doctrine does not apply in this case."

"That's gotta be unconstitutional."

"The constitution does not recognize the rights of yokai. You have no right to counsel, no right to a speedy trial, and no right to protections from cruel and unusual punishments." Bishop's stare is colder than the temperature in the room. "But I am not an unfair man. Answer my questions, and I will provide you with food and clothing."

Leo tosses a glance over his shoulder. "How about a private bathroom?"

Bishop's expression stays ever in place, unimpressed and stoic. "Food and clothing," he repeats.

Leo gives his head a shake. "Then nope," he says, popping the "p". "I plead the fifth."

"As I have already explained, the Bill of Rights does not apply to you."

"That's such crap." Leo bangs his fist on the window. "You can't just keep me here forever for no reason!"

"I do have reasons." Bishop leans closer to the window, his eyes narrowing. "Let's try a different question. What is your relation to Baron Draxum?"

The surprise is fast and sharp, but Leo just manages to keep it from showing on his face. "Who?" he asks innocently, even as the panic sets into his chest. If they know about Draxum, what else do they know?

"We know you are acquainted with him," says Bishop. "What is the nature of your relationship?"

Leo knows they aren't bluffing - why would they bring up that very specific name otherwise? There's no lie he can tell that won't reveal something.

So he doesn't say anything. Instead, he turns his back to the window and sits down, staring resolutely at the opposite wall.

Bishop clicks his tongue. "Very well," he says. "I am a patient man. I can wait." Then, more muffled, like he's facing away from the microphone, Leo hears him say, "Temperature down two degrees."

The window goes dark, then turns back to white. Leo doesn't move for a long time.

-----

The third water bottle arrives, so he guesses that's the end of day two.

He's shaking as he gets up to retrieve it, adding it to his growing water bottle hoard. He's gone through three and a half by now, but he's trying not to drink them too fast.

As promised, no food is delivered, and his stomach growls and rumbles in protest. The water helps, but only slightly. He needs to eat.

He also needs to sleep.

The panicked adrenaline spikes that have kept him awake this long are starting to die down, with more and more long stretches of exhaustion between them. The shaking is near constant, bringing with it the weird jittery feeling he gets when his insomnia gets particularly bad.

The window is still unnerving him. The idea of sleeping while they're watching him feels staggeringly unsafe.

But he doesn't think he can hold out now until his family gets here. Sure, they're probably getting close (they have to be getting close), but they're sure taking their sweet time. And he's just so tired.

After a long internal debate, he lays down on the cold tile floor. It's not at all comfortable, but somehow he doubts the cot would be any better. Besides, even if he moves the cot under the window, he thinks it would be easier to see him if he uses it. So on the floor it is.

He presses as close to the wall as he can, curling up into a ball for warmth. He wishes he had a blanket.

He wishes he was home.

He squeezes his eyes shut tight and forces back the sudden wave of overwhelming homesickness. There's no reason to feel this way. It's only been two days! What is he, a baby?

It's fine. It's all fine. They're definitely on his trail now. Raph is leading the team. Donnie is using some kind of invention to blah blah blah nerd stuff. Mikey is razzing his tazz. April is using her investigative journalism skills to find clues.

They're on their way. He just has to hold out a little longer. He can do this.

He sleeps, and in his dreams, something grabs him tight and drags him down and down and down where he can't escape.

-----

The same routine plays out over the next two days.

Leo gets two water bottles delivered, spaced, if he had to guess, about five hours apart. Bishop comes to visit him some time after the second bottle. Leo refuses to answer his questions. Bishop turns the temperature down and then leaves. A few hours later his last water bottle comes. Then nothing for the whole night.

They still don't turn off his lights, but exhaustion is starting to win over the brightness.

More than a few times, Leo tries to summon a portal on his own, without his swords. If his family is going to take their sweet time in coming, he might as well try to help them out. He tries to summon his ninpo (without glowing), tries to feel the tug inside of him that he always does when he teleports, tries to envision the place he wants to go and tunnel through space to get there.

Nothing. Always nothing.

(Donnie can make his constructs independent of his bo staff. Raph can send his projections away from his sai. Mikey's learning to use mystic powers without his nunchucks. So why does Leo need his katana? Why is he the only one this useless?)

It probably doesn't help that he's so damn hungry. It's a constant companion now, a low and hollow ache that chooses inconvenient times to turn into white hot stabs of urgency, into seizing cramps that steal his breath. The water only helps so much - it keeps him alive but doesn't satisfy, doesn't soothe. In some ways it just makes the feeling worse.

And he's always shaking, too, but he doesn't know if that's the hunger or the cold.

Maybe the cold wouldn't bother him so much if it were at least still. But the vents blow fresh air inside relentlessly, and no matter where he goes he can't seem to get out of the direct stream. The cold wind batters his tired body, and there's places his skin is starting to turn dry and flaky. His nose won't stop running, and he's allowed himself a small section of his one roll of toilet paper to blow it, already stiff and congealed and disgusting.

It's miserable.

And there's still nothing to do.

He stacks a pyramid out of his empty water bottles, knocks it down, then stacks it up again. He tries to come up with some new and exciting ways to demolish it, but it's only new and exciting for so long.

He spends a few hours of day three singing karaoke as obnoxiously as possible. He hopes everyone outside enjoys the performance.

He recounts every issue of Jupiter Jim he knows to himself, then the plot of every movie. Then he goes through Lou Jitsu films, then anything else he can think of. That eats up a good chunk of day four.

By the time he gets his first water bottle of day five, he's out of ideas to entertain himself. He's never been good at this. He doesn't know how introverts like Donnie can go multiple days without talking to someone.

But when Bishop comes back with his daily offer of conversation, Leo once again impolitely declines.

-----

Something new happens on night five.

It's been a long time since the last water bottle. Leo has been trying to sleep, but it's not coming easy; he's exhausted, but the floor is so cold and he's so sore from staying on it night after night. Not to mention, his nightmares have been getting worse, and he isn't eager to return to them.

Add on the hunger, and sleep is elusive.

Suddenly, there's the telltale shadow of the window above him turning dark - this time, though, it doesn't light up as much as normal. Confused and curious, Leo sits up and takes a peek.

The room beyond is dim, only the glow of a green EXIT sign and a small desk lamp lighting the space. But it's enough for Leo to see a man standing there, looking inside. It's not Bishop - in fact, he doesn't recognize this person at all. They're wearing fatigues, but it's not anyone he's seen in the room during Bishop's normal interrogations.

The man catches sight of Leo, and the grinning leer on his face makes Leo regret looking.

He beckons for Leo to stand up. Warily, Leo does, unable to help but keep his arms folded tight over his chest. Not for the first time, he wishes he had some clothes - his gear, at the very least. Anything to not feel quite so exposed.

The man reaches down and picks something up, holding it aloft for Leo's inspection. "Want a sandwich?" he asks into the microphone.

The sandwich looks like white bread and bologna. No cheese, no other toppings that Leo can spot. Maybe some mustard, if anything. Overall, the most boring possible sandwich he could have been offered.

Leo's mouth is watering.

He has to swallow hard before answering. He doesn't trust this. Even if his stomach is slamming up and down at the promise of food, food, food.

"I'm not hungry," he lies.

The man laughs. It's not a kind sound. "Sure you ain't," he says. "You spend every night curled up on the floor like the dumb animal you are. Can you even eat this?" He waves the sandwich for emphasis.

Leo doesn't answer. He takes a step back from the window, like that will put any kind of distance between them. Like that will save him.

The man watches him with a sleezy grin. He waves the sandwich again.

"You want this," he says.

Leo shakes his head.

"You really sure?"

Leo shudders. Stands tall. Nods.

The man watches him for a long, long moment. Leo fights the urge to hide.

Finally, with a shrug, the man says, "Suit yourself."

Then he starts eating the sandwich. Right where Leo can watch.

Leo's stomach growls, loud and angry in his ears, and he has to physically hold himself back from crumpling.

After several bites, the man suddenly reaches out and taps the window, indicating the cot stood up in front of the toilet.

"That," he says, giving another tap for emphasis, "doesn't do shit."

Leo wants to crawl out of his own skin.

The need to hide is suddenly too great. He rushes to the cot, grabbing it and dragging it back to the blind spot under the window. He sets it down on all four legs, so it's as close to the floor as possible.

Then he lies down on his belly and wriggles underneath. It's a tight squeeze, and the cot ends up pushed up by his shell, suspended in the air, but he doesn't care.

He curls up in his pleasant lie of privacy and bites his hand to keep from screaming himself hoarse.

After an eternity, the window above him turns white again. It doesn't matter. Leo knows he's still there. Still watching.

-----

"You look tired," Bishop greets him. Leo answers with a dead-eyed stare.

"I keep telling you, if you want your conditions to improve, all you have to do is answer my questions."

Leo says nothing. He just stares, arms wrapped tight around himself to try and keep his body heat in.

"How many gateways are there between New York City and the hidden yokai enclave? How are these gateways accessed?"

For a moment, Leo considers just... telling him.

His family doesn't live in the Hidden City. The yokai have never exactly greeted them with open arms. What does he care if these military guys go after them? At least then, maybe he can finally eat something.

That's not what a hero does, Leo! echoes Mind Raph disapprovingly. Innocent people will get hurt!

Right. He's a hero. And heroes don't give into the demands of shitty guys like Bishop.

Leo swallows hard. "No comment."

Bishop's face changes ever so slightly: his brow creases. Leo wonders if that's good or bad for him.

"You understand that Baron Draxum is a known threat, don't you?" he asks. "We are aware of his plans to commit mass murder on the human population. We also know that he has been dormant for some time, and we need information on what he is planning."

Leo thinks of Barry's ambitions to be recognized as the best lunchperson in all of America and can't help but laugh. It comes out cracked and wheezing.

Bishop's furrow gets deeper. "Do you think this is funny?"

"Little bit," says Leo.

Bishop has a chasm to rival Raph's now. Leo knows he shouldn't, but he grins. It's his one moment of triumph - only he can be this aggravating.

And then Bishop says, "Temperature down seven degrees," and that wipes the smile right off Leo's face.

-----

The plastic of the water bottles is soft and pliable and feels weirdly good under Leo's teeth.

He chews the top of the bottle, gnawing at it until it's completely flattened out, pockmarked with little tiny indents from his incisors. It's not eating - it won't fill his belly or ease the persistent hunger pains. But something about the motion is soothing. The place-bo effect.

Pla-ce-bo, corrects Donnie's voice in his mind, sounding testy.

Where are you? Leo thinks back.

There's no answer.

He's gnawed his way through four water bottles. There's eighteen in total now, two and a half still full of water. He thought about using one to wash up a bit, but decided against it in the end. He knows he stinks, but the last thing he wants right now is to be wet. Not when he's starting to see his breath.

Oh well. It's not like he has anywhere to be.

He turns his attentions to the lids next. These are harder and thus tougher to chew. Still, if Leo uses his molars, he can eventually crack the lip, and then bend the plastic in and in, chewing until he ends up with a flat disc.

It's just small enough that Leo could swallow it, if he wanted to.

He thinks he remembers watching some kind of wildlife documentary. Or maybe he didn't watch it himself, but Mikey told him about it. Or maybe April? He doesn't know. His thoughts swim in and out and get lost on the way.

Point is. Sea turtles in the wild die all the time because of plastic in the water. They cut open their stomachs and find trash inside.

Well, Leo is a turtle in captivity. Maybe that means he's immune. Maybe he could swallow this plastic lid, and then he'd finally feel full and the pain pain pain of his empty stomach would go away.

He does not swallow the plastic lid. But it's more tempting than he'd like to admit.

It's going to be okay. When his family gets him out of here, they'll have a big pizza to celebrate. Maybe he can even talk them into letting him have the last slice.

It has to be any moment now, right? It's been a week. They have to be closing in. Any moment now, the door will open, and there they'll be to take him home.

The air conditioning blows relentlessly against his skin. He sneezes, then rubs the snot on his arm. He's given up on the tissue paper.

It'll be over soon. It has to be. Just hang in there, Leon, just a little longer.

He picks up another bottle and starts chewing.

-----

He's playing a mindless little game with his flattened bottle lids the next time Bishop comes.

"I'm surprised you still have any energy at all," says Bishop, and Leo wants to punch him.

(Really, he wants to do more than that. But those kinds of thoughts always make him feel weird and bad, so he pushes them away.)

"You should have learned by now," he says, pushing to his feet and trying not to show how badly he's trembling, "you can't keep me down."

"This is all unnecessary," says Bishop. "I'll feed you as soon as you answer my questions."

Leo barks out a laugh. "Sure you will."

"I will," says Bishop. He turns and says over his shoulder, "Bring it here."

One of the men in fatigues steps forward and hands a tray with a covered plate over to Bishop. Bishop uncovers the tray and holds it where Leo can see.

Baked chicken, broccoli with cheese, mashed potatoes.

Leo's stomach twists and cramps so painfully he has to bend at the hips and clutch his midriff.

"This is yours, as soon as you answer my questions."

Leo pointedly keeps from looking at the food. He shakes his head. He can't. He can't.

"Such persistence." Bishop's voice is scolding now. "You understand that you are a known accomplice to a terrorist, don't you? But if you become a cooperating witness, you will be granted some leniency."

Leo barks a laugh, lifting his eyes to look at Bishop's face, and pointedly not the food. "What's the point?" he asks. "If I'm not... protected by the constitution, or whatever. Are you going to let me go?"

"No," says Bishop. "But as I have told you, your conditions will become more comfortable." He waves the tray of food.

Leo stares at him, before a manic smile splits his face.

"You... stupid bastard. I can't even answer your questions." He slams a shaking hand against his plastron. "I'm not even a yokai! Do you get that? I'm not a yokai!"

Bishop looks skeptical. "Obviously you are."

"I'm not!" Leo rages. "I'm a mutant! I'm from New York! I don't even live in the Hidden City!"

Bishop's eyes flash. "I see," he says, "so you do know of it."

Leo falters, his body going slack.

What an obvious, stupid mistake.

(Some face-man he is.)

It takes Leo a long moment to answer. Bishop stays right where he is, holding the food so tantalizingly close and yet still out of reach.

"...I don't know about the gateways," he says finally. "I don't know about their defensive capabilities. I don't know what Baron Draxum is planning."

"Your lies are obvious," says Bishop. "You really don't want this? It's your last chance today."

Leo stares at the food. His mouth is watering so hard it might start to drip. Would it really be so bad to answer? They don't live in the Hidden City. And Draxum dropped him off a roof.

Draxum is trying to change, says Mind Raph. You see what these guys are like. You can't turn the yokai over to them. They'll hurt them!

What about me? he asks. Is it okay if I get hurt?

You're a hero, Leo, says Mind Raph. You can deal with it for a little longer. It's just a room. Just a little cold. Just some hunger.

He's a hero. He can deal with it. He can. He can.

He'll make them proud. Show them they can trust him.

It takes everything he has, but he shakes his head.

Bishop tuts. Then he throws the entire plate in the trash.

"Tomorrow, then," he says. Then the window is gone.

Leo collapses on his cot and tries not to cry.

-----

After his third water bottle on day eight, one of the fluorescent lights over his head flickers and then dies out.

It's not surprising, since they keep them running twenty-four seven. The blessedly dimmed lighting is actually nice, for once. Leo thinks maybe he could get some sleep, if the gnawing hunger and the constant shivers don't keep him awake.

He's just closed his eyes and snuggled up under his cot when it occurs to him: they may come in to fix it. If keeping the lights on day and night is part of their plan to torture him, to keep him exhausted and anxious and on edge, then they have to.

Which means his chance is finally here.

He has to be careful about this. He has to be ready to move, but he can't let them know he's ready to move. He has to let them think he's too weak, too exhausted, to make an escape attempt.

(He can't let himself think that, though. He can't give up before he tries.)

So he stays under his cot, but subtly shifts it so it won't restrict his movement. He has to be ready to burst out as soon as he gets a chance. Get past whoever comes in, then get out the door. It's after the last water bottle, so it's nighttime. There will be fewer people. He can do this. He can do this.

Find his swords. Make a portal. Get out.

Just as he was thinking, after a long time has passed, there is a loud warning beep, different from the water bottle beep. An automated voice says from somewhere unseen, "Inmates clear the door. Security personnel entering. Stay still and you will not be harmed."

Then the door slides open, and someone comes in.

It's a man wearing fatigues. Leo thinks this is the one who "offered" him a sandwich the other day. He's holding some kind of gun with a long barrel. He does a sweep of the room with his eyes, coming to rest on Leo under his cot. He gives Leo the same leering grin, and waves the barrel of the gun in his direction.

"Now you behave, and we'll get along just fine," he says.

He steps to the side, and another man enters, this one wearing the kind of jumpsuit Leo sees janitors in on TV. He's carrying a stepladder in one hand and a long tube in the other. Is that what fluorescent lights look like? Leo didn't know.

The man walks to the middle of the room and sets up his stepladder. Then he walks up and pulls off the light casing. When he unhooks the old bulb, it causes the other bulb to flicker, just for a few moments.

Leo explodes out from under the cot, grabbing the man in fatigues by the legs and yanking as hard as he can. The man yelps in surprise, and Leo hears the sound of the gun going off in a random direction. The janitor shouts and drops the light bulb - the sound of shattering glass joins the cacophony.

Leo jumps to his feet and runs out the door they had been too stupid to close, sprinting toward the EXIT sign. He's exhausted and shaky but he's coursing with adrenaline, and he leans on it hard to keep him moving. Don't stop, don't stop, get out of here. He'll figure out what to do next once he's free.

Past the exit sign there's a large open room with desks and computer monitors. Most of them are off, but one lingering woman in a lab coat, seated at her desk, screams when she sees Leo dash through the middle of the office space.

"Security!" she screams into a device on her chest. "Inmate is escaping! Inmate is escaping!"

Leo doesn't have time to shut her up, he just keeps moving. He pushes through the next door and arrives in a hallway; he only has time to glance one way and then the other before scrambling to the left, hoping it was a good choice.

He rounds a corner and sees another green EXIT sign up ahead. It's not where he meant to go - he meant to find where they're keeping his swords first. But he hears shouting behind him and doesn't stop. Fine, so no portals - he'll figure out something else once he's away from here.

He throws himself forward into the exit door, which leads him into yet another hallway. Another long sprint, with shouting and slamming doors at his heels, and then finally, finally, a third EXIT sign, and he crashes outside.

Where there's snow on the ground, snow on the trees.

It steals his breath away. There shouldn't be snow. It's May.

Where is he?

He takes a breath of air so cold it seizes his lungs, then takes a step forward. He'll worry about that-

BANG!

A piercing pain in his shoulder nearly sends him toppling over. Leo shouts, grasping for the wound and feeling something sticking out of his skin. He grabs it and yanks, pulling it free.

It's a dart.

Damn it, he thinks, before his vision goes woozy, and he collapses into the snow.

-----

"Are you proud of your little escape attempt?" comes Bishop's voice.

