#he is smudging the paint on his right hand onto his cheek bc he’s too busy staring at her btw

[numum]

teehee

[roryzlittles1ut]

Euronymous head canons (again) and ofc it’s Rory Culkin 🧍‍♀️

SFW:

He walks around with his hair tied up (omfg). Literally most of the time he has his hair up in a ponytail or a messy bun as he wears his corpse face paint.

Blasts his eardrums with loud metal music. Half of the times, he complains how his ears hurt in a whiny but deep voice.

“What did you say?! I can’t hear, sweetheart! N-no I didn’t. I didn’t..maybe? Fine, I did maybe loose my hearing.”

He loves cuddling you while watching a horror movie (which is canon bc he did it in the goddamn movie). He thinks you’d get scared easily, so he holds you close.

Idk if I said this in the first one, but he takes you to his concerts. As he’s playing his guitar, he wouldn’t look at anyone but you. He’d smirk and wink at you, making a little sexual hand gesture.

He tells you how much he misses Pelle (Dead). He doesn’t like telling his friends or band members how he actually feels, so sometimes he just vents to you.

Matching Halloween costumes (guys I need this so bad). One Halloween, you guys would go as two skeletons as you guys just go to a bar and make out most of the time.

He might walk around the house shirtless (idk if I said this). But he just might walk around shirtless and stares at you with a tiny smirk.

He gives you quick cheek kisses just randomly. He always wants you to know he loves you, so he’d just kiss you on the cheek.

NSFW:

He definitely takes photos of you guys having sex, especially when he cums on you. He loves looking at the photos over and over again. He knows he won you when he looks at his cum all over you.

Public sex. There could be a day where you guys are at a bar and he gets really horny, so he grabs you and takes off his belt, and takes out his dick. He slowly pulls down your bottom (whatever you wanna wear) and fucks you. He doesn’t do it rough, since he doesn’t want it to be obvious.

“Fuck, baby. No no no, shh..stay quiet. Stay quiet. I don’t want anyone seeing or hearing us..”

After you guys fucked, he won’t stop talking about it to his band members, especially Varg since he gets all the pussy in his opinion. He won’t ever let it go.

He just might buy you lingerie, just because he loves your body, and he loves how sweet and petite you look. He doesn’t even take it off half the time when he fucks you, he just moves the panties so your pussy/cock/asshole is exposed and fucks you from there.

Did I say he fucks you with his corpse face paint on? Idk I think I did but I just had to mention it. When you guys are making out, the face paint smudges onto your face, and he thinks it’s so hot.

He probably sends you dick pictures, expecting explicit photos from you. He really wants to see you, and tease you too.

Aftercare! He gives you a nice, long shower and tells you how good you were for him. Sometimes, you guys just sit in the shower or tub and just cuddle. He falls asleep in the bath, since he’s so exhausted from that intense moment with you.

“You did so good. God, that was so much fun. I didn’t..fuck you dumb, right? Not too hard? No? Good.”

[ptergwen]

hi can u write a blurb about y/n and peter is bestfriend and then y/n wanna put on eyeliner on peter. She sit on his lap and peter got all flustered bc he hv a crush on y/n? sorry if this is confusing, english is not my first language

you’re fine love!! and this is a really really cute idea thank you 🥺

you’d recently been thinking about how attractive it is when guys wear makeup. you can blame tiktok because of all the hot ones with nail polish and glitter eyeshadow on there. peter being your best friend and a guy, your thoughts naturally went to him. what would he look like with makeup? you asked him if you could put some on him when he came over today.

he wasn’t so sure about it at first. he’d insisted that he couldn’t pull it off, that you’d be wasting your products and time. you tsked at him. “have you ever actually worn makeup?” “well, no. i- i just-“ he stammered, your lips pulling into a wicked smirk. “can’t know until you try it, then.”

there was no way out now. peter can’t resist you as is, but it’s eight million times harder when you look at him like that. that’s how you ended up in between his legs, poking at his eyes with a brush.

“hold still, peter!” you laugh despite your frustration as he once again dodges your attempts. he’s sitting at the edge of your bed. you’re on the floor, reaching up for him. “is... is that thing even clean?” peter studies the brush, eyebrows furrowed. “i literally just opened it. you watched me,” you huff and dip it back into the black liquid.

you’re not a monster. you aren’t trying to give him pink eye or anything. you just think he’d look... good in eyeliner. ok, maybe you’ve pictured this moment before. being face to face, not an inch of space separating you while you brush your thumb over his cheek and paint his eyelids a different color.

bestie goals, right?

“does it hurt?” peter murmurs, watching you scoot closer to him on your knees. “because i saw this one video of a girl doing her eyeliner and she got it in her eye and it covered the whole thing. like, it was completely black. she couldn’t even see,” he continues to ramble on while you giggle at his question. you pat his thigh with a smile to yourself.

you don’t answer right away, just looking up at him and his innocent pout. he squints at your expression. it’s teasing, like you know something he doesn’t. “did you watch it too? i think it went viral.” breathing out another laugh, you sit on your thighs. “yeah, peter. i’m not gonna do that to you, though.” a breath of relief passes his lips. “unless you keep moving.”

“y/n.” he whines and throws his head back. not that he doesn’t trust you, because he trusts you with his life. all his secrets, his weird habits, to know about his crime fighting alter ego. this isn’t any of that. he’s worried you might accidentally blind him at some point during his makeover.

you tilt his chin down to you with two fingers, his skin immediately getting warm. “can we try again?” your tone is gentler and less terrifying this time. peter nods, which nuzzles his face further into your palm. he’s not so scared anymore. still nervous, only because you’re touching him like this. you go back in with the brush and he closes his eyes.

he almost doesn’t want to, so he can watch you work. the moment feels very intimate. it’s silent except for the little concentrated hums you let out from time to time, you running the eyeliner carefully across his eyelids. your thumb absentmindedly caressing peter’s chin calms him. a tiny smile graces his features as he feels your upper half rest against his knees.

peter has to see you right now. he can almost picture your face scrunched, eyes focused in on him and him only. he’s so blissed out he forgets the whole point of this is that you’re doing his eyeliner. so, you obviously aren’t happy when he peeks an eye open and smudges the nearly finished makeup.

“i said no moving!” you scold him and get up from the floor. peter frowns in confusion as you stand over him. he hopes he didn’t piss you off for real. “wait, are you-“ “you leave me no other choice,” you sigh before climbing onto the bed. more specifically, onto peter. your legs are wrapped around his waist, you grabbing his chin and finishing up his eyeliner.

this time, peter is glad his eyes are closed because they would’ve popped out of their sockets otherwise. you’re acting like this isn’t the biggest deal in the world when it certainly is. a girl is in his freaking lap. a really special girl, one he likes so much it hurts to breathe around her.

you use your nail to straighten out the smudged eyeliner. his whole body is tense, hands reaching for you but not quite making it. “you good? i didn’t hurt you?” you ask softly and cap the eyeliner. he looks like he’s in pain. really, he’s still in shock that you are in his lap. you’re fanning at his face now to dry the eyeliner.

“no, yeah. i’m fine. we just haven’t been this close before,” peter explains, you grinning even though he can’t see it. “do you like being close to me?” your words give him a burst of confidence. a desire to show you that he does, that he wants you to stay right where you are and never leave. peter finally sets his hands on your hips and pulls you closer.

“yeah, y/n/n. i love it,” he rasps, you putting your own hands on either of his cheeks. “you can open now.” you move back slightly to see the finished look, which is hotter than you imagined. two basic swipes across his eyes that he makes look like art. he wears your own makeup better than you do.

you’re admiring peter’s pretty face while he smiles lazily at you. he subconsciously licks his lips, which leads you to say what you say. “think we should do lip gloss next,” you mumble and trail your fingers down his cheeks. “yeah? how come?” he rubs his thumb across your hip. you return his smile from before.

“so i can kiss it off.”

[willowistic22]

Please... (Redfinch)

Albert has been thrown to the refuge before. It was an ugly story but at least it prepared him from what was coming when he got thrown in again. But Finch? This was his first time learning on his own how relentless Snyder is...

Word count: 3302

Part : [1 this] - (if ppl like this i’ll make more parts)

Warnings: Blood, abuse, torture, knife cuts, restraints, mentions of death, beatings, cussing (no surprise there lol), in short this is a whump fic. I probably missed some warnings and if I did please let me know!

A/N: Hello, yes, I am well aware that I’ve vanished from my fanfic writing spree. It’s gonna be more common now because school is more hectic online than irl. Anyways, i came up with this idea when I was in the middle of having writers block from writing another wip and ended up finishing this one whoops. I also like ignored the remainder of requests from my inbox not bcs i don’t want to do them but i haven’t gotten the time. Especially since this is October and my school always have special plans on October so I’m sorry. But, hey I got a fic out! ENJOY! (might make this a three part thing if you guys want idk) 

[ @jaelynn-is-slightly-confused i did it.......................... ]

The first time he got sent to this hellspace was years ago, and fortunately for Albert it only lasted for four days before he was able to bust out. Odd how he thought something would be different. He expected the treatment would stay the same, no surprise there. The bounded limbs, the painful souvenirs smeared all over his body, being left to fend for your own life, none of this was new. And yet, Al thought maybe something physical about this awful settlement would be different. Maybe painting the walls a different color? Cleaning the little drops of blood on the floor?

A funny idea to be thinking about in this kind of situation. But he needed something to calm him down. Something to distract him from the pain all over his body. The bruises from punches, the strangling feeling made by a strong pair of hands ghosting his neck, the cuts from a knife marking his skin, the pain in his wrists while they’re tightly bound to each other with a rope, basically everything that’s been given to him the minute he arrived here. 

An itch in his throat triggered him to go on a coughing fit. It made him feel every inch of pain all over his torso as he reached for that itch. He ends up opening his eyes after spending a long time closing them. 

His senses are now hyper focused on everything around him. Albert can feel the coarse cement wall through the back of his shirt. It’s the only thing making him sit up properly while he spreads his legs out on the dirty floor, just as equally coarse as the wall. He can see streaks of lights coming from the tiny windows on the wall he’s leaning onto. The only light source provided for this basement. 

There isn’t anything in here. Most of the kids held in the refuge would stay up stairs. Rooms provided with rickety bunks where at least six kids slept all at once. Big scary men put on guard on every corner with batons, ready to strike when a kid acted up. You only get sent down to the basement, or what most kids would say the ‘torture chamber’, when the ungoldy amount of scars already given to you haven’t made you obey anything they say. And Albert has been a huge pain in the ass. 

The sound of the heavy metal door opening bounces on the walls, pulling Albert’s consciousness away from the distraction forming in his head as he was about to close his eyes for another rest. Slow footsteps climbing down the wooden stairs echoes throughout the room. A weak light slowly gets stronger as the footsteps get louder in Al’s ears. 

