#he styles it out pretty well in the end but there’s no hiding what happened there lol

[uhbasicallyjustmilex]

okay why did i never realise that the reason alex fucks up this guitar solo is because jamie comes up behind him and grinds against him 💀

[chamomiletealeaf]

Omg I just thought of something for my fellow curly/black hair readers.

Going home with Simon after meeting him at a bar with your hair straightened, a tight little lowcut dress pushing your tits up and that you have to be careful bending over or lifting your arms too high in because it would expose your tiny panties and your ass hidden underneath it, and some strappy heels.

And god does Simon notice. He can’t keep his eyes off of you the entire night and the way you pull the hem of your dress down over your ass when it rides up. He’s already imagining bending you over and shoving his face into your clothed pussy from behind, letting your dress ride up to expose your ass.

He makes his move and he ends up in your bed a few hours later where you both cum like you haven’t in years. And when it’s time to shower, he invites you in with him.

“Oh- um- I can’t get my hair wet.” You say.

“Just put it up love it won’t get wet.” He responds, brushing a strand out of your face.

You both stand in the bathroom, water running and fogging up the room with the steam, and you don’t have long until the humidity starts to make your hair frizz up and shrink.

“Hm. I- no really I can’t. The humidity is-“

Simon laughs.

“Oh honey, you’re adorable. C’mon nothings gonna happen. You’ll live I promise.”

You looked at the way his body glistened with sweat and the steam from the room and you’d hate to miss out on seeing the water run down his rough, sexy body. You just gotta make sure your hair doesn’t betray you and give away your secret.

“Ok.” You relent.

Simon hugs and kisses you in the shower, running his hand up and down your body while you dodge your head out of water every time you get too close.

“You got a lot of brushes in here. What you got one for each strand?” He jokes.

You laugh nervously, hoping he won’t realize the dramatic ratio in shampoo to conditioner you have that would give away more of your secret.

“C’mon relax love. What’s the matter? I’ll get out if you’re uncomfortable.” He says concerningly.”

“No it’s- it’s not you, I just… you like me right? I’m pretty?” You ask.

“What? Love, I wouldn’t be here if I thought you weren’t, nothing’s gonna change that.”

“Nothing?”

He grips your chin and tilts your head up so you look into his eyes.

“Nothing. What are you an axe murderer or something?” He jokes with a smirk.

You giggle, feeling better.

“No.”

You bite your lip anticipating your next move, and you finally give in.

“Lemme get under the water for a second.”

And you move under the stream, soaking your hair. You watch how it shrinks up and curls, but Simon doesn’t seem to notice. He’s too busy watching the water run down your tits and how pretty your skin looks all sleek from the water.

After your shower, Simon goes back into your room and waits for you to finish up in the bathroom. Your hair is drying up, and you can’t leave it without styling it or at least putting in some leave-in conditioner, but doing all that would take too long, but it’s too late to hide it now.

After about 10 minutes Simon knocks on the door.

“Hun? You ok in there?”

“Yeah! Um- one second.” You panic, looking at the curls on your head refusing to work with you.

“You sure? You’ve been acting kinda weird. I know we just met but you don’t have to hide anything from me.” He says.

You put one of your styling brushes down and sigh. You might as well just let him see now. You really liked him, and if he didn’t like all of you, better to learn that sooner than later.

You walk over to the bathroom door and open it, still in your towel, and Simon doesn’t say anything.

You look up at him after a second and you see him wide eyed, a smile forming on his face.

“It- doesn’t usually look like this. I haven’t finished styling it so it’ll be better when-“

“I love it.” He cuts you off. “As if you couldn’t get any prettier.” He says as he cups your cheek.

“Is this why you were worried about the water?” He asks with a laugh.

“Um- yeah, I thought you wouldn’t like it.”

“Oh love, I would’ve made a move sooner if I knew this was what was hiding, not that you were any less sexy before.” He says, booping your nose.

You giggle, feeling a little stupid that you had no problem letting this stranger man fuck you senseless, but you were too nervous about him seeing your natural hair.

“You think it’s pretty now? Just wait till it dries. It’s just gonna get bigger.” You joke.

“Can’t fucking wait.” He says with an excited expression on his face, then he picks you up to bring you back to the bedroom where you both spend the rest of your night.

Hopefully this one night stand won’t be just that.

:)))))

[daydreams-after-dark]

Hiya! I think I found the "ask" button! :D I'm dropping my favourite suggestion here, hehe...

You could write about a bad cop/good cop Han/Minho (Han being the good cop and Minho de bad?) And of course, ending in an endless make out session and "fuck-time" in the interrogation room.

Have a bood day/night/afternoon! ♥

This scenario is a fucking dream!!! Thank you for putting this idea to me. I love it. I love it so much. I hope my take on it is to your liking 😘😘😘

I’ve had a few police officer!skz asks and I’m having so much fun imagining all the filthy things that are being sent my way.

I’ve already written sub police officer Han here.

CW: detective/interrogation role play (not established or clarified, but as the writer I’ve decided that is what’s happening), CNC (established off-screen and not referenced in the story). Implied established safeword (not used). Unprotected rough sex, oral sex, orgasms.

🚨🚨🚨🚨

"TELL US!" Detective Lee practically spits in your face. "You know where they're hiding, and you're going to tell us right now." He leans in close to your ear. "Or else." he adds venomously, then stands back against the cinder blocks of the interrogation room, arms crossed.

"Look, Miss." The other man, Detective Han, sighs. "Just tell us and your sentence will be reduced."

