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onlyswan · 10 months ago

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summary: in which you sacrifice your strawberries and eyelash wishes for the boy knocking at your door.

idol!jungkook x reader, strangers to friends (?) to lovers / fluff and a pinch of angst / word count: 5.5k

content/warnings: allusions to death and grief / jungkook is a cutie patootie and a blushing hopeless romantic mess / he wants to kiss oc so bad (me too bro) / oc is a sunshine <3 / they do chores and watch movies together :((( / in one scene he was worried oc would think of him as a perv lmao / they’re dorks and i love them / seokjin cameo hehehe

> in which masterlist!

note: to make up for the pain i may have caused and will cause <3 LOL. i hope you enjoy reading as much as i enjoyed writing :D as always reblogs and feedback are appreciated! come chat w me. ily 🌼

—

“it’s so cold,” you mutter through chattering teeth.

the grocery bags sit on the hardwood table with a thud— the careless bringer too hasty. you shove your icy hands in the deep pockets of your jacket, breathing in and out with a sense of relief.

you are not granted the mundane euphoria for much longer, however. the doorbell rings and you are padding across the floor against your will. the cold air hits your face before it enters your apartment.

however, the happy smile that greets you blankets your heart with a type of warmth that is difficult to describe.

if you had to guess who was behind the door, you wouldn’t say the boy you’ve been fiercely pining over for the past month, but it is certainly who you’d be hoping for regardless.

“good morning!”

“oh! wait there for a moment!”

jungkook stands motionless by your open front door as you disappear into your apartment. confusion accompanied by curiosity, he tries poking his head inside, but then decides that he shouldn’t.

upon your return, his face lights up again.

“here you go!”

he accepts the jar of honey faster than he could think.

“w-why are you-?”

you tilt your head, lips forming a small pout. “isn’t that what you’re here for?”

“uh, actually-” he awkwardly pauses, hand that carries the heavy paper bag behind him suddenly feeling weak. “i came here to give you something.”

your eyes animatedly expand in surprise of the size of it, not at all expecting to receive a gift from him today. you do know that he’s fresh from japan, as you converse on the phone almost everyday… why would he come here almost immediately? and didn’t he say they weren’t given the chance to roam the city because of their work schedule?

“i just grabbed things i thought you might like. i hope i got most of them right?” he explains with a nervous chuckle as you take a look inside.

a diverse array of snacks; a beautiful journal painted with cherry blossoms; a hello kitty plushie; stickers, muji pens…

“oh my god, jungkook… these are too much. you didn’t have to.”

oh, curse the hopeless fluttering of your heart.

“wow, gifting your merch- that’s real idol behavior for you.” you tease him, referring to the hooded jacket that has their group logo on its plastic packaging. “thank you!”

“no but it seriously warms you up! i have one too!”

“jungkook, why are you so cute?!”

“ah, shut up! i’m getting embarrassed!” he whines, blushing. “just look at them later after i leave, how about that?”

“let go! it’s mine!” you glare at him, hugging the paper bag to your chest to deny his advances on snatching it away. “are you not leaving? don’t you have work?”

“i told you— it’s my rest day.”

“you did?”

“while we were texting last night.”

“oh,” you blink. “i don’t remember reading that.”

“you? what are you doing today?”

you bite back the smile threatening to give away the thoughts running in your mind a thousand miles per hour. why does he want to know?

“nothing special. just chores the entire day.”

jungkook puts his hand inside the pocket of his coat, an attempt to appear casual as he offers you his valiant effort. “do you want some help? i’m good at doing chores.”

you stare at him, perplexed, as if he just said the most ridiculous sentence you’ve ever heard in your entire life.

“it’s your rest day and you want to do chores?”

“sure,” he grins playfully, not at all seeing how that could be wrong. “why not?”

“you know…” you pause— observing his expression, considering shutting your mouth, but that plan rarely ever works out. “you can just say that you want to spend time with me, right?”

your bluntness sends his heart racing. you’re a danger to his health.

he sinks his perfect teeth on his bottom lip, bringing his dimples into view. to be honest, you didn’t always have a thing about dimples. you didn’t consider them all that special. but why do they make him look cute and sexy at the same time?

his cheeks become tinted with a pale scarlet. you’re wearing that friendly beam again; he doesn’t know how to act. he never knows whether you are joking or not.

“well, now i know.”

—

jungkook sets down the jar of honey on the table as he settles in the living room, fascinated doe eyes darting around every inch of your place. it’s not his first time here, but somehow, it looks different each time. the two frames hanging above the sofa captures his attention all over again, colorful drawings against the plain white wall. gifted to you by your siblings, you said.

a tall castle with a happy family. a little boy slaying a dragon to protect a princess from its savage fire.

he is blissfully unaware of the knowledge that the drawings are the lone survivors of a school bus and a tragedy. you want it to stay that way. you want people to feel the opposite of the sadness you feel when you look at them. that is how you seek your peace.

“are you wearing toe socks?”

“huh?” he makes a sound of confusion, only processing your question upon seeing your gaze trained to his feet. “ah- toe socks- yes.”

“i’m only noticing them now. they look funny.” you scrunch your nose, chuckling.

“don’t laugh! they’re so comfortable!”

“really?” your eyes widen with genuine interest. “i should try them then.”

“yeah, you should!”

he whips his head around as he jokingly voices out an observation.

“but ____, your house kind of looks different today… it’s almost like it’s cleaner than the last time i was here.”

you bury your face in your hands with a high-pitched wine, hiding from him in humiliation. you did not plan on inviting someone over that night, and he had to watch you run around organizing and picking up things— the scattered books all over the table and the floor; the jackets that have created a big heap on the small couch; the jewelry box that ended up on the dining table for some reason.

he laughs in endearment, unable to take his eyes from you. even the way your hair bounces as you furiously shake your head is pretty. wait, does that sound weird?

“that’s right, it should look different! the first thing i did when winter break started was clean up my mess.”

“what’s the first chore on the list then?” he catches the grocery bags in the kitchen from his peripheral. “were you putting away your groceries?”

“you really want to do chores? you don’t want to watch a movie or something?”

“aigoo, it’s fine!” he waves off your reluctance. “stop worrying! i already said i’d help you.”

“but it’s embarrassing…”

it’s either jungkook is denying your advances or he is simply dense. but the fact that he showed up at your door unannounced on his day-off despite complaining about his exhaustion from their hectic work schedule, you want to lean towards the latter and believe that he is… as good at chores like he claims to be.

“you must like fruits a lot.” jungkook comments as he is squatted infront of your fridge, sheltering the freshly bought perishables one by one.

kimchi, lettuce, strawberries, tangerines, shine muscat, apples…

this is an entirely different world through your lens.

it feels strange to watch another person restock your fridge for you.

“they’re easy to eat and i’m lazy to cook.”

he chuckles as he looks back at you, who is sat on the dining table, airy and carefree as you snack on a bag of assorted chocolates from the paper bag he brought. almost all of the white chocolates are gone, he notes.

“not because they’re nutritious?”

“that’s the bonus!”

“what is this?”

“cranberry juice.”

“and this?”

“oyster sauce.”

you energetically hop off the table, an idea lighting up the bulb in your mind.

“i have another recipe for you. french toast with strawberries, then drizzle some of the honey. should i make it for you?”

“ah!” he gasps as if he is in pain, but the truth is his mouth is watering. he hasn’t eaten breakfast, and he wanted to eat more for dinner last night but sleep proved to be much more enticing than food. “that sounds so good! i’m starving!”

“stand up!” you begin pulling at the back of his sweater, forcing him to remove himself from the floor. “i’ll make it! just go relax in the living room, okay?”

“but you just said you’re lazy to cook.” he tilts back his head, meeting your gaze. “i’ll help you.”

“i’m not lazy when it becomes to being a host.”

you bend down with a sweet smile, merely inches away from him, and jungkook swears the earth has stopped spinning on its axis. your face is natural and bare, except for the sheen of lip balm across your lips— and dear heavens, having you this close, you are so breathtakingly beautiful.

“they’re playing christmas movies on channel 36.” you announce, giving him the bag of chocolates. “and the remote is… somewhere on the sofa… or maybe the floor.”

and as he gets practically kicked out of the kitchen, your hands roughly pushing his back, he daydreams of kissing you and tasting sugar on your lips.

—

the sweet, addicting smell of the french toast— strong hints of butter and cinnamon— invades every corner of your apartment. consequently, it also compels jungkook to break your rules and insert himself in the kitchen again.

“you never give up, do you?”

“i don’t,” he agrees, nodding eagerly. he has successfully stolen the task of washing the strawberries, and then slicing them after. he endures the freezing water rendering his hands numb. “it’s a known fact.”

“are you saying i should study harder?” you cross your arms, expression painted with faux vexation.

“yes! exactly!” he humors you, grinning of amusement. “what’s my favorite color?”

you sigh, looking at him from head to toe.

“anyone can guess that from a mile away, jungkook.”

“fuck, okay. that’s fair!”

the sound of his laughter reminds of you reasons to stay through the cycle of the seasons. you don’t understand why, but for some reason, it has finally begun to feel like christmas. the only comfort that comes along with the cruel winter that nips at your skin; the blanket over your heart that provides a type of warmth one can travel to seek but will never be able to find alone.

“what’s my height then?”

“aren’t you six feet?”

the silence that follows is an answer enough for you. the noise of the television emerges now that none of you is talking. he pretends to be too busy to speak, transferring the strawberries over to the chopping board.

“yes, you’re ri-”

“liar!” you point an accusatory finger at him.

and he winces, guilty as charged.

“you hesitated!”

“tsk, i should’ve said yes faster! i wanted to experience what it’s like to be tall!” he regretfully purses his lips, eyebrows knitted as if he just lost the lottery. “but haven’t you read it online? even my shoe size and weight are there.”

“what? why do people even need to know that…?” you exclaim, flabbergasted. “i mean- of course i’ve searched up your name, but it feels like cheating on a test. does that sound silly…? it’s just more fun learning about you from you.”

you briefly walk away to grab a bottle of water from the fridge, and jungkook is left at the counter with fondness blossoming in his chest, bleeding into the chopped strawberries staining his hands red.

he calls out your name.

“mhmm?” you hum in question, muffled by the water in your mouth.

“want to hear a fact about me?”

you wipe your lips with the back of your hand, eyes expanding with fueled interest. “what?”

“i’m actually very good in the kitchen.” he boasts his skills with the kitchen knife, quick and precise, the blade against the wood creating the satisfying click you usually only hear from cooking shows. “are you seeing this? huh…? what do you think?”

“so i’ve noticed. i want something new!”

at that, his shoulder sags in disappointment. to his demise, there goes another failed attempt at making you acknowledge that he is boyfriend material.

“what do you want to know? ask me questions.”

“what’s your ideal type?”

being in your presence for the past hour has gotten jungkook re-adjusted to your personality— straight-forward, bold, smart— so vivacious that it’s dizzying. you make him nervous and comfortable at the same time, and he doesn’t quite know how to explain it either. but you’re a breath of fresh air, the change that he has been anticipating to disrupt his routine.

“why do you want to know that?”

you shrug coyly, smiling like the troublesome vixen that you are. you rather enjoy the tension that has hung in the air. if you’ve learned something from the past: men are easy to get, not easy to keep. because they relish in the chase, getting strung along like this. so, shouldn’t you have your fun too? but even if jungkook’s intentions were pure, you can only imagine that seeing someone whose life revolves around their career is… the perfect recipe for disaster.

“i think who you like also says a lot about who you are as a person.”

“i like someone who is kind and funny…” he hums in thought, unconsciously slotting a piece of strawberry in between his lips. “and passionate about the things they love… mhmm, someone who can be honest with me.”

his words form a constellation named after you, unbeknownst to you, and he wants to say more but anticipating what comes next after you connect the dots makes his stomach twist. he doesn’t feel like an adult yet. he’s still just a young boy with a gorgeous crush and high ambitions that coalesce in his dreams.

“i like someone who has a really pretty smile, too.”

and he should probably stop staring, erase the dumb lovesick smile on his face. for fuck’s sake, it would be easier for him if you would just do the same. behind the sparkles of your eyes, there is something he’s been dying to decipher.

“okay, why are you looking at me like that?”

because you are so pretty, especially when you smile.

“nothing,” he replies innocently. “you? what’s your ideal type? who do you like?”

“i don’t know… no one has captured my heart yet. they’re not trying hard enough!”

every romance you’ve had so far has been a letdown.

“but i’m still looking. i’m young, and hot, and the universe is vast.”

“mhm, i see… that’s true, but maybe… you don’t want to be looking too far.” jungkook suggests.

you smirk. “so you agree that i’m hot?”

“you know. you don’t need me to say it.” he chuckles, shaking his head.

“but i want to hear you say it.”

“you’re very beautiful, ____.”

“but that’s not-”

“the food is ready! let’s eat it before it gets cold!”

he runs to the living room without waiting for you, and you seize the opportunity to squeal without a sound, punching the counter without actually punching— releasing the giddiness threatening to spill from the seams of your heart.

you don’t know if this is heading somewhere, nor do you expect it to, but where you are right now is a good place to be.

—

the movie playing on the screen has become more of a white noise to you, a family comedy far less fascinating compared to jungkook drizzling honey over strawberries and bread from a spoon. you wonder if he is aware how often he creates sound effects while he is doing something.

beside you, his body quakes with cackles during the scenes that an editor would definitely insert the classic sound of an audience’s collective laughter and holler. you stumble upon the understanding that his happiness lies in a myriad of things, and you would envy him for it if not for the fact that he is currently sharing that happiness with you. you laugh when he laughs, and being becomes a little less heavier at that moment.

another commercial break rudely interrupts and jungkook turns towards you. the two of you sit cross-legged, knees knocking against each other as you occupy nearly the entire sofa.

“hi!”

“hi.”

“what are your plans for the holidays?”

“my best friend’s family invited me to stay with them for christmas until the new year. it’s kind of been a tradition since…”

the end of your sentence hangs suspended in the air. you still can’t say it out loud.

jungkook knows they’re gone and you’re alone: only the plain and brutal truths.

the reminder that this is the third christmas you will not spend with your family; the thought that this would be the third christmas they would spend without you if the afterlife was real— they bring tears to your eyes at once, but you forcibly blink them away, shoving enthusiasm down your throat.

“how about you?” you take a bite from your toast, attempting to divert your thoughts to… anything else. “are you coming home?”

you hide so well behind a smile. it doesn’t occur to jungkook that his question rubbed salt on an open wound.

“i miss my mom but i can’t go home yet.” he pouts. “i have work on christmas day as usual. we’ve been preparing hard for it.”

“oh, that’s right! gayo daejeon?!”

he nods in confirmation.

the music festival has been an annual event for his group since they debuted, and he never feels the need to complain because not everyone is given this kind of opportunity. what’s extraordinary for most has become his ordinary, and what was once his ordinary like everybody else’s has simply become a thing of the past. nevertheless, he does not have regrets. he is living a good life, one that he believes is his fate. as long as he has a voice and it is being heard, then his existence has meaning.

“your family will surely watch you, so they’re still celebrating it with you in a way. making them proud is the best christmas gift you can give!”

and right now, in his life, you are the cherry on top. you were so cheerful and supportive about the final shows of their tour as well, raving about how amazing it is to perform three nights in a row at gocheok skydome.

“i’ll watch you too!”

he can’t help it— you’re driving him to be better at what he does. childishly, he wants show off and be the one to capture your heart.

“ah!” he groans. “that means i should work harder at practice tomorrow! i can’t mess up infront of you and my family!”

“why not me? you want to make me proud too?” you interrogate him jokingly.

“of course, it’s my job. it’s what i do best. i’ll make you see!”

“use me as motivation then. you can’t mess up, okay? you have to do well, jungkook! you better not make a mistake! my eyes will be focused on you only!”

his face is reminiscent of a deer caught in the headlights— the headlights being your wide, threatening eyes.

he releases a shaky sigh in dramatic fashion. “i don’t feel motivated, though? i’m getting pressured?”

you wheeze; the plate over your lap tilts along with its contents.

“this is tough love!”

jungkook nearly staggers to his feet. “…love?”

you roll your eyes, small corners of your lips still cheekily lifted. “was the french toast good?”

jungkook is interrupted before he can form a response.

“but if it tastes like shit, just lie to me!”

“what are you talking about?!”

oh my god, you’re too fucking good at making him laugh.

“you’re eating it too! you know it’s delicious!”

“maybe you got a bad batch!”

—

“i’m going to the laundry shop across the street. i’ll just be a minute.” you announce, hauling a laundry basket to the living room.

your strained grunts prompt jungkook to look up from his phone, and eventually to stand up with urgency and relieve you of your heavy, heavy burden.

“shit, how heavy is this?”

you’re not given a chance to protest as the basket is immediately stolen from your grasp; your lips part open but no words come out.

“i’ll come with you!”

“well, hopefully not more than twelve kilos.”

it’s definitely heavier than usual; mainly comprised of the thick and layered clothes you’ve been wearing to shield yourself from the unforgiving cold.

“let’s go.”

jungkook wraps his hand around your wrist, gently tugging. the butterflies in your stomach wakes up earlier than spring’s arrival.

“this thing is bigger than you.”

an extremely obvious exaggeration.

“i’ll be the one to carry it.“

—

jungkook wears a cap and a face mask underneath his hoodie, eyes barely even visible in his all-black getup for the public to see; and somehow you also find yourself with a scarf around your neck, pulled up over the bridge of your nose.

when the year 2017 rolled in, you predicted that more crazy, life-altering stuff would happen. it has been an on-going theme, a relentless domino effect that has brought you to your knees time and time again. but you never would’ve fucking imagined that this is how you would be wrapping it up. how the hell did you cross paths with a famous idol, and why is he carrying your laundry basket right now?