The sound of the footsteps against the wooden stairs turn into strong assertive steps on the concrete floor. Al weakly darts his eyes up at the big man, bringing a candle in one hand and a lit cigarette hanging loosely in his mouth. 

“Good to see you again, Al!” Snyder exclaimed after huffing out a cloud of smoke, a devilish grin painting his face. 

“Wish I could say the same to you” Albert voiced as best as he could, hoarse but Snyder could hear the hatred behind it. 

The beaten up redhead proceeds to spit at his captor’s shoes with a glare. In return, Snyder chuckles out whilst shaking his head. 

“You think that’s funny?” Snyder challenged. 

“Actually, I do!”

In the matter of seconds, Snyder gets closer and viciously grabs Albert by the neck with a tight grip. He holds him up with one hand on the neck, high with his back up against the wall. 

Despite his throat being seconds away from being totally crushed, he was able to hold up his glare. The pain is unimaginable, but his smile remains. Albert is not giving in to obeying this man in any way. Not even the fear he’s trying to assert on him. 

“Fearless. I admire that” Snyder notes, curiously tilting his head as he examines the details of his face. 

“Thanks. My parents are pretty proud of that too” Albert needed some effort to get the words out, but thought it was definitely worth the pain to see the displeased look in Snyder. 

“And very stubborn...” 

They lock their eyes in a glare, none of them showing any sign of turning away. 

“I’ll have to fix that attitude…” Snyder exclaimed. He turns towards the stairs leading upstairs and shouts, “Bring ‘em in” 

The door opened, followed by a sound of two men viciously telling someone to obey their orders. Not a moment later, a tumbling noise reveals a weak body being pushed down the stairs and onto the concrete floor with a loud thud. Their back was facing Al, so he didn’t know who that was. 

But Al noticed the newsboy cap, lying on the floor not far from the figure. It was thrown away from their head when they fell down the stairs. The cap looks eerily familiar. God, did Albert hope it wasn’t who he thinks it is…

The two men from earlier came down. One uses his feet to flip over the person they’ve just thrown down here, along with the bound wrists with the same rope as Al dropping in front of their chest. With the minimal light provided by the little windows and now the presence of Snyder’s candle, Albert can tell who they’ve just thrown in. 

His smirk slowly drops at the sight of the weak boy. His hazel eyes no longer glaring at his captor, but staring helplessly at the body lying on the floor. Blond hair no longer electrified as it used to. Al’s favorite face to cradle no longer looks the same as before. Eyes still clenched shut. Snyder smirks, seeing his tactic has shown some progress. And he barely did anything yet. 

“Not so funny now, huh?” Snyder taunted under his breath, only Albert was able to hear it, “Should’ve brought the boy into the mix sooner…” 

Snyder loosens his grip around Al’s neck, but he’s soon held up once again by two of Snyder’s henchmen. One holds down his shoulders, pinning him up against the wall, and another by the chest and stomach. 

Snyder makes his way to the boy on the ground with lazy steps. Albert can see him reaching for something under his jacket. It was soon revealed to be a knife once he playfully glides it in the air while kneeling down to the boy. He throws away his burnt out cigarette and places the candle on the floor, not far from the helpless body. He grabs the boy’s chin to make him look up with his free hand, smiling like the devil when he hears the boy whimpering from his touch. 

“I’m not one to like guys… but this one’s clearly a looker, don’t you think?” Snyder examines the face in his hand. 

Albert’s temper was acting up, but his struggles to break free from the strong grip was instantly met with punches to the stomach. The bruises from earlier makes the pain hurt even more. With a silent raise of two fingers, Snyder made the two henchmen stop the punching. It gives Albert some time to settle in with the pain. 

Another signal from Snyder, and the henchmen drops Al on the floor and leaves the basement to the three. Albert’s head was up against the concrete floor, taking in the cold and dusty texture. 

He’s on the same eye level as the boy. A desperate gaze towards the innocent face now full of blood, water, dust, and dirt all smudged together on his skin. Al could see more details, maybe bruises or cuts covered up by the smudges. 

“Come on now, Finch! You’re invited to the party!” Snyder said to the boy, bringing his face right to his own. It forces him to slightly sit up, whimpering along as his body is getting forced under all that pain, “The least you could do is appreciate the invitation” 

It was the order to open his eyes. God knows what Snyder would do if he didn’t. The action reveals a pair of Albert’s favorite blue eyes, but fear clouds it along with the redness caused from what he assumes to be a lot of crying. 

Finch never loses his composure. He’s that cool and mysterious guy everyone is intrigued by. Either have a cool smirk or a neutral quiet face at all times. He doesn’t express his feelings freely, so it keeps people guessing. But those tear streaks, shaky limbs, pressed down sobs in his throat, that wasn’t usual. Albert may have seen him vulnerable, but this wasn’t the romantic and soft side of him that he’s used to. This was genuine fear. 

“I know you’re not one to follow orders from me…” Snyder started, guiding Finch to sit up properly. His unbalanced head moves along with the dazing motion in his mind. In a split second, the sound of a slap echoes through the room. Finch falling helplessly the moment his huge hand connects to his cheek. With a little yelp from the pain, he’s back on the ground, desperately holding back his sobs and scrunching his eyes shut. 

“... But I’m sure we could… make some changes to that” Snyder continued, turning his head around to face Albert. 

By now, Al found the little strength to prop himself up to sit up against the wall again. He snarls, pushing Snyder to smile to his own amusement.

“I see progress being made!” He exclaimed with an unsettling grin after noting his silence. He turns back to face Finch, “Let’s see how much of that we can get for today’s session…” 

Snyder drags Finch by the ropes that ties his arms together up till it can reach the rusty old hook attached to the ceiling. He gasps at the pain in his wrists carrying his entire weight up on the hook, all the pain being stretched out. The tip of his toes grazed the floor and his head hung low.

The same knife from earlier makes its way to press on Finch’s chest. Albert had only realized his shirt was unbuttoned just now and takes in all the horrifying scars. It ranges from faint purples and blues and very clear red and pink lines, all of which are smeared across his body. The cold blade hasn’t cut through his skin, but it made Finch’s senses hyper focused. Lungs working at full force, loud breathing and rapid chest movements. He thought he was just playing tricks, making him think he’s seconds away from cutting some skin. 

When he least expected it, the blade drew another line just below his collar bone. It causes the boy to let out a half suppressed yelp. Snyder dragged the knife so slow, Finch could feel every bit of the pain. 

“Wait! Stop!” Albert could only yell from a distance. 

“Thought we’ve managed to get you to shut up...” Snyder turns his head a little to see Albert behind his shoulder. He digs the blade an inch deeper into Finch’s skin, causing a little cry to finally escape his lips but soon was suppressed once again. 

“He has nothin’ to do with this!” 

Albert shifts a bit loudly. It instantly alerts Snyder, causing him to fully turn his head towards him with a glare.

“Try getting any closer, and I’ll slit his throat open right now!” Snyder growled, firmly holding the blade against the weak throat. It made Finch pull his head up to avoid getting cut, inevitably forcing his eyes to open to stay cautious around it. 

Albert locks his eyes in Finch’s desperate gaze back at him. A silent cry for help, which only made Al furious because he can’t do anything. He wants to wipe his tears away, clean his face, and just hold him tight against his chest. Get the two back to the lodge where their friends are waiting. Everything in his power to get Finch away from any more torture. 

Snyder smiled at Albert’s compliance, forcibly settling his body back on the wall. 

“Atta, boy,” He said, turning his head back to face Finch. He grabs a fistful of blonde curls and whispers, “See? Told’ja he’d listen to you” 

Snyder pulls the knife out of his flesh. Finch gasps at the pain, red blood dripping down his body. His breath becomes fast and uncontrollable once again. And he didn’t stop there. Punches being thrown, more knife cuts, and a hand gripping firmly around his neck while he growls words that shapes nightmares. The chest starts to add in more color to it. Streaks of blood dripped down his slightly toned body. Each of those marks burns deeply into him. With every swing from the fist, Finch uses all his energy to suppress his voice despite the unimaginable pain it emits.

Finch has been in a fight before. He knows what it feels like getting punched over and over again. But this? This is something new. He’s in a position where he can’t do anything. And god is he scared for his life. Albert won’t blame him. After a few dozen punches, his lover fell limp. Hanging helplessly on the hook and taking all the new cuts and bruises like he deserves it. His heart skipped a beat, thinking that he actually might’ve given up. 

“Can’t you tell he’s had enough of it?” Albert shouted, helplessly watching his lover get tortured to near death. 

Snyder continues to use Finch as a punching bag, ignoring his near silent cries and Albert’s pleas to stop. 

“What does it have to do with ‘im?!” 

A hook to the chin this time.

“You fucking bastard! You’ll kill him!” 

Finch couldn’t hold his crying anymore, despite being told to before he got thrown in the basement. Snyder draws out the knife again upon hearing all the sobs escape his cut lips. 

“Snyder, please!” Albert’s voice shakes.

He stops his arm and turns to face Albert, dropping his hand with the knife to his side. Albert can be seen on the verge of tears, and he won’t deny it to anyone. Snyder’s lips fell open with wonderment. 

“I get the point already. You don’t have to keep hurting him...” Albert explained even further, desperation lacing his words. Eyes slowly welling up with water, “Please…”

Snyder scoffs, twisting his lips into the devil's satisfied smile, “Say that again” 

He just wants to see Albert complying to him. Hear him beg to stop the injustice torture. Maybe as far as to hear him cry. 

“Please… Let him go...” breathlessly, Albert begged. He could feel a drop of water from one of his eyes threatening to fall down his cheek. 

Snyder approaches Albert, kneeling down in front of him. He uses the knife from earlier, still full of Finch’s blood dripping off the blade, to tilt Albert’s chin upwards. He glares at Snyder once their eyes meet, but it only makes the man smirk with delight.

“I see you’ve come to your senses” 

Hopefully that meant he’d stop and let Finch back upstairs. But this is Snyder, he’s not going to let one of his detained kids off for free. 

“But I don’t think you’re... ‘docile’ enough,” Snyder added.

He puts away the knife, letting Albert breathe for a moment. But that breath was stolen from him as Snyder proceeds to slap his cheek, so hard the noise echoes throughout the room. He falls to the ground, adding more to the pain he’s feeling. If his hands weren’t tied up, he would’ve already punched the crap out of that monster. 

“You sound adorable when you beg, y’know?” Snyder said standing up to walk back to Finch. 

Albert huffs out breaths full of anger, watching him approach his bloody human punching bag. He blows a strain of red locks away from his eyes to carefully watch what he’s going to do. 

Snyder grabs Finch’s cheeks, forcing him to look up, “You’re definitely a keeper. Isn’t that right, Al?” 

He turns to face Albert, watching as the redhead struggles to sit upright once again. He didn’t break his glare at the man while doing so, showing his own daggers through hazel eyes. 