Leo looks up from his cot. Bishop has to get so close to the window to see him that his nose is pressed flat against it. It should be hilarious, but Leo doesn't really have the energy to laugh. Or to do much of anything.

He's hungry. He's tired. He's cold. He's still sluggish from the drugs.

And they threw away all his water bottles. Fuckers.

Leo rolls over on the cot and covers his ears.

"What a childish response," says Bishop, and that's funny, too, because Leo literally is a child. Or a teenager, anyway. He doesn't feel like it will help him much to point that out, though.

"All you have to do is answer my questions, and all this will be fixed."

That's the funniest thing of all. The idea that he spills his guts and Bishop treats him to a five course meal to make up for all the pain up till now. Hilarious.

He says nothing.

Bishop sighs.

"You are likely still affected by the tranquilizing agent. I'll return tomorrow."

Before he leaves, he says, "Temperature down five degrees."

-----

The same man is back that night. He opens the window and looks down at Leo with the same leering smile. Leo can't even take satisfaction in the bandage on the side of his head.

"Neat little trick you had yesterday," he says. "Almost got me fired."

Leo wishes it had gotten him fired. But he clearly has no luck in this situation.

"You know, I respect the attempt. And you probably would have gotten farther with a little food in your belly." The man reaches down, then retrieves a sandwich, as mouth-wateringly unappetizing as the last time. "You sure you don't want this?"

And Leo knows he shouldn't trust this guy. Leo knows he should say no.

But he's just...

so...

hungry.

So he gets up. And he turns to the window. On shaking limbs that can barely hold him upright anymore. With a body that is laced with pain and aches and cramps.

And he nods.

The man's smile gets wider. "What do you say?" he asks, in the sing-song tone of a parent scolding a child.

It makes a sick nausea rise in Leo's throat. But he wants the sandwich.

"Please," he gasps out.

"Mmm... not good enough." The man waves the sandwich. "You want this? You beg for it."

Leo stares, eyes wide. But the sandwich... the sandwich...

He gets down on his knees. Feels a searing flush of humiliation. His stomach is rolling and gurgling and cramping with pain, a hollow, empty chasm inside him desperate to be filled.

He lowers his head.

"Please," he says. "I... I want the sandwich. I'm... begging you, please."

The man laughs, loud and long. When Leo finally finds it in him to raise his eyes, the sandwich is already half eaten.

"Hey, good job," says the man, licking a bit of mustard off his thumb. "That was real convincin'."

And then he takes another bite.

Just like that, Leo forgets about the pain, the aches, the cold, the hunger. All that's left is pure, white hot, screaming rage.

Leo lunges at the window and slams his fist into it so hard it cracks. Not enough to break the glass. Not enough to free him. But enough that the man startles and steps back.

And Leo starts to laugh. High and manic and unhinged even to his own ears.

"I'll kill you," he says, and his voice sounds almost joking, and yet- "I'll kill you. You're dead. You're dead, as soon as I get out of here, you're dead, I'll kill you, I'LL KILL YOU!"

The man has dropped the rest of his sandwich. He fumbles for his gun, left somewhere on a table to the side. For one satisfying moment, Leo sees a flash of genuine fear on the man's face.

"Shit," he says, his voice far away the further he gets from the microphone. "Pretty scary, frogboy."

Then he slams a button, and the window goes black, and Leo gets a glimpse of his own reflection.

His face is gaunt and drawn. His eyes are ringed by deep circles, so dark they look like bruises. His body is shaking like a leaf.

And his stripes...

His stripes are lit up like when he uses his ninpo, but they aren't their usual Neon Leon bright.

They're almost black.

Leo gasps and stumbles back just as the window goes white. The full body quakes he feels now aren't from the cold or the hunger or the exhaustion.

He turns and sinks onto the cot. Puts his face in his hands and tries to breathe. Tries to will his ninpo to stop rolling and snapping and to go back to normal.

This isn't what he wants. This isn't him.

This place is breaking him. He's letting it break him.

He pulls his legs up onto the cot and buries his face in his knees. Wraps his arms around them and rocks gently, the way Donnie used to do when things got overwhelming. Maybe he understands that better, now.

This isn't him. He's Leonardo, Neon Leon, the face-man, the jokester! The one who's always ready with a quip and a laugh. The one who can do anything!

Except portal out of his room. Except escape from this building. Except resist begging for a sandwich like he's a dog.

Leo's breath hitches, and for once he doesn't stop himself. He knows the guy outside is probably watching. He knows there are cameras recording this. He hates giving them the satisfaction.

But he's tired, and hungry, and he...

He wants to go home.

He cries, silently, until he's completely rung out.

-----

Maybe they aren't coming.

That's the thought that pops into his head, just a bit after the first water bottle of the day.

He knew they would have gotten a late start, because he stormed out. And he knew it would take them awhile to figure out who took him - he hadn't heard of the EPF before, so why would they? And he knew it would take them time to figure out where he had been taken, which must have been pretty far out if it's snowing outside. But the EPF got him here within a night, he's pretty sure, so unless they have a super fast jet, he must still be on the continent somewhere.

So... so surely they must have figured it out by now, right? Raph is leading the team. Donnie is doing science things. Mikey is razzing his tazz. April is using her investigative skills.

Unless they aren't coming.

Maybe... maybe it's true. Why would they want him back, after all? Leo took Raph's leader position, and since then all he'd managed to do was piss Raph off. Mikey and Donnie hadn't been happy about it, either, and he'd noticed that they'd been avoiding him more and more. April claimed she wasn't taking sides, but she always seemed to be on Raph's anyway. And Dad... well, he was probably disappointed that he made Leo leader only for him to do nothing and then get himself kidnapped.

He doesn't bring anything to the team. He doesn't bring anything to the family. And no one likes his jokes.

So. Maybe they just... aren't looking. Maybe they aren't going to come.

Maybe he's held out this long for no reason. Maybe he's been cold and starving for no reason at all.

Maybe it's time to give up.

---

Don't give up, says a new voice in his head.

You are not alone.

-----

He has no energy left to stand when Bishop comes. The man looks down at him, lips pressed into a thin line.

"You don't look well," he observes.

No shit, Leo wants to say.

"This has gone on long enough. Answer my questions, and we will provide you with food, clothing, and medical care."

The list is getting longer. Leo's fuzzy eyes stare up at Bishop. Medical care. Does he need that?

"You already know what I want to know." Bishop has a furrow between his eyebrows now. "Will you talk to me?"

He could. He could do it. He could finally have some relief from all the pain. All the hunger. All the cold.

But they might hurt the yokai in the Hidden City.

They might hurt Draxum.

They might hurt his family.

And maybe, if nothing else... if Leo could just keep his mouth shut, just this once...

Maybe that would finally make Raph, Dad, and everyone proud of him.

Maybe they'd finally trust him.

Maybe, at least, he can have that much.

Leo shakes his head.

Bishop scowls.

"Temperature down ten degrees."

-----

Leo isn't shivering anymore. That's probably a bad sign.

He can still see his breath, each time he exhales. It rises like smoke, before disappearing into the air.

He doesn't have any energy left, not even to chew on his new water bottles. He hasn't even collected the last two, and they sit crowded together in the slot, untouched.

He kind of wishes they had just dissected him from the beginning. It would have been faster. Freezing to death, he's decided, is a real zero out of ten. Starving to death isn't any better. No stars.

Even though the damn lights are still on, he feels extremely sleepy. It's probably the cold. He wonders what will happen if he brumates. He's never done it before, not like his little cousins, and he has no idea if it's even safe.

Probably not, given he has no calorie reserves left. All it means is he won't be drinking water, either.

But he's so sleepy.

It's going to be time soon for Bishop to come back. Leo doesn't know what the point is anymore. Maybe he'll just sleep through it. Yeah, that would really make him mad. And making Bishop mad is all he has at this point.

And he'll get to sleep. It's a win-win.

So thinking, Leo rolls himself over onto his belly. Then, one by one, he pulls his limbs into his shell.

He doesn't do this much anymore, not since he started growing. His body just doesn't seem to fit his shell like it should - a side effect of the mutation, probably. It's not really comfortable to be inside for long.

But Leo is sleepy. And his shell feels like the best place to be.

So he pulls in his legs, then his arms, and then, finally, his head.

It's not any warmer in here. But at least it's dark.

At least he's not shivering.

Leo sighs, content, and closes his eyes, and drifts to sleep.

-----

(Outside his cell, there's a bang, and shouting, and a gunshot.

The sound is muffled, and Leo sleeps on.)

-----

Part 1 (here) | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 Part A |

[wheneverfeasible]

Wiggly Wednesday?

The brain worms are here again.

I honestly hate Christmas and avoid doing too much for it. However, an idea came to me suddenly and I can’t stop thinking about…

Secret Santa Steddie AU.

In one of Steve’s high school classes senior year, they’re assigned a Secret Santa project. They all put their names in a Santa hat and have to draw one out (returning it for another if it’s their own) and that’s the person they have to secretly give a gift to, either homemade or purchased, but there’s a cap of like…whatever the equivalent of $20 today is back then. Idk.

This is supposed to be a team building type of exercise, something to foster camaraderie, after say maybe a huge argument/fight broke out between Tommy and his group and the Freak, Eddie Munson, as well as some other nerds. Steve is exhausted and doesn’t care for Tommy’s bullshittery anymore, so he didn’t really get involved, though Eddie did throw a few digs his way. Which was hurtful but probably deserved.

Anyways, Steve draws out Eddie’s name.

For the next week or so the last fifteen minutes of class are devoted to questionnaires and such where the students answer questions about themselves directly or they fill in answers to widely asked questions, all used to let the Secret Santas learn about their recipients. Some people take it more seriously than others.

Steve gets to know more about Eddie, who is more blasé about it all, obviously not expecting anyone to give him something good (if they give him anything at all) since he has no friends in the class and most people don’t like him. So Steve, who has never paid Eddie any amount of attention before in the past but has been now and finds himself intrigued, starts observing Eddie outside of class.

Steve knows he could buy Eddie something music related. An easy cop-out gift. But the more he observes Eddie, the more he gets to see the tiny cracks in the Freak persona whenever he spies on him, sees the nerdy but also kind person beneath the leather jacket. And…okay…maybe he starts to develop a sort of crush without realizing that’s what happens.

Maybe he bribes other nerds about Hellfire Club and Eddie and makes certain they don’t squeal about him asking (he doesn’t realize he comes off as threatening, he just thinks he’s being urging), maybe he hears Eddie mention things and then he goes and asks Dustin what they mean, learning it’s from a book series about midgets and some jewelry or whatever, and so an idea forms.

While shuttling the kids about after school, Steve asks Will if he’d be willing to draw something for him, which Steve would pay him for. Will, obviously excited because it’s his first commission job and Steve pays him fairly, agrees.

(Steve may also purchase a patch at the record store they stop at—Will’s request as he wants to buy something for Jonathan—because it reminds him of Eddie, but that doesn’t matter.)

Yadda yadda ya, it’s time to exchange gifts. The teacher has allowed them to drop them off leading up to the Friday before winter vacation to keep the mystery alive.

When Eddie gets his, he’s expecting something more like a prank gift. Instead, he’s gifted a colored drawing (sadly not enough time for a painting) of Eddie dressed as someone named something like Spider or Arrow Gone or whatever, Steve doesn’t really know, but it’s him fighting off a horde of monster things with a flaming eyeball in the background and further back is an erupting volcano.

Steve doesn’t know what the hell is going on, not really able to absorb the massive info dump Dustin gave him, but Will assured Steve that the dude was cool and the battle depicted was awesome and important when he dropped off his old yearbook for model reference. Will’s opinion was enough for Steve of course. He just hoped Eddie liked it, and the patch that he rolled up with the picture.

Eddie is, of course, gobsmacked and trying his hardest not to show it. He scans the classroom to try to figure out who could have given him such an amazing gift, but no one even looks at him. There’s no way he would ever suspect the truth.

Steve ended up getting a can of Farrah Fawcett spray, which everyone laughed at and assumed was a joke gift for a jock, but Steve noticed a small twitch of a smile on Tommy’s face, the only one besides Dustin now who knows his secret.

Later, Eddie’s battle vest is adorned with the patch he received in his gift, a red and black Leviathan cross, but Steve doesn’t know what happened to the drawing. He hopes it didn’t get trashed.

It’s not until later, after everything with Vecna and recovering what was salvageable from the trailer, that he found the picture safely secured behind a glass frame hidden in Eddie’s room. It’s only then that Steve realizes that he might have been a little bit in love with Eddie “the Freak” Munson all this time.

~

Aaaaaaaah sorry this is a little bit of a nebulous ending here. Does this story follow canon and Eddie is dead, never knowing who his Secret Santa is? Or is Eddie recovering from his injuries, fated to recognize Will’s art style and thus learning the truth behind one of his most prized possessions? Who’s to say 🤷

I’m just gonna tag my perma list because I’m lazy. Anyone can be happy to consider this a tag for their own future brain worms tho!

Hostage Hotties:

@derythcorvinus @katyawriteswhump @honeii-puff @scoops-aboy86 @dotdot-wierdlife

@everywherenothere @bumblebeecuttlefishes

[lila-lou]

✨The smarter choice - 1/8✨

Summary: The pull was undeniable—every glance, every touch, a spark. Dean was everything you shouldn’t want, yet resistance was futile. Teaser

Pairing: Sam x Reader, Dean x Reader

Warnings: Language

Word Count: 8819

A/N: English isn’t my first language, please be lenient. 💙

The sounds of pots and pans clanking echoed through the kitchen of the bunker as Sam wiped down the countertops, his broad frame moving smoothly through the space. He hadn’t even noticed his older brother lurking nearby��Dean was always the one who loved to poke fun, and today, he was feeling particularly mischievous.

"You sure you want to bring her here, Sammy?", Dean’s voice rang out, teasing but with an edge of curiosity. He leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching his younger brother intently. "I mean, the bunker’s great and all, but it’s not exactly a romantic getaway".

Sam didn’t miss a beat. He was used to his brother’s banter, though that didn’t mean it didn’t annoy him. "Dean, we’ve been over this. She’s not like—".

"Not like who, Sam?", Dean interrupted, smirking. "She’s not a hunter like us, right? Just a normal girl, who doesn’t actually know what she’s getting herself into?".

Sam shot Dean a glare, knowing exactly where this conversation was headed. "She knows. I’ve told her everything. She’s not freaked out".

Dean raised an eyebrow, his smirk turning into a grin. "Oh yeah? You sure about that? You sure she’ll be able to handle—", he motioned vaguely with his hand, clearly meaning the life they led—"all this? The monsters, the blood, the nightmares?".

Sam was about to respond when he heard the familiar buzz of his phone from the counter. He quickly wiped his hands on a towel and checked the screen.

It was you.

"Hey, I’m on my way. Should be there in 20. See you soon :)".

Sam smiled softly at the message, his heart warming, and that didn’t go unnoticed by Dean, who suddenly took a step closer, narrowing his eyes.

"See, now that’s what I’m talking about", Dean said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "The great Sammy Winchester, the smooth talker. Getting some girl to text you emojis and all. You sure you're ready for her to meet this version of the family?".

Sam rolled his eyes, trying to hide his smile. He wasn’t embarrassed by his brother’s antics—well, not totally—but he was more concerned about how you’d react to it all. You’d been really understanding about the supernatural stuff, but Sam knew meeting Dean was a different matter.

"I’m serious, Dean. She’s not like other people. She’s not going to freak out". Sam looked at Dean with a raised brow, as if daring him to argue.

Dean chuckled, his arms uncrossing as he pushed off the doorframe. "Yeah, we’ll see. It’s just… funny to me. You spent four weeks talking about her and now—", he grinned, "now I get to meet her. What’s she like? You know, aside from being really into you?".

Sam sighed, running a hand through his hair. "You’ll find out in twenty minutes, won’t you?".

Dean smirked and shrugged. "Guess I will".

Sam turned his attention back to the counter, his heart still thumping with the excitement of seeing you. He really did want you to meet his brother. He had been so careful about introducing you to this world, and now, with you so close, he hoped you wouldn’t be overwhelmed.

But deep down, Sam knew the biggest challenge wasn’t the monsters or the blood—no, it was whether or not Dean would scare you off. That was always a risk when it came to Dean.

Dean’s grin widened as he leaned back against the counter, crossing his arms. His gaze shifted to Sam, that playful glint never leaving his eyes.

“But give me something Sammy”, Dean began. “She probably a little nerdy, huh? You know, like you”. He snorted, clearly amused by his own joke. “I’m picturing a cute, bookish type, glasses the size of saucers, maybe even a ponytail, and some kind of vintage sweater”.

Sam rolled his eyes, trying his best to stay patient with his older brother’s antics. “Dean, you’re not even close”.

Dean raised an eyebrow, glancing at his brother’s expression, which was somewhere between fond and embarrassed. “Oh, I know I’m close. You’re basically saying you’re dating a female version of yourself, right? So… same height, same awkwardness, same love for dusty old books, and all the same nerdy stuff that makes you… well, you”. Dean made exaggerated air quotes with his fingers. “You’re probably gonna end up sitting in a corner, playing board games, or—God forbid—watching documentaries together, right?”.

Sam sighed, fighting a smile. “She’s not like that, Dean. She’s…”. He paused, trying to find the words. You were a bit of a nerd—he loved that about you—but there was a lot more to you than that.

Dean was still going strong. “Yeah, yeah. I bet she doesn’t even know what a real hunter is. Probably thinks all this is just some Halloween stuff, huh? Well, good luck with that”. He laughed at his own words, clearly enjoying every second of getting under his brother’s skin. “Can you imagine it, Sammy? You, with your little nerdy girlfriend, sitting there, all cute, surrounded by textbooks and… and cats. So many cats”.

Sam shot him a glare, but it was impossible to hide his amusement completely. “You’re ridiculous”.

“Just tell me one thing. She tall? You know, like… as tall as you?”. He raised an eyebrow, clearly enjoying getting under Sam’s skin, the older brother’s usual role. “Or is she one of those tiny, cute types you can just—”.

Before Sam could answer, his phone buzzed, cutting him off. His thumb quickly tapped on the message, and he read your text aloud, clearly amused.

“I’ve knocked like five times, Sam. Are you ever going to open the door?”.

Dean’s grin only widened as Sam read your message aloud, his voice carrying a trace of amusement. Dean, of course, wasn’t about to let up. “Guess she’s not the patient type, huh?”, he teased, leaning a little further into his brother’s space. “Maybe you’ve got yourself a little firecracker, Sammy. Or a tall one”.

Sam rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t hide the smile creeping up at the corner of his mouth. “Yeah, she’s a bit of a handful sometimes”.

Dean leaned in, his voice taking on a more exaggerated tone. “A handful, huh? What, like a tiny, cute handful with her oversized glasses and a love for knitting?”. He chuckled, clearly relishing the thought of you fitting the quirky, innocent image he had concocted.

Sam was about to retort when his phone buzzed again. He quickly glanced down at it, his heart skipping a beat as he saw your name flashing on the screen once more.