“wait here for a bit.” you bring both hands to the basket’s handles, coaxing him to let go. “i’ll just bring it inside.”

“are you only dropping it off? that’s expensive!”

“what?” you stare at him in bewilderment, not expecting him to utter such statement at all. “you’re talking like you’re not rich!”

“i’m not! and still,” jungkook becomes flustered underneath his disguise. “it’s good to be practical. anyway, we have a lot of time.”

“you sound more like a mom than my mom did.”

“shhh!” he shushes you, putting a finger over his face mask. “let’s just do your laundry ourselves.”

“why would you do laundry right now? you’re supposed to be resting in the first place!”

a tug of war ensues infront of the laundry shop. strangers doesn’t know better. you look like a married couple bickering over who should take responsibility of the chore.

“____, just let me, mhm? i’m a pro at doing laundry too! we’ll be done before you know it!”

“how are you good at everything? honestly, it sounds like a scam!”

“how dare you doubt me?” he gasps in offense. “i do my own laundry!”

“seriously?” you quirk an eyebrow.

“i’m serious!”

“i don’t think i believe you, though…”

“if you search online, you-” your voice echoes in his mind, and subsequently, jungkook cuts himself off.

‘it feels like cheating on a test. it’s more fun learning about you from you.’

“oh, nevermind. let’s go inside already. i’m freezing!”

“jungkook!” you whine, stomping your feet on the ground as you refuse to let go of the basket despite jungkook beginning to head inside.

“why?” he copies the childishness of your tone, and although you can’t see his face, the crinkles at the corners of his eyes tell you enough.

“we can’t…”

the adorable sight of you appearing to be so shy is foreign to him. he can’t help but to chuckle. “why not?”

your lips form a pout.

“my panties…”

you bring a finger to point at the basket.

“they’re in there too… i was only going to drop them off today because you came with me…”

“ah…” jungkook awkwardly freezes, unblinking. “wait, you’re right?”

why didn’t he think of that? he’s a fucking idiot. of fucking course. what if you take things the wrong way and you’re creeped out by him now?!

“fuck, sorry. i’m sorry. i wasn’t- um, i swear i wasn’t trying to…”

his tongue becomes tied, struggling to search for the words that won’t make him sound like a damn pervert.

yeah, way to go, jungkook. you’re not the fucking boyfriend yet and you’re ruining your chances.

“did i make you uncomfortable? i’m sorry. it probably looked li-”

“hey, breathe, calm down. it’s alright, jungkook.”

you giggle in amusement, placing a hand over his chest— his heart. it’s meant to ease him, but the knowledge that you’re feeling his racing heartbeat only causes it to further intensify. he swallows the lump in his throat, dumbfounded by the turn of events. he wants the ground to swallow him whole, but he also wants to stay in this moment a little while longer.

“it’s alright. i’ll go bring this inside then i’ll treat you to lunch at the restaurant over there! don’t run away from me, okay?”

—

“the yukgaejang looks good.” you utter absentmindedly, admiring the spicy beef soup with plentiful vegetables from afar. “i’m jealous of you.”

the other tables are already having a feast while you and jungkook are waiting for your take-out to be prepared.

“then you should’ve ordered it too.” jungkook scolds you lightheartedly. “should i go?”

“no! i’m not good with spicy food. spice makes me cry.”

he smiles softly. once again, you complete the picture from his eyes. “what is there to frown so sadly about?”

“i feel like i’m missing out.” you complain, the pout on your face almost permanent. “spicy food is like one of the trademarks of korea, you know? but i can’t handle it!”

“so cute…” jungkook has decided to give in to his impulses, it seems— the evidence is him pinching your cheek for the very first time, and with the discovery of its delightsome softness, it will definitely not be the last.

“oh, oh, oh! an eyelash!”

his doe eyes glisten with pure wonder and excitement, and the air in your lungs becomes suspended when his hand moves to tenderly cup the side of your face. as he is absorbed in capturing the tiny eyelash that has fallen and glued itself on your cheek, your mind reels with the size of his hand, the sensation of his innocent touch against your neck.

“aaand-” jungkook takes your hand, passing on the eyelash to your index finger. “there you go. make a wish!”

your eyes flicker down, and none of you speaks for a moment or two.

a wish…?

what does one wish for when they have given up on wishing for miracles?

“did you do it?”

you peek at jungkook, nodding. at last, you blow the eyelash away, outside the window, where it becomes one with the snowflakes that came from the same sky where wishes are supposedly granted.

“what did you wish for?”

“i’ll tell you when it comes true.”

—

jungkook eats so well— you feel full just by watching him eat. so when he asked you, eyebrows knitted and legs bouncing, if he could have more rice, you were left with no choice but to plug in the rice cooker for the second time today. you cooked only enough for two meals today: brunch and dinner for one. you’re more than happy to have given him the dinner portion. you like that your apartment is providing warmth for another soul, despite the old times that it housed ones that ended up haunting you.

“are there any more chores to do? while we wait for the rice?”

you gaze switches from him to the living room.

the boy who was knocking at your door is now vacuuming your floors.

you sit on the couch with your legs hugged to your chest, chin propped on your knees. an unexplainable feeling swims in your chest, but your heart calls to welcome it. not to be delusional, but technically, isn’t this a marriage proposal?

it falls on dear ears— the infuriating sound of the cheap vacuum cleaner your landlord lended you and never came back for. underneath it is jungkook’s mellifluous voice, humming and singing, and it’s all you can hear.

the only use you knew of honey is the magic it does with tea for a sore throat. when you learned about his demanding occupation, he is all you can think of in relation to the elixir. since then, you’ve been taking the god awful amount of honey your pesky neighbor provides without any complaints.

this is nice… this is good. you are glad that you opened the door.

—

after a hearty and satisfying meal, you and jungkook retired to your previous spots infront of the television screen. more of the snacks he bought for you ended up being shared. near your stacks of books are colorful food wrappers and half-empty glasses of water. two mediocre yet entertaining movies later, you tell jungkook that you should pick up your laundry before the shop closes in an hour. however, after he has excused himself to the bathroom, he is greeted by the sight of you peacefully asleep on the sofa.

once more, a new side of you is laid bare, and his affection grows. he doesn’t know when he can admire your face this close again without melting from your stare.

heedful of disturbing your much deserved rest, he carefully places a pillow beneath your head, and he pulls down the blanket you’re wrapped in to cover your cold feet.

with one last stolen glimpse, he grabs your key and receipt from the bowl and leaves.

—

“is it time for you to leave?” you delicately rub at your eyes that are still half-closed; voice quiet, barely there.

you were awoken by the front door opening and closing, but nothing has quite registered to your fuzzy brain yet, except for the coat that you neatly kept and is already re-worn by its owner.

and he knows you’re most probably just sleepy, but the way you’re gazing at him as if you’re sad to see him go makes his heart clench.

“no, i picked up your laundry.” he enlightens you, consciously speaking with refined tenderness, as to preserve the serenity that has enveloped the atmosphere. “i can stay until eight. is that okay?”

you release a weary sigh, nodding. “of course… and you’re such a nice friend, thank you.”

he plops down on the sofa, filling the jungkook-shaped space beside you.

tired… you’re so tired… despite the given privilege to finally sleep to your heart’s content, you’re still so tired. your forehead lands softly on his shoulder, and unbeknownst to you due to your stupor, jungkook’s breath hitches— the polar opposite of the steady rise and fall of your chest. you make him swoon. he deliberately ignores the fact that you just called him a friend.

you peer down at the floor, past the curtain of your disheveled hair, slowly blinking. those ridiculous toe socks… you giggle in secret.

“jungkook?”

“yes?”

“are you cold?”

“freezing.”

you lift your head and he knows— you have to be playing games with his heart, bringing the temptation to kiss you so painfully close. “do you want some tea?”

—

the performance has commenced but the passionate screams of the audience still rings in jungkook’s ears as he runs backstage, chased by the staff attempting to wipe the sweat he is practically bathing in. he squeezes one eye shut as beads of sweat threaten to enter it. his chest heaves with exhaustion and his heart pumps with overwhelming adrenaline. most of the time, this job doesn’t feel real. he feels high. this is the textbook definition of a dream.

“where’s my phone? please? does anyone have it?” he yells in the midst of the chaos and clamor as he completely strips off his in-ears.

a hand reaches towards him with the device, and his expression of gratitude gets lost somewhere among the repetitive reminders of the remaining time before they should have returned to their designated seats.

he allows the hair and make-up stylists to do their jobs, him as their doll in need of a retouch. on the other hand, he impatiently waits for his phone to power on.

the tapping of jungkook’s foot ceases, and from his glowing reflection on the vanity mirror, the clueless people surrounding him witnesses love strike.

guess my eyelash wish worked like a charm. your performances went really well

and you looked so cool on stage ☺️

merry christmas jungkook ❤️

“jungkook-ah, what are you smiling at?!”

seokjin cackles. jungkook didn’t even notice him roll his chair so close. he then decides to play dumb to tease their youngest one.

“wow, who is this ____ you’re texting?”

“hyung!” jungkook panics, hissing underneath his breath. “lower your voice!”

“ouch!” seokjin yells, rubbing his arm that was hit as a punishment.

he allows a moment of silence.

his expression goes blank and he avenges himself.

“ah!” jungkook gasps as the slap on his thigh resonates, forced to be ripped away from overthinking a text message. “hyung! you better start running!”

Draft: i know it’s late.. but can i see you later?|

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taglist in the reblogs! send an ask/dm if you want to be added (or removed) :D

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#jungkook #jungkook fluff #jungkook angst #jungkook drabble #jungkook scenario #jungkook imagine #jungkook one shot #jungkook fic #jungkook fanfic #jungkook au #jungkook x you #jungkook x reader #bts fluff #bts reaction #jungkook smut

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ohworm-writes · 1 year ago

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Thinking about Firefighter!Price.

Imagine him coming home after a long, exhausting day of working, keys jingling as he unlocks the door at some ungodly hour of the night, footsteps falling heavy against the floor as he walks inside, exhaustion and fatigue lingering along his form.

He's still dressed in his station wear - a fitted, navy blue t-shirt with Station 141's logo printed onto the front of it, small, right on the right side of his chest, and a pair of trousers in the same color to match, hanging loosely onto him.

He should take a shower, he knows he should. He smells of sweat and sulfur, the scents clinging to his clothes and skin like a second skin, and he know that the two of you'll have to wash the bedding come morning.

But god, the sight of you in bed, dressed in a loose pair of your own shorts and one of his spare shirts, face smushed against one of the pillows as your breathing comes slow, in and out, steady - it's far too enticing to pass up so easily.

So he unbuckles his belt in a daze, stripping off his shirt, undershirt and trouser, tossing the articles haphazardly onto the floor (he tries to toss them towards the hamper, but he knows he misses, given the way his belt buckle clanks loudly against the hardwood floor of the bedroom, but, honestly, he could care less).

And he gets right into bed beside you, fingers grazing lightly over the exposed skin of your thighs, traversing upwards, fingers splayed as his palm travels over the fabric of your shorts, sneaking their way under the loose shirt of his that you wear, hand pressing against your tummy as he pulls you close.

He presses his nose into your shoulder, eyes fluttering closed as he deeply inhales the scent of your body wash, softly shushing you as you start to rouse, the way your body gently begins to shuffle as you let out the softest, sleepiest yawn, listening as he grumbles softly against your skin.

"Didn't mean to wake you, love. Go back to sleep."

His voice is so hoarse, so strained and rough from the events of the day - yelling and barking out commands to the firefighters within the ladder and engine crews that he guides - but, at the same time, it's runs smooth like honey, settling just right in your sleepy, hazy mind.

He hugs you tighter, pressing your back flush against his chest as he curls his body around you in a subtly protective manner, littering tender kisses against your neck, trying to coax you back to sleep as he lets out a soft sigh, infatuated with the way your body molds perfectly into his.

"Mmm... s'fine, John. Wha... what time s'it?"

"None of your business, that's what time. Go back to sleep. I'll be here in the mornin'... promise you that. Okay?"

He doesn't let you ask your questions. If you try to think, he knows you'll wake up, and he already feels guilty about waking you up in the first place, so he doesn't even entertain your sleepy question, giving you a promise - two, technically. That he's here now and that it'll stay that way until the two of you wake up in the dawn.

"Stubborn..."

"Always. We c'n talk in the mornin'. Sleep."

"Mmm... glad you're back home safe. Love you."

"Love you, too."

But by the time he says the words, you've already fallen back asleep, and a deep, rumbling chuckle erupts from within his chest, amused, pressing one last kiss to the corner of your jaw before letting himself fall asleep behind you, his breaths, his heartbeat falling into sync with your own.

#There was a firetruck driving outside my place with it's sirens blaring at like 9 o'clock at night and it inspired me to write this #I'm playing with the dog tags I bought as I write this - half asleep in the middle of playing the MW3 beta while listening to Italian music #I don't even know Italian #Call this multitasking #price x reader #john price x reader #captain price x reader #captain john price x reader #call of duty x reader #cod x reader #firefighter price #firefighter!price

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tojisth3rdwife · 24 days ago

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Meg 2.0

syn: a member from the JJK universe makes a surprise appearance in your kitchen.

cw: crack, dad toji, moody teen megumi, just another day at the Fushiguro’s

a/n: cursed JJK AU where Toji survived the second fight against Gojo and went on to lead a semi normal life with his son and now you..No apple logo Toji here

*frantic screaming*

Toji and Megumi bump into eachother on their way to the kitchen, the source of the horrified screams. The teen was still wearing his headphones when he rushed into the hallway to meet his father coming out of the bathroom with shaving cream plastered over his jawline.

They exchange a look, nearly identical scowled brows furrowing briefly, both of them determined to get to you.

First to slide across the hardwood floor and into the kitchen doorway on socks was Toji, shirtless and bracing his hands against the frame.

“What happened?!! Whats wrong??!” He calls to his wife, shaving cream dripping from his chin. He immediately finds you hopped up on the counter, back against the upper cabinets and holding onto the the handles shakily. The look on your face suggests you were scared shitless, all color having drained from your warm complexion.

“What, baby?” He repeats his concern when you let out a whimper.

“th..that…” you tremble, eyes wide and brimming with tears as you pointed at something near the door leading to the garage, just out of Toji’s line of sight. Megumi soon joins him in the doorway, craning his neck to see over his dad’s buff ass arm.

“What is it?” He he exhales and you point emphatically towards the door again.

“THAT!! What the FUCK is THAT??” You yell, flinching and going rigid as whatever scared you was now on the move. Toji’s hackles spiked as he marched deeper into the kitchen, placing his body between you and the possible threat. But once he sees what all the commotion is over, he drops his fists with a resigned sigh.

What squirmed about lazily on your kitchen floor was a fat worm, its bulbous segments shaded a deep bruise like purple leading up to a large round head. On it’s face were two huge bug eyes with hooded lids that scanned the floor aimlessly, sniffing it and wheezing out if its thick pouted lips.

Summary: the ugliest fucking thing you’d ever seen.

“Eeughh Toji get it!! Get it pleasee….” You tapped his shoulder briskly, and kisses his teeth before looking back at you like you were crazy.

“Would you relax? He’s harmless.” He tsks.

“He??? That thing is a he???” You nearly gag on the question while you watched your husband step away from you.

“C’mere buddy.” He goes on to coax the worm towards him with his voice, patting his thigh and clicking his tongue softly.

The creature’s head lifts from the floor and slithers in Toji’s direction, sniffing the air curiously. When it reached him, Toji crouched down to rest his hand on it’s head to give it an affectionate pat.

From the kitchen doorway, Megumi makes a sound of disdain that has your eyes snapping towards him.

“Ugh..that thing. Thought it was dead..” he mutters.

“Well you thought wrong, brat.” Toji murmurs bitterly, still stroking the worms fat head with softened eyes.

“You thought the same thing! Its been years..” Megumi bristle’s back and you didn’t have it in you to allow them to get started in on each other. No one was saying what you needed to hear, dammit.

“Neither of you are explaining why theres a big ass, Rottweiler sized, purple people eater looking thing in my kitchen right now and I don’t like that!!” You whine and Megumi comes in to join you at the counter. His gaze fixes on the massive thing as it purred and nuzzled his father’s palm, grimacing sourly.

“Its just Dad’s stupid worm..” he sighs, tucking his hands in the pocket of his pants.

Your eyes widen at his callous response, it only breeding several more questions in your spooked out mind.

“Worm? W-why does he have a worm? Like as a pet?”

“To hold his stuff. Weapons and what not..” he shrugged casually. Your expression goes even more bleak.

“That makes even less sense Megumi..”

At the sound of that name, the worm lifts it’s head and gazes up at you, making a sort of cooing sound.

“Why is it looking at me like that?” You frown and Toji chuckles breathily, scratching under the worm’s chin and looking over his shoulder at you.

“Because you said his name.” He smirks, cutting his son a snarky side eye. Now less afraid than you were before, you allowed yourself to sit casually on the counter. You regarded Toji with bewilderment, your mouth fixed open in shock.

“You……You named that worm after your son?”

“Uh huh” he grunts nonchalantly. You look over at your peeved bonus child’s annoyed expression then back at his daddy.

“ Why Toji? Why..” you deadpan and you could tell Toji was trying to keep from laughing by the way his shoulders shook.