"I'm scared." You say desperately. "What they'll do if they find out I-"

Lee scoffs and you pout, turning back at Han.

"We'll protect you." Han almost reaches across to hold your hands, but the weight of Minho's stare makes him think twice. “All you have to do is give us a location.” He says softly.

You shake your head and wring your hands together.

“I think she’s going to need a special kind of convincing.” Lee raises an eyebrow.

Han slowly turns his head towards Minho. “Detective. I’m not sure that’s style of interrogation is appropriate.”

“Well where has being nice got you?” He retorts, storming over to you and pulling you up roughly by your flimsy satin top.

"Now, little Miss," he growls slamming you against the one way glass, holding your arms behind your back and pressing himself against you. You can feel his erection against the top of your ass. "Just tell us the location, and all this stops.”

You turn to look over your shoulder, giving him doe eyes. “I’m never gonna tell you the location.” You say firmly.

The corner of Detective Lee’s mouth twitches slightly. “So that’s how you’re really gonna play, huh?”

He drags you back, bending over the cold, metal interrogation table. “Han. Handcuff her.” He demands, tossing his handcuffs to his partner.

Han looks down at the cuffs in his hands, hesitating momentarily before cuffing your arm to the table leg. He moves around and cuffs your other hand to the opposite leg. You pull and tug, but it’s no use.

“Now check she’s not hiding anything she shouldn’t.” Lee adds tugging your jeans and underwear down your thighs, exposing your ass and pussy.

Han gulps and moves behind you. He strokes your back gently, and leans over you. He’s fucking hard too. “Just be good and do everything he says. Try to relax, baby. Okay. Don’t be a brat.” He soothes as his hand cups your pussy. “You’re doing great. So wet already.”

You suck in a breath. You’re turned on. No doubt about it. You close your eyes as Han slides a finger into your cunt. “Have to check you aren’t hiding anything you shouldn’t. Shhh…. Stay calm. It’s all going to be okay.”

He inserts another finger, sliding them in and out of you. Wet sounds immediately fill the interrogation room.

“I’m gonna check your pretty little mouth.” Minho forces your mouth open with his hand and shoves two fingers inside. “Suck on them.” He hisses. You do as you’re told, sucking on the detective’s digits. He removes them before sitting back down to enjoy the show.

Behind you you hear Han unbuckling his belt, then the sound of a zipper. “Shhh… you need to stay quiet, okay. So you don’t get yourself into more trouble.” Han whispers, but his voice is strained. The tip of his cock slides through your dripping folds several times, before he pushes it deep into your pussy.

“Ngh…fuck!” You gasp.

“Now, what did Detective Han say, hmm?” Lee leans forward in his seat and pulls the hair off your face. “If you can’t be quiet I’ll have to put something in your mouth to make you quiet.”

But you can’t stay quiet. Han is fucking into you hard. Each thrust pressing you into the cold, hard table. He’s hitting you deep too. The kind, sweet Detective Han isn’t holding back. His fingers dig into your hips, and his body slaps against yours loudly.

“Has she hidden anything in her cunt?” Lee asks Han.

“I’m not hiding anything, I promise!” You cry. Minho raises an eyebrow, unamused. “I wasn’t asking you.” He snaps and looks towards Han.

“She is.” Han grunts.

“What?!” You lift your head in protest. “No!”

“Tsk tsk. Now you’ve made me very angry.” Lee says low. He stands and undoes his trousers too, revealing his thick, hard cock. You swallow hard. You’re nervous. But you’re also excited.

Lee steps towards you and tilts your head in such a way that he can rub the tip of his cock along your lips. “You’ve got such a filthy, lying mouth.” He whispers. “It’s gonna feel good around my dick.” He holds your head steady as he fucks your mouth. He’s surprisingly gentle and smooth as Han continues to fuck you rough from behind.

“Han, what’s she hiding from us?” He moans as his cock hits the back of your throat.

“She’s hiding an orgasm.” Han responds. “And, she’s keeping all this cream inside her. Look!” He exclaims pulling his dick out and showing Lee.

The mean detective looks down at you like you’re pathetic and smirks. “Show her.” He snarls, withdrawing his cock from your mouth.

Han comes to stand in front of you, and you see how creamy and wet you are. His cock is covered in it.

“You have to clean it. It’s all gonna be ok. Just do as we ask. You’ll be fine.” Han looks at you with soft eyes. “Now…all you need to do is clean it up. Okay?” He pushes his cock into your mouth. He pushes in further and you gag. “Shhh…That’s it. That’s it.” He encourages you.

Your eyes water because he pushes in so deep, and he takes his time to pull out, making it hard to breath. “Yes, you’re doing really well.” He praises.

Lee’s behind you now, slapping your ass. The sound resounds around the room. He slaps you again and you sob around Han’s cock.

“That’s for not cooperating with an interrogation.”

Another slap. “That’s for hiding your arousal.”

One more slap. “Now you’re gonna come for us.”

He slides into your heat and your eyes roll back into your head. He pulls out almost to the tip and pauses. You clench in anticipation, then he slams back in.

“Fuck, I’m gonna come. Let me come in your mouth and I’ll promise I’ll put in a good word for you.” Han’s breath is shaky, and his thrusts stutter. “Catch it all for me…ngh… I’m coming.” Han throws his head back and moans as his thick cum coats your throat.

He plonks down on the chair, panting.

“Finally some cooperation.” Scoffs Lee, pounding into your pussy. “Han. Release her arms.” He orders his partner.