Snyder scoffs it off, focusing back to Finch. He unhooks the rope off of the ceiling, the limp body giving in to gravity and hitting the floor instantly. His breathing is slowing down, but hitched with a sob ever so often. 

“So, why don’tcha have a little alone time—“ He grabs Finch by the hair. He yelped in pain before being tossed towards where Albert is sitting, his feet somehow complying to the push despite the ache he feels, “—and think about what you did” 

He was lucky, Albert was able to catch him into his chest and lap. If he didn’t, Finch would’ve hit the floor and added another bruise on his face. Finch quickly scrambles himself into his embrace as best as he can with tied hands in front of him. Shaking with suppressed sobs into Al’s tattered clothes. 

“You don’t wanna make him suffer for something he didn’t do, right?” Snyder taunted. 

It fuels Albert’s anger to the brim. He tries his best to wrap his arms around the boy while maintaining his glare at Snyder as he makes his way up the stairs. The heavy door quickly opens and shuts not long after a dozen or so drawn out steps up the stairs. The basement is once again left with minimal lighting since the candle from previously was brought up along with him. 

The moment he hears the door close, Finch lets out his sobs. Loud, fueled with ache and fear. Albert suspects he was told to stay quiet while they were doing… whatever it is they did to him to make him look like this. He had a few guesses about what it was, but Al couldn’t bear to put the image in his head. 

“Oh, Finch, what did they do to you?” Albert whispered, carefully holding Finch’s cheek up to see the damage. 

Finch stays silent as they view each other’s faces. Albert wipes Finch’s tears with his thumb delicately to be careful as to not harm him. He cries at the touch of his soft hand, the gentleness he’s been longing for the moment he got into this shithole of a place. 

He crashes his face into the crook of Albert’s neck, sobbing a little softer than before. Al places his chin on his curls gently. He rubs Finch’s back and shushes in his hair. Albert knows it won’t calm him down, but there’s nothing wrong with trying. 

“Albert… please… I wanna go home…” Finch said shakily, so soft Al nearly couldn’t hear him. About the only thing he has said since the moment the couple has reunited. 

Albert hushed the boy, rubbing his cheeks against Finch’s curls, “I know. I know. Just hold on for me” 

He continues to sob, a puddle slowly forming on Albert’s shirt. The dam for Albert himself finally broke, letting a drop of water fall down his cheek and a nose slowly getting stuffed. He holds him in his tight arms, as if he’d disappear the moment he lets go. 

“We’re gettin’ outta here. I promise” Albert promised, a big promise to uphold too. 

It would seem difficult with the position they’re in. He believes their friends are out there coming up with an escape plan or will visit them frequently to check up on them till a plan forms. Till then, he promises to do everything he can to get Finch off of Snyder’s evil hands. Anything to see his Finchy smile again. Even if it ends up being the last thing he does. 

[lesbian-deadpool]

A Fresh Start

Natasha Romanoff x Reader

Words: 2,074

Warnings: Endgame (dw tho)... crying, sarcasm, swearing... the usual really lol.

Request: For @mythsandfiction for donating to the Australia bushfires. You asked for fluffy moving in... I made this. I really hope you like it :)

Summary: You deserve this.

A/N: Set after Endgame (no one died, bc I said so). I know you wanted fluff, and there is fluff, but there’s also some “soft-angst”. Not proofread. I don’t consider this to be my best work, just an FYI.

(Not my GIF)

***

The war was over.

You won.

You really won.

It was kinda hard to believe. Considering how many times you had run through the battle at Wakanda, during the past five years. Tony, his Spider-Kid, and the wizard guy in space, with the Guardians, that you were yet to meet. The ones you never thought you would. Hell, you were yet to meet the kid or the wizard. Still. That didn’t stop you from feeling the loss for them.

The loss for half of your team, if not more.

Sam.

Bucky.

Wanda.

T’Challa.

Shuri.

They all vanished. Turned to dust- Ash. Right in front of your eyes.

And it was all because of that purple fucking giant, Thanos.

You were there that day.

That day, you were finally there. And that's what you got for it. Watching, from your place, beside Natasha, literally rooted to the ground, as he snapped his fat fingers, and the world around you disappeared.

You hadn’t been there for when Ultron had risen.

Nor for the so-called Civil War.

But for this. This, you were able to see. Only helping to solidify your assumptions that the world liked to fuck with you.

The next five years passed as slow as they had when you were a child.

Steve left. As did Bruce, Tony, Thor, and Clint was nowhere to be found.

I mean, you couldn’t really blame them for leaving. There were times that you wish you could just up and leave, to start anew. But you never did. You stayed at the compound with Natasha. There wasn’t a chance in hell, or high water, that you would leave her. You couldn’t even bare the thought of Natasha being left all alone in the large compound, with the only thing left to keep her company being her thoughts.

So you stayed.

You stayed by her side for five painfully long years.

However, along the way, you and Natasha got closer.

You weren’t really all that close before, I mean you we’re friendly sure, but you never sought each other out, the way you did with the other Avengers.

Natasha preferring to spend her time with Clint, Steve, Wanda, and now and again Tony.

And you, choosing to hang out with Tony, and Thor, more so than anyone else.

Most of the time, you wanted to kick yourself for not seeking Natasha out more than you did before- Or at all. You liked spending time with her. She was fun, even in her depressed and overworked state, so it was only left to your imagination to what she was like before Thanos.

It had been a whole year since the battle at Wakanda when everything changed.

You had walked in on Natasha in her office, which was really just the dining room, that she had commandeered for her workspace, with a bottle of strong liquor in hand. She had been crying before you entered, you could tell that much by her red and puffy eyes.

Giving her a tight-lipped smile, you started to drink the remainder of the day away. You might have had a bit too much to drink... okay, you had a lot too much to drink. Because the next morning you woke up to a blinding headache and a naked Natasha beside you in bed. It didn't take a detective to figure out what had happened the night before.

Your relationship progressed over the next four years. From a friends-with-benefits type of situation. To spending every night with each other, not even having sex. Natasha had told you she had fallen in love with you, a little over two years after the snap, as the media liked to call it. You, of course, were surprised but had returned her confession. Who wouldn’t have fallen for the red-head? By the time of the ‘Time Heist’, you were in a long-term committed relationship.

There had been some trial and errors throughout the heist.

Losing the Tesseract. Steve kicking his own ass. Having to re-work a part of the plan, and travelling to the 1970s. Thor having a crisis. Nebula having her memories stolen. Natasha...

When you found about Natasha, you had no reaction. Everyone around you was crying, sobbing. They at least had a tear in their eye. But you? There was nothing. Pulling yourself from Clint's grip, and walking away.

No one knew where you had gone, as they were left to reverse the snap on their own. Only coming back to fight against Thanos for the final time.

You definitely didn’t leave to go drink and cry over the ring you had bought.

Yeah, that's exactly what you did.

The battle was the first thing that had moved fast for the past five years. It was over in no time. This time Thanos had vanished before your eyes, along with his army.

You were in Tony’s lab with him, after his “funeral”, talking about the prosthetic arm he was making for himself when it happened.

Peter -the Spider-Kid- had burst through the doors, gasping for air and pointing behind himself.

“Jesus kid, you almost gave us a heart attack,” Tony said, holding a hand against his chest, “What’s up? What’s got you so bent outta shape?”

“Mr Rogers... he... stones... back... old...” he said panting, “Miss... Romanoff-”

“Natasha? What about her?” You jumped up, as you felt the anxiety flowing through you like tidal waves at this point. Patiently waiting for Peter to finish what he was saying, with bated breath. But, he never got the chance. As the moment he opened his mouth, to continue speaking, he was interrupted, once again.

“Y/N?!” A voice you would recognise anywhere, called down from the top of the stairs.

“Natasha?!”

You rushed over to where you could see her, with tears trailing down her face, yours falling to match.

One second you were peering up at Natasha from the base of the stairs, and then suddenly you were enveloping her in a tight hug. One that she returned ten-fold, crying into your shoulder, as your own tears dropped into her soft hair.

“Marry me,” you said in a tearful voice.

“What?”

“Marry me? Please?” You reached for the chain hanging around your neck, tugging it harshly, causing the clasp to snap. Letting the chain fall to the ground, you offered Natasha the diamond ring.

More tears ran down her cheeks as she nodded. “Yes.”

Her lips tasted of salt. Yours were probably the same. But it was no less as sweet as the kiss you shared when you first confessed your love for one another.

Soft whimpers are what pulled you apart.

Looking to the side, you saw Tony and Peter crying beside each other. Peter, the whimpering one, dabbing at his eyes with the sleeves of his t-shirt.

“You had that hanging around your neck?” Tony asked, with tears in his eyes, as the kid bubbled beside him, now using Tony’s shirt to wipe his eyes.

“Yeah.” You nodded. “I’ve had it on me for months now. And I put in on the chain when...” you trailed off, not wanting to finish your sentence. But everyone understanding you anyway.

It’s true, you had charged into the final battle, with the ring hanging around your neck. Keeping it as close to your heart as it could possibly get. With it being one of the last things you had of Natasha, even if she never got so see it, hold it, wear it, say yes, thanks to the compound being destroyed. You wanted- Needed something that reminded you of her.

You had agreed later that night, that you were both going to retire, and finally, live the life you two always wanted together. You had saved the world, too many times to count. Brought everyone back. And saved the universe while you were at it. You both considered that to be enough for you to live peacefully, for the rest of your lives.

After all! If Tony Stark could do it. Why couldn’t you two?

***

“Hey, guys!” Peter called, walking onto the house, carrying two boxes stacked on top of each other, blocking his view as they towered over him. “Where do you want these?”

“Well, what do they say on them?” You asked.

“Umm... ‘bedroom’!”

“Then it goes in the kitchen, where the fuck- Ow!” Your sarcastic quip was cut off thanks to Natasha punching you in your arm.

You rubbed your throbbing arm as you watched Natasha walk up to Peter and taking a box from him so that he was able to see where he was going.

“Come on, I’ll show you where it is,” she said, leading him out of the room, “Then you can pick out your room.”

“I get a room?”

“Of course you get a room.”

“Thank for helping up, Petie!” you yelled to him.

“Welcome!”

“Oh yeah, he gets a thank you, but what do I get?” Tony muttered entering your house, a box in his own arms.

“Well, I was about to thank you, too. But now that you’ve said that. I won't.”

Tony whined at you as you walked away, to start fixing up some lunch for everyone. Making you smile at his childish antics.

***

“I still can’t believe the way you proposed to me,” Natasha spoke from the other side of the room, that you were both busy painting.

“Well, give me the ring back, and I’ll do it again differently.” You beamed over to her, noticing the yellow paint smudged against her face and arms. Yellow wasn’t yours or Natasha’s style, but it was for the guest bedroom, and you both wanted that to be a bright place. So, yellow it was.