“Cuz at the time it was funny. I forget why though…” he shrugs, biting down in his smile.

“Because he’s literally a blessing AND a curse. Just like you, brat. Ha ha ha..” Megumi mocked what he recalled his father sounding like years ago, cringing at the tasteless irony of it all. Toji laughed at his son’s expense per usual, proceeding to baby talk to the worm in a way that had become too much for the moody teen to witness a second longer.

“Yeaah..Im going back to my room. Have fun..” he yawns as he turned away, replacing his headphones on his head on the way out of the kitchen.

Toji had picked the wiggly thing up and allowed it to wrap itself around his waist and drape over his shoulders like a boa. He turns around and steps closer to you, giving you a better look at it’s creepily humanlike face.

“Uh uhn Toji don’t..” you lean away and he chuckles at your disgust while petting the worm’s head.

“I just said he’s harmless, babe. Look..” he scratches under Megumi 2.0’s bumpy chin, causing it to purr and wheeze in delight. It would have been cute if it werent so damn ugly, but the way Toji handled it made you curious.

He told you much about his life of being an assassin prior to meeting you and all the horrid stories he shared sometimes gave you nightmares. But not once did he ever mention having a 5 foot long worm curse thing that apparently acted as a living breathing fanny pack.

When you’d first seen it huddled in the corner, coiled up in a cinnamon roll, you thought it was capable of all kinds of terrible shit. Watching it cuddle against Toji now lessened that notion.

“If you say so but…Why is it here? And in my kitchen..”

Toji’s lips curl downward in a shrug that his shoulder followed.

“Good question. Thought I’d lost him after that fight against that blue eyed freak. When I woke up at the hospital, Shiu said he wasn’t with me when they found me so I assumed he died or went somewhere to hide. But that was yeeeaaaarrs ago.”

While he spoke, you noted the lightness of his tone as if he’d been reunited with a long lost friend, and it hurt your heart a little.

You heard about that fight against Satoru Gojo and how close it pushed Toji towards death. It was a wonder that he survived at all, according to Shiu. You were grateful for that because it would have meant many things for you and the life you now had with him. The family you had now.

That was the fight that retired him from hunting sorcerers for money, now handling lower risk targets to pay the bills.

You could tell something about this worm brought back good memories or some level of fondness by the way he was handling it.

You let out a relenting sigh.

“How do you take care of it?” You ask and Toji shakes his head.

“He’s not high maintenance or anything like a dog or a cat. Pretty much does his own thing. Doesn’t need to eat or drink but he’ll take whatever you give him. I used to feed him a little bit of whatever I had and he’d be fine.”

“Does he poop? Is he potty trained?” You lift a brow. Toji grunts humorously at the question.

“Nah, he’s a curse, babe. Don’t have to worry about any of that..”

You watched Toji gush over the lumpy, drooly worm warily for a few more seconds before sighing again. You hopped down from the counter, being careful not to let any part of your body touch Megumi 2.0 when you pat Toji’s chest.

“Ok, well…go put him somewhere please. Somewhere away from me. We can figure out something for it..I mean him..later.”

Toji looked up at you like he was a child that was just told he was going to Disney World and you supposed his happiness was worth adopting a giant pet curse into your life.

“Sounds good to me. Thanks babe.” He grins, leaning forward to offer you his lips. Your eyes flit between Toji and the worm, which was now staring at you blankly, before giving your husband a quick peck.

Lord, what did you get yourself into?

#jjk #anime #toji fanfic #toji fushiguro #megumi fushiguro #dad toji #jjk toji #toji fluff #tojis worm #worm megumi #toji zenin #toji x reader #jjktoji #jujutsu toji #jjk fanfic

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bunnys-kisses · 2 months ago

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ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ smokin' - toto w. ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

toto knew he should quit. he had seen enough of the pamphlets in doctor's offices and read enough to know, smoking kills. and at his age, he needed to be bit healthier. he worked out, and ate well, but sometimes, after a hard race, there was nothing like a pack of cigarettes in his hand and somewhere to sit down. let the nicotine flood his rattled senses and having a nice relaxing evening. it was almost nostalgic, he remembered when the red of marlboro's logo was all over the jackets and cars of formula one. now replaced with sports drinks. while he wasn't smoking a pack of day to lazily have one or two felt nice, letting the smoke fill his lungs even if it occasionally made him cough. he felt like he was trying too hard if he tried vaping to get the same fix. like a desperate attempt to be 'young', so he stuck to the cancer sticks. plus if he quit smoking, then he'd have to stop participating in his favourite punishment. keeping an ash tray balanced on your back.

you had been a bad girl. you knew it. it was a 'crime' that you knew would be found out. someone stole their daddy's credit card and racked up a healthy charge all in one day. toto knew he promised you the world, but, you can't take what isn't yours. toto liked rules, he liked to make sure that you were following them. he couldn't have you on bad behavior, it would look poorly on him. that he couldn't keep his alarmingly younger girlfriend in line, that wasn't the association that someone like toto wanted. so while he didn't return the items you bought, you'd have to pay him back somehow. which meant enduring a punishment. which meant him seated on the couch, lounging with a cigarette in his hand, getting his fix after a particularly rough weekend. and you, naked, save for the necklace with his name on it around your throat. the name torger almost dangled in the low light of the living room. the smell of cigarette smoke filled the air. right now you were nothing more than a piece of furniture made to hold his expensive ashtray. "don't drop it, schatzi." toto's voice was low, "worth quite a bit. probably more than that little house you grew up in." he exhaled smoke, "look at me." you looked over to him, being on your hands and knees for so long made you a little shaky. your arms felt like jelly and you knew your knees were rubbed raw. toto smiled a little, the kind of dangerous smile that made something run through you. it excited you and made you hot. you said, "please, daddy." and toto shook his head, "the punishment was until i finished this. the worse behaved you are, the longer this will take." you swallowed and kept your gaze on him, there was something some domineering about him. it was almost scary. he was the big man in charge, the team principal. and while he made all the decisions, you just had to be by his side and behave. but, you couldn't even do that. you watched him took another drag of his smoke and you rubbed your thighs together, everything burned from the position you were in. toto spoke once more, "i give you the world and you still want more. you should be know better by now, meine prinzessin." he leaned forward a little bit and got some of the ash off of his smoke into the ashtray, "you're a smart girl, no? if you're not smart, you are at least well behaved. but even now i am questioning that." you shook your head and looked down at the hardwood floor, "no daddy, i'm good. i promise." you bit the inside of your cheek, "please." toto sighed and exhaled smoke, "schatzi. i am trying to believe you, but it's hard."

the money was nothing, honestly he found it amusing. it was barely anything in the grand scheme of things, under four hundred dollars. barely a scratch in toto's finances. but to watch you whimper and whine, well, that was worth more than anything. but, toto had rules. he was the head of the relationship, the one who took care of you, and while it wasn't cheap, he expected for things to be followed. another drag and he eyed your quivering form. he knew you liked this, if he moved a little he could see your soaked pussy. you got off to being toto's little toy, used for his pleasure. it made him thankful tha the found you before someone with worst intentions got their claws into you first. you were too sweet at times, it all mixed in perfectly with your brattiness. "i'm starting to think you like this. you like getting into trouble. did someone not have rules when they were young? didn't get the attention from your real daddy." his tone was harsh. he saw you quiver a little more, he must've struck a nerve, "poor little princess didn't get the love she wanted, how sad. i bet daddy was too busy with everyone else and left no time for you." he knew your history inside and out, he even met your father. he knew that any psychologist would have a field day if they took one look at you and him. a younger girl who wanted an older man to take care of her. and an older man with a thirst for younger women who didn't like being asked difficult questions.

"but don't worry, schatzi. that's why i'm here. to make it all better."

when he was finished with the cigarette, toto purposefully missed the ash tray and put it out on the small of your back. you whimpered and bucked your hips, toto was quick enough to grab the glass ashtray before you made more of a mess. "schatzi." he said, "you need to be careful." and he saw the burn on your back. it made a deep part of him very excited at the sight of you. maybe next time your skin should be his ash tray, litter would unblemished skin with the burns of cigarettes. "please daddy." you gasped, you ended up with your cheek against the floor. unable to hold much longer, and now with the burn on your back. it all flooded your head. toto put the ash tray on the coffee table and said, "if you want to finish yourself off, princess. you better do it yourself. you've become lazy because i do everything for you. if you want to feel better, you have to do it yourself. you're a big girl." he watched you swallow before you put your hand between your thighs and rubbed your achy clit. your cheek still against the floor with your hips raised, your back as sloped as you pleasured yourself.

"please, daddy." you whined as you pleasured yourself. the smell of smoke filled your brain and while it made you scrunch your nose at the heavy scent. you continued to make yourself feel good. you panted heavily like a dog as you rubbed your clit against the side of your hand. your other hand was on the floor. you tensed up, your hand covered in your wetness as you whined and whimpered. toto was hard in his slacks, but he was a man of control. unlike you. you were whiny and loud, your pants heavy while your squirmed against your own touch. while toto would've been happy to seat you on his cock. maybe even have another cigarette while he used your pretty breasts as an ashtray, you needed to learn your lesson. so either you got yourself off, or you'd be left sexually frustrated. he said to you, his voice a rumble that made a shiver run through you, "spoiled little girl. you had me convinced, now you've become spoiled. but." he shifted in his spot on the couch. leaned for a little bit to get a better view of your body, "i am more than happy to train you all over again. it's almost the summer break, which means, it will just be you and i. i wonder how many marks i can leave on you. go to the dutch grand prix with my marks on you inside and out. might turn a few heads." his words made pleasure flood your core, "maybe a collar. even a leash so i could tie you somewhere and no have you get lost." he sighed, "you always wander off. he watched you pleasure yourself and the sight was erotic. it wasn't long before your moans were tight and your body was tense like a bow. you looked beautiful, blissed out beside toto not even fucking you. with a few more drags of your hand across your clit, you came and then you ended up fully flat on the floor. your brain felt elsewhere and your body felt the weight of an orgasm across your achy joints. your tongue was even stuck out a little as you tried to center your thoughts once more.

toto chuckled lightly before he got up off the couch and went to you. you got a view of the bulge in his slacks before his face, you tried to get yourself up to undo his belt. but instead he grabbed you by the hair. he looked at you as he said, "i don't fuck on the floor like an animal. your punishment isn't over, but you should be lucky i'll even fuck you on a bed." and you, the good girl you were, nodded to your daddy. you words were simple as you got up, "yes daddy." <3

a/n: i lost control of the keyboard

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plasticfangtastic · 4 months ago

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Dairy Girl-- Part 2

A Homelander x F! Reader fanfic

A/N: Sorry for taking so long to post this and hope the lenght is enough of an apology, yeah this is gonna be liek 4 parts i got too engrossed btw. hope yall like it here's the previous chapter:

Synopsis: In order to provide a constant supply of fresh breastmilk for Vought’s number one hero, Vought has had to get quite nifty in order to prevent this secret desire out the press and the public– you have unfortunately discovered the truth.

Tags: Stockholm Syndrome, abusive dynamic, Homelander being Homelander, dub-con, dark, mild smut, breastfeeding kink, kidnapping, child-death mention tw, cheating tw, set in s4 but canon nothing, slow burn.

word count: 3.4K

Part 2– Calf

As he’d mentioned before the house was an escape proof cage– every window had its hinges super glued or welded shut, glass panels thick enough to prevent shattering but thin enough to allow sound in. That night as he’d left you for the first time you kept your composure, perturbed more by the earlier events that nothing had time to sink in, you venture across the 3 bedroom home, each room old taken straight out from a vintage furniture catalog, the master bedroom smelled just like your grandmother’s, the bathroom walls covered in tacky pink tiles that you told yourself will never get used to.

By the time you explored the whole building you understood the following: The size felt deceiving, without a way to see the outside this building could’ve been 35 floors high and you wouldn’t know, the east-wing of the building at the opposite direction where you’d emerged was cut off from you by a thick metal door, an eye-scan request made its unpickable lock, looking at how it cut on the hardwood floors you’d guess this is where in the kitchen and perhaps the garage and entry hall could be found, this overall felt like an architectural nightmare, the only other oddity of this was the piles and piles of bottled water– Vought branded water… you much rather drink Dasani than this crap… It was by far the worst one in the supermarket.

There were indeed no phones or even ethernet ports on the wall, the TV was bolted in its place and so was the VHS player (and all the furniture too), there were at least 350 titles on the walls (something you bothered to count on day 5), an extremely old vinyl player your only other company... whoever had supposedly lived here was a big fan of Cab Calloway, ABBA and Bruce Springsteen, here you and Bruce could become intimate friends it seems after all you had all his vinyls, alongside an expansive jazz assortment, nothing in this selection went past 1989.

You also learned a very useful fact on day 3 you stared at one of the 18 cameras that you’d found.

“I really want some Mcnuggets! Like just a 12-pack and a large Sprite! Maybe an Oreo Mcflurry too!” You yelled into the camera waving your arms as if the circular lense would reply somehow.

Barely few minutes later the air was filled with the roaring sounds of a bike burning tires seemed the forbidden end faced some road which made you giddy, about 50 minutes later a small door at the door itself opened smoothly where the first strange hand you’ve seen in the last 3 days popped-out leaving a bag with a familiar logo… it wasn’t maccas tho, it was Vought-a-burger which was okay but that wasn’t the point, you picked your meal and your oversize ice-cream and drink and begun connecting lines– Your prison was in Pennsylvania, based on the area code on the phone number on that old pizza box, located close enough from both a pizza chain and on a 15 to 20 minutes drive from a Vought-a-Burger, the library held no maps for you to try to find your location but give or take about an hour or two by foot from any civilization… Yet as you drank the mostly melted caramel churro sundae you smiled thinking of how to steal a bike.

That Night you picked two tapes from the wall not caring one bit about what you were going to see, you stared at the camera.

“Hey can one of you check like an underrated 80s movie list from IMDb ‘cuz I seen a few of these already… at least bring me something new!”

As always no response was ever given, you dragged your feet towards that ornate bedroom of yours, pink walls, flowery quits, a matching chaise lounge, a hardwood coffee table bolted to the ground and your private TV and VHS player, it took you an hour to remember how to use these thing that second day here. You put on a movie, curling in your bed in the dark, smelling the sweet flowery smell of fabric softener, this didn’t smell like home, pillows too soft, mattress too soft everything here was made to bring you comfort but it was making you feel like a squatter.

The cold light of the screen enveloped every surface and you slowly faded away as ‘Lady in White’ began to wrap up, eyes glued to the screen so firmly you screamed when the faint red light peeked from the corner, clutching the quilt across your body as the red faded away and all you saw was a vaguely illuminated shape.

Blurry colors with no clean shapes, standing facelessly enough blue to let you see it was humanoid, Homelander creeped closer, his body blocking the light and like a shadow he devours everything, he turned around to pause the player, draping his gloves on the dumb box as he turned around once more, your heart caught in your throat, each breath quick and sharp as he took another step closer, hushing softly and he’s there swallowing you whole he kneeled into the bed the mattress squeaked and chimed sinking under his weight pulling you in, only the faint outline of gold eagles and soft blonde locks told you with absolute certainty that he was here… that 3 days ago you indeed met The Homelander, far from the pretty blue-eyed hunk from the movies more ghoul.

You swallowed as his head rested on the pillow next to your hips, his nose burying in the cushioned pillowcase.

“I was busy with work” He mumbles softly, staring at you with the same playfulness of a guilty pet owner who’d ran out of their cat's churu treats– "I promise to visit, I got you something… left it downstairs for you.”

He stared at your white knuckled hands and without uttering a word you understood his demands, fingers moved by psychic force alone, you welcomed him into your lap as you came undone, burying your digits into his hair, soft like cotton, so smooth you dreamt of cat’s bellies as you scratched him, he took the remote from under you lifting you with so much ease your brain struggled to compute it at first, the movie played and all he wanted was petting.

“Security told me you’ve been good… nothing crazy… am glad, "he said with a tired tone.

“What good would that do me…?” You replied with your eyes focused on the screen.

If you wanted to survive I had to get on his good side, no? you though

“I like it when you people understand your place” He chuckles softly.

‘You people’? You could easily discern the meaning behind his words by tone alone, your finger stopped suddenly, his eyes flaring up immediately.

“I think this would be more productive if you told me exactly what’s going on… I won’t try to run or scream… am just confused and scared…” you spoke bluntly as his gaze met yours in the dark.

“This is my private speakeasy and you’re the bartender… tap too… is hard being on top… and I want some relief… and a sanctum–

“To express your socially unacceptable inclinations/interests? Fair enough I can imagine the press would eat you alive if they found out you liked breastmilk.”

“You’re cute and smart too.” He pushed himself into your stomach, your body sinking to the shape he wanted, holding you tight– I’ll be a good owner and let you asks me absolutely anything you want”

“Why me?”

“Dunno.” His lips tightened into a flat line– the doctors picked you, I asked for a good provider… but all the women downstairs and you did have one thing in common” He sounded awkward as he spoke listening to your increasing heartbeat– you kept producing… I asked to have easy access to my treat but somebody downstairs came out with all of this” his hand lazily gestures around– bit extra I know.”

How simple, he didn’t even care about this to begin with, glaring at him gave you no answers or comfort.

“My family…?”

“They think you killed yourself, I've been told… your ex-hubby been on twitter acting holier than the virgin mary, absolutely devastated for likes” You bit your lips, face scrunching up ready to shout and cry– everybody suspects he murdered you even the cops”

“I'm going to kill him!!” Your tears flowed regardless – god fucking dammit!”