You’re swiftly uncuffed and your flipped onto your back. Lee pushes your legs up and squeezes his dick back inside you. Han’s at your side kissing and sucking your nipples. “You’re doing good. I’m proud of you.” He nibbles your breasts as his hands explore your body.

Lee brings his thumb to your clit, rubbing firm, rough circles on it. You close your eyes savouring every sensation that the detectives are making you feel.

You’re not on a cold metal table in a dingy little room. You’re floating, soaring higher and higher. You’re going to fall apart any second now. The tension inside you is about to snap.

Han’s lips find yours. Soft, gentle, kind. “I love it when you’re a bad girl.” He whispers and slips his tongue into your mouth.

It’s your undoing and you whimper as you clamp down around Lee’s cock.

“Fuck!” Growls Lee, pulling out and spurting ropes of cum on your stomach. He steadies himself, staying buried inside you until his cock softens.

“Now. The location. Give it to us.” Minho presses as he pulls his trousers back up.

“Please?” Han looks down at you.

“I said never.” You whisper defiantly.

Lee sighs. “Fine. We’ll be back in an hour to interrogate your further.” He says flatly, and he and Han leave the room, locking the door behind them.

Read unrelated sub police officer Han ask here

Read unrelated ot8 free use jail cell

@channieandhisgoonsquad @noellllslut @itsseohannbin @weareapackofstrays @3rachasdomesticbanana @palindrome969 @xxkissesforchanniexx @chuuchuu1224 @fun-fanfics @wolfennracha @rhonnie23 @jisunglyricist @strayywayy @armystay89 @igetcarriedawaywithyou @mylittleponeypinkrosieposie @kyunchoni @justforreaders @melochacco

@jeonginsleftcheek @meilix @itgirlalisaa @linocz @bubblebisk @boi-bi-ahaha @frozenpeasworld @grandma143 @milkypinkmimi @bangchansbbgirl @leefelixsslut @privhace @justforreaders @galaxycatdrawz

[absolutebl]

Best & Worst BLs of 2023

My Top 15 BLs of 2023 are (in order)

1 Our Dating Sim

Korea Viki

Nerds in love, deadlines, gaming, teasing, pining tiny idiots, casual affection, linguistic oops, ADORABLE. If you haven't watched this, it's a must. A perfect short form KBL, an office set reunion romance featuring geeks that really suits 8 eps with no fluff and no chaff. Just comforting and yummy.

I adored every aspect from the casting to the pristinely simple premise to the quietly smooth execution. Sure it’s low stakes, but that makes it high domesticity and extremely warm and gentle. This is a fuzzy blanket of a story - a cozy BL. It lives in my rewatch pile and you know what’s best about it? Every single episode is in that pile. There’s no skipping with this one, it might be good natured and calmly sweet but it’s tight and the pacing is excellent.

Also recieves my 2023 award for best giggle.

2 I Cannot Reach You

AKA I Can't Reach You AKA Kimi ni wa Todokanai

Japan Netflix

This classic friends-to-lovers BL is everything Japan does best. Angsty. Emo. Aching. Driven by real thirst. Yamato is deeply in love with his childhood bestie, Kakeru, and has been for ages, unable to hide his ungainly damaging high school need. He wants Kakeru in every way possible and it oozes off of the screen.

Kakeru is silly and a little simple, but not frenetic or overly camp about it. He is earnest, and genuinely wants to keep Yamato in his life which means giving a romance (and gayness) a fair chance. We watch him realize his affection and what form it can take in a truly authentic way.

This show was impossibly kind to both of its lead characters and I felt almost honored that I got to watch something so lovely and rare play out on my screen.

Also wins the best thirst award.

These were the 2 BLs that got 10/10 from me in 2023. The rest of these got 9/10 from me.

3 My School President

Thailand YouTube

GMMTV gave us a classic high school set Thai BL with tropes like messy boys singing their feelings that made this one Love Sick for the modern age with all the gentle sweetness and pining ache, but none of the dated damaging tropes or issues. Who let my BL be this wholesome and funny? My favourite GMMTV BL offering to date. And yes, I've watched them ALL.

Received the Namgoong award for best wingman 2023.

4 I Feel You Linger in the Air

Thailand grey

IFYLITA is an exquisite BL, from filming techniques to narrative framework. Steeped in history and family drama this is an elegant and classy BL. The main couple (both as a pair and individuals) were excellent, particularly Bright (Yai) whose eye-work acting style is a personal favorite of mine. It's a marker of how great it was that it's so high on my list despite the ending which was very much not what I wanted.

Additional accolade, sexiest moment of 2023 - (the oil scene).

You could try to fight me, but you'll have no grip.

5 Kiseki: Dear to Me

Taiwan Gaga & Viki

The plot is totally ridiculous and slightly unhinged. There’s a gum-ball machine of cameos, elder gay rep, great chemistry from all pairs (everyone is queer), and a KILLER side couple. It involves all the tropes under a very offhand framework of gay mafia gangs + food = love. As a result Kiseki is a poster child for Taiwanese BL, and I happen to love Taiwanese BL. Bonus? They also managed to END IT WELL, which we cannot expect from Taiwan.

Best side couple 2023!

(thank goodness Taiwan made this list!)

6 Jun and Jun

Korea Viki

A delightful office romance about an ex-idol who joins cubical life only to find his new boss is his first love. With a snappy (sometimes even raunchy) script, enjoyable sides, a pretty as peaches cast, and descent chemistry this show made up for in style what it lacked in substance. I like fluff. I loved this. I smiled every moment I was watching.