“No,” Natasha said hastily, pulling her left hand up to her chest, and covering it with her other hand.

You let out a small laugh. “See. I knew you loved the way I asked you to marry me.”

“I’d love any way you’d propose to me because it’s you doing it.”

“Soft.”

“Shut up.” She smiled, picking up her discarded paintbrush again, and throwing it at you.

A large splodge of thick yellow paint spread across the upper part of your t-shirt. Spots flecking across your neck, jaw and shoulder.

A gobsmacked look overtook your face. Slowly, you turned to peer at your red-headed fiance.

“Oh, you wanna play that game, do you?”

“Yes.” Natasha nodded. “Because I know I’d win.”

“Well, we’ll just have to see about that.”

***

“See, told you I was right,” Natasha smirked over at you in the shower.

“That’s ‘cause you fight dirty.”

And she did.

Once the paint had run out, and the room was covered in the stuff, and not just the walls like you needed. The majority of the paint had coated the floors, luckily, you still had to put down the white carpet. Natasha ran out of the room, in search for more ammunition. Flour, shaving foam, whipped cream, water, and even milk, covered you. Before you and Natasha hopped into the shower together.

“It’s not dirty if you win,” Natasha replied, as she scrubbed her hair.

“No. It is dirty. But you still won.”

“That is the perfect description of me,” Natasha joked, causing you to burst out laughing, at the accuracy of it.

“Yeah.” You nodded. “You’re right there.”

***

The first night in your new house sure was something. Nothing “spectacular” happened. It was nothing but calm.

After your shared shower, you cooked dinner together. Well, mainly you, because Natasha couldn't cook for shit. As the red-head kept you company and occasionally stirred the pot of pasta.

It was later that night, when you were laying in bed, Natasha curled up by your side, with her head upon your chest, as the tv played in the background when Natasha spoke.

“We needed this.”

“What?” you asked rubbing your hand along her arm, “An early night?”

“Early?” Natasha asked in return, leaning up to look at you like you had grown another head. She was right, it was currently one A.M.. Fixing up the house really was long and hard work.

“-er, than we have in the past week,” you corrected yourself, before shaking your head, then getting back on track, “But what did you mean?”

“I meant this. Retirement. A house. A fresh start.”

You smiled as Natasha got comfortable on your chest once again.

“Yeah... we did need this.”

[jotarosbelt]

Heyyy I’m REALLY nervous because I’ve never asked for anything like this jsdfsdgjsk but basically can I get Bruno x male reader and his reaction to his s/o having a mommy kink/calling Bruno mommy and possibly him stepping on his s/o’s c*ck in high heels?? (probably because his s/o asks him to bc we all know Bruno is pretty damn vanilla) SORRY IF THIS IS TOO EXPLICIT I LOVE YOUR WRITING SO MUCH!!

A/N: HI @giornocentric ! I’VE BEEN LOOKING FORWARD TO THIS FOR SO LONG, I’M SO SORRY I KEPT YOU WAITING

this is actually my first male reader, SOOOOOOOOO, pls forgive me if this is garbage.

without further ado, enjoy!

———

Mommy. [Bruno Buccellati X Male!Reader]

cw: mommy kink, praise kink, high-heel kink, light bondage, sex toys

18+ content ahead!

“I’m sorry, mio caro, can you repeat that for me?”

Your fists clenched into balls at your sides, knuckles white and face flushed an embarrassingly deep shade of pink at his request. It was so hard to say those words in the first place, and he’s telling you he didn’t hear you the first time?! Good grief.

“I said that I...” The room filled with a pregnant pause before you continued.

“I said I wanted to try and call you mommy in the bedroom. And heels. I want you to... wear heels.”

God, if only you had a stand like your boyfriend. You’d be out of this stuffy— when did it get so hot in here?— office in an instant if you could.

The male before you blinked for a moment before smiling softly to himself and getting up from his chair. Rounding the desk, he took a seat on the front of it before whipping his hair out of his face with a quick movement of his head.

“Mommy? Hm, I don’t mind. Don’t know where I’ll get the heels, but, I can try to arrange something...”

You can feel your eyes light up as you whip your head up to look at Bruno, ready to thank him a million times until he opened his mouth to continue speaking.

“Any specific.. date you wanted to try this?”

Your praises and thanks died in your throat. It was up to you? You thought telling him was enough and he’d take care of the rest— maybe surprise you—but, he wanted you to actively pick a date and wait in anticipation until you could fulfil your fantasy and bust the most satisfying nut of your entire life?

You were literally ready to have a stroke.

“I— Uh... later this week.. maybe..” You whispered under your breath, just loud enough for him to hear. He chuckled softly at your timidness.

He pushed off the desk with his hands, walking up to you and taking your slightly smaller hands into his own. “You don’t have to be so nervous, amore. The hard part is over now. Just give me a date and I’ll have everything we’d need by then.”

You bit your lip and gazed down at the floor before inhaling deeply.

“Okay. How about Friday night?”

He smiled. “Perfect.”

Stepping back slightly, he tugged on your hands and jerked his head over in the direction of his desk.

“Now, how about you keep me company while I review these mission reports, hm?”

You smile a bit more confidently at your boyfriend and nod. The events of Friday soon slipped from your mind.

Until you looked at your phone that afternoon morning.

For some reason, the word ’Friday’ seemed to be a lot brighter and bolder, much to your dismay. Was the universe trying to give you a heart attack? Sure as hell felt like it.

You rolled over to see Bruno absent from his side of the bed. It was a lie to say you weren’t slightly relieved, it was also past noon and he had work to do, but the fact that he might’ve been preparing your not-very-surprising surprise made your heart flip.

A sudden knock to your door ripped you out of your jumbled thoughts, and as you stuttered out a “come in,” your breath got stuck in your throat at the sight of who was in the door.

Bruno, wearing his normal white suit, was sporting shiny black pumps and red lipstick, holding a bundle of silk purple rope in his hands.

“Ah, I see you’re finally up bambino.”

The whimper that left your throat at the pet name was embarrassing to say the least.

The beautiful man approached you, heels clicking against the polished wood floor to take your chin in between his fingers and tilt your head up to look at him.

“Bru—“

His thumb quickly came up and seized your bottom lip, cutting your words off half way.

“That’s not my name right now, bambino.”

You inhaled shakily. “I’m sorry, Mommy.”

Cherry colored lips quirked up into a smile, he man in front of you moving the thumb that was at your lips upwards to stroke your cheek approvingly.

“Good boy.”

He bent at the waist to press his lips against yours, transferring the slightest bit of color to them as he kissed you lovingly like he always did. He never rushed you, always took his time. Now was no different, but the air around him felt... more intimidating.

You found his scent intoxicating— not how it usually was. His cologne made you want to drop to your knees before him and praise him. To please him.

What in the hell was he doing to you?

He pulled away from your mouth to pull you up from your seated position on the bed to a stand, rotating you 180° and gently pulling your hands behind your back. He tied the purple material around your wrists, knotting it tightly but in what you were sure was a pristine bow, before leaning forward to pepper kisses up the column of your neck to your ear.

“Too tight?”

Your head fell forwards slightly and a sheepish, yet satisfied, smile dawned your lips. “It’s great, Mommy.”

It was his turn to smile as he flipped you around again to complete the circle, easing you down into the messy covers of your bed.

His lips attached to yours again, the kiss equal in gentleness but filled with more passion as you two made quick work of each other’s clothing.

Your experienced fingers fumbled (shocking), with the zipper at his neck before sliding down and unbuttoning the rest of the shirt at his torso, sliding it off his shoulders.

Your fingers traced the tattoo his abdomen now dawned (he loved the design of his bralette so much he got it tattooed on a while back), the man releasing a soft sigh and your ministrations.

Your t-shirt was peeled away from your body and thrown to the floor at the foot of the bed as Bruno flattened out his palms against your chest, his fingers fluttering down to your pert nipples, tugging them in unison and making you gasp out.

You pulled away for air and looked up at Bruno’s disheveled appearance; his hair was a mess from how your fingers were grabbing at it before your hands were secured behind your back, and his perfectly painted lips were now smudged with the slightest bit of the pale pink skin underneath peeking out.

He pressed his lips to your sternum, kissing a trail of red down your chest before moving to a nipple one of his hands was working on. His mouth opened and he roved his hot tongue over the bud before taking it into his mouth completely.

You whined, hands straining at the ropes and chest arching up into his touch as he looked up at your blissed out face.

A wandering hand slipped from the other side of your chest to your pajama pants, pulling at the drawstrings and untying in to slip his hand into your pants. He gripped your hardened cock through the fabric of your underwear, rubbing up and down, teasing where the head would be and gauging that on where the spot of precum was forming on your undergarment.

You instinctively found yourself bucking into his grasp as he palmed your hard-on, pulling away much too quickly for your liking to discard your pants.

He folded the garment in half before tossing that to the floor with your shirt, falling to his knees to lick at your appendage through the wet material of your boxers.

“Mommy—“

His gaze flickered up to yours as his tongue stroked the vein on your straining cock, causing you to choke out your next words.

“Fuck— I want you to step on me, holy shit—“

You could feel your face turn red at your words, but you felt way too good to care as Bruno pulled back from between your legs, black hair falling in his face to hide his amused grin.

“You want Mommy to step on you?” He questioned as he rose to his full height. Your eyes scanned the tan, olive skin of his chest, tracing where the sun kissed parts of him cut off in a clean line to his slightly paler ones. You nodded quickly and he chuckled dryly, gripping your shoulders to pull you to a sitting position.

His heeled foot came up to press between your legs, making you groan at the sensation of the textured sole and pointy heel pressing against your cock and between your balls, you bucking ever-so-slightly into his shoe.

He ground his foot into your nether region slightly more, the moan you release stimulating his ears as he smiles. “Such a good boy. You’re making Mommy really happy, you know that, bambino?”

You would’ve responded if your mind could have processed the fact that Bruno was speaking coherent words to you, but it couldn’t and you let out an unadulterated moan at his praise, not even knowing what is was he just fucking said.

He pulled his foot away from your crotch, moving his leg to press against your chest and send you back down into the mattress with a whine.

“Turn over for me, principe.”

Eagerly, you roll over onto your stomach like a trained dog, resting your cheek on the cool sheets. You feel Bruno lift up your hips to remove your now-soiled boxers, which peel away from your skin with a disgustingly lewd wet sound, and hear your bedside drawer open and close with the sharp click of a bottle cap. The noise is followed by the sound of the squirt of liquid behind you, causing you to rub your thighs together in anticipation.

You hear the plastic bottle make contact with your nightstand and feel slightly calloused fingers run down your spine before taking purchase on the curve of your ass.

“Relax for me, bambino.”

His words put you at ease and you relax your lower half as he spreads your legs slighting with one hand, the other running over your puckered asshole, coated with a generous amount of cold lubricant.