Your whole body rejected the news, twisting your stomach and filling you with needles

“How would you do it?”

“Bash his head in with a hammer…?? I don’t know but fuck him! I wasted 5 years of my life with that bastard!” You cried.

Homelander buried his face into your stomach, hiding the smile on his face. as you cursed outloud for a little bit, he paid no attention to your words.

“Sorry…” You cleaned your tears trying to stop this embarrassing display, the mere thought of him acting like he cared made you sick when he wouldn’t even come to his own son’s funeral– are you gonna hurt me?” you cleaned your nose against the pillow.

He moved so quickly before you knew it he’s face to face and even in this dark room only lit by rolling credits he appeared serene as a painting… It makes your blood run cold.

“Why would I hurt my comforter?”

That night he only slept for a couple hours, never moving from your stomach, holding you regardless, he snored softly, mumbling half-spoken words, lips twitching and brows furrowing, you petted him gently watching his hardened frown melt.

Some days he’d come once, others he’d come five times and then there were the days were you didn’t see him at all, leaving you awkwardly aware about how odd these exchanges felt… for it never felt truly sexual, your fears of molestation and ‘real’ assault dissuaded as you accepted that all this man was doing was come here to whine and bitch about work and suck on your titty– like right now, Homelander has been shouting, talkign so much shit about his coworkers you started to wonder if it was made up for nobody could certainly be that allegedly incompetent, about how stressful it was to do 20 plus media interviews all day, about hoq\w his latest film “Justice Serve” was a fucking nightmare already despite being only half-way thru pre-production.

“Do you even know what it's like to deal with idiots who think they’re better than you because they have an award!?” He put your nipple back in his mouth with a frown– who does Villeneuve think he is” He mumbled into your skin.

Yet he didn’t only bring petty grievances and thirsty lips– he showered you with gifts, perfumes you couldn’t pronounce filled with soft fragrances: sweet but not sugary, warm tones without too much spice. Brought you beauty products to pamper you… to watch you play with from the many cameras in the house, and dressed you like a doll in clothes you honestly wouldn't have bought in the first place, too flowery and tradwifey.

You did so with a fake smile, you’d be pretty for him if you must, keep your tongue in-check and swallow the ever increasing knot in your throat for he at least wasn’t loud towards you, he didn’t yell, he didn’t make scenes… you were just living like his newest pet.

His miniature cow standing in the living room instead of the evergreen pastures outside, VHS tapes and steel food trays made your fence.

You keep busy cleaning this house making stories of who had lived there, Bruce the only one who spoke to you.

Analysing the house inch by inch, there had to have been a spot they’ve missed you kept thinking, you figured that somehow they monitored your sleep cycle, only entering to remove dirty clothes and trash in the death of night, they knew if you were obviously awake, on day 14 you stayed up till around 5 am and not a peep was heard accross the house but as you woke past noon all your trash had been cleaned up, on day 16 you stayed awake all day felt sick passed out and same thing, you would find a way out, you would force them to take you out, all the furniture was glued in its post but if you had to cause a fire you fucking would… as you stared at your clean bedsheets you figure you could force them to come in and drag you outside but as you postulated the possibility of a faux-suicide attempt Homelander’s face flashed accross closed eyes– dare dissapointing him and lose all the goodwill you’d been building, trust, even presents more extravagant than anything your ex ever did.

Had he not kidnapped you, hold you against your will in an underground bunker, used you as a milk fountain and terrified the fuck out of you with his invisible steps in the middle of the night you would had found him charming… endearing even… at least he was still handsome… frightening but handsome.

Day 18-19-20 were the worse so far, days went by and your isolation only grew he had not come by, your meals delivered so quietly you missed them and found them cold, birds either too loud or gone but Homelander never came, every hour the anxiety only grew as you found your throat aching to speak with somebody other than a non-present 80s musician.

You made a stack of the movies you’ve seen yelling to the camera demanding more to watch, abandoning the cause to focus on the obscene collection of Danielle Steel books in the library… at least 30 books, at least it was a distraction as you woke up for the third day in a row without hearing from Homelander.

You talked to yourself, prettier views didn’t make up for human interaction, you had isolated yourselves before… you didn’t eat, shower, answer calls, simply left yourself to rot in your bed, sinking deeper and deeper into your mattress, the calm heartbeat of the machine keeping you alive until the phone battery died, now here you were curling in the couch feeling that endless void inside you screaming back at you, nothing to distract you from it any longer.

How ironic that those days locked in the basement had been the firsts since the funeral that you’d hadn’t thought about it.

Now every sleep came with dreams of distant cries, empty halls that cooed back, and a sense of urgency as time slipped from underneath you, nothing here smelled like him, yet in your sleep you held your pillow as you once held him, swearing it smelled like him, in the silence the singing birds sound like babies, but there’s nothing but creaking floorboards, old pipes and foreign ghosts in this place.

In this endless silence your mind told you this was limbo, jazz solos disguised the pandemonium of a silent afterlife, but as your heart anguished once again you buried yourself in paltry distractions, reading out loud as to keep your vocal chords warm and delude yourself that there was some company in here, mostly to hide the nonexistent crying.

It took you by surprise when half way thru ‘The Ghost’ you heard the buzzing of the steel door, your ears perked up stretching your neck before falling into the floor, shaky knees picked you up once more with a brave kick, quick steeping into the living room– Homelander stood staring at the messy pile talking to the camera to have this sorted and for the first time since you’d been here you sawn another human, who answered his call almost immediately, a man in kevlar rushed in his gun bouncing on his back alongside a young man dragging an ikea bag.

“Homelander!” Your voice was hoarse but he still turned to smile at you.

“We got you some new movies Ms. L/N” The young man spoke dropping the bag with a heavy thud.

“Watch it!” Homelander growled and you saw a slight stain dribble down his pants– just go wait in the library kitten while these ones sort this out for you.”

Your feet moved anyways, too excited by the presence of new faces, had he not cleared his throat you would’ve said anything just to make sure this wasn’t a dream, you looked away and that big steel door was wide open, an armed guard by the exit tho… it was an office, painted white with cool fluorescent lights.

Run, the voices scream.

Run.

For fucks sake run!!\

but...

You stay still.

It’s a test. Run and die, run and he’d snap your spine in thirds before you understand what happened your brain would be separated from your cranium no doubt, you swallow and take a step back, slow heavy agonizing steps lead you to the library.

Homelander’s gaze softens as he watches you sit by the unlit fireplace, he follows you soon after leaving the staff to work behind, you lift your head with a stiff neck, your tongue swollen inside your mouth, he smiles gently dropping to your level, carrying a small box.

The pretty bow doesn’t catch your attention in the least.

Not that dashing smile and ever so blue eyes either.

He tickles your nose without touching.

Chamomile and oat, a pale scent, subtle and clean…

As he scoot closer to you urging you to take the meaningless box held by nude hands, he pets your chin, leaving you to catch nutty tones… his hands smell of almond oil and cream.

He’s talking as he guides your hand into opening the present but you aren’t hearing a single word spoken… all you care about is his aroma…it invides you carving an aching hollow chest, making you dizzy and the world is squeezing your whole body with a thousands of pounds of violent force but you’re still held in one piece, wrapping your neck with the necklace he’d got you, touching every exposed inch leaving traces of sweet almond on you, resting his chin on your stiff shoulder so close whispering sweet nothings to you… hair smells so creamy… milky coconut, it makes you ill– You could name every brand he wore if asked.

“You like it?” He asks into your neck.

‘Like’ what? You guessed he meant the necklace.

“Where have you been?” You asked, wanting to think of anything but that bitter scent.

He pushes you down into the carpet, your hair drapes everywhere so he moves it to give himself no chance to pull it, you can’t even argue but your surprise and discomfort still paints your face, before you can say anything he drops his head on your stomach, nuzzling your dress and pulling your hand towards his head.

“I don’t want to talk about it” his muffle words sound angry, he whined into your stomach a quiet order demanding affection.

Obeying orders before he could whined even more for now you wanted silence again.

Staying like this for as long as he needed, leaving you to speculate what brought him such distress that caused him to abandon you as a result, a part of you stared in awe as you realized you how long this man could stay still without making a sound for.

How long did you lay there in a shared repose that your eyes shut? you wondered as the orange glow of afternoon sun warmed your cheeks, his hand cleaned a falling tear off your face as you woke up with a headache.

“Had a nightmare?”

Your hand unconsciously pulled him close to you, burying his face under your chin he’d awkwardly smiled as he adjusted to your demands, talking to you but it was white noise, your kept him still bridging an arm across his neck locking him in position, your other hand buried in blond, closing your eyes as you got high on shampoo.

In your mind much like your dream you hold him so close, he was plump and giddy, his hair more than a thin tuff, you laughed with him, as you dried his back, you swore to never love the scent of coconut, you held back your pain as you held him with all your might.

“I don’t want to talk about it…”

#homelander #homelander x reader #homelander x fem!reader #personal #my fic tag #the boys amazon #i have not proofread this so i die as the dog that i am #will edit for errors tomorrow cuz its almost midnight when am posting this.

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aplaceforyourhearttorest · 11 months ago

Text

You Make Loving Fun ✍︎ Cliff Burton

for @metallicaislife ♡ for whom (the bell tolls) i love endlessly

Worn out cotton tickles the tip of your nose as you twist your body to hug the pillow beneath you, the furrow between your eyebrows concaving into a deep and temporary divot as you blindly shove your face into the pillowcase and groan out a halfhearted protest. The sun beams down on and in through the aged and crooked blinds, and you grimace as you feel the slight tinge of sweat culminate on the skin of your left arm and shoulder blade.

You exhale out a sigh of relief as you untangle a limb and use it to toss the embroidered and heavy blanket off of your upper half, and a smile twitches itself onto your yawning lips, as the faint and barely-there scent of your boyfriend's herbs and stale cigarette smoke wafts and dances its way up to you from the movement of the fabric.

You sluggishly sit up and immediately make eye contact with the most recent picture that was taken of Cliff and sent your way, via mail, and a deep sense of yearning and excited anxiety fills you to the brim as you take in the sight. In the photo you kept in safe keeping, your boyfriend can be seen grinning down at a letter you wrote only a few days prior, the delicate skin around his eyes stretching and wrinkling with glee as he takes in your adoration-filled words. Your fingers grip onto the fabric of his shirt surrounding you as you embrace the flutter that creates dormancy in your chest. You blink back the sting that starts behind your eyelids as you think of your partner, before turning your attention elsewhere, suddenly needing a distraction from the onslaught of emotions trying to overwhelm you so early in the morning.

The smile that once teased your lips comes back to, you unable to fight back the amusement you feel as soon as the sticker on the postcard to your left comes into view, as you turn your head away from the polaroid thumbtacked on the wall opposite of the bed.

'Metallica up your ass!' stares back up at you in an overused and obnoxious font, the beginning and ending of the band's logo's letters turning into plungers and bleeding their way down the paper in front of you in a muddy and russet brown color.

The heart beating inside of your chest pauses, and then sporadically beats as your partially numb fingertips run their way over the smudged and messy ink on the bottom of the postcard, your arms feeling like lead as they slowly wake themselves up.

Soon, is the only word scrawled on the dilapidated piece of paper, and you caress your bottom lip with the tip of your tongue as you take in a deep and unsteady breath. Biting back a wince as your uncovered and bare feet make contact with the chilled hardwood floor underneath you as you begin to stand up, your amused smile relaxes itself into a small grin as you make your way down into another room of the shared living space. Old group posters absorb themselves into the chipped, yellow paint of the hallway's walls and vinyl's haphazardly rest on uneven and homemade shelves, the sight greeting you warmly as you tiredly stumble through the small living room area and into the dimly lit kitchen.

You temporarily flutter your eyes shut as the coffee machine buzzes and vibrates to life against the scratched marble counter you lean against with your cocked hip, the sound comforting and grounding as you slowly begin to come to full consciousness. The tips of your nails tap against the hardened material of your favorite mug with a familiar beat, and your chest heaves in a silent laugh as you acknowledge the original source.

"Two hours, two hours." You murmur out into the chilled air, your eyes finally opening back up and making their way upward to stare up at the clock above the refrigerator. Your palm reddens as you press it against your now filled and warmed up coffee mug and you hum in contentment, before pushing yourself off of the countertop with your free elbow and making your way back toward the bedroom once again.

Reaching out to entangle your fingers in the multitude of band and long sleeve t-shirts Cliff left behind as you make your way past your guys' closet, you swallow a large gulp of the caffeinated drink and glance at the outfit you already have placed out and folded on top of a chair, on the outskirts of the bedroom. Anticipation enraptures you as you pitter over to the dress, and you mirthfully grin to yourself and against the heat emanating from your coffee as you picture his reaction to the ensemble. You already know what your reaction to seeing him again will be like, somewhat already familiarized with the sense of longing that comes with the partially long-distance relationship the two of you were in. But you hope the letter you wrote last night and the effort you put in to surprising him will show him how much you truly care for him, love him. And you also, maybe, want to floor him on his ass just a little bit. Lovingly, of course.

✉

Fleetwood Mac harmonizes out of the record player and into the frenzied air of the dining room as you run your way around the small apartment, the mirth and confidence you felt earlier being shoved back and away and replaced with exerted exhaustion. You let out a puff of air and bite back a giggle as it sways the hair resting against the crown of your head and your temples. You lean back and rest against the wall connecting the two nearest rooms and wipe the sudsy water off of the palms of your hands, the caffeine in your system now completely gone after the last hour and a half of cooking and getting yourself ready. You freeze in place at an unexpected and too-early sound coming from the front door only a few feet away from you; the grip you have on the apron you're trying to remove slipping as you suddenly hear a key slide into the deadbolt.

"Oh shit." You whisper, before hurriedly yanking the stained protectant off and tossing it over and onto the sofa, the doorknob now being twisted and pushed on with impatient haste.

You place your hands behind your back and wrap them around the opposite wrist, your stomach sucking in densely with a heavy inhalation as you ready yourself for the sight of your boyfriend. The heart in your chest begins to thunder and catapult as he shoves his way in, his arms weighed down by multiple duffle bags and heavy carry on's. Cliff visibly deflates as soon as you come into view, the annoyed expression on his facial features crumbling and his eyes widening with anew light. Before either one of you could utter out a single word, your feet begin to move on their own accord, and your arms encircle themselves around his broad shoulders as you guide him down into an abrupt embrace. Cliff lets out a surprised grunt as you make harsh contact with him, and he carefully allows his bags to thud against the welcoming rug as soon as he's sure your feet are in the clear and a safe distance away. Cliff gently guides you backwards and further into the warmth of the lived in space, his right and booted foot blindly kicking the door behind him closed as he wholly and intentionally focuses in on you.

"Hi, sweetheart." He coos out, his eyebrows raising in muted amusement as he feels you shake against him with poorly hidden tremors. His hand dips down to your lower back to rub soothing and placating circles in the intimate and sensitive skin, causing you to take in a deep breath of his scent and sigh out, feeling immense exasperated relief as he temporarily brings his body closer to yours.

"Where's the funeral?" Cliff muses, gently unwrapping your arms from around him and shuffling you until you're at an arm's length of distance. Large and warm calloused hands cup your cheeks as tears stream down from your eyes, and you let out a sound of embarrassment as soon as you look up at him and make bashful eye contact.

"I had the whole day planned out, and I swore to myself I wouldn't cry." You admit, an unfightable smile breaking through and ending the waterwork of tears as your boyfriend's warm and soft laughter fills the room around you two. "If a reunion between us doesn't start with you crying as soon as you see me, then you didn't miss me all that much." You raise an arm to playfully collide it with his arm but pause as you get lost in the way he looks down at you. Warmth spreads through you as Cliff caresses your cheeks and bends down to meet you halfway, his lips feeling more homelike than the apartment the two or you share.

The music playing from a room away bleeds into a cacophony of static and gentle white noise as he delicately breathes out against you and his stubble brushes against your cupid's bow. The hand you have paused and already raised goes to wrap around his wrist instead, and you let out a sigh of fulfillment as you feel his steady and thrumming heartbeat underneath your slightly trembling fingertips. The hand you aren't holding on to slides down and grips onto the back of your neck and onto your nape, the firm grasp making you melt into the embrace and fully relax. The never-ending worrying of his health and safety and if he'll make it home all in one piece finally stops and you nearly slump in overwhelming consolation, before letting out a whine as he pulls away and disconnects his lips from yours.

Cliff smiles widely, his eyes doing that endearing squint that you love so much as he takes in your appearance, inch by inch. Heat bleeds from the apples of your cheeks down to your chest, and you're close to shying away before he speaks up and begins his praise. "And look at you, my love, all dressed up for me." You let out a gentle bout of laughter as his hand glides to yours and raises to spin you in a dramatic and slow circle.

"And only for you," you reassure him in a quiet tone, your blush becoming a bright red hue as his eyes slightly darken at your affirmation. "Who takes care of me, no matter how far away he may be," Cliff quickly clears his throat and looks away as he starts to flush, only glancing over at you to playfully glare as you let out a sound of amused enjoyment. "Go and take your jacket and your shoes off for me, big boy. I made us dinner."

You watch as your boyfriend seems to physically shake his head to get out of his own stupor, and you bite onto the tip of your thumb as a wide grin sores your cheeks. You quickly turn around and slide the envelope underneath his tablecloth before he could see it and make your way over to your chair. You look up amid filling up both of your plates as you hear a throat clear itself and a zipper shudder to a close, and your lips gape open in surprise as you're greeted with your partner holding out a bouquet of flowers to you. Pink roses are hugged up against tulips and blooming sunflowers, and surrounding all of it, a ribbon tied in a perfect knot with all of your favorite colors.