Best flirting 2023.

AKA "the tongue knows" award

7 The Eighth Sense

Korea Viki

This one is a bit chewy and sticky and less perfect than most KBLs. It’s got a bit of an age gap, country boy/city boy, stellar acting, complex characters, and leads with great chemistry and tension. This isn’t in the KBL bubble, there’s sharp edges and lots of triggers. For a BL the darkness of the content left me feeling unsettled (which is the only reason it didn't get a perfect score) but it has a glorious ending and that counts for a lot.

2023's most likely to appeal to non-BL watchers.

8 Unintentional Love Story

Korea iQIYI

The lead, Gongchan (maknae of B1A4) is a fucking GIFT, who carried this show. He was luminous with extraordinarily expressive eyes, which he used to carry a killer plot and challenging role. Forced into a totally understandable betrayal, falling in love despite himself, put into a corner he can't get out of, the AGONY, the eyes EMOTING at us in PAIN. Driven by external conflict, social tension and pressure this story seems simple but it's actually refined and quite complex. I loved this show.

Best story structure 2023.

9 My Personal Weatherman

AKA Taikan Yoho

Japan Gaga

This is classic yaoi of the kind that really only works from Japan. Basically: boys who fell in love in college end up living together but both are so repressed they actually don't realize they're in love. It's high heat is well done, but it leaned into the "why don't they just talk for fuck's sake?" which is exacerbated by the fact that they're already fucking. Sure is sexy tho.

Best use of props 2023 for the shower of sheets.

10 Our Dining Table

AKA Bokura no Shokutaku

Japan Gaga

Lonely salaryman and talented cook gets accidentally adopted by a college kid and his little brother. It’s a quiet & cozy little parable of found family alleviating loneliness. It's lovely & sweet with the romance beats used to build a family relationship, not just couple intimacy. Special.

First prize for domesticity.

11 Laws of Attraction

Thailand iQIYI

This is a great gay suspense thriller with several solid couples, fun plot, killer characters, queer rep, and a happy ending. It’s tons of fun and I had an absolute blast watching it.

Charn wins my favorite character of 2023.

12 La Pluie

Thailand Viki

This BL takes to task the fated mates trope and what it means to have love chained intimately to predestination. It’s about how faith in destiny before choice diminishes the authenticity of emotion, relationships, and connection. This is a high concept to examine through the lens of a BL. With good chemistry and decent acting all around, plus some excellent high heat and representation of consent and a few other rare tropes, this one has to (like it’s sibling show My Ride) earn high marks.

Most interesting concept 2023.

13 The New Employee

Korea Viki

So good, SO QUEER, so soft, a near pitch perfect office BL with conflict derived from that setting. Also found family and a lesbian bestie. This is what I wanted from this new crop of office set KBLs ALL ALONG. Rainbow rice cakes forever!

Best overall queer rep from Korea.

14 Step By Step

Thailand Gaga & YouTube & Viki

This was Thailand’s answer to The New Employee, and everything I loved about that show I loved about this one. This was an office romance between stern boss and sweet subordinate that felt more authentic to an office environment than previous Thai BLs of this ilk which added tension to the narrative and character development.

Chot wins best queer character 2023.

15 Love Tractor

Korea iQIYI

Most of this country-set BL had me feral for the beautiful broken city boy and his hot young farmer. Hyung romance, puppy/cat pairing, open frankness meets jaded reserve, language play, water hose frolicking, only one bed = all my favorite silly tropes.

Biggest "he so pretty" gasp of the year award.

10 Worst BLs of 2023 (that I watched)

My Blessing

My Universe: Casanova Begins

Boyband the series

Cafe In Love

Chains of Heart

Hit Bite Love

Only Friends

Senior Love Me

The Luminous Solution

The Promise

Yes, you read that right. I know I'm against the flow but I really did not like Only Friends. Everyone's taste is different.

However I DNFed faster and more BL's this year than ever before, so that means my 10 worst probably aren't quite reflective...

10 Probably Actually Worst BLs (I dropped 'em)

My Story

The Day I Loved You

Beyond the Star

Crazy Handsome Rich

Dinosaur Love

House of Stars

Mr Cinderella 2

Love Bill

Stormy Honeymoon

The Star Always Follow You

Codicils in General

I only carefully track/watch Thailand, Taiwan, Korea, and Japan. Other countries are not fully represented.

My Numbers

So my spreadsheet chronicled 138 BLs that finish airing in 2023.

101 = watched & reviewed

2 = still in the docket (WDYEY2 & Love Syndrome III)

15 = CNF (could not find)

20 = DNF (which also accounts for how few very low scores I handed out in 2023 as opposed to previous years, I just stopped watching). Speaking of which...

Ratings spread

(# of stars. #of BLs given that rating)

0 (see the DNFs instead)

2 - IT'S DEPRESSING they killed the gay, save yourself

7 - I DON'T KNOW WHAT I AM WATCHING AND NEITHER DOES IT

7 - FATALLY FLAWED but still basically BL, however… do we want to support this kind of behavior?