A finger slowly pressed into you and the man behind you leaned down to press a flurry of kissing your shoulder as his finger bottomed out inside of you.

“You doing alright, caro?”

You nod so harshly you’re surprised you didn’t get whiplash and he places another kiss against your skin as his finger began rocking back in forth inside of you.

Focused on opening you up before pleasuring you, he slowly eases a second cold, but slick finger into your ring of muscles, scissoring and pushing deeper and deeper inside of you before he finally curves his fingers up to stroke your prostate.

You keen at the sensation and arch your back, giving much needed friction to your aching cock and pushing your body a few millimeters back onto his fingers.

“So eager, ah?”

You find yourself biting the sheets as he presses a third finger into your tight hole.

“You’re doing so well for me, bambino. So eager to please...”

His fingers speed up, and each thrust seems to hit your prostate more and more frequently until he’s never missing it anymore.

“You look so beautiful right now. You’re such a good boy. So good for Mommy.”

He presses kisses to your shoulders again as you squeeze his fingers in earnest, feeling yourself nearing the precipice of your orgasm until the feeling is torn away from you, along with the fingers that were in your ass.

“I much rather have you come around me, amore mio. I hope you don’t mind.”

You nod harshly and you can practically hear his smile as he flips you around and pulls you into his lap as he sits on the edge of the bed.

“Hm. I have something I want to try, okay?”

You raise a brow and mutter an okay as he reaches over to the nightstand he was fumbling in before to pull out a small vibrator and a velcro strap.

He secures the small vibrator to you and grabs the remote to it, not turning it on yet and instead placing his hands on your hips.

“Ready?”

For the millionth time that evening, you nod and he slides you down onto his perfect cock. When did discard his pants and underwear was beyond you, and you didn’t really give a shit as his head slid along the spongy surface inside of you that made you moan wantonly.

Once seated fully inside of you, he flicked the switch on the vibrator to turn in on, making your hips spasm and almost fall off of him completely. He grips you harder and begins sucking red, purple, and blue marks into the skin of your neck, sliding you up and down along his length before finding a rhythm that has you both panting.

You hear him mutter an obscenity or two under his breath as he clutches you tightly to him, causing your member to rub against his toned torso as he bucks up into you with fervor. His hair brushes against your cheek as his forehead makes its way into the crook of your shoulder, and your nails dig crescent moons into your palms and the sensations plaguing your body.

“Mommy, fuck, fuck—“

Seemingly taking him out of the fucked out trance your warmth had him in, he pulls away from the base of your neck to kiss your cheek, leading up to your ear.

“Cum for Mommy. You can do it, I know you can.”

As encouragement, his hand comes down from your waist to tug at the base of your cock, almost forcing your orgasm from your body as you grow rigid as groan as you cover yourself, Bruno, and the toy in your seed.

Bruno smiles to himself, smudged rouge and saliva plastering his lower face as he grips your hips and starts bucking up faster.

He tries to choke out an apology for being so rough, but it gets mixed into a string of italian swears as he tips over the edge of his orgasm, stilling inside you and painting your insides white.

He shakes as his high slowly dissipates and he blinks up at you, giving you a beautiful smile and a sweet laugh.

“Was I too rough? I don’t know what came over me..”

You smile back. “No, no. It was nice. I liked the change of pace.. and the heels..”

If even possible, Bruno’s smile grows wider and kisses your forehead before pulling you off of him and laying you down on the bed. You can hear his pumps clatter onto the floor as he gets up to go to the bathroom.

“Stay there, tesoro. I’ll take care of you, hm?”

[huangels]

ha, that's funny cause you're in a witch costume - witch!haechan

nct dream halloween special: main menu | mark | renjun | jeno | haechan | jaemin | chenle | jisung

a/n: i was gonna write more in haechan’s POV but i didn’t want this to be too long since it’s already 3k (i say this all the time but pls ignore typos bc i’m a blind bitch)

genre: fluff + humor

word count: 3.3k

"I wonder if the ice cream shop is open this late." 

The frills of your red and black pirate costume casually sway from the winds of the late October night. You're lucky the costume set came with striped tights to keep your legs protected and warm from the biting cold weather. It would be a lot colder if it weren't for the group of three energetic friends walking beside you. Thanks walking heat bags.

"Probably closed by now, it's Halloween, Y/N," Renjun responds, pushing his glasses up. The breeze picks up once again, it blows dramatically on his black wizard's robe and blue scarf.

"That sucks, everything's closed." Jeno kicks at the loose gravel on the asphalt road, his Batman mask covering most of his vision. "What do we do now?"

"How about we play a little game I like to call, Truth or Dare?" Jaemin pops up from behind, swinging his arms around Renjun and you. The ninja sword sticking out of his back knocks into the back of your head, in which you return a playful smack on Jaemin's side.

"You dumbass, everyone calls it Truth or Dare," Renjun asserts, throwing Jaemin's limp arm off of his shoulders.

"Well, how about it, then?"

The four of you agree since almost all of the houses around are stripped of candy and ready for bed. You guys trick-or-treated for a while but only got the smallest amount of candy since apparently you guys are 'too old for Halloween.' Abandoning the traditional Halloween custom, you four walk around town, finding anything to do to pass the time. Now it is almost 10:30 PM and you are still out and about in town. Somehow, your parents are okay with this.

You rock, paper, and scissors to pick who goes first, resulting in the loss of Jeno. He chooses truth once Jaemin asks the main question.

"Where is the strangest place you have peed?"

"Jaemin, what the fuck?"

The rest of the group laughs as Jeno scowls at the younger, "I don't fucking know."

"Nope, you gotta say it," Jaemin pokes Jeno's nose with a sly smirk. Jeno looks at you and Renjun for help but the both of you shrug in response. It's truth or dare, you gotta do what you gotta do.  

Jeno grumbles before taking a minute to recall, "I think it was in a bush while I was camping last summer."

"Wait, I know this story. You have to tell the rest!" Renjun urges the already embarrassed Jeno. Jaemin and you stare with big puppy eyes, waiting for Jeno to continue the story.

"Huh... Long story short, I peed in a bush where a family of skunks was living and they sprayed me... while I was in my most vulnerable position," Jeno explains, defeated.

You choke back a snicker but the other two has already let out their heaviest laugh. Through your stifled laughter, you tease the latter, "wait, Jeno... The skunks sprayed your- dick?"

Without saying anything, Jeno replies with a slight nod, the tips of his cheeks burnt as red as Jaemin's ninja costume.

"Jeno sprayed the skunks- and they sprayed back!" Jaemin nearly has tears in his eyes, latching onto Renjun's shoulder for stability as the shorter hunches over to stop his stomach from hurting. You take refuge by a pole of a street light, gripping it with all of your might and trying not to topple over in laughter.

"Just continue with the damn game. Renjun, truth or dare."

The game continues with more embarrassing truths, since no one is brave enough to choose a dare. Your turn comes up next, high on sugar and laughter, you decide to be the first to choose a dare.

Jaemin's eyes widen in excitement as Renjun looks around the premise, coming up with a dare. "Y/N, I dare you to enter that store and buy something."

Your line of sight follows Renjun's finger, leading to a small, dark store. It stands alone in the middle of two large shopping plazas across the street. The windows, bordered with intricate lacey designs, are tinted black so that you can't see the inside. The aura the shop exudes causes a shiver to run down your backside. You wouldn't have been able to tell if it's open or closed if it isn't for the light-up sign that reads, "Mystik Hex."

"Guys...I don't think it's even opened," you lie with a nervous chuckle.

Jeno slaps your back, pushing you across the abandoned road, "You got this!"

"Don't be a pussy, Y/N!" you hear Jaemin yell as your hands land on the door handle, which is a smooth purple orb. The glass door is tinted black just like the windows, a deep purple curtain decorated on the outside. It's tied up at both ends revealing the name of the shop again, in a fancy but eerie font. Before opening the shop, you take one more glance back at your friends. In case I die in here, at least I know who to haunt.

With your eyes shut, you slowly swing open the door. You don't expect that the first thing to hit you is the warmness of the shop, compared to the harsh fall weather. After the warmness comes the obscure fragrance of the shop, lemons and roses.

You open your eyes, one then the other, to take in your surroundings. As dark as the outer appearance seems, the inside is much more welcoming. The walls are painted a dark beige and lined along them are shelves stacked with boxes and jars labeled the strangest things. In the middle of the shop sits a glass display case, revealing an arrangement of jewelry and ornaments. Hanging from the ceiling is a variety of dreamcatchers, of all sizes, designs, and colors. And in the middle of the ceiling hangs a large candle-lit chandelier. Speakers hidden somewhere around the store plays soothing 80's jazz music.

"Can you close the door, it's cold?" A voice sounds from the back of the shop. You close your mouth, not knowing it fell wide as soon as your eyes opened. You step into the shop, letting the door close behind you with a tinkle of the welcoming bell.

"May I help you with something?" the same voice calls. You slowly make your way around the glass display, eyes wandering all over the store as there is a lot to take in.

Finally, you arrive at the back counter, meeting the sight of a witch (well, someone dressed as a witch), holding a magazine in her hands with a lollipop stick hanging from her lips. The tilt of the hat restricts you from getting a good look at her face and the magazine in her hands.

"Um, what's the-  cheapest thing in here?" you hesitate, not knowing if the employee is listening. The latter lowers the magazine, eyeing you up and down as she switches the lollipop to the other side of her mouth.

Finally, the employee tilts her hat back to reveal...a male.

༄

[Earlier that day]

"Haechan!"

"Haechan!"

"Hae-!"

"What? What? What do you want?" a boy appears from the back room, pushing the beaded curtains to the side of the entryway. His hands are stained with a dark blue color.

"Remember, you're gonna be running this shop today by yourself. Open up at 12 PM and please remember to close at 12 PM. We don't want a repeat of what happened last time...," Yuta, the owner of the witch shop, lectures the younger. Small bottles of dried up leaves and colorful liquids magically enter into his messenger bag with a wave of his hands, surrounded by a haze of purple.  

"By the way, Happy Halloween. I left your costume by the cash register. You better wear it or I'm gonna fire you."

Haechan rolls his eyes away from the entrance and towards the stool behind the counter. A plastic bag sits on the chair, with a picture of a female's witch costume on the front of the bag.

"Oh, for fuck's sake." Haechan picks up the bag, turning it around to see if Yuta is actually being serious.

He is.

On the back of the plastic bag is a sticky note with Yuta's scribbled handwriting on it, "I got security cameras in here."

Haehcan makes direct eye contact with a security camera to the right of the counter, pulling a middle finger out for Yuta to see later. The yellow sticky note floats above his flat palm before it burns into nothingness.

"Dressing up like a stereotypical witch is so embarrassing when you're an actual witch," Haechan thinks to himself. "But I know Yuta will give me shit for months if I don't put this on."