“Sam, are you seriously just gonna leave me out here? Open the door!”.

Sam couldn’t hold back his laughter now. “Alright, alright”, he muttered to himself as he pushed off the counter and made his way toward the door, shooting Dean a look over his shoulder. “You’re ridiculous. Just wait and see”.

Dean was unbothered by the warning, following his brother with his eyes.

Sam ignored him and reached for the door, his excitement growing. He finally swung it open to reveal you standing outside, your hand raised in the air as if ready to knock once more.

You looked up at him, the tiniest hint of impatience in your eyes. “You know, I was starting to think you were ghosting me, Sam”, you teased, a playful smirk curling at the corners of your lips.

Sam stepped aside quickly, scratching the back of his neck with an apologetic smile. “Sorry about that. Dean was…”. He glanced back toward the kitchen, choosing his words carefully. “…distracting me”.

You shook your head, brushing it off with a soft laugh. “It’s fine. But seriously, don’t keep me waiting next time. I was starting to feel like a door-to-door salesperson”.

Sam chuckled, gesturing for you to step inside. As you walked past him and into the bunker, you couldn’t help but glance at cavernous walls. The space felt huge, even more so because of your height. Not even reaching Sam’s chest, the bunker seemed almost overwhelming. Still, you moved forward with confidence, curiosity lighting up your features as you carefully stepped down the metal stairs.

“Whoa”, you said, pausing for a moment to glance back at Sam. “This place is… something else”.

Sam smiled, pleased by your reaction. “Yeah, it’s a bit much at first, but you get used to it”.

As your feet touched the ground, you ran your fingers along the edge of the war room table, taking in the ancient, heavy atmosphere of the place. Just as you were about to comment on it, the sound of footsteps echoed from around the corner.

Dean appeared, beer in hand, his usual cocky grin plastered on his face. “Well, well”, he said, his voice light and teasing as he approached. “What do we have here?”.

But the second his eyes landed on you, something in him shifted.

You turned to face him, and for a moment, Dean simply stared. He hadn’t been expecting someone like you—not even close. You were small, barely coming up to his chest, and the contrast between your petite frame and your confident presence was magnetic. The high-waisted jean shorts you wore showed off your curves in a way that made his throat go dry, and the fitted top you paired them with hinted just enough at your gorgeous figure.

Dean’s brain went blank for a split second.

“Uh…”, he started, his usual charm stuttering as he tried to find words. “You’re… uh… not what I expected”.

Sam cleared his throat, stepping forward and giving Dean a pointed look. “Dean”.

“What?”, Dean shot back, still unable to tear his gaze away from you. He gestured vaguely with his beer. “She’s definitely not nerdy”.

You raised an eyebrow, clearly amused as you crossed your arms and looked up at him. The size difference was almost comical, but you didn’t seem the least bit fazed. “And what exactly did you expect?”. There was a playful edge to your tone, but something in the way you held his gaze sent a strange jolt through Dean’s chest.

Dean blinked, quickly scrambling to recover. He leaned casually against the wall, lifting his beer to his lips. “I don’t know. Glasses, books, maybe a little cardigan or something”. He smirked, though it wasn’t quite as sharp as usual. “I mean, you’re dating Sam”.

Sam groaned softly, running a hand down his face. “Dean—”.

You cut him off, your smirk widening as you tilted your head. “Sorry to disappoint”, you said, your voice dripping with sarcasm. “No glasses. And I left my cardigan at home”.

Dean chuckled, shaking his head. “Yeah, I can see that”. He took another swig of his beer, though it did little to cool the sudden warmth spreading through him.

Sam stepped in then, clearly eager to move things along before Dean could dig himself deeper into the hole he was making. “Alright, let’s sit down. Y/N’s probably hungry”.

“Hungry? Or thirsty?”, Dean quipped, holding up his beer. “I mean, I could—”.

“Dean”, Sam interrupted sharply, shooting him another warning glare.

Dean held up his free hand in mock surrender. “Alright, alright. Food it is”. But as he turned to follow Sam toward the kitchen, he couldn’t help but glance back at you one more time.

You caught him looking, your lips curving into a small smile that sent his pulse racing.

What the hell is happening? Dean thought as he dragged his eyes away.

For all the teasing he’d thrown Sam’s way, he wasn’t prepared for this. You weren’t nerdy, awkward, or shy. You were gorgeous, confident, and way more than Dean had been ready for.

And something told him this was just the beginning.

The sound of your light footsteps on the bunker’s floors seemed to echo louder than they should have, or maybe that was just Dean’s heightened awareness of your presence. He tried to shake it off, forcing his thoughts back into his usual easygoing rhythm.

“So”, Dean began, his tone casual as his eyes flicked between you and Sam. “Sammy here been bragging about his cooking skills yet?”.

Sam sighed, already sensing where this was going. “Dean—”.

“Oh, come on”, Dean pressed, walking a little faster so he could fall into step next to you. He gave you one of his signature grins, the one that usually worked wonders on just about anyone. “He didn’t warn you that his idea of fine dining is throwing together a salad and calling it a meal?”.

You glanced up at Dean, amused by the way he towered over you. “Actually”, you said, your voice laced with playful curiosity, “he told me he made something special tonight”.

Dean arched an eyebrow, glancing toward Sam as they all entered the kitchen. “Special, huh?”. His eyes darted to the oven, catching sight of the lasagna baking inside. The smell was already wafting through the room, rich and savory, instantly recognizable.

“Lasagna?”, Dean asked, surprised despite himself. He leaned back against the counter, folding his arms across his chest as he turned his attention to Sam.

Sam ignored the jab, moving to check on the lasagna. “Figured you’d be less… disruptive if I made something you liked”, he said, adjusting the oven temperature and glancing at his watch to time it perfectly.

Dean smirked, picking up on Sam’s strategy immediately. “Oh, I see what this is. You’re trying to keep me quiet. Feed me comfort food, and I’ll behave, is that it?”.

Sam didn’t answer, which was all the confirmation Dean needed.

You laughed softly, leaning against the counter opposite Dean. “So lasagna’s your weak spot, huh?”, you teased, your tone light but curious.

Dean turned his grin back to you, his green eyes narrowing slightly in playful suspicion. “Depends”, he said, dragging out the word. “You any good in the kitchen? Or are you more the ‘microwave and hope for the best’ type?”.

You tilted your head, meeting his gaze with an amused smirk. “I can hold my own”, you replied, not missing a beat. “But if I’d known I’d be competing with this”, —you gestured toward the oven— “I’d have brought something to prove it”.

Dean chuckled, impressed despite himself. “Well, that just means you’ll have to stick around long enough to show us, huh?”.

Sam gave Dean a pointed look as he turned from the oven to grab plates and utensils. “Dean, maybe try not to scare her off within the first ten minutes”.

Dean held up his hands in mock surrender. “I’m just being friendly, Sammy”. He turned his attention back to you, his grin softening into something a little more genuine. “I’m not that scary, am I?”.

You laughed again, shaking your head. “Not yet”, you replied, enjoying the banter. “But I’ll let you know if that changes”.

Sam rolled his eyes, setting the plates down on the counter with a little more force than necessary. “Alright, dinner’s almost ready. Can we all just… focus on eating like normal people?”,

Dean gave you a conspiratorial wink before turning his attention back to Sam. “You’re the one making the rules, chef”.

You caught the dynamic between them easily—Dean’s teasing, Sam’s patient exasperation. It was clear they had their differences, but there was no denying the bond between the two brothers. And as Dean reached for another nearby bottle of beer, cracking it open with ease, you found yourself wondering just how much of Dean’s charm was a front, and how much of it was the real him.

The next few minutes passed smoothly—or as smoothly as they could with Dean in the mix. As Sam checked on the lasagna one last time, you busied yourself helping him set the table. You grabbed utensils and napkins from the counter, moving around the space with ease as though you’d been in the bunker a dozen times before.

Dean, leaning against the counter with his beer, watched you with casual interest. “So, Y/N”, he started, his tone light, “if you’re not a hunter, how’d you end up with my nerdy little brother here?”.

You glanced up at him, amused by his bluntness. “We met at a bookstore, actually”, you replied, placing the last fork down. “I was looking for a gift for a friend, and Sam swooped in to save me from picking the world’s most boring biography”.

Dean snorted. “Of course he did. Let me guess, he probably gave you some twenty-minute lecture on obscure historical facts before you even realized he was flirting”.

You smirked, shooting Sam a playful look as he turned back from the oven. “It was more like fifteen minutes”, you said with a shrug. “But to be fair, he was right. The book I was about to buy sounded awful”.

Sam sighed, shaking his head but smiling all the same. “I wasn’t trying to lecture. I was just being helpful”.

“Sure you were”, Dean shot back, his grin widening. “Bet you even pulled the puppy-dog eyes, didn’t you?”.

You laughed, the sound light and genuine, and it made Dean’s chest tighten in a way he hadn’t expected. He wasn’t sure if it was the way you seemed so at ease around them, or the way your laugh lit up the room, but something about you had him hooked.

“Sam’s told you about… you know, all the crazy crap we deal with, right?”, Dean said, changing the subject as he leaned in slightly,

You nodded, your expression growing a little more serious. “Yeah. He’s been easing me into it. It’s… a lot, but I’m getting there”.

Dean raised an eyebrow, impressed. “And you’re not freaking out? Most people would’ve run for the hills the second they heard the words ‘demonic possession’”.

You shrugged, a small smile tugging at your lips. “It’s a lot to take in, sure, but Sam’s been really patient about explaining things. And honestly? I think what you guys do is incredible. It’s scary, yeah, but also… kind of amazing”.

Dean blinked, caught off guard by your sincerity. He wasn’t used to hearing people talk about their work like that, especially not people who weren’t hunters themselves. “Huh”, he said after a moment, a crooked grin forming on his face. “You might be tougher than you look, short stuff”.

The nickname made you laugh again, and you couldn’t help but shoot back, “Careful, Dean. I may be small, but I can hold my own”.

“Oh, I don’t doubt that”, Dean said smoothly, his grin turning slightly mischievous. “Bet you’ve got a hell of a right hook for someone your size”.

“Maybe”, you replied, a playful glint in your eye. “But you’ll just have to take my word for it”.

Sam cleared his throat loudly, clearly trying to steer the conversation away from where he knew it was headed. “Dean, maybe stop interrogating her and let her breathe for a second”.

Dean waved him off, his attention still fixed on you. “Relax, Sammy. We’re just getting to know each other”, He leaned back slightly, his tone turning more casual. “You got a day job, or are you just spending all your free time keeping this guy out of trouble?”.

You smiled at Dean, enjoying the banter. “Actually, I’m a fitness coach”, you said, leaning casually against the counter.

Dean’s eyebrows shot up, his grin widening. “A fitness coach?”, he repeated, his tone equal parts impressed and intrigued. “Didn’t see that one coming”.

You laughed softly, folding your arms as you looked up at him. “Why’s that? You don’t think I could handle it?”.

Dean tilted his head, giving you a quick once-over, and while his expression remained playful, there was a genuine curiosity in his eyes. “Oh, I think you could handle it just fine”, he said. “But man, Sammy must have his hands full. What, you got him running laps between cases now?”.

Sam sighed, clearly trying to stay out of the conversation, but you were quick to play along. “Not yet”, you said, shooting Sam a teasing look. “But I’m thinking about it. He could probably use the cardio”.

Dean barked out a laugh, his head tilting back slightly. “Oh, I like you”, he said, pointing at you with his beer. “You’re a smartass. Sam needs more of that in his life”.

You grinned at Dean’s comment, enjoying the playful energy in the room. “Oh, trust me, he gets plenty of sass from me”, you said with a smirk. Turning to Sam, who had been quietly tolerating Dean’s antics, you reached up and pressed a quick kiss to his bicep—the highest point you could easily reach without him bending down.

“Just kidding”, you mumbled teasingly as Sam gave you a soft, amused smile. He leaned down slightly, brushing a kiss against your forehead in return, his hand grazing the small of your back as he murmured, “Thanks for putting up with him”.

You laughed softly, shaking your head as you grabbed the last glass and placed it on the table. “I think I’m handling it just fine”.

Dean bit the inside of his cheek as he watched the two of you, the ease of your affection and the way Sam looked at you. There was something about the way you and Sam moved together—comfortably, naturally, like you’d been part of this world for longer than the few weeks you’d actually been dating—that made something twist uncomfortably in Dean’s chest.

Dean took another sip of his beer, the cool bitterness doing little to chase away the nagging feeling in his chest. He leaned back against the counter, his posture relaxed, but his jaw tightened subtly as he watched you and Sam. There was something about the way Sam looked at you—like you were the only person in the room—that made Dean’s stomach twist uncomfortably.

Not that he’d ever admit it. Hell, he barely even admitted it to himself.

It wasn’t like he was jealous. Dean Winchester didn’t do jealousy. No, this was just… him being protective. Yeah, that was it. He was just making sure you were really who Sam thought you were. Making sure Sam wasn’t setting himself up for another heartbreak. It had nothing to do with the way you smiled when you looked up at Sam, or the way your laugh seemed to linger in the air, soft and warm.

Dean cleared his throat, forcing his gaze away from you. He focused instead on the beer bottle in his hand, rolling it between his fingers. “How long until dinner’s ready, Sammy? I’m starving over here”.

Sam shot him a glance, clearly catching the faint edge in Dean’s tone. “It’s almost done”, he said, moving to check on the lasagna. “You can survive a few more minutes”.

Dean smirked, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Yeah, well, good thing you went all out. I wouldn’t survive another night of your rabbit food experiments”.

You laughed, the sound light and genuine, and it made Dean glance up despite himself. “Rabbit food?”, you teased, looking between the brothers. “That´s about your love for salad?”.

Sam sighed, shooting Dean an exasperated look. “He’s talking about the one time I made a salad with kale”.

“It wasn’t a salad”, Dean shot back, pointing at Sam with his beer. “It was punishment. Nobody eats kale by choice”.

You chuckled, shaking your head. “Well, I guess it’s a good thing I didn’t bring a kale smoothie, huh?”.

Dean couldn’t help the small grin that tugged at his lips. “You’d better not. I’d kick you out on principle”.

Sam rolled his eyes but didn’t say anything, busying himself with pulling the lasagna out of the oven.

Dean’s eyes lingered on you for a moment longer than he intended, and he had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep himself grounded. He wasn’t jealous. He was just… protective. Yeah, that was the story he was sticking to.

Dean watched you as you moved around the kitchen, effortlessly fitting into the bunker like you’d always been there. It was unsettling how natural it all seemed. His eyes followed you, and he took another sip of his beer, determined to shake whatever it was that had him so off balance.

But then you leaned over toward him, close enough that he caught the faint scent of whatever perfume you were wearing. Your thigh brushed against his, the contact sending a jolt of heat up his leg. Before he could react, you tilted your head slightly, looking up at him with a mischievous glint in your eye.

“I fucking hate kale”, you whispered, your voice low enough that Sam couldn’t hear, but there was no mistaking the teasing lilt in your tone.

Dean froze for a second, his brain short-circuiting as he tried to process the sudden proximity, the soft warmth of your leg against his, and the quiet intimacy of your words. Then, almost involuntarily, a grin broke across his face, quick and genuine.

“Good”, he murmured back, his voice equally low. “Means I don’t have to kick you out after all”.

You laughed quietly, the sound sending a ripple of something warm and unfamiliar through him. Dean blinked, his grin fading slightly as he tried to steady himself. He cleared his throat, shifting slightly as he sat down at the table. He told himself it was nothing—just the heat of the moment, the way your laugh had hit him, or the accidental brush of your thigh. It didn’t mean anything. He could shake this off, no problem.

Except it wasn’t nothing. Not with the faint trace of your perfume still lingering in the air or the way your mischievous smirk had seemed to sear itself into his brain. Dean shifted again, leaning forward slightly in his chair to subtly adjust himself under the table, hoping like hell neither you nor Sam noticed.

Sam, thankfully oblivious, placed a plate in front of Dean and another in front of himself before sitting down next to you. “Alright, dig in”, he said, shooting you a small smile. “Let me know what you think”.

You grabbed your fork, glancing at Sam with a grin. “No pressure, right?”.

Dean snorted, hoping to distract himself from his predicament. “Trust me, you don’t need to worry. This is probably the best thing Sammy’s ever made. Not that the competition’s stiff or anything”.

Sam shot Dean a dry look, but you laughed, your shoulders shaking slightly. The sound sent another ripple of heat through Dean’s chest, and he focused hard on cutting into his lasagna, the knife scraping against the plate.

“Thanks for the vote of confidence”, Sam said sarcastically, turning his attention back to you. “I’m glad someone appreciates the effort”.

“I think it’s great”, you said after taking a bite. “Seriously, Sam. This is amazing”.

Dean grunted in agreement, though his focus was less on the food and more on keeping his gaze off you. The way you leaned forward slightly when you laughed, the way your lips curved around your fork—it was too much, and he knew if he let himself keep staring, he was going to lose whatever shred of composure he had left.

“So, Y/N”, Dean said, forcing himself to speak, his tone casual as he leaned back slightly in his chair, “You like it?”. He gestured vaguely around the bunker, doing his best to sound normal despite the tension knotting his shoulders. “I mean, it’s not exactly… cozy”.

You glanced up at him, your eyes warm. “It’s definitely different”, you admitted. “But honestly? I think it’s kind of cool. It’s like something out of a movie”.

Dean smirked, though he avoided looking directly at you for too long. “Yeah, well, wait until the pipes start rattling in the middle of the night. Real cinematic experience”.

Sam rolled his eyes. “Ignore him. He just hates doing maintenance”.

You laughed again, and Dean felt his resolve waver. He grabbed his beer, downing half of it in one go just to have something to do with his hands.

The meal continued, with Sam and you trading stories while Dean chimed in occasionally, mostly to toss in a sarcastic comment or crack a joke. But the whole time, that nagging feeling sat heavy in his chest, and he couldn’t shake the heat pooling low in his stomach.

It was going to be a long night.

The meal wrapped up smoothly, though Dean spent most of it trying to keep his focus on his lasagna. By the time the dishes were done, Sam had his sleeves rolled up, his hands wet from drying the last plate, and you were leaning against the counter, chatting idly with him about your plans for the next day.

Dean lingered nearby, his fifth beer in hand, trying to keep his eyes anywhere but on you.

Finally, as Sam dried his hands and set the dish towel aside, he stepped close to you, his palm brushing down the small of your back in a way that seemed almost instinctive. “Ready to call it a night?”, he asked gently, his voice low, the kind of tone that was meant just for you.

You glanced up at him, reading the softness in his eyes. Sam wasn’t one for late nights, not unless a hunt demanded it. His mornings usually started early with a run or a workout, and you knew he valued his sleep schedule more than most.

But you? You weren’t tired at all. You were used to staying up late, whether it was working on plans for your clients or just relaxing with a spicy book or a show.

Still, you smiled at Sam, your hand brushing his briefly. “Sure”, you said lightly. “If you’re ready, we can head to bed”.