9 - WATCH IF YOU HAVE NOTHING BETTER TO DO but don’t expect much, it’s a total hot mess

17 - WORTH WATCHING BUT FLAWED probably around the ending or in narrative structure/cohesion or censorship

14 - RECOMMENDED WITH RESERVATIONS i.e. isn’t quite BL, convoluted, not strictly HEA, too short/long, or chemistry issues

30 - RECOMMENDED some concerns around tropes (like dub con) or story structure but still satisfies as BL

13 - ABSOLUTELY RECOMMENDED probably a few pacing issues or one flaw

2 - HIGHLY RECOMMENDED faithful to tropes, happy ending, good chemistry, few flaws, high rewatch potential

(source)

[pomefioredove]

Heyyy um. “Stop saying things that make me want to kiss the hell out of you." with. epel. hes so accidental confession…..

epel IS so accidental confession... ur so right

summary: "stop saying things that make me want to kiss the hell out of you" type of post: short fic characters: epel additional info: romantic, reader is gender neutral, reader is not specified to be yuu, pre-book 5

It had already been a long day.

It isn't that he thinks you're going to make it worse; no, if anything, you're probably the only person who'd make it better.

It's just that Epel doesn't want you to see him like... this.

"Well... it's an improvement," Vil sighs, putting his hands on his hips.

"Now, don't move. I'll be back with proper shoes."

Epel scratches at his collar like a dog in a cone. He didn't even know you could find bows in this size.

At least it's over. For now.

Soon, he can sulk back to his room and pretend to practice for the audition thing Vil had been pestering him about for weeks.

Maybe take a nap while he can.

"Oh, my..."

The sound of the door grabs his attention, and for a brief second, Epel is terrified that it's Rook coming to tell him how the color of his bow matches his eyes.

No. It's much, much worse.

"Rook said I might find you here," you're clearly holding back a smile. Epel glares.

"I toldja- I told you I was busy today,"

"Yeah, you seem really busy,"

This is a nightmare. It has to be.

Vil and Rook and all the pampered fancy students in this dorm can humiliate him all they like, he's got nothing to prove to them.

But you?

"I-I couldn't get out of it, alright?" he huffs. "We're experimenting with styles."

You laugh at that. If he were in a better mood, he might have joined you. It does sound ridiculous.

"Well... this one isn't flattering,"

You make an attempt to ruffle his hair, and he grabs your wrist. There's a warm feeling in his face that's threatening a blush, which is the very last thing he needs right now.

He wants you to think he's tough, after all.

"I know," he says. "I didn't have any say in the matter, alright?"

You grin. Damn it. You're insufferably pretty.

Usually, that's something he likes about you. But now?

You get a little closer, and your hands close around either sides of the bow. "I know. Let me..."

He can feel that damn blush on his cheeks and he turns to hide his face.

You loosen the tight hold of the tie, and let it come apart in your hands, smiling.

"Better...ish," Damn, damn it.

"Yeah, yeah," he grumbles. He's making a complete fool of himself, and he knows it.

You do, too. "Don't be embarrassed- it wasn't that bad,"

It was.

"It was almost dashing,"

It was not.

"Vil has good taste, I'll give him that,"

Epel looks back up at you, jealousy rearing its ugly head.

You're supposed to be his friend, his... something. His.

"Why don't you go hang out with him, then, if you like him so much?" the bitterness in his tone is obvious. You raise an eyebrow.

"...I didn't say-"

"Just- stop saying things that make me wanna kiss the hell outta you!"

There was a part of Epel that really wanted it to sound strong. Manly. Aggressive, maybe? No, just strong.

The rest of him didn't mean to say it at all.

But it ended up sounding romantic anyway. Even you were taken by surprise. The conversation falls flat.

The, you grab one of his hands, and-

The door opens again.

"You again," Vil says dryly, his eyes first burning into you, and then to the discarded bow on the floor, then to the shared embarrassment on your faces.

He sighs.

"I am going to pretend as if I don't know what's happening here. You- out. Epel, you are excused. This is enough for one day,"

You give Epel one last look, but before he can feel guilty for getting you in trouble, he catches a smile on your face.

After the door is closed, he follows.

"Wait,"

He tenses in the doorway, and turns to his housewarden, who already looks exhausted.

"Let me make myself very clear," Vil says, hands on his hips.

"You are capable of making your own decisions- but I will not tolerate any fooling around on my time. Understood?"

Epel nods. For once, he can't even disagree.

The last thing he wants is to be interrupted again, after all.

[starry-bi-sky]

This is very inspired by @minnesota-fats post about Danny being Bruce Wayne's clone (which has been rotting in my brain for two days) but an au where danny isn't just Bruce Wayne's clone, but also not fully a ghost.

both ideas can be used separately honestly, the idea just came to me while thinking about the bruce wayne clone idea, and a lot of this idea is just "danny without his ghost powers. i might probably make a part two that delves into him being bruce wayne's clone.

Hear me out.

A Danny Fenton who has the ghost sense and the fangs and the pointed ears and the scary eyes and an increase ecto-essence, but does not have the ability to "go ghost". His accident occurred when he pressed the "on" button on the outside of the portal, and the button electrocuted him due to faulty wiring. He ends up miraculously surviving but not without some new additional abilities (and electricity-based trauma).

Since Danny no longer has a built-in alter ego with the invert wardrobe to match, he doesn't see the point to take ghosts back to the ghost zone. What the hell can he do anyways? All he has is a cosmetic add-in, a lower body-temperature with an impressive ability to hold his breath longer than a human realistically should, and a built-in ghost detector. Not very helpful if you ask him.

That is, up until he goes into the lab after his parents catch a relatively harmless ghost and sees them vivisecting it. He's horrified. He thought his parents were using hyperbole when he said they'd tear them apart molecule by molecule.