Entering the back room, Haechan slips into the purple and black dress, not even surprised that it fits perfectly (and that it matches the aesthetics of the shop). He ties the cheap corset around his waist and plops the bent hat on top of his head. Then, exits out of the room, back to the camera.

"Jokes on you, shithead. No one comes into this shop anyway."

༄

A male? In a female's witch costume? I mean it is 2018, and fuck gender roles.

"What did you say?" the boy squints his black-lined eyes at you. Your eyes travel down to his name tag, Haechan.

Even his name is just as intimidating as his appearance is. His dark brown eyes are smudged with black eyeliner with a touch of red shadowing. His lips are coated with a deep red tint and a sparkly gloss over them. His ears are lined with silver piercings, he even has a piercing on the right nostril of his nose. His hair is dyed a honey brown with highlights of pinks, blues, and greens. Loosely holding onto the magazine, the boy's fingers bears many intricate rings, but the uncanniest thing about them is that he has complex markings on the back side of his hand.

"Um- What's the cheapest thing in here?" you repeat with a gulp.

Haechan pulls out the lollipop with a pop noise and points it at you, "what is this, some kind of prank? Because I'm not in the mood."

"Well, actually kind of. It's a dare from my friends."

"Your friends dared you to come in here- and buy the cheapest thing?"

"Basically."

Haechan returns to his magazine, which now you can see clearly it's for magical spells, and points to the far corner of the shop, "Those rocks are $5."

You look at the small cauldron of differently shaped rocks and colored crystals, which are actually pretty cool and seem to glow in an unusual way. You dig around in the cauldron before selecting a violet-colored crystal.

"I'll have this one," you announce as you place the small gem on the table.

The latter glances at the crystal placed on the counter, "Ah an amethyst. A remedial stone."

You tilt your head in curiosity, not knowing that rocks can have meanings behind it. Haechan takes this as a sign to continue.

"The gemstone amethyst is helpful in purifying the mind and relieving it of negative thoughts. This includes the negativity of stress and anxiety, which is why many people meditate with amethyst so as to rid themselves of that darkness," Haechan explains, the magazine now forgotten on the counter as he continues to expand on the significance of the gem.

You lean in, interested to learn what other aspects the amethyst holds. As the boy talks, you feel drawn in as if compelled to keep listening to him. The way the magical words leave his tongue makes the meaning of the stone more interesting. It seems like Haechan really enjoys learning about these magical elements as his eyes ignite throughout the explanation. The more you stare, the more Haechan intrigues you. There's something about him, the burning fire and shimmering stars in his eyes, both calm and stormy.

You can't help but let out a soft, "Wow..."

Haechan chuckles at your awed state, picking up the stone. Somehow it glows even brighter in his hands. "You know, I can put this into an accessory for you."

"Oh, thank you but I only have $7 with me," you avert your eyes, feeling a slight blush form on your cheeks.

"It's alright, it's on the house. The stone, too."

"Wait no, at least let me pay for that."

But Haechan has already disappeared behind the beaded curtains into the back room. You pull out the $7 and place it between the pages of where Haechan left off in his Magazine. You feel bad if you didn't pay for it and the dare is to buy something in this shop.

A few minutes pass by as you grow bored of just standing there, waiting for Haechan to return. So you roam around the shop some more, studying the different jars, candles, potions, and crates. They all hold specific items or ingredients, an explanation plastered on a note next to them.

Couple more minutes fly by but no sight of Haechan.

You make your way back to the counter, looking through the curtains. Bright explosions of purple and white lights puff from behind a slightly opened door. Out of curiosity, you peak through the crack.

What you see causes you to let out a gasp, knocking the door open.

Haechan stands by a large black cauldron, with purple and white smoke rising from the lavender-colored liquid. Hanging above the cauldron is a lever, lowering the gemstone into the mystery liquid.

Surrounding Haechan is a cloud of purple fumes. The markings you noticed earlier on his hands glow within his skin. He looks too concentrated in the cauldron, with his eyes closed, to notice you standing by the opened door. Though, you don't know if you should leave quietly or call to him. Either way, you can't do anything since your body isn't responding, leaving you frozen before him.

The fumes of deep purple whirl around, picking up speed before it comes to a full stop. The purple glow from the liquid dissipates, leaving the room dim since its only light source is a small ceiling light. Haechan's hands return to their normal state as he picks up the amethyst necklace, back facing you.

You still haven't made a noise or movement since barging into the room, hoping whatever magic is happening here can make you disappear from the shop forever. However, no magic is able to help the situation as Haechan turns on his feet with a smile and the necklace in his hand. But as soon as he meets eyes with you, he jumps back in panic, dropping the necklace. Yet, it stays floating in the air before returning to the palm of Haechan's left hand. You don't think you've even blinked since before this incident with how wide your eyes are right now. Neither of you dares to speak as you both don't know what to say.

The silence soon breaks with Haechan's distraught voice, "How long h-have you been standing there?"

"Uh, I saw the purple cloud thingy," you answer coarsely, though you know that isn't the best answer in this circumstance. "What was that? What are you?"

"I'm nothing. A human. Just a human. Yes." The way Haechan answers exposes his true nature.

"What are you?" you repeat with furrowed eyebrows, confused and slightly frightened. Is this how I die? I knew I would die the moment I followed up with the dare. Those pesky boys are so going to get a big haunting.

Haechan sighs, "I'm a witch."

"Ha, that's funny cause you're in a witch costume," you sarcastically respond, "No seriously, what are you?"

"Seriously, I'm a witch."

Haechan holds up his right hand, the black markings turning into a lustrous white as a swirl of purple smoke transform into a flame above his palm.

You stumble back into the door, not knowing how to react.

"Don't worry, I won't hurt you," the latter assures as the flame disperses into thin air.

Another silence flies by as you're still too stunned to function. A thousand thoughts squirming around in your head, trying to come up with some explanation.

Haechan moves forward to your frozen state, holding out the amethyst, "Here."

Your arm finally responds back and hesitantly raises to grasp it from his palm. You expect his palm to be burning hot from the flame but it's a normal bodily temperature. Though, you don't know what would be more unnerving. "Oh, thanks... for the necklace."

"Actually, it's not a necklace, it's an amulet."

You cock an eyebrow at the boy, "What's the difference?"

"Well, necklaces are just decoration, they hold no special abilities," Haechan takes back the amulet and connects it around your neck. "Amulets, on the other hand, are objects that are carried by or worn on a person that holds a specific energy or spell."

With how close Haechan is, you can feel his breath fan over your face as he explains the difference. Your voice drops to a whisper, "Then, what does this amulet hold?"

"Protective powers, as well as healing ones."

Your eyes meet his in awe but confusion, "protecting me from what?"

"Anything that's dangerous, Y/N."

"How do you know my name?" you break the contact between you two.

The ends of Haechan's mouth curves upwards, "I'm also psychic."  

"Wait, really?" you bolt up in interest, eyes wide again.

"Nope," Haehcan pops the p, "I just heard you and your friends yelling outside of my shop earlier."

Your shoulders slump down, disappointed. Haechan leads you out of the back room, closing the door behind him. Before you can thank Haechan and speak a farewell, a group of yells enters the shop.

"What have you done with Y/N?"

"Where is she?"

"We're gonna kill you."

You realize it's Renjun, Jeno, and Jaemin barging into the store in their lame protective stances. Renjun holds his plastic wand out just as Jaemin holds his foam swords, Jeno just has his fists in front of him as if he really is Batman.

"Guys relax, I'm fine." You hurry them away from Haechan before they can embarrass you anymore.

"Who's the girl?" Jaemin points at Haechan, a smirk plastered on his face, sending a flirty wink to the latter.

"I think that's a dude, man," Jeno punches Jaemin's shoulder, stifling a snort.

You flash an apologetic smile at Haechan, harshly whispering for the guys to wait for you outside.

"Wait, that's a guy? Holy shit man, why are you in a girl's costu-." Jaemin gets interrupted by an electric zap sent from Haechan's finger to his butt. The younger jumps up from his stance, rubbing the back of his butt with an 'ow.'

"Let's get out of here, Y/N hurry before he kills us all."

Renjun pulls along your arm as you wave goodbye to Haechan. I'll come back, you whisper in your head, hoping Haechan has some type of magical power to read it.

༄

"Is this...a jar of eyeballs?" you place the glass jar on the table with your tongue sticking out. "Gross."

"It's frog eye but yes," Haechan hums, too focused on the potion he's mixing up in the back room. You're seated by a small table juxtaposed with the caldron, handing Haechan the ingredients and herbs he needs from the shelves of mysterious items. It hasn't been long since you've started working in the witch shop.

"What do you even need that for?" you question, wiping your hands on the black apron tied around your waist.

"All sorts of things," Haechan briefly answers, mumbling for the Burdock Arctium Minus.

You hand him a jar of the purple spiky plants, "and what are you making now?"

"A love potion."

[transpeterman]

also (last ask i promise) all the avengers and queer and they all go to pride together right after peter joins and everyone the entire city freaks out and all the queer kids in the entire city go to bed that night knowing that their personal heroes will accept them even if their families/peers don't

(Asks water my crops and clear my skin don’t worry about it!!)

-Peter gets all decked out in his Spider-Man costume and Bc he’s an upstanding trans member of society he wears the trans flag like a cape and a big ol’ “bi pride” patch sewn on to it-‘Peter,, Thor can see your flag from asguard I think it’s big enough"-Peter wears pins tons of patches and pins for other identities on his flag to show his support (and protect his identity)

-tony has a trans flag wrapped around him like a toga Bc he’s Extra™ but we love him halfway through pride he suits up and the suit has been temporarily painted the pan pride colors

-Steve and tony convince Bucky to go to pride even though Bucky is scared of hurting someone on accident-Steve is wearing a big ass ace pride pin right on the star in the middle of his chest-his shield is also temporarily painted rainbow-he paints it rainbow Bc he’s not sure how he feels about labels for himself but he’s def p gay for his two boyfriends

-Bucky has their eyeliner on and Instagram worthy eyeshadow done in the nonbinary colors-Bucky’s arm was spray painted rainbow -that’s the arm they hold steve’s hand with -because they don’t want to crush Tony’s hand in the middle of a parade

-natasha and Clint are on a mission somewhere classified-and yet Peter gets a selfie of Clint with war paint on his cheeks in pink purple and blue-Peter receives another picture that’s just really blurry -then another one with Natasha glaring at Clint and despite his already bruising eye he’s smiling Very Big™-Natasha’s normally red curls are now varying shades of pink and Peter knows that’s for the lesbian and demigirl flags-it’s captioned “I startled her”-Peter laughs so hard he almost passes out

-Bruce stays at the tower bc if he hears any ignorant language or hate he’ll probably destroy some shit-but he facetimes tony the whole time and he loves it-tony convinced him to go next year and buys him a aromantic and asexual pride pins