Dean, who had been pretending to check the contents of the fridge for the last few minutes, glanced over at the exchange. Something about the way Sam’s hand stayed at the small of your back made his jaw tighten again, though he quickly covered it with a casual tone. “Wow, Sammy, calling it a night already? It’s barely nine. You getting old or what?”.

Sam shot Dean a look, but there was no real annoyance in it. “Some of us actually like starting the day early”, he said, his hand still resting gently on you. “Not all of us are night owls”.

Dean smirked, leaning back against the counter with his beer. “Night owl? Please. I’m just making sure the world doesn’t fall apart while you’re catching your beauty sleep”.

You laughed softly at that, glancing between the brothers. “So what, Dean? You stay up all night patrolling the bunker or something?”.

Dean’s grin widened, his eyes flicking to yours with a spark of mischief. “Something like that”, he said, his tone easy. “Someone’s gotta keep an eye on things around here”.

Sam chuckled, shaking his head. “Ignore him. He just watches bad movies and eats junk food when he should be sleeping”.

“Hey, classics aren’t bad movies”, Dean shot back, pointing his beer bottle at Sam. “And nachos at midnight? That’s living, Sammy”.

You grinned, folding your arms. “I think I’m with Dean on this one. Nachos at midnight sounds way more fun than an early morning run”.

Dean’s smirk turned into a full grin at your response, his eyes glinting as he looked over at you. “Finally, someone around here with taste”.

Sam rolled his eyes at your comment, though there was no mistaking the fond smile tugging at his lips. “Alright, you two can bond over junk food another time”, he said, his hand brushing gently against your back again. “I’ll leave you to it, Dean”.

You glanced back at Dean, your smile softening as your eyes met his. “It was nice meeting you, Dean”, you said warmly, your voice genuine. “I can see where Sam gets his sense of humor now”.

Dean blinked, caught off guard by the way your words—and that smile—made his heart skip a beat. He forced a grin, though it felt a little stiff. “Yeah, you too”, he said, his voice a bit quieter than usual. He gave a small nod, his gaze lingering on you for a second longer than he intended. “Goodnight, short stuff”.

You chuckled softly at the nickname, turning back to Sam as he led you toward the hallway. Dean stayed rooted in place, leaning back against the counter with his beer as he watched the two of you disappear from sight. The sound of your voices—low and comfortable—faded as you headed down the hall.

For a long moment, Dean just stood there, staring at the empty space where you’d been. He let out a long breath, running a hand over his face before muttering under his breath, “What the hell, Winchester?”.

He downed the rest of his beer in one swig, the bottle clinking softly against the counter as he set it down. Shaking his head, Dean turned back toward the fridge, already looking for something to distract himself from the way his heart had stubbornly refused to settle all evening.

But the image of your smile—soft, genuine, and directed at him—lingered, refusing to fade. And no amount of nachos or bad movies was going to fix that.

Inside Sam’s room, you looked around, taking in the neat, utilitarian setup. It wasn’t anything fancy, but it had a certain comfort to it that matched Sam’s personality. The shelves lined with books, the neatly folded bedding, and even the scent of him lingering in the air—it all felt cozy and inviting.

Sam moved across the room, opening one of the drawers and pulling out a simple white shirt. He handed it to you with a soft smile. “Here”, he said, his voice low and gentle. “This should be comfortable for the night”.

You took the shirt, your fingers brushing his briefly as you gave him a small smile. “Thanks”, you said, though there was a slight edge to your voice that you hoped he didn’t pick up on. You’d been dating for weeks now, and while things between you and Sam were great, there was a tension simmering under the surface that you couldn’t ignore.

Sam hadn’t made a move to take things further, not once. No matter how many nights you spent together, how much time you spent in his arms, he never seemed to push for more than kissing and light touches. It wasn’t that you didn’t respect his pace; you did. But you were only human, and lately, the frustration had started to build.

And tonight? Tonight was unbearable. You couldn’t explain it—maybe it was the lingering energy from dinner, the way Dean had looked at you with that mischievous grin, or the way Sam’s hand kept brushing against the small of your back. Whatever it was, it had you wound tighter than a spring, and your body was practically humming with need.

You turned away from Sam as you began to undress, your fingers deftly unbuttoning your pants and sliding them down your legs. You tried to ignore the heat rising to your cheeks, aware of Sam sitting quietly behind you, his presence filling the room. The air felt heavier than usual, like a current of unspoken tension buzzed between you.

You slipped off your top next, leaving your bare skin exposed for a moment. You weren’t wearing a bra—something you’d normally think nothing of, but tonight, it felt impossible to ignore. The cool air brushed over your skin as you reached for the oversized white shirt Sam had given you, the fabric soft in your hands.

Pulling it over your head, you let the material fall into place. It was so big on you that it nearly reached your knees, the hem swaying slightly as you moved. The sleeves hung past your wrists, making it look more like a dress than a shirt, and you couldn’t help but glance down at yourself, a small, amused smile tugging at your lips.

When you finally turned back around, Sam was already in bed, propped up against the pillows with a book in his hands. His eyes flicked up as you moved, and for a brief moment, you caught something in his expression—a flicker of something deeper, something that made your pulse quicken—but it was gone as quickly as it came.

“You good?”, he asked, his voice soft as he closed the book and set it on the nightstand.

You nodded, climbing into bed beside him and pulling the covers up to your lap. “Yeah”, you said quietly, though your voice felt strained. You couldn’t shake the awareness of him next to you, the way his broad shoulders stretched the fabric of his shirt, or the warmth of his body so close to yours.

He reached over to turn off the bedside lamp, plunging the room into. As he settled back into the pillows, you found yourself lying rigidly on your side, staring into the darkness and trying to will away the storm of frustration building inside you.

The shirt you wore smelled like Sam, wrapping you in his familiar, comforting scent, but it only made things worse. Your body was on fire, and every little movement—his hand brushing the covers, the sound of his breathing, the shift of the mattress as he adjusted his position—felt like a spark igniting something deeper within you.

You squeezed your eyes shut, biting your lip as you tried to focus on anything but the ache that had settled low in your stomach. Sam’s steady, calming presence had always been enough to soothe you, but tonight, it wasn’t working.

And the worst part? You had no idea what to do about it.

Meanwhile, in the war room, Dean sat slouched at the map table, his boots propped up on the edge as he cradled a large glass of whiskey in one hand. The amber liquid caught the dim light, casting faint shadows that danced on the tabletop. He swirled the drink absentmindedly, staring into the space ahead of him but seeing nothing—nothing except you.

He let out a heavy sigh, bringing the glass to his lips and taking a long sip. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t shake the image of you leaning toward him in the kitchen, your thigh brushing his, the warmth of your breath on his skin as you whispered, I fucking hate kale.

It wasn’t just that, though. It was everything—the way you moved, the sound of your laughter, the way you fit so effortlessly into the space that had always felt so cold and utilitarian. And, of course, the way you looked at Sam, the softness in your eyes that made it so damn clear how much you cared about his brother.

Dean scowled at the thought, tipping back his glass and draining the rest of the whiskey in one go. He set the glass down with a muted thud, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. His jaw tightened as he scrubbed a hand down his face, trying to figure out what the hell was wrong with him.

It’s nothing, he told himself. Just a little admiration. She’s cool, that’s all.

But the ache in his chest said otherwise.

The thought of you in Sam’s room, wrapped in his arms, made Dean’s stomach twist in a way that felt uncomfortably close to jealousy. He clenched his fists, shaking his head as though he could physically dislodge the thought from his brain.

“This is ridiculous”, he muttered under his breath, reaching for the whiskey bottle and pouring himself another glass. He stared at the amber liquid for a moment before taking another sip, the burn doing little to drown out the frustration bubbling inside him.

He didn’t get it. You were with Sam—his brother. You were off-limits, plain and simple. And yet, there was something about you that felt like a punch to the gut every time you smiled.

Dean huffed, leaning back in his chair and staring at the ceiling. The faint creak of the bunker’s pipes echoed in the distance, a reminder of how quiet and empty the place felt most of the time.

But you’d brought a kind of energy into the bunker that Dean hadn’t realized he’d been missing. And it was driving him insane.

Dean drained the second glass of whiskey, letting the burn spread through his chest as he leaned forward again, resting his elbows on the table. His gaze drifted to the door that led to the hallway.

“Get a grip, Winchester”, he muttered to himself, shaking his head again. But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t stop thinking about you.

Dean’s head snapped up at the sound of footsteps entering the war room. His first instinct was to expect Sam, coming to lecture him about something—or maybe just checking on him—but when he turned, he froze.

It was you.

You stood in the doorway, looking a little out of place, your bare feet pressing softly against the cold floor. Your hands fidgeted at your sides as you tugged your hair behind your ear, mumbling, “Sorry, I was just looking for the bathroom. Didn’t mean to interrupt”.

Dean’s gaze lingered, the whiskey in his hand forgotten as his eyes took you in. You were wearing Sam’s oversized white shirt, and on your smaller frame, it hung loosely, nearly brushing your knees. But the cool air of the bunker seemed to cling to you, and he couldn’t help but notice how the faint chill had tightened your nipples against the fabric of the shirt.

He forced his gaze back to your face, his throat tightening. “Uh… yeah”, he said, clearing his throat and sitting up straighter. “Bathroom’s down the hall, second door on the left”.

You gave him a small smile, shifting your weight from one foot to the other. “Thanks”, you murmured, your voice soft. But instead of immediately leaving, your eyes flicked to the map table, then to the glass of whiskey in front of him.

Dean followed your gaze to the glass of whiskey in front of him, his lips curving into a slow, teasing smirk. He leaned back in his chair, his green eyes flicking back to yours as he lifted the glass in a mock toast.

“Don’t tell me you’re a whiskey girl”, he said, his voice light but carrying that unmistakable edge of mischief.

You shrugged, the corner of your mouth lifting into a small smile as you stepped further into the room, your bare feet making the faintest sound against the cold tiles. “Maybe I am”, you replied, your voice soft but with just enough challenge to make his smirk widen. “What’s wrong with whiskey?”.

Dean chuckled, swirling the liquid in his glass. “Nothing”, he said, his tone teasing. “Just didn’t expect it. I mean, you’re walking around in Sam’s shirt, looking all cute and innocent, and here you are, eyeing my drink like you’re ready to steal it”.

Your cheeks warmed at his words, but you refused to let him fluster you. Crossing your arms, you leaned slightly against the edge of the map table, meeting his gaze head-on. “Maybe I was just wondering why you’re sitting here all alone in the middle of the night”, you shot back. “Doesn’t seem like your usual scene”.

Dean raised an eyebrow, impressed by your quick comeback. “Huh”, he muttered, setting his glass down with a soft clink. “What about you? Thought you’d be in bed, snug as a bug with Sammy by now”.

You hesitated, glancing toward the hallway before looking back at him. “I couldn’t sleep”, you admitted, your voice quieter now.

Dean tilted his head, his smirk softening into something closer to genuine curiosity. “And you ended up here, instead of the bathroom”, he said, gesturing around the room. “Lucky me”.

You laughed lightly, tucking your hair behind your ear again as you glanced at the map table. “I guess so”, you said, your smile lingering as your eyes returned to his. “But seriously… is whiskey your midnight snack now, or what?”.

Dean chuckled, reaching for the bottle and pouring a small amount into the empty glass beside him. He slid it toward you, his smirk returning. “Why don’t you find out?”.

You glanced at the glass, then back at him, your brow lifting slightly. “Is this how you get all your guests to stay up late with you?”, you teased, taking the glass in your hand.

Dean leaned back in his chair, watching as you reached for the glass. His lips parted slightly, and without even thinking, his tongue darted out to wet them, a habit he couldn’t seem to shake whenever his nerves got the better of him—or when his thoughts strayed somewhere they shouldn’t.

His gaze flicked downward, almost involuntarily, landing on the curve of your chest beneath Sam’s oversized shirt. The fabric shifted slightly as you raised the glass to your lips, the movement drawing his attention like a magnet.

Dean’s eyes lingered for a second too long, his grip tightening around his own glass as he caught himself staring. He clenched his jaw, forcing his gaze back up to your face. You didn’t seem to notice—or maybe you did, and you were just too good at hiding it. Either way, it only made the tension in the room thicker, more suffocating.

You set the glass down. “What?”, you asked, your voice casual but with a glint of curiosity. “You’ve been quiet all of a sudden. Did I say something wrong?”.

Dean smirked, trying to mask the heat crawling up his neck. “Nah”, he said, leaning back again and taking another sip of whiskey. “Just thinking”.

You raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “About?”.

He hesitated, the weight of his thoughts pressing down on him. He wanted to say something cocky, to deflect like he always did, but the words wouldn’t come. Instead, he shrugged, his voice dropping slightly. “About how you’re a hell of a lot more interesting than I gave you credit for”.

Your eyes widened slightly, the soft flush in your cheeks deepening as you let out a quiet laugh. “Well, I’ll take that as a compliment”, you said, your tone light but tinged with something warmer.

Dean tilted his head, his smirk softening. “You should”.

The silence that followed wasn’t awkward—it was charged, heavy with unspoken things that neither of you seemed ready to address. Dean’s chest tightened as he watched you tuck your hair behind your ear again, the movement so simple yet somehow mesmerizing.

You bit your lip lightly, your arms wrapping around yourself as an involuntary shiver ran through you. The cool air of the bunker combined with the cold tiles underfoot wasn’t doing you any favors, and the oversized shirt you wore didn’t provide much warmth. You glanced away from Dean, suddenly feeling more vulnerable under his gaze.

Dean sighed softly, setting his glass down on the table with a quiet clink. The sound drew your attention back to him just in time to see him stand up, his broad frame now looming over you. He wasn’t as tall as Sam, but he felt larger somehow—his shoulders broader, his presence more commanding. The air between you seemed to crackle with unspoken energy as he closed the space between you in just a few steps.

“Here”, he muttered, his voice low and rough as he reached for the flannel he’d been wearing. The movement made his biceps flex beneath his gray T-shirt, and for a brief moment, you couldn’t help but admire the way his muscles shifted. He didn’t seem to notice—or maybe he didn’t care—as he slipped the flannel off his shoulders and held it out to you.

Before you could say anything, Dean gently draped it over your frame, the fabric settling around you like a warm cocoon. It smelled like him—faintly of whiskey, leather, and something distinctly Dean. You glanced up at him, your heart skipping a beat as you realized just how close he was.

“Can’t have you freezing to death on my watch”, he said, his voice softer now, the teasing edge replaced with something warmer, almost protective.

Dean tugged the flannel tighter around your shoulders, his fingers brushing against your arms as he adjusted it to make sure you were warm. The gesture was meant to be casual, maybe even brotherly, but as he shifted closer, his hips inadvertently brushed against your belly.

Your breath hitched.

You didn’t mean to react, but the unmistakable press of him against you—even through his thick jeans—sent a jolt of heat rushing through your body. Your gaze flicked up to his face, and you saw his jaw tighten, his lips parting slightly as if he was about to say something, but no words came.

Dean froze, his hands still resting lightly on the flannel draped around you. He’d felt it too, the way his body betrayed him at the worst possible moment. His throat bobbed as he swallowed hard, trying to push down the flood of sensations threatening to overwhelm him.

For a second, neither of you moved. The tension that had been simmering between you all night boiled over, the air crackling with an intensity that made your pulse race. You weren’t sure what to do—what to say—but your body seemed to have a mind of its own, leaning ever so slightly closer to him as if drawn by some invisible force.

Dean’s hands dropped from the flannel, his fingers curling into fists at his sides. He took a half step back, his expression unreadable as he looked away, his jaw clenched tightly. “You should, uh…”, he started, his voice rough and uneven, “you should probably get back to Sam”.

His words felt like a bucket of cold water, and you blinked, stepping back yourself as you clutched the flannel tighter around you. “Right”, you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper. “I should”.

Dean nodded, still avoiding your gaze as he grabbed his glass from the table and drained what was left in one swift motion. His other hand raked through his hair, and he let out a slow, shaky breath. “Goodnight, Y/N”, he said, his voice softer this time but still laced with tension.

You hesitated, your lips parting as if to say something, but no words came. Instead, you turned and walked toward the hallway, your bare feet padding softly against the tiles. As you disappeared around the corner, you couldn’t help but glance back once, catching a glimpse of Dean standing there, his shoulders tense, his head bowed.

Dean didn’t move until he was sure you were gone. When he finally sat back down, his elbows resting on the table as he buried his face in his hands, he muttered to himself, “What the hell are you doing, man?”.

But no matter how hard he tried to push it away, the ghost of your touch and the warmth of your body against his lingered, driving him closer to the edge than he cared to admit.

———————————

A/N: Please let me know what you think.🥰 

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Part 2

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Taglist: @blackcherrywhiskey @baby19sthings @suckitands33 @spnfamily-j2 @lyarr24 @deans-baby-momma @reignsboy19 @kawaii-arfid-memes @mekkencspony @lovziy @artemys-ackles @fitxgrld @libby99hb @lovelyvirtualperson @a-lil-pr1ncess @nancymcl @the-last-ry @spndeanwinchesterlvr @hobby27 @themarebarroww @kr804573 @impala67rollingthroughtown @deans-queen @deadlymistletoe @selfdestructionandrhum @utyblyn @winchesterwild78 @jackles010378 @chirazsstuff @foxyjwls007 @smoothdogsgirl @woooonau @whimsyfinny @freyabear @laaadygisbooornex3 @quietgirll75 @perpetualabsurdity @pughsexual @berryblues46 @deanwinchestersgirl8734 @kr804573 @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @barnes70stark @roseblue373 @shanimallina87 @ascarriel @deanwinchesters67impala @thebiggerbear @quietgirll75 @barnes70stark @kellyls04 @spxideyver @ralilda @americanvenom13 @ozwriterchick

[kinamiiii]

Wasn’t sure what to do with these pictures until now, cuz they’ve been rotting my brain since I saw them. So here’s what!

Taste Test 🧁

Pair: DBF!Bucky Barnes x F!Reader

Summary: Your dad is out for the afternoon and you and his best friend, Bucky, help make a special treat whilst finding something to occupy your time until he returns for his birthday.

Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI, partly proofread, Modern AU, reader in her early 20s, DBF!Bucky in his early 40s, so age gap basically, somewhat desperate Bucky, innocent reader, fluff, smut, in the kitchen, finger sucking, oral (f receiving), fingering, cum eating, slight aftercare.

a/n: My first Bucky fic ever! Please do tell me what you think about it in the comments, I’d really appreciate the feedback. Especially since I don’t wanna mischaracterize someone like him ok. Also if these kinds of fics are not in your wheelhouse, please avoid for your own sake. 🙏🏽

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Bucky watched over Steve’s house while he was out doing a last minute errand for the afternoon. You as Steve’s daughter, were still at home, innocent and damn near sweet like sugar, making Bucky feel immensely guilty from the immediate lustful imagination his mind had presented to him once he saw you.