(Granted, he also believed that ghosts were unfeeling up until he saw this random ghost being absolutely terrified for its existence on the table.)

After an argument over his parents harming the ghost, Danny goes back up to his room and refuses to leave, not even for dinner. Later that night after his parents went to sleep, Danny steels his resolve and sneaks back down into the lab and releases the ghost back into the ghost zone.

This happens a handful of times, until, finally, frustrated, Danny tells the latest captured ghost to tell anyone inside that if they even think about coming through, he'll capture them and bring them back to the zone himself. It's for their own safety.

The ghost agrees, and goes back inside. Danny steals a "failed" thermos from his parents' stash of weapons. The next time that a ghost shows up, its the lunch lady from episode one. Danny manages to defeat her without being seen, but knows that if there's gonna be consistent daytime ghost attacks then he can't base his luck around fighting without witnesses.

So he fashions himself with a makeshift outfit. This really only consists of an old, nondescript hoodie and a plain black face mask. Its the best thing he can do at short notice, however. Later, for his nighttime ghost fighting, his outfit is only slightly better.

He considered using one of his parents' lab suits. But white sticks out at night and the material doesn't protect you from road burn. His outfit is pretty homemade, with knee and elbow pads under his clothes and multiple layers. A long sleeve shirt over a hoodie over a black denim vest he found on sale. He later on manages to make brass knuckles ghost-proof and manages to stitch them into his gloves. (he gets very good at sewing).

His favorite part of the entire outfit, is a Casey Jones-style full-face mask he found while thrifting. It allows him better breathability than the face mask he was using (calling Rule Of Cool law here), and he can use his scary eyes to make him look more intimidating. His gloves, his mask, and his thermos are the things he carries around with him constantly, and, later on, wears baggier clothing to hide the fact that he's wearing knee and elbow gear under his clothes.

Did I mention he has long hair? Danny has long hair (because GNC danny ftw, it goes past his shoulders) that he braids back. it's a bit sloppy but it keeps his hair out of his face well enough. He takes the fenton creep stick with him.

(He and Bruce have, ultimately, a more lean build than a bulky one. It helped Bruce with his Brucie Wayne persona big time when he had to look like a pretty skinny boy, he uses body language, optical illusion, and body armor to make himself look bulkier as batman)

He still goes by the name Phantom. He still has a bitter rivalry with his parents, who have no idea that its him. They think he's probably some other ghost with beef with the other ghosts (he still triggers their ghost sensors), and still want to capture him.

He doesn't talk around the living. He doesn't have any fancy voice changer and dropping his voice hurts and ultimately, he just uses ASL if he ever has to talk in front of people. The ghosts know his voice at night, but not during the day.

He hardly talks to the living. He avoids them like the plague actually. When he defeats a ghost and there's an audience, he barely sticks around to have a nice friendly chat. He tries to get away as soon as possible. He's paranoid over people finding out who he is. He doesn't have that ghost form to fall back on here.

Oh god this is getting so long, so i'll post another part soon.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 4.5 (Dani interlude) Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 7.5 (Dan Interlude) Part 8

[petit-etoile]

everything i see, everything i feel (you are my universe)

pairing: astarion/tav wordcount: 8746 content warnings: astarion is not a vampire nor ascended & tav is not the dark urge but i use pet names from his ascended route because i think they fit & some of the dark urge connections are necessary, brief mention of tav being raised as a child soldier by gortash, tav is gender neutral, nearly 8k of pure smut other tags: alternate universe - royalty, character study, porn with plot, dom/sub undertones, mi.ssionary style, do.ggy style, riding, cr.eampie, marriage proposal, sort of archiveofourown: here. note: depending on reception & if i have time, there may be a part two or a prequel. i ended coming up with lore for this verse so i like it a lot. summary: ‘We are the Prince and his Shield,’ Astarion tells you sweetly, voice melodic in your ear. ‘This will be our world. You were made for me, and I was made for you, and we will do as we are meant to do.’

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You can already tell what kind of evening it will be just from the way Astarion looks at you from beneath his eyelashes, so coy and pretty and unabashed in the way he glances over you. Whatever happened tpday at court has pleased him. He practically purrs when he steps past you to enter the sanctuary of his expansive bedroom.

‘You’ll come,’ he murmurs, ‘won’t you, darling?’

You’ll play his game because he likes it. You keep your lips pressed together in a firm line despite the way his hand slides gracefully across your waist, warming the chainmail that you wear dutifully every day so that you can keep the crown prince safe. He pouts when you pretend to not notice the playful mood he’s in. And when you change your mind after only a few minutes, Astarion will wear the same mischievous frown and think he has claimed victory over you once more.

You recite your vows to yourself to keep your mind from wandering, but it’s difficult. I am the Sword of the Crown, the Shield of the Realm. I serve no one but the Rightful King, the First of His Name, the Soul of Truth, Astarion Ancunin. It’s…admittedly hard to remember the rest. You’re distracted by the most impure thoughts. Memories of nights before. The taste of him on your tongue, the feel of him between your thighs, the sight of him as he grinds above you, the gleam of his skin as dawn begins to creep over the horizon. You squeeze your thighs together and try to wait out at least five minutes before you cave.

You peek down the hallway. There are no other guards skulking around at night. You’re not technically supposed to leave your post, but if the prince commands it… Well, it’s an excuse. You rush inside before you can feel the call of your valor and close the door after you with a soft click. Astarion sits with his legs crossed at the edge of his bed. He grins. It’s almost as predictable as you are, but you would never admit it.