-Sam chooses to opt for a bi pride cape because it’s the most majestic with his wings-he definitely doesn’t fly above the crowds just to show off his bisexual grace

-Wanda is nervous about making public appearances but her asexual color-coordinated outfit is too pretty to pass up wearing-she doesn’t leave visions side the entire day and had a really good time

-the avengers accidentally end up hijacking a float? They get a whole float to themselves and kids and adults shed tears as they see their heroes supporting them and actually sharing traits with them

-They sign as many things as possible for people asking

-Peter knows the daily bugle will have a field day but looking around at all these people who are like him and his friends he knows he’ll have support- from both the public and his teammates

-Peter sees MJ and Ned in the crowd and he waves at both of them

-the avengers leave towards the end of the parade but there’s enough time for Peter to change and go meet them

-he has to take off his flag but he has a few pins he can wear

-mj’s “they/them” pin makes Peter’s heart soar with secondhand pride bc mj just expels confidence and it’s amazing

-Ned has pink, blue, and yellow face paint that smudges onto Peter when he kisses him

-Peter can see where it’s smudged on MJ too and he loves his partners so much he thinks he might explode

-Peter goes out with them for pizza and gets picked up by May later who couldn’t go because she had to work a double shift but still has her lesbian pride pin on her shirt

-it was one of the best days of peters life

[captainkirkk]

for the prompts, could you do something with Adam and ronan from the raven cycle and one of them having a nightmare please? bc let's be real, both of their lives have left them with some solid nightmare material and I live for hurt/comfort haha (also if you don't wanna write this that's totally cool!! I just love your writing sm that I had to send you a prompt when I saw you opened them)

Thanks, anon! This is set during the Raven King, when (spoilers) Cabeswater was growing more corrupted, and Ronan and Adam’s feelings were an open secret between them. Warnings for: mentions of blood and gore, instances of child abuse and discussions of past child abuse, and brief anxiety.

Read on AO3

–

Adam and Ronan have been circling each other for months; it makes sense that they’d be drawn into each other’s dreams, too. Their dreams merge abruptly like two cars colliding head on, like two jars of paint spilt out on the ground, colours bleeding into each other.

Adam is at Aglionby, sequestered away in the ancient, overbearing library. It’s cramped in a way it isn’t in real life. All the air has been replaced by books, and dread fills Adam’s lungs. The ticking clock is unnaturally loud. The homework stacked by Adam’s elbow wobbles threateningly. Its height defies gravity.

The bookcases grow larger and larger the longer he sits there, the aisles shrinking. The library shudders. Black vines creep into his vision. Adam curls around his essay, the paper rough like tree bark beneath his pen. His ribcage is two sizes too small, and his eyes ache with how exhausted he is, and dark roots shift beneath the library carpet, shackling themselves around Adam’s legs—

The library doors burst open. Ronan stands in the doorway dressed in full armour. It clanks as he raises a hand at the writhing branches, and declares, voice echoing off the endless aisles of books, “Fuck off!”

The plants shift guiltily. Adam kicks the vines making a grab for his feet beneath the table. They skitter away before returning like probing fingers around his bony ankles.

“Fuck off!” Adam echoes. Ronan picks up a book and throws it at a bramble growing around the legs of Adam’s chair. “Ronan, sword.”

Ronan unsheathes a sword from his belt. He examines its shining length for a moment. “Alright then,” he decides, before diving into the sea of vines and hacking, wielding the sword like a machete.

The vines lay in pieces around them. Ronan breathes heavily. Adam palms one hand over his stumbling heart, the other brushing leaves off his sprawled homework. During the invasion, his workload has doubled in size.

“Parrish,” Ronan says.

Adam picks up his pen. His trembling hand can’t form sentences. He doesn’t have the words, doesn’t know what the essay is about, his soupy brain filled with nothing but fear.

“It’s done,” Ronan says. “You finished it.”

Adam puts the pen down. When he examines his work, he finds his cramped cursive where, seconds ago, there had been blank space.

Adam exhales roughly. “Work.”

“You don’t have a shift today,” Ronan says, and Adam believes him; Ronan knows when Adam’s on roster.

“Class.”

“Finished for the day.”

“Gansey.”

“Safe. He doesn’t need us right now.”

Adam gets up. Their surroundings are more forest than library, now. The black vines are gone, replaced by soft earth and tawny leaves. Orange light folds through the treetops. Odd bookcases are built into tree trunks, books carpeting the forest floor in place of moss.

“Good?” Ronan asks, and Adam nods, yes. Ronan sheathes the sword, and runs a hand over his shimmering breastplate. “Gansey talks about medieval shit too much. It’s infected me.”

“Nice sword.”

“Keep it in your pants, Parrish.”

“Was Gansey dressed as a king?” Ronan grimaces, and Adam grins. “So predictable, Lynch.”

“He was wearing tights and a cloak and everything, but instead of boots, he was wearing his damn boat shoes.”

Adam looks down at himself. His Aglionby uniform is a perfect duplicate, complete with the stray loop of thread on his shoulder that drives him crazy. “What about me?”

“I was about to make you the court jester, but then black tree vines started melting out of the walls.” Ronan sweeps a hand over his knight regalia. “I guess this is a metaphor. You’re welcome.”

It’s peaceful in this soft-coloured place. Adam is warm all over, like he’s standing beneath his spluttering shower head and soaking in hot water after a long day.

But, like the faulty water system at St Agnes, the warmth peters out eventually, turns to ice against Adam’s skin. The pink sky dissolves into a starless wash of black. Insects crawl out of the trees, out of the dirt, out of the spaces between their feet, a many-legged hive brain that writhes around them.

A wasp lands on Adam’s sweater. Immediately, he looks around for Gansey, and meets Ronan’s eyes. He nods. They were both thinking the same thing.

Nightmare things replace the books and golden swathes of leaves. They dive for Ronan, and he bats at them with his sword. Their claws and beaks bang nosily against his armour.

Adam grabs Ronan by the arm and pulls them through the thick brambles, thorns tearing at his uniform. Ronan cuts down any nightmares things that come at them from behind, while Adam directs them deeper and deeper into the forest.

Ronan shouts and collapses. Adam catches him, and folds beneath his weight. He sinks to his knees, and pulls Ronan into his arms. His head lolls in the crook of Adam’s neck, all soft skin and warm blood seeping out against Adam’s long fingers; he’s bleeding heavily from his shoulder, and small cuts litter his torso. His armour vanished in the quick sprint through the thorny forest, replaced by black pyjama pants, Ronan’s usual sleeping attire. His tattoo and the pale expanse of his chest are on display.

“So much for a knight,” Ronan says against Adam’s throat. Adam shudders.

“I don’t want a knight.”

Ronan grins, a mean, sharp-toothed thing. Blood drips down his chest. “Don’t pretend like you’ve never needed saving.”

“I’m my own knight in shining armour,” Adam says, and then grimaces at how that sounds out loud. “Pretend I didn’t say that.”

Ronan barks a laugh. “You been watching teen dramas again, Parrish?”

“I’m not Noah.”

“Unfortunately.” Ronan shifts in Adam’s arms. Wet dirt soaks through Adam’s pants; if the briny muck of this corrupted Cabeswater isn’t enough to ruin his uniform, then Ronan’s blood dripping between them is. “Noah’s much better company.”

“Don’t make me leave you here, Lynch.”

“I don’t see a glowing exit sign anywhere.”

A gurgle and a thump echo through the forest. Ronan tenses against him.

“Adam?!”

Ronan curls like a snake ready to pounce. They both recognise that voice.

“We’re dreaming,” Adam says.

“Help me up. We shouldn’t be laying down for whatever’s going to happen next.”

With Adam’s assistance, Ronan climbs to his feet. He wobbles a little, but seems have regained his energy. He looks around the dimly lit clearing. “Cabeswater, I need something…”

A sword juts out of the dirt. Rubies glint in the faint rays of sun cast through the black treetops. Ronan unsheathes it, and sticks it into the air.

“It took my armour, but it can’t take my weapon.”

“Another metaphor?” Adam asks.

“I’m going to fucking stab that demon,” Ronan says, gripping the sword with a dirty, clenched fist, “does that count as a metaphor?”

“Not really.”

They make their way through the forest again. Their bare feet step in something wet, and warm, and Ronan rears back as though struck.

Adam was never able to meet Niall Lynch face to face, but he’s seen the photos hanging at the Barns. This smear of a man—the pulpy brain matter, the limbs splayed out like a dropped doll, this mass of hair, blood, and bone ground into the mossy forest floor—doesn’t look like the smiling, dark haired father who had stood with an arm slung around a young Ronan’s shoulders. It barely looks human.

Ronan’s legs wobble beneath him. “Christ.”

Adam reaches out to steady him, but he’s knocked off his feet before he can make contact. He sprawls out on dirty leaves, cheeks and palms smudged with mud. Robert Parrish is a jolt of ice through Adam’s stomach.

Again, Ronan says, “Christ.”

Robert Parrish hefts the shotgun in his arms. The sight of it is near paralysing. It’s one of the few things Adam has ever found that renders everything, the entire world, an irrelevant blur. His entire world always narrows down to the blunt nozzle, the lazy fingers edging over the trigger, the downturned slant of his father’s mouth.

His father opens his mouth, and the shouts that pour out are also familiar. Adam pulls his gaze away, looks towards Ronan. The taller boy is ashen and bloody. The tight curl of his shoulders gives Adam the strength to lever himself onto his elbows, onto his hands and knees, and then to his feet.

He’s not letting anything keep him down anymore. Definitely not this man.

“Ronan,” Adam says, “it’s alright, I’m here. We both need to wake up.”

“Right.” Ronan breaths in shakily. “Switch?”

Adam glances from Robert Parrish to what’s left of Niall Lynch. There’s nothing there for him to fight. The real struggle is taking place in Ronan’s chest.

“That doesn’t seem fair,” Adam says.

“I’m the one with the sword.”

Ronan edges around the muck. His feet stick in the puddled blood, and Adam wants to reach across the space between them and lift Ronan up, carry him over the mess of his father’s dead body, stop him from having to go through this again.

Before Ronan and Adam can get to each other, Robert Parrish steps between them, lifts the shotgun, and hits Adam across the temple. His vision blurs out. Ronan’s shout is cut off. He barely feels the damp forest floor, and then—

Adam wakes tangled in cotton sheets and gasping. There are no dead leaves slicked with blood beneath him; no long fingered trees hanging over him; no gore splattered Niall Lynch, no red faced Robert Parrish; no pale Ronan clutching a ruby encrusted sword and trying to hold himself together. Adam can’t unearth things from his dreams. His nightmares stay buried behind his eyes.

Ronan’s don’t.

Adam wrestles out of bed and shoves his feet into sneakers, his arms into a jacket, and snatches up his car keys.