You haven’t known Bucky for very long, in fact, this was the first time you had ever seen him since he decided to pay your dad a visit today for his birthday, on the 4th of July. When he laid his eyes on you, he thought you were the prettiest thing he’d ever seen in a long time. Wearing your short, baby blue pleated sundress, protected with a white frilly apron and matching flat shoes, standing over a full tray of freshly baked, plain, red velvet flavored cupcakes on the counter, ready to be frosted. You held the piping bag, filled with red and blue butter cream, firmly over each tiny cake, icing them in thick perfect swirls.

Bucky was stood leaning against the doorframe while he watched you work with full concentration. However, your head snapped to the left as the sound of him clearing his throat entered your ears. You gave the brunette man a grin before getting back to your cupcakes. He stepped closer to the counter top, crossing his broad plaid sleeved arms over his chest as he looked over to the white sprinkles you had set aside in a small glass bowl. “Need any help with those?” You lifted your head again as you heard his sincere tone of voice, meeting his gaze with wide eyes. You then glanced over to the direction his head nodded in, gesturing towards the bowl. “Oh, sure! You can use them on the first half while I finish ice the rest,” you replied cheerfully and shuffled your feet to give Bucky some room next to you. He reached over and picked up the bowl of sprinkles with one hand, whilst taking a pinch of the white topping and started decorating the desserts.

Once you had been done icing the last cupcake, you placed the piping bag down and watched as the tall, beefy man added the hundreds and thousands over the other half of the sugary batch. You let out a giggle at the expression that graced his features, wrinkling his forehead from the intense focus. “Y’know, I never thought I’d see someone give so much attention to a few tiny cakes with a few sprinkles.” Bucky’s face quickly softened with parted lips to respond. “Well, I mean, they are for your dad after all. It’s his day and it’s only right that these look the part,” he said with a slight playfulness. “You made these all by yourself?” He asked you as he added the last few sprinkles and set the bowl back to the counter.

“Mhm! Luckily they were already in the oven before dad left. Can’t have the old man seeing his surprise.” You laughed nervously and fiddled with your fingers before stepping towards the refrigerator. You then open one of its doors, gesturing with your hand for the man to place the cupcakes on the available shelf inside. He followed suit and you closed the door gingerly, keeping the desserts nice and chilled until your father was ready to return home. You reached both your arms behind your neck, pulling the ribbon of your apron loose from its knot. You were about to do the same for the one at the back of your waist, when you felt a presence swiftly move behind you. “I-I can get this one for you, sweetheart.” Bucky’s fingers latched onto the tails of the knot, hesitating to pull them as he realized where his current position was. As he was stood so closely to you, his nostrils were pleasantly blessed with the scent of your lavender perfume, his eyes had been locked on the curves of your waist through your tantalizing dress, and the plumpness of your rear just centimeters away from his crotch.

He exhaled sharply and quickly regained focus, finally pulling the knot apart. The apron came off your body and you promptly folded it and placed it in one of the cabinets below. You gave the man a quick “thank you” and your lips curved into a smile that could make his heart stop. “Y-yeah, no problem,” he stuttered and took some steps away from you. You turned your head to the piping bag that you had set aside, picking it up and squeezing a dollop of the red and blue mixed butter cream onto the pad of your pointer finger. Then, you stuck that same finger between your lips, moaning softly as the sugary goodness melted on your tongue. Bucky watched on, hopelessly wishing that he could hear you sound just as adorable if you got a taste of him in your mouth.

God, it’s illegal how purely cute you are.

“You wanna have a taste? I promise it’s really good! Made it with a lot of love.”

Fuuuuuck!

He nodded eagerly and you gave the plastic bag a good squeeze onto your finger again, closing the distance between you and him and inching the icing to his mouth. “Say ahh,” you said, prompting him to part his lips and let your finger in. He did just that and groaned, allowing himself to drown in its delectable flavor that had luckily been mixed with hints of your own saliva. His cheeks became flushed and hot as he sucked around your knuckle for a good minute, being sure to get every last bit of cream before releasing it. “Hehe, must have really done a good job then. Looks like you love it,” you giggled as you pulled your hand back to you, daring yourself to try more of the icing.

“Are you kidding? Good job? Sweetheart, that was amazing! Your dad’s gonna love this, I know it!” His compliment went straight to your heart, making it flutter in your chest. “Tha-thank you, Mr. Barnes! I guess now we wait until he gets back so we can all eat his surprise together.” The way you said his formal name so considerately sent his blood rushing all the down to the pole in his jeans, fortunately then being baggy enough to hide the evidence of his arousal out of your sight. You propped yourself to sit on top the kitchen counter, eating more butter cream to satisfy your sweet tooth. A chuckle escaped Bucky’s throat as he folded his arms and stood inches away from your side. “Honey, are you trying to get cavities? I’m surprised you haven’t gotten any at all, with how already sweet you are and all.”

Your face flamed with heat, making you clear your throat and gulp, shaking your head in a bit of denial. “It’s fine honestly. Like I said, I made it with lots of love! And a person can’t get enough of that, right?”

You’re made with a lot of love too, doll face~

Bucky nodded to your words with his eyes soon getting distracted as they traveled all over your sat body. He caught on to the bit of cleavage that peaked from your wide neckline, and stopping at the short skirt of your dress that rode up half your thighs, revealing their plush, squishy skin as they were shut together. Then without really thinking about it, he moved himself and stood in front of you. Your eyes widened with your finger being trapped between your teeth mid suck from another portion of your cupcake icing. He then drew his face near yours with little gap separating you from him, and both his strong arms caging your petite form inside as he held the edge of the marble counter.

He looked down at you, with a hunger deep in his hooded stare as he urged himself to speak with confidence. “I bet you taste even better though, doll,” he smirked. “So pretty and delicate, and filled with… love, aren’t you?” You readily yanked your finger out your mouth to try and answer him, but nothing left your vocal cords once you parted your trembling lips. You were so surprised at his sudden mood change, but not completely unsettled by it. His closeness felt strangely comfortable, yet bursting with an hot arousing aura that you couldn’t get away from even if you tried. “I-I… Mr. Barnes..?” Bucky subtly sucked and bit the bottom of his lip as his name was spoken in your voice again, almost clawing at the counter’s edge with his nails to ground himself.

“Oh, sweetheart, I know I’ve only met you just today but I’m already obsessed.” He leaned forward, his lips lightly grazing your pair and slowly pulling the piping bag you still held away from your grasp. He then paused, almost as if he was waiting on your approval. His hand gradually brought itself up to the back of your neck, holding it with care as it were glass not meant to be broken. Your expression softened as you felt his warm palm against your tender skin and stared at him in the eyes. You hadn’t even realized your body moving on its own once you finally planted your lips onto Bucky’s. Both your orbs fluttered shut along with his, kissing each other slowly but passionately. You let out a little squeak as you got intruded by his thick, whirling tongue, slipping between your lips and teeth to play with your own, and tasting the lingering flavor of the previously eaten butter cream in your mouth. With a slight tilt, your head leaned into his palm once it cupped your cheek, and the moans you had kept so silent, managed to escape into the brunette’s mouth, causing him to groan and deepen the heated kiss further.

Your thighs instinctively spread apart and your hands reached for his biceps, pulling his body snugly between your legs. The two of you shortly pulled away to catch your breath, still holding onto one another whilst gazing into each other’s souls. You were about to say something when Bucky stopped you dead in your tracks. “So… looks like I was right. You do taste better,” he chuckled and gave you a peck on your nose. He gently held your chin up in his index finger and thumb. You wanted to turn your face to hide your burning embarrassment but he wouldn’t let you. “If you don’t mind me asking, doll, when’s your dad comin' back, hm?” Bucky nipped at your jawline, trailing his teeth down your sensitive neck to earn more of your needy whines.

“When he left, h-he… he said he’d be ba-back in two hours,” you stuttered in response. The man briefly checked his gold wristwatch, smirking to himself as he found enough time to have his fill of you. Just about an hour left to be exact. Just enough to taste more of you. It wasn’t very long before Bucky sunk down to his knees, having you jolt astonishingly while he spread your thighs even wider with his large hands, revealing to him your silk panties shielding away your most vulnerable area. He lifted two of his fingers and lightly rubbed at your protruding wetness through the silk. He then moved his fingers away and leaned in closer, sticking his wide tongue freely and pressed it onto your clothed cunt. You yelped and grabbed hold of the marble counter’s edge, thinking to yourself how much more of his boldness could you possibly handle.

He made a few more kitten licks before hooking his finger in the crotch of your panties, pulling them to the side to expose you sopping pussy out to the open. A shiver unsurprisingly passed through you as the cool air hit your entrance. You looked down at him as he physically shuddered at the sight of you, practically marveling at the gorgeous flower that blossomed between your legs, tempting him with your dripping nectar. Bucky’s fingers dug into the flesh of your thighs and he lunged his mouth onto your hardened bud, lapping at it and your hole with incredible vigor. “A-ahh, Mr. Barnes!” Your fingers ran through his brown locks and latched securely in your fist, along with your thighs squeezing around his head to keep him there.

The excessive flicks and subtle nibbles at your clit nearly sent you through the roof. The vibrations of his throaty grunting and the bristles of his heavy stubble grinding against your sex slowly turned your brain to mush. “Fuuuck, you taste so good, baby,” he muffled in your wet folds. “I don’t think I can ever get enough of you.” Bucky could feel his dick stiffen more than it already had been, twitching and leaking precum into his jeans just from being able to devour you whole. In his best friend’s own kitchen no less. The act was so filthy and deceitful but he couldn’t care less because he had you exactly how he wanted you. You arched your back and pointed your pedicured toes in your blue flat shoes as your squeals echoed throughout the room, shutting your eyes and pulling at his hair.

The heat built up ferociously under your skin as the knot inside you drew close to unraveling above him. Mouth gapping as you gasped for portions of air. By that moment, the starved brunette could tell that you were about to let loose, chuckling deeply and without warning, plunging two fingers inside you. Your eyes shot open at his sudden intrusion, feeling their quick, curling and scissoring motions along your spongy walls, occasionally nudging your good spot. “You’re so close, aren’t you, baby? Yeah? You wanna cum, don’t you, sweetheart?” You nodded your head aggressively, not trusting your own mouth to talk just yet. “You can… it’s ok. Just let go for me. Lemme savor you,” he cooed before having his tongue return to your throbbing pearl.

Taking his words to heart, the knot ultimately came loose and you came all over his greedy tongue. Bucky soon locked eyes with you as he relished in your extraordinary juices before parting ways with your aching cunt. You got a good look at how your cum glazed the hairs of his beard and his fingers, panting profusely with shaken legs. He quickly got off his knees and stood upright, teasingly sucking the slick off his digits in front of you. “Yup, I can definitely get used to this,” he commented smugly towards you. He watched you trying to catch your breath, stepping close and cupping your face in his hands. Your eyes glistened back at his steel blue ones as you exhaled deeply. “Doing alright, sweetheart? I didn’t break ya, did I?” You let out a giggle and shook your head, reassuring him that you were okay.

“Was I… really better than the butter cream?” You asked him curiously through your grin and a tilted head. He smiled back and pulled your face in for a deep, breathy kiss. The flavor of your cum still stuck on his lips and slobbering tongue, allowing you to have a proper taste of yourself from his mouth. “Hmmm, guess I am pretty good.” Bucky snorted out a laugh at your astounded reaction and reached his hands down to your waist, helping you get off the counter and fixing your panties back into their respective place. You patted the skirt of your sundress down and looked up at the man whose hair was partly disheveled from your hand’s pulling. You then raised your arms up and tried to fix his brown strands back into place. As you did so, he reached into his jeans pocket and pulled out a handkerchief to wipe his chin clean, as though nothing had really happened.

“All better, just like new!” You cheered and he walked over to the kitchen sink to wash his hands. “We should probably clean up that counter too. Can’t have Steve raising his eyebrows at our… mess,” he suggested and clutched a few sheets of paper towels, handing you a spray bottle of disinfectant. You hummed in agreement and took the bottle, spraying the liquid onto the marble so he could wipe it down. Just as you both were cleaning up, you hadn’t noticed your dad coming through the front door until you heard his voice booming through the walls. “Hey guys! I’m back! Hope I didn’t miss out on anything!” You both froze on the spot and glanced at each other before you opened your mouth to answer back. “W-we’re in the kitchen, dad! And don’t worry, you haven’t missed a thing.” Bucky checked his watch and realized Steve had come back fifteen minutes early, assuming he must have gotten what he needed and rushed back home. Luckily, he arrived after the events of you and his best friend defiling his kitchen.

Talk about perfect fucking timing.

[yourlocalsmutwriter]

This year, I want to be a wetter, I mean better person - Mark Webber x reader

cw: age gaps (reader is in her 20s, Mark is in his 40s), perv! Mark, semi-public, squirting, author loves dilfs and hopes that one day dilfs will love her too

Whichever spirit possessed your parents to decide to move to the middle of nowhere, England was a hidden blessing. It may not have seemed that way when you had to endure their company for the 4 hour drive from the airport or when you knew that there was no one fuckable for miles. Not that you could get down and dirty under a family roof, whether it was somebody else's or your own. Nothing more haunting than staring down at the lone poster of Fernando Alonso from his Renaut era on your hideously painted walls while cumming. Or, more accurately faking an orgasm. So you spent a nice, festive Christmas Eve and Christmas in your new family home. Catalogued everything that went wrong in your life to land you in this position from the 26th onwards. Actually explored the town and found that at least 1 bar (as if it would have more than that not on the main street) was open on New Years.

Your parents were not party people. By 8, they had tucked in on the couch and were yawning through a holiday concert of some Dutch guy. You shimmied into the one presentable dress they had seemed to pack from your childhood home. "Conveniently," your cute clothes were in storage, and the owner was somewhere in Dubai at the moment. So you have to make do with this black piece. It's not your first choice. But at least the fact that you had grown some tits since being 18 a few years ago was comforting. You pass your parents by with a promise to not be long now. Being met with a sleepy "Don't worry, sweetheart." you know that they're going to sleep through the fireworks anyway.

To nobody's surprise, the bar isn't crowded. The raging bull is in a pathetic state. Some top 40 hits radio station is playing. The floor is sticky. The bartender looks like he's your parents' age, and it doesn't seem like he knows just what goes into your favorite Long Island iced tea. You sit down and ask him to keep pouring you rum and cokes until either he runs out or your wallet is empty. You sip his very boozy concoction slowly, as you're texting your friends. Complimenting their party fits. Asking details about potential hookups. Looking at pictures of their pets in ugly sweaters. As midnight draws near, someone else actually gets inside the bar. You look up and see a pair of green eyes and holy shit, it's a holiday miracle. It's Mark Webber. 9 time GP winner. Manager of your current favorite driver on the grid. Ultimate celebrity crush, Mark Webber. With the grace of a newborn giraffe, you slide out of your chair. You don't want him to see you, but at the same time, you need it to survive. There goes your cover of not knowing who he is. Now, the bar name makes sense. It all aligns like a jigsaw puzzle. The car themed coasters. The signed cocktail napkin framed on the wall. The only “fancy” drink on the menu being named the Aussie grit.

After you not so subtly go to the bathroom to reapply your lipstick and try to work wonders with a mascara wand, you go back to your place at the bar. Only Mark is next to you, bendy black straw into his namesake cocktail.

"Look, I don't know how much they paid you to tail me here, but I can double it." he says, and you're confused.

"You're some kind of journalist or something.” You shake your head, still too stunned that he's here, talking to you.

“Don't tell me you're just some big city girl whose boyfriend brought her to meet the parents, and now you're single because you found him groping his cousin. Because, believe me, that romcom's more of a staple than you think." He continues.

"Wow, how bad is this town that a young woman in a bar on NYE is news. My parents moved here in April. I'm visiting them for the first time. And so far, I haven't encountered any guys, much less the ones that think the best part of waking up is Folgers in their cup." You explain.

"Are your folks the couple who hate each other but are always bragging about their daughter's graduation in March?" Mark guesses, and you are once again stunned by just much this small town gets to people. Not only does a man that's starred into many of your wet dreams know your parents. No, that's not enough, he also knows they're not the perfect relationship role models. You can't help but wonder if it's hereditary and also the reason you haven't brought home a partner. Pushing that to the side, you reply to him with

"Just the ones.”

"You know your dad thinks we're best friends, and your mom keeps asking if I can hire you at Porsche or McLaren." He says and suddenly all the facetimes with your parents come back to you. The man with a very nice house who they invite over for tea sometimes. The one that's been a little under the weather lately. The one who drives a sports car to the center.

"You're motorsport Mark? Of course you are. Be grateful that you don't have any kids my age because I'd practically be your daughter in law too." You speak before you think, momentarily forgetting about the man's wife and kid. Then you wonder why he's out here with you and not back at home. You're inching to ask, but there is no way to say “are you divorced, and if yes, can I ride you into next year, please?"”. Especially after he hits you with a reminder of why that's a bad idea.

"You should be happy that your parents are proud of you, sweetheart. And that they want you to stick around with them here." He says.

"If I was, wouldn't I be about to watch the fireworks with them?" You ask.

"Still some time until that, isn't it? Wanna make it count?" He replies to your question with a question.

You agree, and there's two more Aussie Grits on the bar. The bar tender also places two laminated sheets of paper and two markers in front of you. The comic sans text on top says "New Years Resolutions" and the neat little lines give you 5 rows to write in.

"Sick of hearing us talk, aren't you?" Mark asks the other man, and the latter just grunts.

"Bet I can write mine before you finish your drink." The former driver says, clearly still a speed fiend. You shake on it, and you start chugging the strong drink. Meanwhile, he's adding chicken scratch sentences to the A4.

He beats you, and to his credit, all his resolutions are thought out and personal. You're happy to see that he's put "do more for Oscar" in there and giggle at the "post more on Instagram?". While you're still reading, he's busy gloating, making fun of you for not learning the most important thing in college - how to hold your liquor.

"What, like you could do any better. Mark, I'm surprised you're standing after the drinks you already had. I bet that I'll have to see you get locked in here till the morning for your own sake." You say, both posing a challenge and remembering the "beauty" of some more traditional British pubs. You hope that the one booth you see is at least comfortable. He doesn't back down, and you're on the clock, writing down what you want to accomplish in 2025. But your brain is buzzing from the drinks, from the way liquid is dripping down Mark's chin and onto his pants, by the fact that you're a horny drunk and the unavailable dilf next to you is too delicious to pass on. You lose, unsurprisingly. Handing over the list, you absent mindedly say

"You know I wouldn't mind your help with the last one, I'm sure you can make it happen, wink wink, nudge nudge.". You're referring to the item "attend my first grand prix," a dream of yours since getting into the sport. But apparently, in the rush, you had added a more nsfw goal under it. Because the item on your list that ended it prematurely was, in fact, "squirt for the first time.".

"You wanna double-check your work before saying things, sweetheart. " he asks, and you're mortified when you do. You start apologizing and gathering your things to leave. Mark places a strong hand on your bare thigh to stop you.

"I never said I wasn't going to do it. I'd be glad to. I'm just making sure that here and now is the place you want to bring this up." He says. Your jaw drops, and you're like a fish out of water.