"Cliff," you start and then stop, your eyes threatening to water as you take in his sheepish grin. His socked feet shuffle in barely contained nervousness, causing the bell bottoms of his flared jeans to rub against each other and irritate his ankle's skin. "I knew I was going to come home, and you'd be looking as gorgeous as you usually do, with a mountain full of food out on the table and our songs already playing. It really isn't that big of a deal, baby. Just wanted to let you know that I was thinking about you on the way over here and wanted to gift you a little token of appreciation." Cliff feels his heart flutter in his chest as he takes in your wide eyes and unsteady hands, fighting back the urge to discard the flowers and give you comfort instead.

"Everything you do for me is a big deal, because it comes from you," you swallow thickly and force yourself to take in a deep breath before continuing. "The man who's taught me what healthy love is and what a relationship is supposed to be and feel like. You're everything, especially to me, so every little thing you do for me will always be insurmountable." Cliff lets out a disbelieving laugh as his eyes begin to tear up, and he quickly makes his way over to the table to sit next to you, as close as physically possible without bringing you onto his lap. You both wince at the sound of his chair squeaking out in protest against the tiles underneath it and let out shy laughs at the closeness once you two meet in the middle. No matter how many years the two of you have been together and have met up after a long leg of a tour, it all still felt so brand new and refreshing. And as you thumb a thick strand of hair behind your ear and glance over to see the content smile on your partner's face, you silently wish for the butterflies and the excitement to never end. And as he turns to look at you, he silently does the same, his hands reaching over to entangle themselves in yours to hold you close.

✉

A whoosh flies out of you as you twist your body to face Cliff halfway, your now protruding tummy protesting the movement as you fight to keep the atrocious amount of food you ate down. Your boyfriend looks no better off, the overeating seeming like a good idea at first, but soon becoming a sullen regret as he slumps back in his dining room chair and brings your feet up to rest against the jean material hugging his slender thighs. Your eyes flit over to the dessert you made early last night resting on the stove, and Cliff lets out a deep groan as he follows your line of sight.

"Absolutely fucking not." He refuses, squinting up at you from his lowered position, his face set in a mild grimace and his fingertips drawing firm figure 8's in your bare calves.

"You'll regret saying that when the crust hardens in the morning and the cherry filling dries up." You retort, letting out a chortle as he sarcastically rolls his eyes at your rebuttal. "As long as the pie's the only thing drying up around here, I don't mind."

You smack his shoulder, causing him to beam wide and let out a cackle as he takes in your incredulous expression. "Clifford Lee Burton, you are nothing less of a pervert!" You yell, before sharing a grin as you both acknowledge the hypocrisy in your playful outburst. You were almost always the first one to initiate intimacy between the two of you, shocking the musician who was already known for not being too shy himself once he feels comfortable and in tune with everyone around him. He couldn't help it, turning into a softened mess whenever you were around, his hesitancy only proving his utmost respect for you and only going after whatever you were ready for at any given moment.

"C'mere real quick, I've got something else for you." He murmurs after taking in a few deep breaths, a hand on your leg stopping all movement and removing itself to reach behind his back and grab onto an item from one of his pockets. You furrow your eyebrows in confusion, before looking over at the incredible bouquet lying against the edge of the table. He had already done more than enough; he was here, and he was present, and that was all you could possibly want and ask for.

You relay the same sentiment out loud and get a small smile in response, and an almond-colored envelope waved in your direction. Your eyes widen in surprise at the rarity of him writing you a letter, his thing more of a late-night phone call after an exhilarating performance and him falling asleep to the sound of your voice. "I figured I'd write you one back after the dozens you wrote me over the past few months that have helped keep me sane, with all of the traveling and roadies we've got running all around. Might not be as good as one of yours, but." Cliff shrugs nonchalantly, but the glassiness of his eyes present a wide array of nervousness and timidness. You hide an enamored grin behind the gift as you feel his leg begin to bounce underneath your own.

"I'd accept and take anything you give me without complaint, and you know that." You almost whisper, the pads of your thumbs indenting themselves into the envelope that's nestled in your palms, as you smile down at the messy scrawling of the nickname that he's been calling you since high school.

Sunshine.

You tear open the sealed backing of the letter with excited haste and ignore the sound of your boyfriend's amused laughter, his hands encircling their way around your calves once again as you unfold the contents inside. Your heart stops in time as you grasp onto a mini polaroid picture of the two of you on your first date. October 12th, 1979, is written on the bottom of the image, and you let out a tear-filled laugh as you run a fingertip over the crooked heart drawn near your connected hands. You quickly unfold the letter and begin to read it with rapt and undeterred attention.

To my sunshine, who I met back in 1979. August 31st, to be exact. I can almost remember it like it was yesterday. You floated into homeroom like you owned the place, although you expression screamed that you wanted to be anywhere else at that moment. Your undeniable beauty is what caught my attention at first, but your personality is what caused me to stick around. You enrapture me, with your kindness and your openness, the way you welcome all kinds of people in and give them emotional shelter. I've never met someone like you before, and I don't think I ever will. I've known you for 2,372 days, and I think I've been in love with you for every single one of them. I cannot picture myself without you, and when I do, I feel nothing but alone and starving. Even when I'm on tour and I'm surrounded by the smell of the other guys and enough weed to power a greenhouse, I still feel your presence around me. You are my everything, and everything else, all at once. And you complete me. Thank you for always sticking by my side, and for believing in the band when we had absolutely nothing. You cheered us on while we were ripping out foam from the walls to make beds in a one room apartment, and you continue to cheer us on in front of hundreds of thousands of people today. Your love is universal, and I hope to be the main person you show it to until we're old and withered, but still young together and at heart. I cannot wait to be able to come home and to have you and hold you in my arms, I've been dreaming about it and yearning for it for months. Hold on, because I'm coming home to you. Love yours, your bellbottom wearing, hippie asshole.

"Six years in counting, and sixty-six more to go." You nearly weep out, your body instinctively reaching out for Cliff as you drop the letter and photo in your lap. Cliff instantly lifts and brings you into and onto his own, gently guiding your head to rest on his chest as he runs his large palms up and down your wracking and trembling back.

"Everything is alright, sweet thing. Just breathe for me." Your partner reassures, the cadence in his voice and his natural comforting aura causing you to calm down much faster than you normally would if he wasn't around.

"Doing so well for me, always so good." Cliff smiles down at you with a soft look as you blearily look up into his bright, green eyes. "When was the last time I told you how much I love you?" You ask him once you trust your voice enough not to crack or break, and an unsteady smile makes its way on to your lips as your boyfriend bends down to place a warm kiss on the center of your forehead.

"Yesterday morning. And then yesterday afternoon, and then last night, again." Cliff drones out, the faux tone of annoyance in his voice making you shake your head in mirth and rest it against his chest once again. You place a kiss there and beam to yourself as he shivers from the notion, before leaning back and sliding your hand underneath his tablecloth to get your own letter this time. "How about I remind you again?"

Cliff lets out a warm spell of laughter as you hand him over a matching-colored envelope, almost the same in size and all. "I bet you won't one up me at all," he jokes to you, before pausing midway while opening it. "Read it to me? Missed the sound of your actual voice. Sweden's phone reception is actual shit, and you sound much better in person." You squint your eyes at his obvious ass kissing but turn around to rest against his front and to lean your head against his clothed shoulder. "Alright, brat."

You lift your hand for the envelope and let out a huff as he playfully tugs it away from you, going to fully open it himself and then placing it in your awaiting hand. You momentarily close your eyes at the sensation of his stubble making contact with your exposed collarbone, before opening them once again to start reading your letter out loud.

"To my hippie rockstar, I miss you even though we already spoke over the phone tonight. The excitement in your voice when you told me about how filled and interactive the crowd was made me want to cry. It reminds me of the times we used to sit in your parent's living room and watch the tapes your parents filmed of you, Scott and Connie. You banging on empty and already-eaten spaghetti cans and your older siblings playing their actual instruments, but you still kept up with them with your insane enthusiasm. I know Connie is proud of you, she told me the other night when I called her home. But I know Scott would be losing his shit right now. He'd be the first person in line at every single venue, and the last person standing out there, cheering you on while everyone else headed on home. I know he isn't with us anymore, but he's still your older brother no matter how you look at it, and I just know he's exuberant and standing on the tips of his toes looking down at you. We all are, because you are our star. I knew it the first moment I saw you, in that overworn jean jacket you still somehow fit into today, and that bellbottom jean style you still hold on to, that we all secretly love. When I first saw you and spoke to you outside of class, I knew you were different. The shy smiles you'd send my way and the little notes we'd pass to each other when the teacher wasn't looking. The first time you held my hand on our first date and refused to let go until I promised you that I'd allow you to take me out on another one. You are tenacious and hardworking and everyone around you is so proud, including me. I cannot wait to see you and our best friends on tour in person once again, and I can't wait to see how we end up in the future. Together, I know that. Hopefully in a home much larger and filled with our children and future nieces and nephews, and with that specific type of breed of dog you've always wanted. But even if in fifteen years down the road and we're still in this old apartment, with the same crooked blinds and the same scratched marble countertops, I would still be content. Because as long as I have you by my side and still feel you even if you're not here with me physically, I'll still have you in my heart and you'll always be here. You are my other half, my overindulgent, loving and caring, hippie rockstar. And I wouldn't have you any other way. Until I see you again, your Sunshine. Six years in counting, and sixty-six more to go."

You sniffle once you finish, the tip of your nose being tickled and irritated by a teardrop refusing to fall down. The music is the only sound emanating throughout the apartment, but you know that your boyfriend held on to every single word and syllable, if his shaking shoulders were any indication and proof of that. You let out a coo as you feel his arms encircle their way around your middle from behind, and you twist your head to the side to place a kiss on his now damp and tear-stained jawline.

"We're all so proud of you. You know that, right?" You ask him quietly, not wanting to fright him or break the delicate scene the two letters of yours made. You feel him nod against you and you let go of your letter to wrap your hands around his. "You do so well for everyone, and if I have to remind you myself every day, then I will."

"I love you so much." Cliff declares, the tremble in his voice causing you to press yourself against him even more, wanting to give him as much comfort as physically possible. "And I love you." You answer, simply and softly. Because it was the truth, and you always will. You made that promise to him five years ago on your first anniversary, and you intend to keep it until that right is taken away from you.

Cliff kisses the tears away of his that landed on your shoulders during your reading, and carefully scoots his chair back until it lightly raps itself against the yellow-colored wall. Before you could even ask what he was doing, you're spontaneously picked up with little to no effort, and then placed unsteadily on your bare feet. "Let's dance." He says, before dramatically holding a hand out to you and bowing his head. You let out a confused laugh but decide to go with the flow anyway, reaching your hand up to grasp onto his.

A squeal exits your lips as you're playfully tugged around the dining room table, and on to the crossroads of the living room and the kitchen. You instinctually wrap your arms around his shoulders as soon as he lifts you once again to place your feet on top of his. "I don't want the first day of me being back to be nothing but tears and stomachaches. Granted, the food was amazing, and your letter means the world to me, but I finally have you back in my arms after so long, and I want to take full advantage of it."

Your eyes soften as you look up into his and nod mutely, his hands caressing your lower waist bringing warmth back into you as your combined feet chill from the minor draft breezing itself inside from the front door.

You place a gentle kiss on his chin before resting your forehead against his chest and closing your eyes, the sound of the song that you two danced to on your first date crooning around the two of you like a comforting serenade as you both sway back and forth.

'Sweet, wonderful you. You make me happy with the things you do. Oh, can it be so? This feeling follows me wherever I go.'

"One day," Cliff starts, causing you to hum against him for him to continue. "One day, I'm going to make enough money and I'll propose, and we'll get married, and we can go and look for that perfect home you're always talking about. The white picket fence and the two floors, the walk-in closet, with a garage that's big enough to fit the both of our car's in."

"As long as you're here with me, I don't mind where we go or where we'll end up. That's just fairytales, you and I are the present, so let's focus on that instead," you lean back to look up in his eyes, that already seemed to be looking down at you. "You are my home, and we've got all of the time in the world. So, let's just focus on what we've got now, because that's all that I truly need."

Cliff nods back at you and slightly raises you off of the tops of his feet to bring you into a warm hug and embrace. You wrap your legs around his waist like it's second nature, and you feel complete and at ease as he rests his head in the space between your neck and your shoulder.

"But I'll accept that marriage proposal right away, if you were serious about that one." Your boyfriend lets out a laugh against your flushed skin and you grin widely to yourself as his vibration tickles your skin.

Cliff momentarily glances over at his jean jacket and the little red box that peeks out of its breast pocket, before resting his head against you once again and tightening his grip around you.

For once is his life, or in the past six years of the best part of his life he's spent with you, he's finally got one up on you. And he cannot wait to see your reaction. And he also, maybe, wants to floor you on your ass just a little bit. Lovingly, of course.

'You, you make loving fun. It's all I want to do.'

#metallica #cliff burton #cliff burton x reader #metallica x reader #metallica smut #metallica imagines #james hetfield #kirk hammett #lars ulrich #metallica fluff #cliff burton imagine #cliff burton imagines

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haddonfieldwhore · 2 years ago

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cold mornings - leon kennedy

leon kennedy x reader

warnings: none i think, just fluff💕🧸 (short)

as you slowly woke up from your sleeping state, your hand instinctively reached over the to space next to you, only to find it empty. the sheets were still warm where your boyfriend, leon, usually slept, meaning he hadn’t left the bed that long ago. you rolled over onto your stomach, burying your face in the pillow that still smelt of leon’s shampoo. you sighed happily, even as the chilly morning air tried to touch your bare legs. having slept in just an old t-shirt of leon’s, your wrapped your arms around yourself as you sat up, shivering as your feet touched the cold hardwood floor.

the sun was just beginning to rise as you walked out of leon’s bedroom and down the hallway, looking for the blond agent. you found him in the kitchen, his hair tousled and messy from sleep, wearing a faded R.P.D hoodie, so worn that the logo was almost invisible. even with the slight bags under his eyes, you couldn’t imagine leon looking any cuter than he did right now, as he fiddled with the coffee maker that he never could seem to get working right.

“why don’t you just by a new one?” you asked, and leon jumped slightly, seemingly not having heard you walk up behind him. “sorry baby, i didn’t mean to scare you.”

“it’s okay,” he sighed, pulling you into his arms, and you happily accepted the warmth he gave off. “i’ll figure this thing out eventually.” you smiled to yourself as with no more than two presses of a button, you got the machine working. “huh, i guess that’s why i keep you around,” leon teased, pulling back to kiss you on the forehead, his arms still around you resting on your lower back. you tugged at the fabric of the old hoodie, pulling his lips down to meet yours in a soft kiss. he was smiling when you pulled back.

“i hope that’s not the only reason,” you replied playfully, and he laughed lightly.

“no, i also love you a little bit.”

“a little bit?” you asked. raising an eyebrow.

“ok.. a lot,” he smiled, kissing you again. the coffee finished dripping into the pot and leon passed you your favourite mug. you poured the coffee in before adding some creamer, and pulled leon by his hand towards the couch once he had gotten his coffee as well. leon sat down and let you crawl into his lap, your legs over his as your back rested against the armrest. he pulled a plush blanket over both of you, quickly warming you up and protecting you from the cold air.

“thanks,” you hummed, snuggling into him, carefully as not to spill the coffee cup that you held in your lap.

“i wish every morning could be like this,” leon mumbled, thinking out loud. you smiled in agreement.

“that means i’d have to spend the night more often,” you replied.

“my apartment is closer to your work anyway, it’s more practical for you to stay here.” he enthused; he was right, his apartment was 15 minutes closer to your work than yours was. “plus the added bonus of i get to spend more time with you like this,” he beamed, kissing your neck innocently. you had to admit, you enjoyed falling asleep next to leon. considering his line of work, the two of you didn’t always get to spend time just relaxing and enjoying each others company. you had to cherish these moments, and any excuse to have more of them was welcome in both your opinions.

“that definitely is a bonus. and i sleep better knowing i have you to protect me,” you admitted. you could see something- maybe guilt- flash in leon’s eyes, before he forced a smile.

“are you kidding? you’re here to protect me,” he chuckled, and you hit his chest gently. nuzzling your head into the crook of his neck, leon held you tighter, tracing little shapes on your bare leg under the blanket.

you could definitely get used to more mornings like this.

#leon kennedy fic #leon kennedy #leon kennedy imagine #leon kennedy fanfiction #leon kennedy fluff #fluff #leon kennedy x reader #leon s kennedy #resident evil #re4 remake #re4 #re2 #re2make #re4make

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floornigeria321 · 8 months ago

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writtenonreceipts · 1 year ago

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Hi friend! How are you? I hope this sparks some ideas for your secret santa: N.12 for Elorcan, please?

Hi! I've been alright, I survived my holiday weekend and am back to the usual grind! I hope you're doing well! Thanks so much for sending me this, I really did enjoy this one!

from this prompt list

Prompt: "H-how long have you been standing there?” - “Long enough.”->I tweaked it just a little.

AO3 Link Here

.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.

Tear In My Heart

The gritty scent of cigarette smoke was the first thing Lorcan noticed when he entered the bar. Being this far out in the middle of nowhere Colorado led to no one caring about enforcing the law about indoor smoking, especially not the owner. Mort never seemed to care about that sort of thing and it showed. Lorcan doubted any sort of deep cleaning would ever rid the place of the stench so there was no use banning smoking. Especially not when it was accompanied by the sharp tang of alcohol and vomit.