If Adam can’t carry Ronan to safety in the dreamscape, then he’ll do it in the waking world.

Gansey opens the door to Adam’s loud knocking. He’s in khakis, glasses perched on his nose, phone in hand. He looks partially dazed, as though stuck in some kind of fever state, his cheeks flushed. Adam would be concerned, but he’s busy. He shoves past Gansey none too gently.

Behind him, Gansey says into the phone, “Blue, I’m sorry to cut our time short, but I have to go. Adam’s here. He looks panicked. I’ll call you back.”

Gansey pulls the phone away from his ear. Blue’s voice, crackling and muffled through the line, calls out: “Adam! Be safe, you prick!”

Adam ignores her, and barges into Ronan’s room. On the bed, Ronan pants open-mouthed, his eyebrows furrowed as though in pain, and fists the sheets with both hands. He’s not struggling, but he’s fighting to hold on.

Gansey hovers in the doorway. “Is he okay?”

“We’ll see.” Adam shakes Ronan roughly. “Ronan. Ronan!”

Ronan jerks violently beneath Adam’s hand, and wakes with a bitten off shout. At the same time that his eyes fly open, blood smears across his chest, and wet leaves and forest dirt scatters across the bedsheets. Ronan’s feet are soaked with blood. A shotgun juts out beneath the bed.

Gansey hurries to Adam’s side, hands flapping over their gasping friend. “That’s a lot of blood. Does he need to go to the hospital? Are those fingerprints? Is that a gun?!”

“I’m fucking fine,” Ronan spits, shoving Gansey away. The shorter boy retreats to the doorway, only because Ronan is only this brisk and aggressive when he’s worked up, when he’s disorientated and pushed to his limits and needs space. Because Gansey trusts Adam to haul Ronan out of the bed and into the car if he really did need medical treatment. Because Gansey knows Adam can handle this.

Adam files that away to think over another time. He doesn’t need Gansey’s approval, but it’s a gratifying thing to have.

Ronan grasps at Adam’s shirt like he had in that rotted forest. Adam holds his wrist, and lets him hang on, lets Ronan slowly pull himself back together.

“You don’t live here,” Ronan says finally.

“You fought an overgrown library for me in full armour. I thought I should come and repay the favour.”

Ronan sifts through his bedspread with one hand—the other almost pulling Adam down with the strength of its grip—and tugs. From the rumpled comforter, a long, glinting sword emerges. The handle is embedded with rubies and latin engravings. Gansey comes forward again, but doesn’t take the sword until Ronan nods. He ducks out to examine the sword somewhere better lit than Ronan’s bedroom.

“Is that it? I was hoping for at least a breastplate.” Adam sighs. “At least Gansey is happy.”

“He’s going to be disappointed when he realises it has nothing to do with Welish kings.”

“What does the latin say?”

Ronan collapses back onto his dirty sheets. He looks exhausted for someone who has spent the night dreaming. Adam can relate.

“Probably something very rude, or very gay.” Ronan considers this. “Probably both, knowing me.”

Adam inches a little closer to Ronan. He doesn’t wipe the blood off of Ronan or pick at the mossy, blood slick leaves strewn across his bed, but he does press the hand Ronan has wrapped around his shirt closer to his skin, makes his inhales and exhales deeper, more exaggerated, so Ronan can match his breathing with Adam’s.

“The gun,” Adam says, because his eyes keep gravitated towards where it sits, poking out from beneath the bed. It had thrown him in the forest. He remembers the feel of it in his small hands when shooting cans under watchful supervision, knows the metallic smell to it and the weight against his ribs, against his chin.

“What if I pulled that fucker out of my dream, and you were here?” Ronan asks. It’s not a nice tone, but this isn’t a nice subject, and they are not always nice boys. “Then what would you have done, Adam?”

Adam matches Ronan’s words with something more clipped, less acidic. “You would’ve finally gotten the chance to run him through with that sword. Just like you’ve always wanted.”

“Fists,” Ronan corrects. “I wanted to use my fists until he was a piece of shredded meat, not use a pretty sword.”

Ronan lets his hand drop, as though sensing Adam’s sudden need for space. Adam stands and pulls the gun out. He points the nozzle at the ground and checks that its empty of bullets.

“Niall?” he asks, not looking at Ronan.

Ronan throws his legs over the side of the bed. He takes back the dreamed gun, and stashes it in the closest where Adam doesn’t have to look at it, and Gansey won’t have another heart-attack over it. Adam knows Ronan will bury it, or maybe burn it; he’ll do something with it that’ll make sure Adam never has to look at something so obviously his father’s again. Adam doesn’t need that kind of protection, but, like Gansey’s trust, like Blue’s muffled call to stay safe, Adam acknowledges it and quietly lets himself enjoy it.

“It wasn’t real,” Ronan says.

“I’m working through it,” Adam confesses. “The fear. I’m not the same person he ruined. I’m something more, now.” He picks a long leaf from Ronan’s pillow. The room smells of damp earth, blood, the stink of fear sweat, and ozone. All familiar things to them both. “I’m trying not to be afraid of him in real life, why should I be afraid of a dream version of him?”

Ronan stands a little taller at Adam’s words, like Adam’s words have righted something inside him. “I’m not that kid that found his dad cracked open. I’m not.” Ronan tugs at his leather bands, and sucks in a deep breath. “I’m not some weepy lost lamb Gansey had to scrape off a sidewalk.”

It’s the nighttime darkness and the fading adrenaline that pulls these words from their mouths. They’d never be this frank in the daylight. Ronan steps a little closer, and Adam puts his hand on the place where Ronan’s shoulder meets his neck, over the dark hooks tattooed on his skin. Ronan’s pulse thunders beneath Adam’s palm.

Adam meets Ronan’s gaze. They’re so close, Ronan’s bare, bloody feet almost touching Adam’s scuffed sneakers, their breaths mingled.

Out in the hallway, Gansey shouts, dad voice in full effect, “Ronan, is this the latin word for penis?”

They shuffle apart. They don’t jerk apart guiltily, but slowly move away, an understanding: now is not the right time.

“Busted,” Adam whispers.

“Told you it was both rude and gay,” Ronan whispers back.

Ronan leads the way out of the bedroom, Adam on his heels. Gansey is in the living room, sword held beneath a lamp as he examines it. His glasses slip down his nose. He peers over them at Ronan, thoroughly disapproving. “Ronan. Are you going to pretend not to be hurt again?”

Ronan runs a hand over his chest, and Adam swallows at the bare skin. Ronan brushes over visible claw marks and cuts put there by thorns and sharp branches. Niall Lynch’s blood has dried. The marks have coagulated. “Just scrapes,” Ronan says with a shrug, and then to Adam: “The worse injuries didn’t transfer through. I, um. I was focussing on not bringing anything back with me.”

“Hm,” Gansey says, and gets up to find their first aid kit.

Ronan catches Adam’s eye once again, and shakes his head. Gansey’s paternal instincts are legendary and inescapable. Adam bites down a laugh and abandons him to duck into the bathroom and check the forsaken mini fridge.

Adam gets onto his knees to peer at the contents. In the fridge’s dim glow, Noah’s eyes are a hazy blue. He always looks washed, especially these days, but right now, Noah is a wisp of fog stubbornly set into human shape, holding on tightly to his coherency. He looks exhausted with the effort.

“That must’ve been frightening, huh?” Noah says. He smiles weakly. “But Ronan looked good in armour.”

Adam doesn’t ask how Noah knows that. He grabs a couple of iced coffees from the fridge. No one in this apartment will be sleeping again tonight; they’ll need the caffeine.

“He looked ridiculous.”

“You thought he looked handddsomee,�� Noah sing-songs. Adam nudges Noah with his foot. Noah is solid enough to rock at the force, and giggles into his hands. “You even liked the sword, too.”

“Rise above your status as an Aglionby boy,” Adam says, “and resist the urge to make to make a dick joke. Please.”

“You sound like Blue.”

“A compliment?”

“Of course.” Noah rests his chin on his knees. If he were human, Adam would say he looked halfway asleep, liable to doze off in the middle of this wasteland of a bathroom. “You guys are okay?

“We’re okay,” Adam agrees. He rises to his feet, knees cracking. “How are you, Noah?”

Noah smiles again. Adam hasn’t been keeping track of Noah the way he should, these days. He’s so busy, always has been busy, and Ronan and Gansey and Blue always seem to know something is wrong with Noah before Adam does.

“You should go check on Ronan,” Noah says instead of answering.

“Ronan is fine. Gansey’s with him.”

“Yeah, but I bet he misses you.” Noah tries to wink. It’s a disconcerting sight on a smudged out face.

“Alright,” Adam says, and nudges Noah again with his sneaker, a lingering gesture that Noah sighs beneath, curling up tighter around his knees. “Goodnight, Noah.”

“Goodnight, Adam.”

Out in the main area, Gansey is sitting cross-legged on the floor, his journal and a spare notebook open in front of him. The dream sword and his phone are propped by his socked feet. Ronan reclines on Gansey’s unmade bed. He’s been cleaned up by Gansey washed off the blood, and dressed in clean jeans and a muscle tee.

Adam hands an iced coffee to each of them, and unscrews the lid of his own. Gansey waves a distracted hand at him. He seems oblivious to the coffee he drips on the pad of notes, too busy scribbling something down.

“What does Maura or Calla say?” Gansey asks.

“It’s almost 1am,” Blue says. He voice is even more crackly on speaker phone. “I’m not waking everyone up for anything short of an emergency.”

“Hey, Blue,” Adam says.

“Hey, Adam,” Blue says. “Are you alright? Gansey told me what happened.”

“I’m fine.”

Gansey shoves his glasses back up his nose with coffee wet fingers. “You’re sure this has never happened before?”

“Pretty sure. I think I would’ve known if Ronan was actually in my dreams before now, instead of just a dream version of him. I knew tonight. He showed up, and I just knew it was actually him, dreaming with me.”

“Aw, you’ve dreamt about me before, Parrish?” Ronan says, fake sweet.

“I dream about all of you,” Adam says, because it’s true.

Gansey peeks up at them. His smile is shy, a little loving. “I dream about you all as well.”

“Me, too,” Blue says.

Ronan sighs, but nods his head, an agreement that he, too, dreams about them. They’re too tightly bound to each other, their lives entangled even when asleep.

“Do you think it was Cabeswater that brought your dreams together?” Gansey asks. “Why would it do that?”

“Power in numbers?” Blue wonders.

They devolve into speculation. Gansey furiously takes notes from the floor, bent over his notes, glasses slipping back down his nose. Adam takes a seat on Gansey’s bed. The mattress creaks under his weight, and he ends up against Ronan, feet to thigh to shoulder. Ronan looks at him, and Adam nods, and Ronan puts a hand on Adam’s knee. It’s not the worst way to spend the night. Adam thinks, for all the hours of sleep he’s missing, he wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.