"Aren't you married?" You ask. It's not the first that you thought would come out of your mouth. Yet, you have to hear him say it.

"Divorced. Technically, in the process of, but no ring. Empty house, and a cold bed. Only my left hand for relief." He says and you're picturing Mark pumping his cock in his fist. You cross your legs and clench your thighs slightly, which doesn't go unnoticed by the older man. He moves his hand and spreads them.

"And you, sweetheart? Do you have some secret boy toy to make your switch into adulthood more fun? Or a nice pretty girl like yourself that you've been shaking up with since your dorm days?" He asks.

"No. Same as you, but I use my right hand. My clit's too sensitive if I switch up my technique." You say, hellbent on making that man go crazy for you.

Mark looks around and tips a crisp 50-pound note from his wallet. You can't help but notice the little blue wrapper peeking out of the Italian leather. He calls over the bartender and asks for "2 coffees when we come back." You think the Aussie's going to take you to his car. Have you ruin his custom leather seats and make you lick up your mess as punishment? You guess he might even take you to his house, not that you have any idea where it is exactly. Ask you to hold on tight as the headboard to his once marital bed slams against the wall. Makes sure your sensitive little clit humps against the pillow as he's fucking you from behind.

But Mark drags you to the men's room instead. Spreads your legs and makes you grab the sink.

"You know I'm a man of few words. And as much as I'd love to start you off with a hands-on approach, I think you haven't earned it yet. So let's show you some videos first, huh?". He pulls out his phone and opens his Google drive. He's got a folder titled xxx and in it is maliciously organized subfolders by years.

"I can click any of them? And I'll see you making a woman squirt?" You say, impressed.

"Never met a girl whose pussy I couldn't make gush. Although I'd stick to the pre-retirement years." He says and you settle on a 2012 video. You know the later ones probably feature his ex. But this one stars a faceless blonde, all curves and moans. You squirm when Mark smacks her ass, watching it jiggle. You keep your eyes on how his tongue slides between her folds. You try to ignore how he's rolled up your dress and is just staring at your underwear. Watching it get wetter and wetter. You're too preoccupied with younger him to ask for his touch now.

The next video is a brunette, with pierced nipples and a possible disdain for Mark. That's gone when he slides into her, fingers pinching her clit. He makes her come too, and the next one and the one after that. You've seen enough. You turn and find him eye level with your cunt, long legs bent into a squat. He may be more than a decade older than in the video, but an old dog doesn't stop learning new tricks.

"Mark, I need you, please." You beg, beyond ready to be treated like one of his "little starlets" from the spank bank. You wonder if he'd film you too. Have your pussy soaking his cock in your juices as a memento of your time together.

"How do you want me, sweetheart?" He asks.

"Need you to fuck me, want to feel your cock inside of me, please." You moan out. And he's a perfect gentleman, because he promises he'll give it to you.

But first he slides his fingers to the front of your underwear and two of them are on your clit, rubbing. Maybe it's because of his height, that the length has spread even to his limbs. Maybe it's the dexterity, the sheer speed of his movements. Usually you'd prefer it starting slow, and building up. But with Mark, it was all climbing, starting at a 100 and moving towards 200 and above. Your hips are bucking against him, searching more. He slows just for a second in order to thrust two fingers inside of you.

"Look at you, already a mess. Did I get you so rilled up, sweetheart. Does this old man do it so much for you?" He asks and smiles as you can only groan and beg for more. He's not someone who draws out things, so he tells you to keep it up for him as he opens the condom package. He watches you whine that your fingers don't feel as good, that they aren't enough.

"Oh sweetheart, just you wait. You're going to be ruined." Mark says as he feeds you just the tip. He makes you take your hands off, replacing them with his. He thrusts up, matching his movements on your clit.

"It's too big, please." You say. Were you asking him for more or to stop? Your body seemed to favour the latter , because you were practically dripping on the bathroom floor. Mark uses his other hand to bring you closer to himself, his shallow thrusts pumping deeper and deeper. He's hitting that spot in your body, the one which you didn't even know existed.

"Be good and cum for me, will you, sweetheart? I don't have all night. So unless you want me to drag you out like this and fuck you on the town square under the fireworks, you better let go." Mark says. He does miss how tight you get around him when he talks like this. He continues, telling you how good you make him feel and how he can't wait to see your pretty orgasm face.That's what tips you over the edge. They're tears coming out of your eyes, you're pretty sure you're drooling and Mark's cock is indeed soaked with your juices. You can hear the obnoxious squelching of his last few thrusts, before he also comes.

He's still inside you when your alarm rings, the sound coming from your purse, long forgotten on the floor. You scramble to turn it off.

"One minute to midnight. Well, it's more like 20 seconds now." You announce. Mark takes your face in his hands (still slick with you) and kisses you gently. He doesn't have the heart to tell you that this is the first kiss he's had all year. You don't have the heart to tell him the same. All you know is that your return flight might be rebooked to a later date. You finally found something interesting to do in your parent's new town.

[megalomaniacz]

Heyy, I love your stories! Could you do a Caitlyn kiramman from arcane x fem reader? It can be about whatever

CAITLYN “KILLSHOT” KIRAMMAN 🏀 PT1

basketball caitlyn x cheerleader reader

pt 2

you were now sulking, feeling like the most hated human on campus, and almost none of it was your fault.

you cheered on the court before they played. giggled on the side with your friends. sat comfortably forgetting there was an ongoing prank war between your mates. felt something crawling on your head, and you got up screaming causing caitlyn “i never miss” kiramman to become distracted and lose her shot.

not only was the crowd silent, but every single person was eyeing you so cruelly, you were sure their gazes were hot enough to make you explode. you hid in the locker room bathroom until the game was over, tieing and untying your shoes, when the team came in.

“well that was certainly a game.” one team member breaks the defining silence. “kiramman never misses a shot.”

“and i still haven’t. that idiotic cheerleader was an unnecessary distraction, screaming and babbling like a bird. that doesn’t count, not in my book.” you began to bite your lip, unsure of how to face her. “i’m an excellent player and today doesn’t change that.”

“i thought you would be red in the face about it, i mean we’ve never seen you freeze up like that.” another player interferes.

caitlyn rolls her eyes, drinking from her water bottle. “and the world kept spinning.”

it took you a total of 72 hours to prepare everything for your apology to the team, especially caitlyn. you baked them cupcakes to enjoy after their next practice, scolded your fellow cheermates for the spider attack, declared the prank war over, wrote up a long apology letter and bought flowers for caitlyn.

you were now delivering them wearing your best sweater and your nicest skirt. she was loaded, got her own fancy off campus apartment and everything. you put in extra work trying to get her address.

when you knock on the door, a tall rough looking man wearing a pit stained shirt open it. he scratches his beard before looking you up and down. “are those for me?” he asks, pointing to the flowers.

you take a deep breath, internally cursing the dumbass kid in your psych class that gave you the address. $20 down the drain. you clear your throat and look up at him with a smile. “uh, no i was looking for someone named caitlyn. blue hair, a bit taller than me. does she live in this building?”

he crosses his arms. “now why the hell would i tell you? you some kind of stalker fan freak? the one writing lavender scented love letters?”

a laugh gets caught in your throat, then you realize that you do indeed look like one of her stalker fans. the kiramman “cuties” as they call themselves. caitlyn has been recognized recently for her skills as a player, and the obvious reason, her attractiveness. shes always stopped for pictures on campus, and was even on the news once.

“i promise i’m not a stalker. i’m here to apologize to her for-“

he huffs. “stalking. i’ve had enough of you and your collective. don’t you have any hobbies? you should be taking medicine for this, you freaks.”

before you can defend yourself, caitlyn opens the door next to his, and steps out. “relax jayce, this is the cheerleader i told you about. the screamer.”

the man, jayce, laughs then goes back inside. “good luck with that, kid.”

you’re left awkwardly staring at caitlyn. eyes looking everywhere but hers, biting your lips. “i uh, brought these for you. and there’s an apology letter in there-“

“do you want to come in?” she interrupts you.

you nod, looking her up and down. she was wearing a pleated skirt with blue tights and a white polo shirt. her hair was up in a bun, held together by a small flower clip. mary jane’s on her feet and you could smell her perfume as you walk past her into her apartment. a mix of wood and cinnamon hitting your nose.

her apartment looks like it’s right out of a magazine. fancy lamps, samsung fridge, an entire bookshelf in the living room filled with books. you take your shoes off and place them by the door, then you walk around admiring her place.

“this is beautiful.” you say, a glimmer in your eyes. you hear her laugh from behind your, then you turn around to see there’s a gun in her hand. panic ensues and you fall to the ground behind her large dining room table. “i’m sorry i made you miss your shot! pleasedontkillmeplease i have concert tickets for next month and i really want to go!” you beg, heart beating so fast you can hear it in your ears.

caitlyn laughs and you feel like you’re going to piss yourself when you hear her place the weapon down. “relax, i’m not going to kill you. i was just cleaning it. you can come out, promise i’m not gonna hurt you.”

you carefully stand up, then scurry across the room to give her the now crumbled letter and messy flowers. “i just wanna give you this. i’m so sorry about the other day there’s this prank war thing- it’s so stupid- but it’s over now and i’m sorry.” you breath, finally looking her in the eyes.

her face is stoic at first, then she smiles, taking her hair out of her bun and sitting on the couch. “thank you. this is all very sweet of you, but i’m always getting flowers and letters. how about you do me a favor?” she pats the spot on the couch next to her. you take a seat, feeling a swell of anxiety.

“be my date to this party my friend is throwing?”

[battingmyeyelashes]

‪‪❤︎‬ HELLO TO THE WEIRD BILL DICKEY ENJOYERS WHO LIKE WHEN HE IS MEAN. this ones for you. youre gonna wanna see this post. Maybe. or maybe not. idk. I need to chat about him right now. specifically like, grown adult & epilogue bill. there may be uhmm..mildly suggestive themes in this post Lol okay. buckle up, its a little long. some people might hate what i have to say. oops! ‪‪if you only like nice subby little bill dickey, this may not be the post for u. ❤︎‬

So, you may have seen my previous post complaining abt people turning bill into a whiny baby, hi, its me again.

I want everyone to look at this picture and understand something.

this is an entire grown man. pathetic as he is in his own special way, have you guys ever been around a grown man?? like, okay, i dont know where YOU guys are, but as an about 5'2" 105-ish pound girl, they are scary. and have you ever seen that one trend on tiktok where these girls ask their boyfriends (who are usually like older teenagers or maybe early 20's idk) to not hold back and tackle/wrestle them or grab them or something?? they do not have to be muscular or particularly athletic. the girls always end up saying something like "okay i didnt realize they were that strong. this trend is freaking me out now." i have also done this myself, yes it is real. it is a sobering experience ._.

men and teenage boys are for some reason gifted this weird natural strength just for having XY chromosomes. there have been actual studies done on this where they put unathletic guys up against very athletic women, and the guys are still able to overpower them. i do not know why, thats just the way we are built. please dont present me with any weird outliers, i will throw up, im just generally speaking.

that being said, i need us to get back into bills personality. i know people like leaning into his patheticness and making him subby and whiny, and as much as i find it kinda "funny heehee" to see on occasion, im trying to ground all of this stuff in reality more. how ironic of me. i know. he is actually a sociopath. with severe anger issues. he is very impulsive and mean. as i said in my previous post, i know jerry beat him up. but

1.) bill was not expecting jerry to start attacking him.

2.) jerry is also a grown man, not a woman.

3.) he ended up getting ganged up on by 3 grown men at the end of it all, i think at that point he has a right to be kinda freaked out lol.

i mean like LOOK AT THIS

i. wanna. see. people. making. him. insane. as. a. grown. man.

he would most definitely use his misogynist grown man strength against a woman for his own gain, lol. i do not recall ever seeing bill being a stuttering blushing shy mess around any girls? correct me if im wrong. i mean, he is a human being, he is bound to have shy or flustered moments, but evan himself has said that if he were confronted by a girl who liked him or something along those lines, he would be hostile, right? i think he would redirect his shy embarrassment into saying something mean. i guess kinda tsundere-ish? i dont know. i think if he even liked the girl back, he would occasionally be hurtful to her as a means to keep her at arms length and protect himself from feeling super vulnerable, and he'd likely enjoy holding things over her head as a way to control her and get her to do whatever he wants (like pervy pics he sneaks of her or like...screenshots of sexting thru email or text and threatening to blackmail her with them LOL idk) i think he CAN be nice sometimes, but i think that needs to be emphasized less.

he likes being in a position of power. we can see that in his little dream sequence thingy, and the way that he gets this kind of megalomania when he is put in charge of the shop.

I dont know if bill KNOWS that he is stronger and capable of overpowering a woman, im guessing he probably does know? i mean he seems to view women as "less than" in every other sense, so.

he has just never had the chance to test the theory out, but can you imagine how it would be if he DID??

imagine him finally getting into a relationship with her, and when she tries to leave him, he grabs her. and it clicks for the both of them.

it wasnt that difficult for him to grab her by the arm and pull her back to him. its not that hard for him to back her into a corner as shes shoving against his chest and hes not moving. i mean like, i think all the guys except for jerry put on some of that extra "nerd manchild" weight so that does not help either (omygosh whatever come punch my lights out for saying that i dont care).

imagine the power trip that would start for him LOL. imagine the possibilities...

does ANYONE see my vision at all?

hes such a mean little rat man wbvehshehsh i wish someone would understand this. and for anyone who thinks this is cringe or wants to ask me if this is a joke, no it is not a joke, i am not allergic to taking myself too seriously. i think this stuff is so much fun ‪‪❤︎‬ i just wanna find my likeminded individuals so we can all have fun & talk about this together ‪‪❤︎‬

EDIT:

i was also just reminded of THIS.

we arent going to sit here and forget about him being buried underneath like huge heavy boxes and being able to get all of them off idk, i guess you could say "muHh maybe they werent heavy" idk if youve ever lifted a box that's densely packed full of something but theyre VERY heavy. maybe just take my word for it lol. just pretty please with a cherry on top go read the replies to the post, u will understand lol ‪‪❤︎‬ 🍒

xoxo. bye bye. end post. reply with thoughts. or dont. whatevaa~

[dreamwatch]

Ramblin' Gamblin' Man

Written for @corrodedcoffinfest

Day #20 - Prompt: Under The Covers | Word Count: 979 | Rating: M | CW: period typical homophobia (alluded to) | POV: Steve | Pairing: Steddie | Tags: secret relationship, sharp suits, Steve Harrington is stupid for Eddie Munson, Fluff but make it lustful

Steve’s at the Grammys. Holy Shit.

It’s not the first time Eddie’s been here, but it’s the first time he’s brought Steve. He walked the red carpet alone last time, the rest of the band ahead of him with their wives and girlfriends, Eddie playing up the bachelor angle. Steve watched from their home. 

Tonight they’re ’best friends if anyone asks’, which Eddie thinks is unlikely because there are some big names here and like, who the fuck are they in the scheme of things?

They’re not nominated for anything; Eddie said they’d been asked to play a cover of Ramblin’ Gamblin Man and both Wayne and Steve’s dad are big Bob Seger fans so the band said yes. See, its little things like that that make him want to climb inside Eddie and never come out. Any other act is thinking about the prestige, Eddie’s thinking about whether his family would like it.

He loves this man so fucking much.

The band are sitting about ten rows back; he’s got a clear view of Sheryl Crow from his seat, and he’s pretty sure that’s the back of Whitney Houston’s head over to his left.

His new phone is buzzing in his pocket. Robin is obsessed with sending him messages. Tonight so far:

‘Is Stevie Nicks there?’

‘If she is please tell me she’s hot.’

‘Shit I think I just saw you!’

‘Is that Sheryl Crow in front of you?’

He deletes them to make space for new messages, hopefully something about how their friends are at the goddamn Grammys and not whether Shania Twain has a nice ass. (She does, he looked.)

Eddie taps his arm. “Okay, we have to go get changed.”

“Huh? Why?”

They’re wearing their ‘Corroded Coffin smart attire’, essentially their usual clothes minus the rips. They’re not exactly scruffy, per se, but… Steve’s in a suit here, you know? (The suit is borrowed, but it’s all about the effort.)

Eddie grins at him. “You didn’t think I was performing at the Grammys in this, did you?” He pulls at the long sleeve tee he’s wearing under his new leather jacket. 

“I mean, yeah, I kind of did.”

Eddie tsks. “For shame, Steve.” He leans in, achingly close, his breath tickling Steve’s neck. “Wish me luck.”

Just for a second Steve thinks about kissing him. Fuck everyone else, fuck the fans, the industry, he just wants to kiss his man publicly. But he doesn’t. Instead he shifts so his lips are practically touching the shell of Eddie’s ear.

“Good luck,” he whispers. 

Eddie shivers. Steve laughs.

The boys all leave, and now it’s Steve and The Wives.

Thirty minutes later the sound of a trashy high-hat fills the auditorium, lights flashing in time to the thu-thu thump bass drum pattern. Despite Jeff being their lead vocalist it’s Eddie, with his raspier, bluesier voice, that’s taking the lead tonight, and doesn’t that just make Steve’s heart fucking cry out with pride? And you know, Eddie, his Eddie, singing at a nationally televised event should be the thing he’s concentrating on, and it is! It is. But when the lights go up the first thing he actually notices is—

“Holy shit, they’re wearing suits!” 

Bonnie says it before anyone else gets a chance. He imagines the four of them are a picture right now, side by side, eyes on stalks because their men are all on stage at the Grammy’s wearing blacks suits, crisp white shirts and… fucking sunglasses. 

Look, he’s seen Eddie in a suit. It was a nice suit, but he looked about as comfortable as a priest in a lingerie store. This is not that.

These are sharp tailored suits, fitted to perfection. Eddie has too many buttons undone on the shirt, some of his chest exposed, that old Fender guitar pick necklace replaced with a solid silver copy (the original with Wayne). The stage lights hit his mirrored Ray Bans, the chain, the rings. But Steve can’t take his eyes off that fucking suit.

He’s going to devour him.

Eddie’s not a frontman, says he loves being able to just do his thing and let Jeff take care of the crowd. But he has a feeling things might change after tonight. 

The audience are on their feet, and Steve grabs the girls so they can head down to the backstage area. They have passes but even then he has to pull the ‘pregnant ladies coming through’ card to get them back to the green room. And when they get in there--

They’re still dressed in those fucking suits.

Eddie spins toward him. “Hey! What did you—“

Steve doesn’t give him a chance to finish the sentence, he has his hands on Eddie’s face and he’s dragging him in for a long, deep kiss, Eddie’s eyes wide and cross eyed.

When he finally comes up for air he realises Jeff, Gareth and Matt are all getting much the same treatment from their wives.

“You’re never taking this off, understand?” Steve says breathlessly. “Never.”

“What… the suit?”