Unfortunately, there was nowhere else to get a decent drink around here unless you sat out on your porch with your own. And even Lorcan didn't drink alone.

But there was another reason to come to the bar.

Eighties rock played through the speakers adding to the grungy atmosphere. Dim lights over the counter set everything in an orange haze. Even the neon lights of the different beer logos and other paraphernalia didn't add anything. Two pool tables sat in one of the back corners along with a dart board. No matter how few people were seated at the bar or various tables, it always felt overcrowded and tonight was no different.

All Lorcan focused on, however, was the woman behind the bar.

Her black hair fell around her shoulders in loose waves, framing her face. He'd always found her beautiful, striking really, with her onyx eyes and pale skin, that sarcastic twist of her lips when she made a quip.

She hadn't noticed him yet, which was good, he didn't need to be caught starting. Instead, she was focused on pouring out a drink for the man across the counter from her. She laughed at something he said, though he didn't know what.

Lorcan felt his own blood heat at that and he strode across the hardwood floor in just a few quick steps. When he approached the bar, Elide finally noticed him and a smile lit up her entire face.

"Well, well," she said, sliding the drink to the other customer. "If it isn't Salvaterre."

"Lochan," he said. He took a seat a few stools down from the other man.

"Let me know if you need anything else, Dan," Elide said to the other man. She moved down the bar until she reached Lorcan. With her arms crossed she leaned against the polished wood so she could properly examine him. "You look like hell."

Lorcan rolled his eyes. It was true enough. This past week had been miserable. The small shop he ran had been struggling a bit and things at the ranch were not better. It shouldn't have surprised him, things always slowed down this time of year, but summer had been slower as well. And then there was the fact that he had feelings for the girl he could never have.

"I always look like this," he said. And because he was a bastard, he leaned forward, drawing closer to her.

"Yeah, you should do something about that," she said. Her endless black eyes stared directly into him as though she could see to his very soul. Then with a laugh she pulled back. "You want your usual?"

"Yeah, sure," he said. He watched her go as she turned for a new glass, a bottle of whiskey.

Elide had always been the sort of woman he knew he could never have. She was good, first off. She came from a good family with a good background. She'd graduated high school with honors even though she had pretty bad dyslexia. Then when her dad got sick she'd dropped out of college and left everything to move back home and help her mom out with bills by working at a crappy bar that probably doled out even crappier tips.

As she assembled the drink she glanced over her shoulder at him. "Just you tonight?"

"Nah, the twins'll show up eventually," he said. "And Rowan if he can drag himself away from another fight with Galathynius."

Elide snorted a laugh and she turned back to him with the drink. "Aw, upset your best friend actually has a life?"

"You know how annoying that woman is," Lorcan groused. He accepted the drink.

For the last year and a half, Aelin had been working at the Whitethorn ranch as a trauma specialist in youth and children for kids needing help in various forms of therapy. Rowan had inherited the business from his parents and for some reason thought it was a good idea to keep it running. Even if he and his lead psychologist did not get along.

"Yeah, that's why she's my best friend," Elide said drily. "She's a good person."

Lorcan doubted that but he'd shut up. There would be plenty of other chances to put his foot in his mouth tonight.

"I'll take your word for it," he said instead. He took a long drink, ice clinking gently in the cup.

"Well I am a very reliable source," she said.

And then she was gone to fix another round for a couple at one of the far tables. Lorcan watched her go, unable to look away from the sway of her hips or the sliver of skin that peeked out between the edge of her shirt and her jeans.

He only managed to tear his gaze away when the door of the bar opened and Fenrys Moonbeam entered. Lorcan knew it was him without even looking because Fen, annoying as hell, always made sure his presence was known.

"Lochan! How's it going?" Fenrys called, looping over to Lorcan. Behind him was the more subdued Connall, eyes glued to his phone. Lorcan had the sneaking suspicion that Connall was about to start dating someone. But being who he was, wouldn't talk about it until it was an actuality. Even quiet and distracted, Connall still managed to balance out his twin.

"Hi Fenrys," Elide called back. She kept with her current task of drink refills and checking the kitchen on a food order.

When Fenrys dropped into the stool beside Lorcan he smacked a hand on his shoulder.

"You know you're getting obvious, right?" Fenrys asked. "What's this? Three nights in a row?"

"He's not that much of a psychopath," Connall spoke, he dropped into the seat on the far side of Fenrys. "He puts a day between the visits."

"Shut up," Lorcan growled. He took another sip of whiskey, relishing in the bite as it slid down his throat.

Somehow, in some pathetic and sad twist of fate, his friends had learned of his crush on Elide. He blamed it on a night a few months ago involving too much tequila and spur of the moment round of truth or dare. It was pathetic enough that he was a thirty-year-old man playing truth or dare but to follow that up with the admission of having a crush? Pathetic.

He really had to get a life.

"You should make a move 's all I'm saying," Fenrys said. He snagged a half-filled bowl of pretzels from down the bar and dragged it closer so he could snack.

"He's right," Connall added, finally looking up from his phone. "She's not going to stay single forever. I heard Archer Finn wanted to ask her out."

Lorcan couldn't help his scowl. Finn was best described as being a player. One night stands, ghosting, playing games. He wasn't a good person. It was the one thing he could agree with Aelin Galathynius about. He certainly didn't deserve to even talk to Elide.

"Yeah, the scowl's real convincing about your feelings," Connall said.

"Archer's an ass," Lorcan said.

Fenrys laughed. "So are you and she still talks to you."

Lorcan kicked his chair. "Shut up."

"Man." Fenrys shook his head, brushing his blond curls from his eyes. "You've been obsessed with her for years. At this point it's your own fault if she gets picked up by someone else."

"I'm not--" Lorcan began.

"You have her shifts memorized," Connall said, "know her birthday, her mom's birthday, dude you got her flowers on her dads anniversary."

Lorcan was never telling Rowan anything ever again.

"Didn't you fix her car for free too?" Fenrys added, mouth full of pretzels.

In the last five years of knowing Elide, having moved to this town on a whim after school, Lorcan had indeed done all of those things. There had just been something about Elide and the first time he'd met her. It had been at this very bar, just a few months after her dad's passing. He hadn't been in the best of moods, admittedly that was usual for him, and she'd called him out on it.

Their friendship slowly developed from there where he'd learned all those things and more about Elide. He'd been in love with her as long as he could remember.

He couldn't say anything of course because he was Lorcan. He was the town miscreant who usually stayed on his property unless it was to come in for a drink. He managed the stables for the Whitethorn ranch and ran a side mechanic shop.�� Really, the jobs weren't stable and would likely only get worse from here. His father was an alcoholic, his mother gone since he was eighteen--he wasn't good enough for someone like Elide.

"She's going to figure out you're in love with her eventually," Connall said, "and what are you going to--"

Connall abruptly cut off with a rather colorful curse and Lorcan felt his blood freeze. He abandoned his drink and spun in his stool to find Elide standing behind them, half empty tray of drinks and plates in her hands.

Her eyes were too wide and her lips parted in shock.

"I-" Her gaze bounced between the three of them before settling on the floor. "I'll be out with drinks in a minute."

She dropped the tray on the nearest table and immediately left through the front door of the bar--not through the kitchens.

"Hell,” Lorcan muttered. He stood and punched Fenrys' shoulder for good measure. "Thanks for that."

"Connall's the one that actually said it!" Fenrys shouted.

Lorcan ignored him and launched himself out and across the bar to the door.

The cool air of the night immediately washed over him, clearing his senses of the heady scent of the bar. Overhead, a waning crescent hung in the sky with patches of stars filling the inky darkness.

He spun, looking for where Elide had gone. He knew she was still on shift and wouldn't take off without a replacement.

It didn't take long to spot her. She'd walked down the length of the sidewalk outside the bar a few yards away. Overhead, a streetlamp burned with pale light, illuminating her as she paced with quick, uneven steps. She tugged one hand through her hair, holding it out of her face as she muttered under her breath.

When Lorcan's boot scraped on the ground, she looked up. Her eyes were still wide and shock remained cleanly written on her face. Lorcan kept enough distance between them so that if she really wanted she could skirt around him and head back to the bar, but close enough that he could reach out to her too.

"How much did you hear?" he asked, because really that's all he really cared about, how much damage control he needed to do.

"Enough."

If there was one thing that Lorcan knew about Elide it was that she didn't shirk away from a problem. Even if she didn't like the situation or what may come with it. Just like now.

Her dark eyes met his and, for once, he couldn't read her. He'd gotten so used to knowing her little quirks that the radio silence unnerved him. Or maybe that was how it was supposed to be. Maybe he didn't actually know her and everything he thought he did know was more or less a facade, an illusion.

"Is it true?" she asked, voice soft and far more vulnerable than Lorcan was used to hearing from her. "Or were they just talking shit, I know how they are."

"I--" Lorcan scrubbed at his face, looking away. He didn't know if he could tell her the truth. If he did there was no guarantee of how she would respond. And he didn't know if he could take the rejection. Because something like this? It would ruin any semblance of friendship between them.

"Lorcan."

She wouldn't let him get away with the silence or the pretending to ignore what she had heard.

"Do you really want me to answer that?" he asked.

"Yes." The hard line of her voice drew him back to her. With hands on her hips and the way her hair swept over one shoulder, Lorcan knew he wouldn't get away with delaying any longer.

The thing about it was that he didn’t like not being able to control the outcome of a given situation. And he knew more than anything that there was no controlling Elide. She was exactly who she was and would yield to no one.

Lorcan often put his foot in his mouth over so many things--especially when he had been younger. It simply became easier to act. Which was what he did then.

In two sweeping steps, he reached her. Lorcan cupped her face in his hands, feeling how soft her skin was against his own calluses. Her dark eyes gleamed in the streetlamp overhead, her full mouth opening in surprise.

Lorcan acted without thinking when he kissed her. All he was really focused on was wiping that look of mixed hurt and confusion from her face--to show her exactly how he felt.

A part of Lorcan thought she would shove him away, but instead her hands gripped the front of his shirt, fingers digging into the fabric to pull him closer. Her lips were soft against his, soft and warm and everything he’d imagined in all these years. And when she exhaled a soft moan, Lorcan nearly broke at that sound alone.

One of his hands slipped into her hair, the thick locks like silk in his fingers. His other hand went to her waist as he tugged her closer. He could feel her warmth and her soft curves and all he could think that he wanted more. More of her and more of what they could have.

“Lorcan,” Elide whispered against his lips. She broke away only to catch her breath, her chest rising and falling heavily as she met his gaze.

He leaned in close enough to press his forehead against hers even though all he could think about was kissing her again and memorizing the way she felt against him.

“I’m in love with you,” he told her, voice soft. He’d never said these words to anyone before and they felt strange on his tongue. But he knew they were true and he knew that he had to say them at least once. And it would only be for her.

He felt her tremble in his arms and listened to the sharp inhale of breath she made. When she didn’t try and pull away from him, Lorcan felt a bit of hope rise in his chest. Instead, Elide tilted her chin until her lips brushed against his. The touch was barely there and hardly even a kiss but Lorcan swore he came alive with that simple act.

“It took you long enough,” she replied. Her dark eyes stared into him with a spark of that same fire that had first caught his attention five years ago.

When she kissed him she held nothing back. Her mouth was firm and insistent, her hands moving with determination until her fingers curled over his shoulders keeping right where she wanted.

And for the first time since he’d moved to this town, he felt like he’d finally come home.

.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.

tagging still is not functioning properly, so if you'd reblog/comment I'd really appreciate it! Y'all are so great <3

#elorcan #elide lochan #lorcan salvaterre #elide x lorcan #throne of glass #tog #fanfiction #throne of glass fanfic

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chaotic-bisexual-dumbass · 1 year ago

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Reunited through death - Chapter 3

Bucky Barnes x daughter!reader (platonic)

The footsteps resonated against the concrete floor. Droplets of water were falling slowly from the ceiling, meeting with the small puddle located between two fissured parts of cement on the ground.

The man leading the parade wore a black cap along with a black uniform identified with a red logo on the sleeve. Behind him followed another man.

He was taller, broader and had a metal arm arboring a red star. He wore a mask covering the lower half of his face, dark brown hair framing it. His blue eyes stared ahead, focused and dark.

The man up front stopped in his tracks, turning to face an imposing metal door and clipping off the keys hanging at his belt. The soldier stood behind him, glaring at nothing in particular.

Until something caught his attention. Or someone. Another soldier walked in the corridor, a child trailing behind him. Her familiar eyes looked up at his, and just like that, he knew.

The Winter Soldier jolted awake, sitting up from his horizontal position on the hardwood floor. After pulling that man, Steve, out of the water, he decided to not go back to Hydra. He wanted to find out what he was. Who he was. And his quest began in an old shed in someone’s vast backyard.

He rested against the rotting wall behind him, his hand reaching up to push back his hair. He exhaled sharply, his eyes screwing shut as he focused on getting his breathing under control. There was no time for silly nightmares to distract him. His life was at stake, and even though he didn't find it valuable, he knew they wouldn't kill. No, they had put way too much effort and money into him. No, they’d wipe him and start over again and again.

After a few moments, he finally managed to pull himself together, quickly putting on an old jacket that was laying on top of a pile of wood.

He was quick to erase all traces of his presence in the shed before taking off. He was careful to be quiet in case anyone was near, though he doubted it. He didn't know where to go, he had so many ideas but also none all at once.

He considered going back to that man, but he knew better. The so-called Captain America might've saved his life, but he couldn't trust him. Odds are he’d lock him up as well for god knows how long. And the Winter Soldier did try to kill him repeatedly.

He keeps thinking about the man’s words, the way he looked at the Winter Soldier. The way he looked at Bucky. It’s like he had known the man for a hundred years, but the sound of his name didn't ring any particular bells. Steve- No one.

The Winter Soldier finally reached a more crowded area. He kept his head down, his jacket covering his torso and most importantly, his arm. He looked around, alert, scanning through the small, dispersed crowd and the couple half a dozen cars passing by each minute or so.

He quickly spotted a lone car parked by the side of the road and he quickly managed to get in and get it started before being noticed. Just like that, he took the road and made his way to the rural areas of Ohio.

He didn't know where to start, but he knew he needed to get away until things settled.

As he drove on the now lonely roads, he couldn't help but see those eyes over and over again. Deep down, he knew where to start. He had to find his daughter.

I'm sorry, this is so short!! I just didn't know how to write the plot of Bucky being on the run since I never experienced it first hand lol.

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x daughter!reader #marvel #bucky barnes angst #bucky barnes x reader #fanfic #angst #x reader #female reader

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goldrose-star · 1 year ago

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Summer Rain

Here is the Clayjay fic I mentioned in the last post! It has about 1.2k words and I wanted to share it with you guys.

Clay belongs to @rottent33th and AJ belongs to me 😊

Enjoy! 💖

It wasn't supposed to rain today, AJ knew. She knew because she had looked outside and even double checked on her weather app before starting her journey on foot. And for what? Just for the opposite to be the case about two hundred yards away from her destination.

It had started out with small drops before the rain began to get heavier and just increased in volume ever since.

She had wanted to visit Clay, the new friend she made since she moved to Killmor. It was a spontaneous decision. The day had started out with a bright blue sky, the sun shining, birds singing outside her window. No cloud in sight for miles. She took the opportunity to bake, making blueberry pie. In her cheerful mood the brunette had made too much for her to consume on her own so she decided to share some of it with her friend.

Now the young woman ran through the woods, said pie sitting inside a basket that she was holding onto, desperate to escape the downpour. The rain had already soaked through most of the layers of her clothing, the different fabrics clinging to her body uncomfortably, hugging her curves. Her normally light and wavy brunette hair now flat and sticking to her face. It was cold and shivers were running up and down the expanse of her damp skin.

After minutes of running as quickly as she dared without slipping on the moist ground of the forest, Clay's cabin appeared in the distance, a few of the rooms illuminated by the lights coming from inside. A cry of unadulterated happiness escaped her lips.

Her legs carried her the rest of the way toward the cabin in a hurry, trying to escape the harsh rain. By the time AJ was standing on his porch she was dripping beads of water on the ground below her. Taking a few steps she came face to face with his front door.

Knocking on it the brunette waited anxiously. Standing in front of his house she realized something. What if he was busy? Or if he had company, someone over? Maybe his bandmates? Would he let her in?

A quiver ran through her as a gust of wind blew past her, her arms coming up to wrap around herself protectively, holding the basket to her chest. Damn this weather apps.

The sound of heavy rain hitting the ground around the cabin and the roof of it hindered AJ from hearing the footsteps that were approaching the door. Opening a moment later it revealed Clay, a surprised expression on his face. He saw the state she was in, clothes drenched while she was giving him a small apologetic smile. The redhead quickly pulled her inside to close the door behind them. "AJ? What are you doing here? You're drenched" His voice carried a worried undertone. Brows pulled together in concern. "I just wanted to visit you. I made blueberry pie" she answered, lifting the basket as a way of explanation, accompanied by a full-body shiver. It made Clay sigh and shake his head in half amusement, half disbelief, "You could have just called, you know? I would've picked you up". "I know, but the weather was nice and I felt like going for a walk", AJ raised her shoulders again, arms splayed away from her body as if to present the result of her journey, the excess liquid dripping from her fingertips onto Clay's hardwood floor.