‘You called, my prince?’ you ask carefully, trying to keep your tone even.

‘I did,’ he says with a delicate shrug. ‘I thought I could use entertainment, and you were there…’

You smile beneath your helm. You were always there. Astarion tries to hide it a little too much, but there’s no one else he would seek out to keep him entertained when his mood is like this. He tries to play into the expectations everyone has of him. That he’s ambitious, unpredictable, easy to rile up. The truth of the matter is that Astarion longs for you in a way that he will never admit except into the curls of your hair when he thinks you’ve fallen asleep. You care for him  —  love him  —  and there’s nothing you adore more than the way he laughs around you as though you were born for him and him alone.

‘I take it the court wasn’t too uneventful,’ you say.

He grimaces. ‘I saw Lord Gortash, unfortunately. I believe the sight of him has ruined my week.’

‘So cruel,’ you hum. You touch the buckles of your cape and release it from your bodice.

‘It’s true, isn’t it?’ Astarion asks defensively, playfully.

You touch the latch of your armor. ‘He’s head of the city guard.’

‘I ought to fire him,’ the prince says darkly. ‘Hire a new one.’

‘Who would protect the city instead?’

‘You,’ Astarion says without pause.

‘Alas, I am duty bound to serve the prince,’ you disagree. You pull the weight of your chest piece off your shoulders and drop it to the floor. ‘How can I serve the city when my mind is filled with nothing but you?’

Astarion smiles, a true smile. ‘Oh, you honor me. You truly mean every word.’

‘Without question,’ you promise.

You think about kneeling before him and looking up at him, but your chest piece is still in the way. You pull and untangle and twist until it all slides to the floor, leaving you in a simpler top. His honor, a single white rose, is pinned to the front of your shirt. You can still remember the day he gave it to you, the day you knelt in the throne room and he pressed his sword to your shoulder to claim you.

‘You are mine,’ Astarion says slowly.

‘I am yours,’ you repeat fondly.

‘Until the end of time?’

‘Until the end.’

‘And,’ Astarion begins playfully, ‘if I asked you to please me?’

‘I would be duty bound,’ you reply.

‘Then may I ask you to please me?’ he murmurs, eyes dangerous.

Astarion practically preens under your careful attention, his eyes unwavering as he watches you. You take your time. You remove the rest of your armor slowly, savoring the hungry way he watches. Even in court when you are his shadow, Astarion barely hides it. The hunger. The longing. The darkest of desires. He would claim you in public if it wouldn’t be a scandal.

You lower yourself before him, groveling on your hands and knees. You place your head in his lap and sigh when he threads his fingers through your hair. These are the moments you live for. When he is no longer a prince and you are no longer a knight. You are you, and Astarion is Astarion.

You don’t have to wonder where his mind is. Not during times like these. He’s anxious to feel you, but you take your time in this. You slip his fancy boots from his feet then take your time undoing his belts and buttons, sliding everything down his lean legs with careful intent. His cock greets you, already half hard and growing still.

It still makes you nervous, deep down inside. Astarion is a prince and the pinnacle of perfection. He could have any duke or duchess he wanted, yet it’s you he takes care of when the standing watch for hours on end from dusk til dawn has caused your bones to grow weary. The least you could do is love him like this. You lean forward and kiss the side of his cock, and Astarion’s fingers tighten in your hair.

‘Please, your highness,’ you whisper.

You are perched at his feet still awaiting commands. Like a good little pup. You shiver.

‘Go on,’ Astarion encourages.

You barely stick the tip of your tongue out and watch as his cock throbs in anticipation. This is dangerous. Obscene, even. You’ve seen him hundreds of times yet it still excites you. Carefully, you take him into your mouth and admire his debauched moan.

You have half a mind to tease him, but when you glance upwards at him, he’s as pretty as an aasimar. Or something worse, but you don’t give yourself much time to think about it. You know his desires. What he enjoys. What he tolerates for you. You know Astarion likes your little hums as you glide your mouth over his cock. He likes being pampered more than anything.

Astarion’s hand is tender as he moves your bangs out of your eyes. It’s the eye contact he wants. He likes to see and always acts like it’s the first time. He holds the edge of your jaw while you rub the tip of his cock against the inside of your cheek, eyebrows scrunching. It’s divine for you as well.

Astarion lives for the pomp and circumstance, absolutely devours court rumors with a delight you barely understand  —  but he would let his kingdom fall into the Underdark if it meant he could spend every hour of every day fucking you.

It’s the same for you.

It always has been ever since your coronation.

You were not like the other knights who were born into houses of servitude, second born sons and daughters who were the spares of their family names. You were given to Astarion by Lord Gortash as a way to buy favor from the crown. You were once his favorite, well-trained dog.

But unlike Lord Gortash, you are coveted by the crown in a way no other knight has been before. Astarion kisses you every morning and finishes against your spine every evening. But he is your salvation, your savior, and you are on your knees to show what that means to you.

Astarion stirs beneath your ruminations, his thighs tensing beneath your elbows, his hips doing those unconscious lusty jerks that you like so much. His head falls back as he gets lost in the feel of your tongue and mouth and he moans so sweetly that it almost distracts you from your ministrations. You take his cock as far back into your mouth as you can manage, closing your eyes to squeeze out any embarrassing tears that might threaten to fall. Like the prettiest bird, he sings for you.