“Duh, the suit, yes the suit. You’re never taking it off. I don’t care what you’re doing, mowing the lawn, taking the trash out, washing the car, don’t care. This,” he says gently pulling at a very expensive lapel, “is never leaving your body.” He goes in for another kiss. “God the things I’m going to do to you tonight.”

“In the suit?”

“Fuck yes, in the suit! Told you, you’re never taking this off.”

Eddie’s grin is slow and mischievous. “This is really doing it for you, huh?”

“You have no idea.”

It’s doing it for everyone. There are three respectable married ladies here, mothers no less, acting like groupies at an Aerosmith gig. 

Steve squeezes his hips. “Let’s go.”

“Sunglasses: on or off?”

Steve wants to sink his teeth into him right here.

“On. Definitely on.”

The song:

The inspiration:

[hopelessromanticwh0re]

20:40

One of the most exciting days for you was always when Vernon came back home after weeks or sometimes months on tour. He would sweep you into the biggest, warmest hug, making you feel whole again. You’d spend hours catching up, talking about the tour, how much you missed each other, and the new foods he’d tried while he was away. To top it all off, you’d always go on a date that same day—usually something silly and fun like the arcade or bowling.

However, today was different from your usual routine. Vernon came home looking tired, but there was something else, too—something that seemed to be weighing on him. The hug that usually melted all your worries away felt short and distant. Instead of heading to your shared room to talk, Vernon quietly slipped off his old clothes, threw on some basketball shorts, and lay down on the bed, face halfway buried in the pillow.

You followed him, sitting on your side of the bed and looking at your boy.

“Baby,” you said softly, giving him a gentle shake. Vernon turned his head slightly to look at you, his eyes heavy with exhaustion, and his pink lips set in a pout.

“Bub, you okay?” you asked, stroking his fluffy brown hair.

“Just sleepy,” he mumbled.

“Yeah?” you replied, and he nodded.

“Sleep well,” you whispered, leaning down to kiss his cheek. “Love you.”

“Love you too, bub,” he murmured, finally closing his eyes completely.

Vernon ended up sleeping longer than you expected, and eventually, you drifted off as well. When you woke up, it was around 1 a.m., and you noticed Vernon wasn’t beside you. You found him on the patio, smoking a blunt in silence. He didn’t smoke often, but when he did, you knew something was wrong.

“Baby,” you said quietly from the doorway. Vernon sat on a chair, his elbows on his knees, the blunt in his right hand. He turned his head to look at you.

“Hi, Princess,” he said, motioning for you to sit on his lap. You walked over, straddling his lap and burying your head into the crook of his neck.

“Sorry we didn’t get to talk much today,” he whispered, rubbing your back.

“It’s fine,” you assured him, your voice soft.

“What’s the matter, baby?” you asked, lifting your head to look into his eyes. Vernon placed the blunt in the ashtray and shook his head.

“Love, you can tell me,” you encouraged, bringing your hands from his neck to his hair. “That’s what I’m here for.”

He took a deep breath before speaking. “I think I want to go back private,” he said, looking into your eyes. You paused for a moment, waiting to see if he had more to say.

“That’s fine,” you replied without hesitation.

“I saw the way people were talking in your comments the other day,” he continued.

A few days ago, you had posted a picture of you and Vernon before he left for tour. Some fans were upset, leaving hurtful comments, but you hadn’t taken them to heart. Vernon knew that things like this didn’t usually bother you, but he still didn’t like that it was happening. He had also received a bunch of messages about the post from fans.

“And I’m so sorry you have to see all those mean things just because I’m your boyfriend,” he said, his sad brown eyes looking up at you. He rested his head on your chest, and you gently played with his hair.

“And I don’t want to be a bad boyfriend and not protect you from that kind of stuff,” he added.

“Oh, baby, don’t apologize,” you soothed, still running your fingers through his hair. “It’s not your fault. You shouldn’t feel guilty because of other people’s actions.”

“But if I was a regular guy, you wouldn’t have to deal with this kind of stuff,” he murmured.

“Maybe, but I knew what I was getting into when you asked to be my boyfriend,” you reassured him.

“I just feel like a bad boyfriend for putting you through that,” he said, sounding slightly upset.

“You’re not a bad boyfriend. You’ll never be a bad boyfriend,” you said gently, trying to calm him down.

“Are you sure?” he whispered.

“Positive,” you affirmed. “But, baby, if you feel this way, we can go back private—just me and you.”

“Yeah?” he asked quietly, looking at you with hope in his eyes.

“Of course,” you said, smiling at him.

Vernon wrapped his arms around you even tighter, placing tender kisses on your neck and up to your cheek.

“You’re truly the most perfect girl in the world,” he whispered in your ear. “Like, seriously, I don’t know what I did to deserve someone like you.”

“I’d do anything for you, baby, and you know that,” you said before kissing his soft lips. “I’m happy if you’re happy.”

“I didn’t like sharing you that much anyway,” he teased, making you laugh. He smiled at the sound of your laughter.

“I love you so much, Princess,” he whispered near your ear, his voice filled with affection.

“I love you too, bub,” you replied, giggling at his ticklish kisses.

That night, you both decided to take a step back from the public eye. You deleted all your posts with Vernon and made your account private. Vernon deleted his post with you and logged off Instagram for a while.

It was just you and him, back to where you both felt most at peace.

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

okay so im back yet again. I wrote this like a month ago while I was listening to Mac miller and like came up with this idea idk. im not sure if it like my best work or even its a good idea in general, but yk it whatever. I hope you liked it guysss ily sm and thank for reading ofcc LOVE YAAA 🩷!! (also this was not proof read sooo sry if I fucked up somewhere)

[shiny-kaibernyte]

Romantic Leon headcanons, please?

Thank you! Finally someone requested Leon! You have asked and i as your humble writing servant shall oblige.

Leon | Romantic Headcanons

Leon absolutely adores you, through and through. Everything about you, your insecurities, your passions, your hobbies, your little quirks: to him it's all more things to love about you. He sees you as the center of his world, the core that keeps him grounded and warms his heart.

Seeing you interact with Hop or his mother, jelly instantly. Leon is a family man - fight me. So seeing you laughing with his little brother after you catch him off guard during a fight, or listening to your bonding moments with his mother. Heart eyes, literal heart eyes on this man.

Gentleman, opening doors for you, pulling out your chair, escorting you around cities or busy settings. He is always wanting to impress you, and chivalry seems to be his go to in doing that. 

Leon is NOT afraid to make a fool of himself. If you are ever upset and you need a pick me up, if a cuddle or words of affirmation aren't enough. Then he will do everything to make you laugh and yes, he is not afraid to be a clown in public. 

Will not hesitate to take his cloak off when you're cold. If he doesn’t have his cloak on, then his jacket, it's not as warm but it's the next best thing! 

An arm-linker. Wherever you go, he adores it when you hold onto his arm that classic royal way. Not only because he gets to be so close to you, able to talk to you whilst walking without worrying if you heard him or not. But it also means you won’t fall behind him. Leon is tall and walks with a PURPOSE! Even if he has no idea where he's going. If he tied his hair in a ponytail, it would be SWINGING.

Surprisingly enough he doesn’t like to battle you, he would much prefer watching or battling alongside you. Something about winning against you hurts him. Even if you are jumping for joy when he wins, not a care in the world just proud of him. Leon can’t help but feel something tug at him. Hop though, ohhhh boy you cannot leave that HOUSE without battling him first. And no Leon is not picking sides you are both his family even if he knows who very clearly will win.

Has never been late to a date once. On the rare occasion you don’t go out together and he decides to surprise you with a spontaneous day out, it is a 50/50 chance he is either in the middle of a field somewhere or Raihan calls you asking if you lost a Leon. Still not late though.

SPOILS YOU on birthdays, anniversaries, holidays. He will ALWAYS spend money on you, why? Because he can and he wants to. Being Champion and even an ex-champion, he is LOADED! And never spends money on himself unless it's something broken. You have to steal his wallet to STOP him spending money. What kind of uno-reverse is that?

Leons love languages are words of affirmation, physical affection. After the last point you'd think gift giving would be on here? Not really. He only gives gifts on special occasions. He thinks surprise gifts are pointless as eventually they become predictable. Whereas an embrace or an i love you are always special no matter how many times they happen.

Forehead kisser and a cheek cuper. Leon loves to just pull you into a warm embrace randomly and kiss you on the forehead, whispering i love yous before cupping your face and kissing you. It's his go to. 

Cuddly sleeper, he has to have you in some kind of embrace. Is also a light sleeper and doesn’t mind if you wake him up to move. He has had to leave late at night because of Rose so many times that getting him into a deep sleep is so rare.

When he DOES get into a deep sleep, it's always on the sofa. Hair a mess, hat on the floor, arm up, he looks like Anna from frozen when she was asleep in that one scene. It is truly a hilariously adorable sight to behold. Many pictures have been taken. Both Hop and Raihan have about 20 saved.

[boltwrites]

NEED to know what happens when logan meets your parents for the first time - does he flirt w/ your mom? What do they think about the age gap? Does your dad like him or is he all "nobody's good enough for my princess😤" do they know you're mutants? Giving you full creative freedom to do as you please just give it to me 😭😭

A/N: ok, so since you've given me creative freedom, we have: 20s-ish mutant fem!reader who teaches at the mansion on 10005, old man worst wolverine!logan, the two of you met after the events of dp3 and the relationship progressed from there.

also. this shit has been giving me so many problems. i was really trying to write typical white-picket fence, suburban sitcom-style parents, but honestly? i don't know dick about those type of parents. so you get these assholes instead.

this may actually be one of the worst things i've ever written. i might add a part two at some point, but really i just think this is horrible and want it out of my sight lmao. so here you go.

Your palms were sweaty, your heart racing, as you reached for the doorknob to your childhood home, Logan standing to your side. The last time you'd brought a boy home (and he had been a boy) things hadn't ended well.

Your dad was a traditionalist, you see, and your mom - well, she wasn't one to judge your choices, but you could tell that sometimes when you told her about your love interests, she was holding in laughter. But your dad - he was very vocal about the expectations he had for your partners. He'd never treated you like some kind of princess or prize - oh no. he was a man who saw his children as students of his own knowledge. No matter what your gender, he had taught you how to trim a tree, change a tire, wire a light switch, cook a filling meal - the basics of owning a home and keeping it put together.

Because of that, your parents hadn't often approved of your previous boyfriends. In high school, you'd been too frightened to bring them home. You'd only attended a traditional public school for your freshman year, and the rest of your time spent at Xavier's you'd been far too worried about your dates accidentally exposing themselves as mutants to justify introducing them to your parents. They weren't anti-mutant, per-say... but they certainly weren't supportive, and you didn't want to put even your prom date through that.

As you grew older (graduated college, was hired on as a teacher at the mansion instead of a simple student), you came to understand the reasons why your parents were so discerning as to your choice in men. Your mother's stoic judgment wasn't meant to be mean - she just wanted you to choose a man for more than just superficial attraction, to think of the bigger picture. Which, you'd been blissfully unaware of, as a teen. Your father's traditionalism wasn't rooted in outdated gender norms - it was simply connected to the fact that he wanted your partner to be able to support both you and your household in a significant way. That's why he was always harping on picking a "real man" - not some newfound conservative bullshit, but the simple understanding that sometimes men tried to do the bare minimum, and that he knew you deserved so much more.

And Logan, well. He could certainly support you. He was unlike any man you'd ever dated. He didn't have any social media you had to worry about - no feed or "for you" page filled with scantily clad women and sexist messaging disguised as finance advice - only a stupid flip phone he refused to text you on. He was helpful, attentive, affectionate - even despite the trauma you'd both experienced as mutants. You understood that his struggled has affected him far more than your had, that he still needed to heal - and even though that strained your relationship at times, you knew he cared, knew he tried - so you fought for it. That was something you couldn't say about your previous boyfriends.

Plus, you knew he could handle your weirdass parents.

"Nervous?" He'd asked you, when you asked him if he wanted to meet your parents. You'd given him a side-eyed look as you posed the concept, like you were giving him an out to decline.

"I mean, kind of?" You responded, hesitant. All he did was chuckle, smirking at you.

"What, am I gonna pull up to your dad cleaning his shotgun in the garage?"

"Honestly? Maybe, but that's not what I'm worried about," you admitted, fidgeting. "It's... it's hard to explain. I guess the closest thing is that they're - funny? Like - they'll make fun of you. My dad - he makes all of these horrible inappropriate jokes, like, all the time, and my mom is just really sarcastic, and she seems super judgmental because of it, but really, she's just being funny."

Logan just looked at you, one eyebrow raised. "

What?" You asked. You'd expected more from him. But he just snorted.

"Babe, I've been stuck in the void with Wade-fucking-Wilson. I'm not scared of your parents."

So, you took a breath, offered Logan one last "brace yourself-" and pushed open the door. Immediately you were met with the smell of something cooking - you recognized it immediately as one of your dad's signature dishes, sizzling on the stove.

"Hey, we're here!" You called out, you tried to usher Logan in and up the stairs of your split-level, but he insisted on closing the door behind you - and the shitty screen door that had been around since before you were born made a horrible shaking, scraping metal sound as it bounced along the concrete of your porch. Ah, the sound of home.

"Hey, you!" Your dad called, poking his head out of the kitchen. "What're you- hey, ho! Who's this?" He gestured to Logan with the spatula in his hand, and your face immediately reddened.

"Dad, this is Logan."

"Hey," Logan nodded in greeting, and your dad made a little shocked noise.

"Logan? Who's Logan?"

"Jesus Christ-" you huffed it under your breath, and Logan tried to stifle a chuckle. "He's my boyfriend, remember?"

"Boyfriend?" Your dad's voice pitched higher. "That motherfucker looks older than me!"

Well. There was your dad getting right to the point, as per usual.

"I am," Logan replied, and you fucking elbowed him in the ribs.

"No mutant shit - they don't know," you hissed a reminder, and he rolled his eyes.

"Hey - you see this guy, Nikki?" Your dad called to the dining room.

Your mom sighed - unlike your dad, she had some kind of decorum, and had the decency to shoot him daggers before she met you and Logan at the top of the steps.

"It's nice to meet you, Logan," she greeted him - you could tell that she was fighting the all consuming urge to shoot you a look or make a joke about this whole thing. She was trying so hard. It was like that scene in Who Framed Roger Rabbit with the shave and a haircut song.

"Would you like something to drink?" she asked. "Since you're clearly old enough-"

It was like some demon forced her to spit out that line. You snorted, had to shake your head. This was a mistake.

"What do you have?" Logan asked instead, wrapping an arm around your shoulders, smirking at the whole situation. It was like he lived to see you embarrassed.

"Water, coke, iced tea -" she listed off.

"My dad's shitty beer," you added, and Logan's brow raised.

"Hey! Busch is good beer!"

"No the fuck it is not," you replied, because he didn't even drink the light stuff.

"I don't care, I'll take the beer," Logan cut in, and your dad wagged a finger at him.

"Yeah! I'll get you one - it's good shit, man. Somebody watch the stove."

Oh good lord. There he goes. Logan shot you a look - lip quirked into a little smile, before your dad clapped him on the shoulder and hauled him towards the stairs.

That just left you. And your mom.

She looked at you. You looked at her.

"Well?" you asked, stepping up to take your dad's place at the stove to watch the food. Your mom shrugged in response.

"Well, what?"

"Aren't you going to ask me about him - make some weird comment about his age? I mean - now would be the time," you hedged. You just hated this weird aura surrounding you all. How it felt like she had so many questions to ask, but was holding them all back.

"Obviously I can tell he's old," your mom replied. "It's not really a discussion. Is there something we do need to talk about?"

You knew what she meant. Were you safe with him? Were you happy? Did you bring him here to meet them because you needed help, not because you wanted to share your happiness with them?

Some people might find that sort of implication unthinkable, or rude to address - but you knew your mom. She watched a lot of true crime. She just cared about you.

"No," you replied, with a sigh. "I-I really like him. He's a good man. He actually - he knows how to be a man, if you know what I mean. How to take care of himself. I don't know - I didn't realize how important that was until I met him."

You mom nodded. Her arms were crossed, and she wore her typical resting bitch face, but you could tell she understood what you meant.

"Well. Hopefully your father doesn't shoot him."

[smolsleepyfox]

Okay so, I attended a VERY local event where Falk was a speaker. By very local I mean there were maybe 20 people in a refurbished bar and he hung out with us after the Q&A.

Things that he mentioned in no particular order:

- PW didn't have a crew on tour until around 2008 and it didn't include a sound tech, that came way later

- they used a refurbished truck they bought in ye olden days and one time Matthew said he smelled fire. They told him it was his croissant. It was not his croissant.

- Falk is the organizer and logistics guy for the tour because (my interpretation) he can't stand not knowing if everything is going okay. Including checking the weather constantly during festival season

- he's also super nervous about his keyboards not arriving when they take a flight. Apparently they have been hidden to prank him before.

- the band knows exactly how to push each other's buttons by now and it is being used lmao

- his favorite video shoot was We don't wanna be no saints because his slimy (his words) character was really fun to play and it was a great location

- the tennis video was just a spur of the moment thing. The biggest issue was actually getting a tennis ball because the location is in the middle of nowhere. Roel had to drive to several stores.

- Yes the staff broke, but they fixed it again lmao.

- Falk has murdered at least four harmoniums by now. Most of them were from eBay. One instrument he actually refurbished himself, he showed us photos it was great.

- Also, the guitars in the Sinners of the Seven Seas video were the original stage guitars. They had to have their entire wiring redone after.

- the water corpse pose in Sinners was something he made up because standing in the water, his legs couldn't move the way he wanted them to for his usual poses. Apparently the entire shoot was very physically demanding.

- rain scenes are fine but My Will Be Done was hard because they used water AND wind, and looking chill while being pelted in the face with artificial rain is rough. Also, there were just literally people standing on the sides throwing leaves into the wind for the scene, which is hilarious to me.

- Falk was HORRIBLY seasick during the filming of Sinners. The ship apparently didn't actually move much but the difference in motion patterns to modern ships and the slanted deck was not fun. He was however very appreciative of the ship itself and the crew that worked it.

- Falk forgot the name of Demons are a girl's best friend during the interview lmao

- when i said i liked his tattoos he got excited to show them and seemed almost annoyed that he started so late in life. He's planning a full sleeve apparently (good for him!)

- I was a bit surprised but even when speaking to people who did use heavy dialect, Falk didn't switch from standard German. Some phrases still slipped out certainly and some pronunciation struggles (ch pronounced as sch are an easy tell) but otherwise nope, nothing. I've heard Attila speak more dialect in BtS videos.

- Falk for his perspective on fandom especially in contrast with Ghost and Sleep Token (I answered an ask about that recently) since I was curious if he had an idea why three bands with similar themes have such a different type of fandom around it. His best guess was that Powerwolf are kind of approachable (case in point that I'm writing this) whereas Sleep Token and Tobias from Ghost are more at a distance.

And lastly, not only did I get a picture, I got the title page of my thesis signed (in green marker because I didn't find anything else at my brother's house). And Falk got a copy of my thesis, since he seemed genuinely happy to read it. I really do hope he likes it!