A moment of silence followed as both of them took each other's appearence in. AJ, wearing a knee-length sundress in rose, a soft beige coloured cardigan, white ankle-length socks and pink, mud-caked converse. Clay, wearing a pair of black sweatpants and a worn-out band t-shirt, the logo of Slipknot having faded a long time ago, showcasing the defined muscles from years of training in his forearms perfectly. Taking the towel that was thrown lazily around his shoulders, having previously used it to dry his own hair, he placed it down on top of AJ's head. Stepping closer he began to gently rub her hair dry. Being this near to him she could smell the shampoo he used, the scent flowery and pleasant.

"Yeah, I can see that" he scoffed halfheartedly after a moment, no anger in his voice noticible. Taking a second look over AJ's figure he noticed her lack of response, quietly taking his gentle treatment. "How about you take a shower? Can't have you getting sick now, can we?" he suggested. The brunette nodded her head as best as she could. Taking her damp and cool hand into his warm, strong one Clayton led her down the hall to the bathroom, opening the door and letting her step inside. "I'm gonna bring you some of my clothes for change. Take as much time as you need" the readhead offered, which in turn the brunette thanked him for.

Taking the basket from her hand he closed the door to the bathroom. Turning around he made his way toward the bedroom in search of some spare clothes.

Opening his closet he rummaged through the neatly folded piles of clothing. Finding the smallest t-shirt he owned, a old band tee of Metallica, and a pair of gray sweatpants, he put the clothes near the bathroom door. Bringing the basket with him to the kitchen, Clay set it down on the counter next to him. Peaking inside, sure enough, was the blueberry pie, sitting in a medium-sized translucent box.

Opening and carfully lifting the lid of the box the redhead realized that the sweet treat smelled just as amazing as it looked and started pulling out plates, cutlery and two mugs for some warm tea.

The warm water coming out of the showerhead felt amazing against AJ chilled skin, warming her up in no time. She felt a bit flustered using her friend's shower gel and shampoo, her hair now smelling the same as his. Stepping out of the shower she toweled herself off. Changing into the clothes that Clay had left for her the brunette walked outside, wandering back down the hallway into the open living room. Clay had turned on the TV, busying himself with setting two mugs of steaming tea on the coffee table next to two plates holding a slice of her baked goods each. "I made some tea for us. I hope you like green tea?" he questioned. "I do, thank you" AJ answered, sitting down and began towel-drying her hair. Smiling at him she added, "Thanks for letting me use the shower". "No problem, sweets. Just didn't want ya to get sick after you made the effort to come all the way here to bring me homemade pie." he reciprocated her smile, sitting down on the other side of the couch.

[The two friends spend the afternoon watching TV, talking about different topics that both of them seemed interested in while the rain slowly but steadily subsided. By the time they noticed that the rain had stopped, just the raindrops being hold by the trees surrounding Clay's house occasionally pitter-pattering on the roof remained. The sun had already set, the clouds still hanging over Killmor concealing the night sky.

Clay had offered to drive his friend back home, which she greatfully accepted. The drive to her home was filled with light conversation. When they arrived at AJ's house both of them said their goodbyes and shortly afterwards AJ got ready to go to bed, falling contently asleep.]

A/N: I've had this sitting in my notes for the past month or two, originally the idea came to me when I was feeling down and I wanted to cheer myself up a bit, and so I though about a scenario for Clay and AJ and the result is this small comfort fic. So here we are.

The reason why the fic ended rather abruptly is because I didn't really know what to do with the ending. I haven't really planned what the end result should look like. I'm not very happy with it but yeah.. I also still don't know how to write dialogue, send help please 🙈

I'm also apologizing for any jumps between different types of tenses and if you find any typos please keep them or point them out to me.

Also, I made the distance between AJ's and Clay's home shorter for the purpose of this fic.

Thank you for reading and please let me know what you think in the comments or if you decide to reblog. I would appreciate it greatly 💖

Tagging some moots who were okay with being tagged: @rottent33th @the-pinstriped-hood @vincent-sinclair-deserved-better @probably-a-plant-thing @tahlalilian @myers-meadow @bluecoolr @solmints-messyocdiary @slaasherslut @flower-crowned-lady

#oc: aj riley #aj riley #clayton spencer oc #clay spencer oc #clay x aj #aj x clay #clayjay #my oc and not my oc #my writing

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isfjmel-phleg · 1 year ago

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YJ bedroom comparisons Part 2: the girls! (Part 1 is here.)

Cassie

As far as I know, she only has one room over the course of her pre-2003 appearances. There's no indication that she and her mom ever move. But the look and layout of her room begins as inconsistent across various artists, and even when a settled design emerges, it continues to change depending on the artist.

The earliest approach to Cassie's room, as drawn by her creator, shows a very small space with lavender walls. There is a bed with a teal and black checkered bedspread and built-in bookshelves, an armoire (in addition to the closet), a desk and chair, and a laundry basket.

The clutter is a mixture of her childhood possession and current interests. She has multiple teddy bears and a Superman plush, board games, books, and a record player and records. There's a glimpse of a computer keyboard on desk, and lots of posters and art and paper on the walls and doors, especially posters of heroes like Wonder Woman and the Flash. The floor is littered with scattered laundry and hangers. This is the bedroom of a typical girl with a normal childhood and a lot of admiration for superheroes, which is accurate.

(Wonder Woman 1987 #113)

Two other early views of her room are inconsistent with this and don't show much. One is painted blue-grey and the other orange. The first gives glimpses of posters and photos; the other shows shelves full of books and boxes (including one helpfully labeled "BOX"), a dresser, and a Little Nemo poster.

(Wonder Woman 1987 #139 and 147)

The next version is yet again completely different but will win out as the prototype of her room's "official" look. It has lavender walls (maybe Cassie was experimenting with painting her room and decided to go back to the earlier color?) and a slanted roof. The bed has pink sheets and a blue bedspread and shelves built into the headboard, and there is a round nightstand with shelves, a desk and chair, and a blue rug.

She's a little older now, and her possessions are starting to reflect more teenage interests alongside her childhood stuff. She has multiple plush toys (including Pikachu, a hippo, and a turtle), books, a wind-up toy, what looks like a VR headset (?), a phone, papers and a pencil, a boombox and a few CDs, schoolbooks, a mug, a bag, scattered clothes and shoes, a computer keyboard on the desk, and an absolute shrine of Superboy posters and photos, plus a poster of a girl band called Spice World (no celebrities were harmed etc.) The "No Dou[bt]" sticker on her headboard might be a reference to the "No Fear" logo, which was everywhere in the late 90s/early 2000s.

(Wonder Woman 1987 #153)

Cassie's room as portrayed in YJ 1998 is clearly intended to be the same as the room above but with some modifications. The roof no longer slants, the walls are pink, and there is pink carpet instead of a hardwood floor. The furniture is the same, although the bedspread is now pink and she has a Flash throw pillow, and there are additions of a bookshelf, a dresser, and a blue plastic blow-up chair (very late 90s/early 2000s! I think one of my sisters had something like it).

Her décor is aggressively Teenage Girl of the Turn of the Millennium. There are posters that directly reference or parody bands and TV shows of that era (Frontstreet Boys, Spice Girls, Wendy the Werewolf Stalker, Dalton's Creek), something that might be anime ("Ja[...] Warrior"), and superheroes (Flash, Green Lantern, Superboy--only one now and it's behind the door rather than prominently displayed).

Cassie is just as messy as the boys! Items visible include a jar of gumballs, books (including one with "MST3K" on the spine), a pen, a snow globe, a framed photo of her and Cissie, a lamp, comics (Flash and others), a figurine (Pokemon?), an alarm clock, a candle(?), a soda can and chip bag, scattered clothes, a boombox and CDs, a phone, a magazine called Mega Teen, multiple plush toys (including a blue Pikachu, some kind of antennaed alien, and Superman), a duffle bag, a basketball, action figures, a TV, a piggy bank, a framed photo of Diana, a trash can, a bulletin board, a computer at her desk, and sticky notes nearby reminding her to call Cissie and tape MST3K and read certain pages for science.

(Young Justice 1998 #16)

(Young Justice 1998 #19)

A different artist during the Sins of Youth arc depicts the same room but with colors changed yet again: lavender walls and blue carpet with a brown bedspread. There are many of the same items as above but with additions including a horse poster, Titanic posters, potted plants, an astronaut action figure (Buzz Lightyear?), and even more plush toys including a tiger and a cat and a rabbit.

Here, an aged-up Cassie laments how stereotypically youthful her room is, and it's an accurate assessment (although nothing for her to be ashamed of--she is a teenage girl, why shouldn't her room reflect that?). Out of all her team, she has led the most normal, stable life, with a complete childhood, and her room attests to this.

(Sins of Youth: Wonder Girls #1)

Cissie

The earliest room we see for her is her dorm room at the Saint Elias School for Girls, where she lives for the entirety of the YJ 1998 run. At this point, Cissie is still using the frilly costume that her mother provided her, and her room similarly is aggressively girly, especially for a dorm. It has pink walls with a floral border and pink bedding. There's also a desk and bookcase.

Cissie's belongings reflect her archery career and her connections to superheroes. On her wall are a poster of Superman, photos, and a bulletin board. A Batman plush and three teddy bears are her only concessions to childish interests. There's also a lamp, a framed photo of Bonnie King as Miss Arrowette, first-place ribbons and trophies, and books (including such titles as C. E. Letters, Broken Arrow, Shaft, The Life and Works of Ethan Van Sciver, Works (or Words?) of Crybaby, a photo album, Kaniuga: Missing Link, Advanced Archery, JHR's Genius, Kupp's Darkseid, The Biography of Oliver Queen, Robin Hood, William Tell, and Views of L.A. Some of these are references to the names of this issue's writer, penciler/inker, colorist, letterer, and editors!).

(Impulse #41)

Cissie's dorm in YJ 1998 appears to be the same room (now specified as 118), judging by the placement of the furniture and poster, but it is now completely redecorated in a more neutral style that more realistically reflects a dorm room. The walls and bedspread are now blue-gray, and there is crown molding instead of a border. The desk has been moved to the other end of the room. New additions include an alien plush (in place of her earlier stuffed toys), a dresser with mirror, and a computer.

(Young Justice 1998 #20)

By #27, she is rooming with Traya Sutton (Red Tornado's adopted daughter, and they're in Room 356, but we don't get a good look at it until later.

This dorm room has light blue walls and bedspreads, two beds with nightstands and bookshelves, a desk, shelves of boxes, and a window with a window seat between the beds.

Cissie has a bulletin board with something about MST3K pinned to it (a mutual interest with Cassie), a box of filed fan mail, an alarm clock, books, framed photos (an unidentified boy, and her with Cassie), a plush toy, an archery trophy, a 2000 Olympic archery poster, and a Wendy the Werewolf Stalker poster after she guest-stars on that show.

Unlike the other kids, she is tidy in her habits (probably a necessity while living in a dorm where there would be regular room inspections), and her possessions are more overtly grown-up, especially when compared to the much younger Traya's things. Her "fun" items are minimal, she doesn't seem to have many fandoms, and most of her things have to do with her accomplishments.

(Young Justice 1998 #30)

(Young Justice 1998 #33)

Greta

She presumably lives at the YJ headquarters, but if she has a room or any kind of personal space there, we never see it, because no one ever hangs out there.

We do see two of her past living spaces in flashbacks. First, her cell at the DEO. It has light green walls and minimal furnishings: a brown rug, a bed with white bedding, and a table with two chairs (why two? she's in there alone). The DEO has given her a paper and crayons (it looks like she's drawn a tree), a book, and a couple of dolls and their hairbrush, probably in order for them to study how she interacts with these items. There is no décor and no apparent other possessions, and worst of all, the room is windowless with a glass ceiling. She has no privacy at all and cannot leave this room (until she figures out how to escape).

(Young Justice: The Secret #1)

(Impulse #56)

A far cry from Greta's childhood bedroom, which we see as it was when she was very young. It has pink walls and carpet, a bed with a blue bedspread with a pattern of yellow ducks and pink and white striped sheets, and a dresser. She has Barbies and their clothes and accessories with a dollhouse and car, action figures, a hairbrush, a ball, something that looks like an easel, a drawing she made of a rainbow and birds, another doll and a plush toy, a pink and white shoe under the bed, a lamp, a frog clock, and a copy of Alice in Wonderland. Very typical possessions for a little girl. She's the only one of the YJ girls who is seen to have owned dolls (her Barbies even briefly transform into her YJ friends during this flashback).

(Young Justice 1998 #42)

Anita

We get a very brief glimpse of her bedroom at home. Blue walls and carpet, white bed, nightstand, and desk. She has posters of Wendy the Werewolf Stalker (like almost all the other girls!) and someone called "Crisq[...]", a lamp, a glass of water, a small box/container, a plush toy (Martian Manhunter?), a book, a pen, paper, and scattered clothing. Not overly revealing of her interests, but a general impression of a typical teenage girl's room.

(Young Justice 1998 #35)

#comicsposting again #YJ: so glad we found each other #CS: she radiates sincerity #CK-J: I'm happier being myself #GH: I'd give anything to be normal #AF: my wish is your command #I am amused that three out of four of these girls have Wendy the Werewolf Stalker posters #while diehard fan Kon (who's probably the one who got them all started on the show) apparently doesn't

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mydisenchantedeulogy · 6 months ago

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Sweet Revenge [Chapter One] Twisted Dreamland [Betelgeuse/Beetlejuice]

Summary: In the winter of 1991, Lilah Briar and her boyfriend Valerian Wilkes rent an old Victorian in Winter River from an eccentric woman named Delia. After Lilah is murdered, she finds herself stuck in the house, angry and alone, with no idea who killed her. She soon seeks help from Betelgeuse, a rambunctious spirit who shows her that revenge is sweet.

Art of Lilah Briar

Warning(s): character death, dismemberment, OC, reference/implied suicide, denial, campy, supernatural aspects, murder. Words: 4,723

No Minors Allowed!!

Lilah Briar jerked awake to the continual scritch-scritch of something in the room; the sound of a mouse burrowing, she reckoned. It was an old house, a Victorian whose bones were still old despite the shoddy 80s-esque renovations that encased them like a kitsch exoskeleton. As expected, rodents and pests made their homes in the walls. It was maddening. She closed her sore eyes, feeling bone-tired like she swallowed a bottle of Temazepam, but the noise persisted.

Scritch-scritch...scritch-scritch...

Lilah groaned in protest.

"Val. There's a mouse. I can't sleep.

Valerian "Val" Wilkes did not reply. He was a light sleeper, a 'shift and he'd wake' kind of guy. Lilah found it hard to share a bed with him. For four years she had to sleep as silent as a mouse, which was why she found it hard to believe that he could sleep through the constant irritating noise of the rodent.

"Val...mouse."

She snapped her eyes open in irritation, attempting to turn and see why her boyfriend was ignoring her, but two things happened. The first was that Lilah could not move. Her body was as stiff as a statue. She was on her back with her chin resting on her right shoulder in a way that should have put tension on her neck but did not. She could not feel her body much at all, aside from the odd icy chill that numbed her.

The second thing that happened in that brief moment when she tried to move, was that she realized she was not in bed where she last had been, covered from head to toe in a warm cotton comforter with the Harley Davidson logo printed onto it; a motorcycle manufacturer that Val favored. He owned a 1988 Sportster, one of the reasons that Lilah fell hard for him - a story for another time. No, she was not in bed, but on the old white hardwood floor of the attic. Her frantic breath kicked up dust as she tried to make sense of her strange situation. Why was she here instead of in bed? Where was Val? What was making that damn scratching noise?

Then she saw it, peering up as far as her vision would let her, resting on the floor in the shadow of a rectangular table with a miniature town, presumably Winter River, built on top of it. The source of that damn noise, like a mouse burrowing into the walls. A human hand; its color was silver in the dim light.

Lilah watched it in horrid fascination as it slid its slim pointer finger back and forth like a cheap Halloween prop, scratching its deep blue painted nail into the old wood as though it was trying to irritate her. She had hoped to see a person attached to it, but there was no one. The hand was sawed off at the wrist; its gruesome stump at least faced away from her, sparing her from seeing the severed bone and what was left of the tendons and veins. Was she dreaming? She had to have been.

When the hand seemed to have her attention, it lifted onto the tips of its fingers like a hairless spider. A small heart-shaped tattoo positioned on the meat between its thumb and pointer finger struck a chord in Lilah, but her thoughts were shadowed by fear as the crude hand spider crawled toward her. She let out a squeal, one of fear and disgust, and tried to move, but she couldn't.

It crawled onto her shoulder, then prodded her cheek with its cold dead fingers as though it was the hand of death coming to steal her soul. Then to her horror, it grabbed her hair at the crown of her head and lifted her upright. What she saw almost made her sob. Her body was in eight pieces, not including her head, sawed off at the ankles, thighs, wrists, and forearms; if she peered down she could almost see the stump where her head was removed. The hand spider was hers. The heart tattoo that struck a chord in her had been etched into her skin by Val when they first admitted their love for one another; a promise to stay together through life and death.

Wait...am I dead?

No, she couldn't have been. She was in bed, extremely exhausted after dinner. This must have been a nightmare.

Wake up. Wake up...

Her dismembered hand, a light green when up close, poked her cheek as if to interject. Lilah glared at it.

"Stop that. You're not helping."

It tapped her shoulder, as if it were irritated, then pointed to a metal table on her left. Lilah was confused. All that was on that table, as far as she remembered, were rolls of Atelier fabric; floral and abstract prints.

"Okay..." She faltered. "I don't understand."

It tapped again impatiently, then crawled across her chest to the leg of the table. Lilah watched in pity as it climbed to the best of its ability, reminding her of a declawed cat. But it never gave up. It climbed, slid down a centimeter or two, readjusted its grip, then climbed again. Twice, it repeated this process, and then once it was on the tabletop, it disappeared for a moment.

Lilah could hear it rummaging around as though it was looking for something. Then silence. A moment later, it appeared, pushing a small and circular object akin to a golden barrel cactus toward the edge of the table. It took her but a second to realize that it was an old pincushion with wrist straps. She hummed in realization.

"I don't think that will work...but thanks."

Why am I talking to my hand as if it were sentient?

Lilah sighed. Her nightmare was more strange than scary, but she still could not wake herself up from it despite knowing that she was dreaming. For now, she had no choice but to go along with it. The idea that she could sew back on her limbs with normal thread was foolish, but inside a dream anything was possible.

Her hand disappeared again, then returned rolling a spool of brown thread. It pushed them both off the edge, then slid down the leg, landing on the floor as elegant as a gymnast on the bars. Lilah would have clapped if well...her limbs had not been sawn off.

For an hour, her hand, with the help of the pins, was able to sew the other hand onto her arm, then her arm onto her shoulder. The feeling came back and Lilah was able to move the entire limb much to her shock. Dreams were sometimes wild; she could not wait to tell Val.

Once her right arm was attached, she picked up the hand spider.

"You're up. Thanks, I guess."

The hand patted her as if to say 'no problem', then Lilah sewed it on to the best of her ability. It took her another hour just to reattach her legs and feet. She honestly wished that she had paid more attention in Mrs. Durand's Home Economics class, but at the time sewing shirts and pillows was not an interest of hers. Besides, it was not the same. This reminded her more of the time she had to dissect a frog in biology, and then suture it.

Her head was much harder to sew on by herself. In the end, Lilah opted to leave it off. She slid her hand through the straps of the pincushion wearing it like a bracelet, then shoved the spool of thread between the strap and her wrist in case she popped a stitch. It was a silly notion, but she wanted to be prepared. Carefully, she stood, cradling her head tightly against her chest so as not to drop it.

Now what?

Turning her body, she saw a roll of silver duct tape sitting on the edge of the table with the miniature town built on top of it. The reason as to why it was there was irrelevant, but Lilah swore she could see what she reckoned were splotches of blood on the backside.

"Careful," Lilah ordered, as her body stumbled into the table upon its first tentative step. She heard something on the backside thump to the floor but opted to ignore it.

Her body was hard to control. She felt like a baby learning how to walk for the first time. Lilah sat her head down and then grabbed the duct tape. She tore a length about as long as her arm from it, then stuck the end to her neck. Picking up her head, she sat it in place, then reattached it. Just in case, she circled her neck twice with it.

"I can't turn my head, but that's fine. It's done. I'm in one piece again."

More or less.

Lilah sighed and tottered around the backside of the table. A brown-sleeved book she had not seen before was resting face down on the floor. She reached down and picked it up, turning it over in her hand.

"Handbook for the Recently Deceased," she read. There was a couple on the front dressed in early 60s-esque clothing, staring into a partially cloudy sky. A feeling of dread consumed her.

'I'm not gonna lie, that's creepy.'

And ironic. Lilah opened the book and skimmed over the preface. It was written like a guide but read like stereo instructions. She groaned. What sort of weirdness did her mind conjure up? Turning to the next page, the scent of almonds and vanilla flooded her nostrils. She twitched her nose in irritation and read over the faded print.

In case of an emergency, draw a door and knock three times.

Lilah raised a brow. What? The next page contained the instructions for a séance, and the one after there was an intermediate interface chapter on haunting, but she was not at all interested. She read the instructions twice to make sure she understood what it was asking her to do, then glanced around the room. Wasn't there a marker or a chalk stick lying around somewhere? When Val and she rented the house from the landlord, Delia Deetz – or Delilah, she was not sure which – a lot of old things were left in the house, including old furnishings that did not match the rest of the house's modern decor, and the miniature town in the attic. She spent a great deal exploring the house before they settled in. There was a plethora of antiques lying around that Mrs. Deetz told them the house would rather not let go of, whatever that meant. She clearly remembered there being a piece of white chalk sitting on a wooden shelf on the far wall from the door along with a Dura-Craft Miniature Kit.

Leaving the book on the table, Lilah tottered around the table to get the chalk. However, a sudden realization hit her like a bucket of ice water in the face; she had forgotten that she was in a dream. Things were not the same. She snorted. For a moment, she got lost in the illusion. To humor herself, she moved to the shelf, but to her shock, the piece of chalk was there as she had remembered. She picked it up, feeling the soft dust on her fingers.

"There's an explanation, I'm sure. I thought about it before I came over here."

That had to be it. Lilah sighed. She reckoned that she could give the book instructions a chance now; it seemed like the right choice. The dream was like a story, a horror story. Across from her was a decent-sized chunk of a brick wall that was perfect for a pretend door.

Lilah approached it and blew the dust away, scattering it into the air. There was a faint mark on the surface, almost like her dream was showing her what to do. Once she had the outline drawn she sat aside the chalk and lifted her hand, knocking three times as instructed. But nothing happened.

"What was I honestly expecting? This is––"

Suddenly the brick began to vibrate. An eerie green light shot through the cracks, and then to her horror, a door opened. Aside from the light, Lilah could not see much else. It was too dark. She considered shutting it, but like a moth to a flame, she was drawn to the unknown. What was her dream trying to show her? With a tentative step, she walked through the frame and into the darkness, clutching her arms.

As she continued, a blinding white light suddenly consumed her. Lilah shut her eyes in pain, missing the revolving gate in front of her until she ran into the bars. With a groan, she hesitantly opened her eyes, allowing them a moment to clear before she walked through them and into what she could only describe as the most hideous room she had ever seen. A 70s velvet sofa littered with cigarette burns was the focal point, accompanied by peach accent chairs that were either missing an arm or were upheld by thick phone books. The décor was out of date and smelled faintly like sweat and stale second-hand smoke. It reminded her of the time she was forced to see a child therapist after her parents split; it smelled almost the same. Worse than that, however, were the occupants that inhabited it. There were only two, not including the receptionist, who she swore was rather bloated like a helium balloon.

The first was a middle-aged man with an arrow in his chest. He had a U-shaped hairline and wore a pair of round glasses that did his portly face no justice. The second was a woman in a pink Talbot suit staring intently at the screen of a radio pager as though she was waiting for it to go off. She appeared relatively normal, except for the large gash on her forehead. Lilah stood near the gate for a moment, until the receptionist addressed her in a raspy voice.

"Take a number and have a seat."

A number. She turned toward the front desk so that she could see him and noticed that he was pointing a bony green finger at a red ticket dispenser near the window. Lilah knitted her brows. Why did she need to take a number? She approached the window and cleared her throat.

"What is this place exactly?"

The bloated man narrowed his milky pale eyes.

"What does it look like?"

Lilah would have tilted her head in disbelief if not for it being taped to her neck. Where was this hostility coming from?

"It looks like a waiting room."

"Brilliant deduction Sherlock," the man retorted. He pointed to the dispenser again. "Now take a number and wait your turn."

She tightened her jaw. Even in her dream, there were assholes. Lilah yanked a ticket from the dispenser and sat in the chair next to the man with the arrow in his chest. She was number 8, according to the ticket.

"You too?" He asked, leaning forward.

Lilah raised a brow and turned her body toward him. "Excuse me."

He pointed to the arrow.

"Someone killed you too. I suppose mine was an accident though. I wasn't wearin' a vest; deer season, ya know."

"I guess so," Lilah uttered.

The thought had not crossed her mind before, but the hunter was right, someone did kill her. She snorted, earning a look of curiosity from him.

"Perhaps that's where my dream is heading. It's a murder mystery,” she added.

The hunter gave her a look of pity and averted his eyes to the floor.

“Now serving number 6,” the receptionist announced.

Quickly, he stood and walked to the front desk. A moment later, a door on the far side of the room that Lilah had not noticed before opened, and a woman with a slit in her neck strutted out.

“This way sir,” she chirped.

Lilah watched the hunter disappear through the door, then sat back in her seat. She waited for what felt like hours for her ticket to be called. The woman, who she learned was an assistant to a wealthy businessman out of Texas, had fallen down an elevator shaft with her nose stuck to her page. The screen was busted, but she was still waiting for his reply to what sort of coffee he wanted. She was called before her. When her number was up, she approached the front desk as the other two did.

“Ticket,” the bloated man ordered.

Lilah handed it to him, grimacing as his fingers brushed hers. It was like touching raw chicken, slimy and cold.

A moment later, the door opened and the woman appeared.

“This way misses.”

Lilah hesitantly followed her through the door, emerging into what appeared to be an office area. It was chaotic. Sheets of paper were shooting out of file cabinets that loomed like metal trees over them, floating down to land in piles on the floor. No one seemed to care. The office workers ran around like chickens with their heads cut off. Even the woman who came to escort her strutted passed desks littered with paperwork as though she was used to the chaos. Perhaps she was. Lilah hurried to catch up with her.

Leading her down a hallway bathed in blue light with uneven checkered tile flooring, she noticed the amount of doors that lined the walls. Each one of them was different.

“Where do each of these go?” She asked.

“Nowhere important, hon. At least not to you,” the woman answered. “The only door you should be concerned with is your own.”

Lilah raised a brow. Her own. She did not have to wait long to find out what the woman meant, as she stopped in front of a brick door that reminded Lilah of the one she entered through.

“Castor will see you now. He's been waiting for you.”

Castor. Lilah tightened her jaw and walked through the door. To her shock, she had emerged in the kitchen of the house she rented. The awful acid-blue walls were an eyesore. Nothing seemed to have changed except for the amount of dishes piled into the sink. There were now twice as many. A champagne flute stained with atomic pink lipstick drew her attention.

“Ah, there you are,” a voice suddenly interjected.

Lilah turned and saw a man in a pale yellow button-down under a two-piece lavender suit. His tie was a length of rope that hung tight around his neck, swinging from side to side as he approached her and offered his hand. She had seen men like him before on the TV, textbook examples of crooked lawyers with comb-over hair that was as fake as their smiles.

“I'm Castor, your caseworker. It's a pleasure to be meeting you.” He paused and squinted his eyes. “Is that duct tape?”

Lilah tightened her jaw and shook his hand. She felt like she had just signed over her soul to him.

“Caseworker?” She asked, ignoring his question.

His smile faltered. “Oh dear. You didn't read the handbook all the way, I take it.”

That poorly written book she found. No, she didn't.

“Where is it?” Castor asked.

“I left it in the attic,” Lilah answered.

Was she supposed to bring it with her? It did not say.

“It's best not to leave something as important as that lying around, dear. Some humans can see the dead and it's a known fact that some will use the book to do you harm,” Castor explained.

Lilah snorted in response. This dream was wild.

As though a light bulb had gone off in his head, Castor widened his brown eyes.

“You have no idea, do you?”

“Of what?” Lilah asked.

The lawyer-esque man took her by the arm and escorted her to the attic. A thin layer of dust covered the floor, and boxes upon boxes were stacked onto one another, resting in the spot Lilah woke up in. He led her over to a window overlooking the front yard and to her shock, she saw a vegetable garden had been planted near the porch. She could see red tomatoes on the vine and heads of lettuce poking up from the soft ground.

“That wasn't there before.”

Castor hummed.

“You've been in the waiting room for four months. It's normal for things to change in the living world. Time flows differently.”

Four months. That was ridiculous. She had only been gone for a few hours at best. Lilah pinched the bridge of her nose.

“I want to wake up now. I've had about all I can take from this dream.”

It made no sense. She should have already woken up. Dreams only lasted for a short amount of time, didn't they? A hand on her shoulder directed her attention to Castor who had dropped his sly expression for a genuine frown.

“I know this isn't easy, trust me. I was in disbelief when I first found out too. Hell, I put a rope around my neck. What else did I expect?”

Was he implying that she was dead? Legitimately dead. No dream, no waking up in her bed to laugh it all off with Val…

“Val.”

Turning, she sprinted down the stairs and to the lower level of the house. She wanted to see Val. He would wake her up, she knew he would. If he wasn't in the house, then outside. Lilah grabbed the doorknob and yanked it open.

“Don't go out there!” Castor exclaimed.

She didn't listen. As soon as she took a step through the opening, her foot did not make contact with the ground. It went straight down as though she had fallen through the porch. Lilah shouted in fear and hung onto the threshold; it was the only thing keeping her from plummeting into the sand below.

As she struggled to get back inside the house, she heard a strange roaring noise from nearby. She could not look back to see what it was, but she knew that it could not have been good. Castor appeared in the doorway, to her relief, and reached down to grab her arm, pulling her back across the threshold. She crashed to the floor with a thud and sucked in air like she had broken the surface of a deep lake.

“That was a close one. I almost lost you there,” Castor stated wearily.

Lilah sat up with a groan and peered out the door. There was no driveway, no yard, no town of Winter River in the distance. Just sand and misshapen rock formations.

“What is outside my front door?”

“That's Saturn,” Castor answered. He pulled a handkerchief from the pocket of his lavender suit top and wiped his face with it. “It's a type of limbo that keeps a ghost from leaving the parameters of their space, which for you means that you can't leave this house.”

Lilah curled her nose. Why the hell not?

“And if I do.”

Castor looked out the door as though he was searching for something, then pointed to something in the distance.

“You see that. It's a sandworm. They consume the paranormal.”

Lilah leaned forward and peeked outside. To her horror, a giant striped worm-like creature was porpoising through the sand like a dolphin. It reminded her of a Graboid, a similar creature that she saw last winter at the movies.

“I lost my twin Pollux to a sandworm. He wound up back in the Neitherworld, mind you, but second deaths are no laughing matter. He hasn't been the same since,” Castor stated. He shut the door in haste.

Lilah was in a daze. A strange sensation of dread overcame her. There was a voice in the back of her head telling her that this was no dream. She was dead. Tears filled her eyes.

“Why? I don't…”

“No, no, no,” Castor interjected. He squatted and wiped away her tears with the musty-scented handkerchief. “Don't cry, dear. You don't want to be like one of those lost souls, always weeping and wailing. Dreadful things they are.”

He looked her over. Aside from the tape, she had busted a few stitches around her wrist and left arm. He removed his suit top and began to roll up the sleeves of his button-down.

“Let's get you cleaned up, then we'll talk shop. I used to fix up my suits, you know. I'm rather good at it.”

For the next hour, Castor replaced the broken stitches on her wrist and arm, then removed the tape from around her neck and reattached her head. All the while she sat lost in her thoughts, thinking about her situation. Someone had killed her. Did they do the same to Val? Why was he not trapped in the house with her? Did he kill…

No. She could not bear to think about it.

“How does that feel?” Castor asked.

It took her a moment to react, almost mistaking his voice for her own. Lilah turned her head from side to side; the stiffness was gone. She forced a smile.

“Thank you.”

Castor sat down beside her with a sigh.

“Not to add fuel to the fire, but when a person dies a dire fate, they have to spend the next 125 years inside the house or building they are tied to.”

Lilah snorted. Of course.

“Lovely.”

“That's not to say your sentence won't change,” Castor added. “It's rare, as rare as a white peacock in the wild, but it has happened. Take this house for instance. It used to be inhabited by a pair of lovely ghosts that got their sentences reduced after a nasty run-in with a former Neitherworld caseworker gone batshit crazy. The mess that was.”

Even so, Lilah did not feel at ease.

“Is there anything else I need to know?”

“We covered about all…oh, yes. You are only given three class-one D-90 intercessions with me during your 125-year sentence, but because I like you, I'll consider this a freebie,” Castor proposed.

D-90.

“In ‘I'm new to this’ terms, elaborate please,” Lilah deadpanned.

“Help vouchers.”

She hummed, understanding. It was like seeking free legal advice from a lawyer.

“Thanks.”

Her caseworker smiled and stood with a grunt. He patted her shoulder.

“Look on the bright side, Lilah. You can now do all the things at home that you didn't have time to do before. Redecorate, or change your stitches out to a less depressing color. Purple would be cute with your skin tone.”

“I'm green,” Lilah sniveled.

Castor snorted.

“It's more like a pale cyan green, but yeah.” He patted her again. “See you around kiddo.”

He vanished before her eyes like well…a spector and for a moment she wondered if she too could do the same. Then it dawned on her again.

“I'm dead.”

Lilah held back tears and stood, wandering upstairs. She felt strangely drawn to the attic, though she supposed it made some sense, she did wake up there. Her handbook was right where she left it, despite her four-month absence. With 125 years to look forward to, she opened the book to the preface.

“In recent years there have been two developments, each of which has–”

Something smooth and rectangular fell into her lap. Lilah lifted the book and picked it up, noticing that it was a business card; it must have been wedged in the book somewhere.

“Betelgeu–” She paused and raised a brow. Betelgeuse, what a weird name. “A bio-exorcists.”

On the card was a picture of a beetle with a human head leaning on a wooden mallet. It had a smug, impish mien; a man with sunken eyes and untamed hair as though he had shoved a fork into a light switch.

Is death a problem and not the solution? Unhappy with eternity? Having difficulty adjusting? The slogan read.

Lilah flipped it over. On the back was the advertiser's name again, written three names, insisting that she call them despite not having a number listed.

“What good will a bio-exorcist do for me?” She stated. “I need a damn detective.”

She shoved the card into the back of the book and continued reading. At least she had a bookmark now.

#betelgeuse x oc #keatlejuice #oc #beetlejuice fandom #alternate universe #Spotify

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