Overall he was an incredibly down to earth, funny, and kind person even four beers in and very very tired. He said bye to us with a hug as well 🥺

[j3suschr111st]

dolly. chapter i

"inhuman"

distant mind and gray noise, an isolated doll maker haunted by past choices comes to ablution when he encounters his own prototype. the story of two souls unaware of their beauty.

pairing: perv!san x fem!reader

genre: angst, smut (mdni)

tw: nsfw, gore, violence, not for the fainthearted.

word count: 2.8k

series masterlist. next chapter.

୨୧

he's exhausted, heavy eyelids, darkness, yet for some reason, rest won't come easy. he hasn't even taken his work gloves off, hasn't even brushed his teeth, with the bathroom door only being two meters away from his bed, still so out of reach. it had been one of those nights, when the realization of his situation was pounding his mind. san had always had a fascination for the human connection, so much so that it scared him, what do you mean you can totally change someone else's mood with the use of your own larynx? terrifying. no matter how much he tried, how much time he secretly rehearsed in his room, he never seemed to find the right words to express what he really means, and he noted people found comfort in misunderstanding. in the luck of someone getting a little too close, the foreseen recoil hurt worse than a kick in the teeth. he had a couple of friends in his childhood, but as soon as his personality started to develop, they all drifted away. he never had a friend in high school, no one he could even try to reconnect with. he can only count the times he'd been invited over to someone's house for school project reasons, oh, and no girls whatsoever.

san's parents were rich, he had lifelong financial support, so as soon as he turned 18 and the opportunity to miss college (and social interaction) came, he took it. now in his 20s, his only "friends" are his dolls, who he can talk to without receiving any judgement, any rejection. he got interested in sculpting at a very young age, he now owns a doll making business and his high quality skills have earned him clients from all over the world. but his brand is completely anonymous, the fear of being perceived by others was too much for him to handle, hence no one knew who was making these melancholic yet beautiful looking dolls, and he liked to keep it that way.

right after he finished his last order of the month, he delicately placed the small blonde girl on his shelf, along with her trinkets and various outfits to take photos of her. "now, just look pretty" he muttered as he angled the softbox towards her immobile figure. "yeah... they're all gonna love you, how can they not love you?" enamoured, he snaps his camera, too immersed in the image of her with her little purse, thinking of all the places she will take her stuff to, all the people she will meet, all the people who will want her. "i would love you, look at that beautiful face, i don't doubt you're beautiful on the inside too" he smiles at her, convinced that she can hear his sweet compliments, and that if he makes enough silence, he could hear her thanking him, maybe even gain a graceful peck on his cheek, oh to feel her touch, to run his hands through her dainty curls, to feel her reaching out for him. "would you love me as well?" white noise. he stops taking pictures to just look at her through the lense, he doesn't know if he's waiting for something, for her clay form to turn into skin, somehow. just like he always does.

he drops the camera and for some reason, looking at her now only causes him pain. "not again" he thinks, covering his face in shame. he sits on the floor at the corner of the studio, trying to hold in the tears. he thinks of himself a year ago, being in the same exact situation, just like the year before too, and the year before that too, and so on. he thinks of the times he'd coloured his own lips with the paint to feel something, tasting a dullness reflection. is this how it will always be? what kind of 28 year old gets feelings for a doll? he genuinely enjoys the process of making them, but when the final result is done, he can't help but fantasize about them being real, being his ideal women, and it's destroying him. he has never had a girlfriend, everyone either ignores him or at most, gets freaked out before anything even reaches a friendship. well, maybe he did gave up on real love a long time ago, now spends most of his time at home ordering takeout and working out on his private gym, a sort of situation that would drive anyone insane.

the echoes of his movements bounce all over the solitary mansion his parents used to own. he drags himself to lay on his bed, bloodshot eyes and thick heart. the darkness allowing his imagination a torture, questioning himself how did he get to this point, why him? why couldn't he be normal? to have a childhood friendships that lasted lifetimes like other men do? to have more "manly" interests and a "manlier" job? to be close to people, to meet someone and fall in love, to bring her flowers and make her feel special, just like she would make him feel. for her to giggle around him, for her to like him, to touch him, kiss him, bare herself to him and connect physically.

he got up and took an adderall, tired of allowing his overthinking consume him. he got in his car and just drove, the radio distracting him like a shield against his shadow. the woods near his house had undoubtedly a pleasant view, the night mirroring his obscure notion. stepping out of his car, he took a deep breath, taking in the space, making sure his feet are touching the ground, gravity that made him human. "you're a human" he affirmed himself. he looks at his hands that have made such beautiful creations, he touches the trees around him, a piercing feeling on his fingers, drawing red, confirming his mortality. he looks up at the sky, bringing memories of past experiences with others who were no longer sharing this dimension. just as the unawareness of time and place starts to weigh on him, he notices he's not alone.

"it doesn't matter anymore! we're graduating!" san tries to make out the words of the group of strangers, his curiosity pulling him closer, he hadn't heard any other voice than his own in about a month when his unavoidable errands stretched his schedule. they seemed to be around his age, maybe a bit younger. walking across the grove using their phones as flashlights, the good looking faces came to view, chatting and laughing about what seemed to be the date of their college graduation coming. remorseful of his condition, san immediately wondered what it would be like to have that experience.

"come on y/n, we're getting close!" as a girl shouted, san then repeated said name in a whisper.

and that's when he saw her, he saw you, for the first time. just like a finished product, doll like features, elegant hair and just the right amount of blush, helplessly trying to shoo away the mosquitoes while keeping up behind the group. cupid's fruition, a white aura, the breeze sang to him. san saw every single one of his creations on your face, as if his own collection of "perfect women" merged and came to life. he's taken back, the air failing to reach his lungs. had his wish finally come true? you were right there, in front of him, and he couldn't believe it. he had to stop himself from the urge to change you into a pretty dress and take your picture, only to keep it for him, forever.

"i told you to bring spray" said the tallest guy, looking down at your stature, which made san raise an eyebrow, a sudden pulse running through his body.

"i'm sorry" your voice as soft as the silk he used for the clothing of his dolls, the guy chuckled pulling you by his side, san didn't like that at all.

"fuck you mr. smith! fuck you and your stupid mustache!" a black haired girl screamed into the air while the others laughed along, taking out her rage against her teacher.

"and mr. lee fucking cuckold!"

"oof, i hated that son of a bitch too, hope he drowns in one of his wife's dildos"

one would normally be interested in knowing the drama, but san couldn't tear his eyes away from you, analyzing the situation, staring to your innocent eyes looking up at the guy who was giving you an unreciprocated side hug, was he making you uncomfortable? who does he think he is?

"your turn y/n, i know you wanna take out your anger from mr. perez' class" mr. perez?

"i don't think i've ever heard her raise her voice" someone in the front added.

you just smiled at your friend and quickly denied with your head. "i don't hate mr. perez like that" the group playfully booed you and you giggled, making san's palpitations stronger.

why were they treating you like that? san felt the need to defend you, to take you away from this toxic friend group, far far away and never allow them the privilege of being around you ever again. no one should make you feel small, unique beauty must be crystalized.

his quiet nature made following the group to their destination spot a success, all while fighting his instincts telling him to get closer and smell your perfume. he notices the uoh sweaters some of them are wearing: university of halazia, he recognizes, some of his former classmates went to that same school.

as everyone settled into their places, san took the time to observe you, to get to know you. although you didn't seem the most extraverted, everyone was fond of you. you were funny, cute and smart. you were currently laying down against a rock, unaware of the eyes that followed your every movement, the breathing trying to be matched with yours, of the hands pretending to be yours, slowly over his pants. san was captivated, massaging himself to release the building tension. he needed you so bad. as you yawned, it almost felt like a breaking point for him, immediately closing his eyes to engrave that imagine in his memory, your heart shaped mouth that probably (definitely) tasted like candy, wide open just for him.

he suddenly had his cock on his fingertips, he's not jerking off, just admiring your gestures while he toys with the pressure. every action that he has pictured for years, questioned on it's accurateness, long nights visualizing how his dolls would react, how they would talk, eat, laugh, whine.

as you finished stuffing s'mores into your mouth, you suddenly heard a moan in the wind, the whole group did and fell into a heavy silence.

"uhm... what was that?" said yeosang, your longtime best friend.

"probably a ghost" said jacob nonchalantly sitting by your side, your friend ally quickly shushing him.

"shut the fuck up i swear to god" karina covered her ears in fear.

"yo girls, chill, it's windy alright?" tom got up looking around "you want us to investigate?"

"stop, that's literally how the first one dies in horror movies" ally tried to reach for him to make him sit back down.

"hello?" yeosang tested and jacob chuckled at him.

"you think the murderer will reply?"

"guys stop, it's nothing, see? no more sounds"

as the group awaited the resonation, tom teasingly imitated a small effeminate whimper, the woods being once again being filled with young laughter. a chill running down your spine guides your head to the side, noticing something moving in the distance. "hey, don't be scared sweetheart, we're okay" the warmth of jacob's hand on your shoulder calms you a little bit, you brush the thought out of your head and the conversation continues as if nothing happened.

san had sprinted out of there before anyone could think of looking around, running with a hard on wasn't something he was expecting from this night, but isn't unexpected what he's been longing for for so long? a wave of reality hits him as soon as he closes his car door he fortunately found in the dark and sits with himself, the blood on his hands now free from clutching onto the trees for dear life. what the fuck had just happened? maybe if he slaps himself he'll wake up from whatever this is. you were not real, you couldn't be, someone so perfectly molded for him, a personal escape no one knew belonged to him had been exposed this whole time, breathing, living life unbeknownst to him.

for the next few days, the tortured artist failed nostalgia over and over again. a daily routine: he woke up crying to the passing of time, performed surgery on air dry clay to symmetry, stalked your university's instagram account in hopes a sign of your beauty appears, gave up and jerked off. your face became permanent in his tiny models, a reminder of opportunity eternally missing him. but he wanted you, he needed you and he was sick of messing with his chances.

he decided to pay you a visit, find you and most importantly: act normal. 'cause he is normal, all of his life? that was just practice, he feels ready, confident, stars aligned.

driving through gray morning skies, his knuckles were shaking, white by his paleness and force. today, he ignored the sting behind his eyes that usually pull him back to bed, he got his best clothes on (wich smelled a little humid from being on the back of his drawer for too long), he tried his best with his hair and almost ran off the door on his way to uoh's campus. maybe his heart had been turn into dust, but if you brushed it off, a sparkle of hope still lingers, shining bright as ever. he already pictured every scene possible, you would meet and immediately fall in love, he'd take you out, ask for your hand and live happily ever after with three kids and a fat cat. hope wasn't alarming, it felt right, why else would you two cross paths in such manner? "destiny" he smiled to himself.

colder than usual, puffy coats and extra layers, students danced around the green field trying to either catch a class or pick up books for the final exams. san tends to walk fast, looking like a ghost anyone would doble check through the corner of their eye, but now he feels motionless, scared that in a millisecond he might miss your encounter. he tries to calm himself by thinking that maybe soon enough, you're gonna be the one looking for him, embracing each other in a prolonged thight hug. shy steps forward, sunlight barely seen still burning, he gets slightly distracted by someone mentioning mr. perez in a conversation but he's got to keep his focus, if he were a pretty human doll, where could he be?

the minutes pose as hours in his head, he felt brave prepared to face anything and like turning back to his car and cry, all in the same second. he suddenly realized that you might've been a dream this whole time, there's no y/n, no love of his life. the wind blowing harder as a sign, he steps into the cafeteria to calm his heartbeat, sitting with his back against the other tables, he rubs his eyes with his hands.

"so i ended up firing my previous p.t, he was too harsh on me, i could barely move the next day." your voice alerts him, almost scares him.

"yeah i remember, when i called you to help me move my furniture and you came and you could barely carry my microwave." san slowly turns around, recognizing the guy from the woods, sitting down in front of you. you had just settled into your seat, back to back with him.

"right? he pushed me too hard, it was his fault," a cute whine comes out of your mouth, san still processing the situation, wondering if it'd be too suspicious if he changes his seat so he could take a better look at you.

"i know, i know, i blame him, don't worry."

"but oh well, i'm excited to enter this pilates class with karina."

"where is it again?"

"just down the road near the theater, there's a studio above a library, we're meeting three times a week, starting this monday, then wednesdays and fridays" you smiled proudly.

"so no more movies after mr lee's class huh? well, i don't know if stretching will serve you anything but whatever suits you i guess," he muttered the last part jokingly.

"have you ever even done pilates yeosang?" you rolled your eyes at your friend.

"hell no, i'm a man," he tried to flex his covered muscles.

"oh please, try it once i dare you, oh- they forgot my dressing... i'll be right-" as you got up, without realizing san did as well and in the panic of the moment, he turned right into you, colliding with your much smaller frame. "oh, sorry..."

୨୧

next chapter.

[weebsinstash]

wait.

wait-wait-wait-wait-wait-wait

have you seen arcane?!??

if you haven’t yet you should because I could thirst for DAYS over the main characters!

you should’ve seen how victor is with jayce yes-like there is a scene where he is basically straddling him?!? (im mean technically ‘he ’ wasn’t doing it, but he was puppeting the body that was so it still counts)

and let’s not get started about jayce and Mel.

or vi and cait in episode 8.

I don’t know if you’ve seen it or not so I’m going to calm down so I don’t spoil more if you haven’t

just…almost everyone in the main cast is hot, like seriously.

I need you to understand that basically within 5 minutes of me realizing Viktor would be good yandere material at least for the kinds of things I like, a little voice in my brain was going, "yeah and if you wanted to, you could include his jock boyfriend as a 2 for 1 deal!"

Arcane is another one of those things where I haven't fully officially sat down to consume it BUT it became so huge that it was all over YouTube and yt shorts. Yt shorts are AGGRESSIVE when it decides it wants to start feeding you something. Apparently it's convinced I would really like Doctor Who and keeps showing me scenes from like three specific episodes?

But yeah my algorithm was feeding me tons of Arcane content, and then I started watching specific scenes and listening to the music, and I essentially have a pretty good vague overall grasp of the plot, like, in its full entirety from jinx and silco, to the tea party, Ekko leaping through time, Mel getting those Extremely Aesthetic gold stripes. I've wanted to watch it in its entirety, though? I can probably easily pirate it from somewhere

I admit I'm a fake bisexual on how extremely off and on and specific my tastes in women can be so I'm not sure if Vi or Cait are really growing on me from romantic/sexual standpoints, but 👀 Ambessa is definitely uh 👀 you know I have a type for the taller ones that make me feel small and helpless and she's definitely 👉👈 tough and scary and domineering 👉👈 her checking out that younger guy and then just smiling to her daughter "I'm off to sample the local cuisine" like.... queen shit fr

But yeah over the last year I've been recovering from a fall at work that kinda fucked up my knee and I've been having to do PT and I've gained a deeper soft spot for specific characters and plot lines involving disability, either a yandere caring for a disabled darling, or you both being disabled, or things along those lines. Viktor's own journey from a sickly young boy unable to chase after his toy to a young man curing himself and immediately sprinting for the first time in his life, it's all very, personal now. I mean I always apparently had a disability I was born with and didn't know about until my 20s, but especially now that my knee gets in the way of activities sometimes.

I can just picture like... oh you're just this poor mousy little thing from the Undercity who bumps into him for whatever reason and he sees you have a cane just like him, or maybe you're too poor for even a cane and have some sort of improvised walking stick, and he just immediately empathizes with your situation. Like i have several ideas but I can just picture, stereotypical "we were both lost in thought and collided and we went around the corner" and you get knocked over and Viktor recognizes the fear in your eyes as you look him over, from his clean clothes to maybe even his companion Jayce being there, fearing you're going to be punished or harmed, clearly accustomed to the violence of the slums. Viktor sees himself in you as you're clearly realizing your situation and how easily you could be hurt given that they have not just power but privilege over you

Both of them taking pity on you because, oh you poor thing, how awful it must be for you to have such little help for your condition. Are you hurt from the fall just now? Let them help you out as an apology for knocking you down. Do you need a cane that's fitted properly? What about a stabilizing brace for your leg. You have hip and back problems too? The two scientists are practically drafting up schematics for all sorts of proposed solutions within the hour--

On one hand I'm like "oh what if they encourage and help you get a better education because you show promise" and then im like "but what if they think it's cute how little you know as someone from the Undercity who didn't get a decent education and they like how much you have to rely on them and ask them for things"

Viktor being against ableism without realizing he's doing it to you by subconsciously infantalizing you over your vulnerable state with not just your physical disability but if you're also potentially neurodivergent as well, whereas Jayce infantalizes you for being this :) little cute. dumb. poor. low born little thing :)

They find out you live in some absolutely dingey shitty fucking place or somewhere straight up unsafe and they're immediately just, really kind of refusing to let you stay there anymore? Just strong-arming you, "b-but I live here--" "not anymore" "no" "absolutely not" "we can hire movers, it's fine" "but-" "you'll like being somewhere new, relax"

Some scenario where they, move you into a new place to live, suddenly you've got access to all these things you didn't before, bathing regularly, new clothes, full meals, safety, mental stimulation, purpose and labor but without the desperation and fear. You can exit your building and jog around the neighborhood without fear. But, the control over so much of that rests within THEIR hands. One or both of them pays for your housing. Perhaps you even share many of your meals in their direct company. Do you have new medications they helped you obtain? Do your new mobility aids need some tweaking every now and again? Do they help provide EVERYTHING for you 'just until you get on your feet' and then stand in your way every single time you try to do something that would bring you closer to that goal?

No no, don't worry about paying them back for everything they're paying for, they're doing it out of the goodness of their hearts :) no no, you don't need to get a job right away! Or, at all ever again maybe, like wouldn't that be so funny haha, just kidding lol, unless????? :) ha ha, oh my gosh that's just so silly, they told you to take advantage of living in this nice neighborhood they moved you into that's near them and told you to enjoy your life and it's just so wacky and silly and crazy but you did exactly just that and you've been doing fun stuff but with other people and not them haha that's so weird? :) don't worry if they keep acting like there's still stuff they need to help you look out for and help protect you from even after moving you into this little situation where they already hold all the power, I'm sure it's totally fine? :) oh wow they caught you out at a bar or something getting friendly with a guy and one of them just outright refers to you as disabled and accuses the guy of exploiting you somehow, wow isn't that so quirky, they're just having a boy-moment lol? :) honey they just want to make sure no one hurts you and that's why it's completely 300% justified they put a tracker in the special leg brace that they designed that helps you move around every day :)

whaaaaaaat, you think they're being creepy? Well, sweetheart, with the life you've lived in the Undercity, they can see how you might come to THINK you believe that, but that doesn't mean it's true :) you're just so used to living in the danger and the dirt and the grime that you're not used to being safe, and they can understand that, and they're here to help you through the adjustment process of, your new life :) permanantly :) never going back to the Undercity :) staying with your new male companions :) and maybe marrying one or even both of them :) they know best, so trust them! :)