‘Wait,’ he moans. ‘Not yet, I want  —  ’

You pull away from him as commanded, licking your lips clean of spit. His hands dance frantically against your shoulders as he pulls you up against him, cock hard against both of your bellies. He kisses you hotly, one hand fisting in your hair and the other tugging uselessly at your shirt.

‘You are needy today, my prince,’ you whisper against a barrage of kisses.

‘You were too perfect,’ he whines. ‘Always perfect for me.’

You laugh against his cheek. ‘You did say to please you.’

‘And now I’m saying to get on the fucking bed,’ Astarion fusses. ‘Oh, and clothes off. I want to see you.’

‘Yes, your  —  ’ you begin.

‘You,’ Astarion accuses with an affectionate pinch to your side, ‘are being quite the obstinate charge tonight. I want to taste you and be tasted in return, but be familiar with me, my love. Come back to me. Share my bed.’

You are in the middle of doing as he requests, sitting with one leg on either side of his thighs when he slides his hands to your waist and forces you to roll to the side. He pushes you further into the many adorning pillows of his bed and starts devouring you, his mouth dancing from your neck to your collarbones while he tears your shirt apart with his hands, though he does slow down enough to place the white rose on the bedside table. He pushes his palms flat against your chest and leaves bite marks and bruises across your chest and down your belly, chasing after you as you try to squirm away. Astarion finally takes interest in leaving his mark on your throat.

You set to work pushing your leggings and small clothes down your thigh, but Astarion, in all his impatience, gets in the way of that too. He presses his thigh between your legs on purpose, rolling his cock against your hip while his thigh applies almost perfect pressure to the most sensitive parts of you.

You moan and turn your face away, but Astarion chases the sound. He nuzzles your noses together until you look at him, bleary and dazed, your bottom lip caught between your teeth. He rolls his hips again with intent. He catches the sound of your moan on the tip of your tongue and returns it, his own ragged breath warm against your cheek.

‘There you are, my love,’ he whispers deliciously. ‘I’ve missed you. My treasure, my pet…’

‘Yours,’ you moan.

‘Mine,’ Astarion agrees. ‘All mine.’

He drags his fingernails across the swell of your hip, and you can’t help but chase the curve of his wrist. Your cheeks burn, but you’re tempted to beg him. To ask if he’ll please you with his hands. You want to feel his fingers pressed up inside you, to feel them curl and twist. You want it more than anything else you’ve ever wanted to. Astarion watches the way you twist and turn with a small smile on his face. He pets your hip and slides his fingers between your thighs. You can feel the cool of his jeweled rings against your heated flesh.

Astarion is grateful for your reckless display. He acquiesces to your silent begging, brushing his fingers between your folds and pressing the tip of his middle finger against you. He watches with delight as you grind against the pressure. His cheeks and the tips of his pointed ears are ruddy, and though he’s pretending to be controlled right now, you can hear how shaky his breath has become.

And then, like a god answering a prayer, he presses a finger inside of you so painstakingly slow it’s almost maddening. You mewl, watching his expressions in fascination, because his own mouth falls open as he cranes his next to watch. He adds another. He twists and twirls his fingers as deeply as he can reach it. His eyes flutter with desperation. He’s so beautiful that you can hardly stand it. You want more, so much more, and you press your wrist against your mouth to keep from begging.

‘Don’t hide from me,’ he says hoarsely. ‘I want to hear everything. Please, sing for me.’

‘More,’ you whisper thickly. ‘More, I need more, I want more.’

He kisses your jaw sloppily. ‘I’ll give you everything.’

‘It’s not enough!’

‘You’ll take it,’ Astarion tells you. ‘You’ll take what I give.’

‘Astarion,’ you weep. ‘I want you. I want  —  ’

This time, he might as well have ripped the rest of your clothes with his haste. You aren’t sure what he does with them, you just know that you’re naked and in his bed, surrounded by all his pillows with your thighs slick from how wet you are.

Your eyes watch your star’s every movement. He rids himself of his finery as well, shrugging out of his layers until there’s nothing left. The moonlight hits his skin prettily, almost as dainty as the way his eyes catch in the candlelight. He chases you, chases your mouth, presses his cock against you and ruts for a moment. You can’t help but be dizzy with lust yourself. You leave your own marks across his collarbones and chest, mindful of his neck and what skin would peek above his elegant collars. You wonder how he’ll take you. Astarion has always been the creative type. Sometimes you’ll ride him, and sometimes he’ll ride you until you see stars. Despite his urgency, he seems tender tonight.

Astarion wants to make you feel good. He wants to find your heat and bask in the warmth. You can tell in the way he watches your face ever so fondly. He’s always been so good at masking how much he prefers you to anyone he’s spoken to before. You’ve stood and listened as the perfect guard during meetings with dignitaries from neighboring cities, and Astarion always spoke to them with practiced politeness bearing a practiced albeit bored undertone. Yet with you, he seems to hang onto your every word. He takes it in until there was nothing left to share. He cares when you are supposed to be nothing more than a knight at his door.

‘I have a gift for you tonight,’ Astarion says suddenly. He blushes. It’s adorable how much it’s unlike him.

‘What is it?’ you ask.

‘Patience,’ he complains, but he doesn’t mean it.

Astarion reaches for something just beyond your sight, and when he sits back up, you feel as though someone has released a cage of birds in the pit of your stomach. He holds out a small silver band for your inspection. ‘A warding ring,’ he explains. ‘I had my Master of the Arcane enchant it for you  —  for us.’

‘Kiss me,’ you whisper. ‘Please.’

‘Put it on first,’ he insists. ‘For me.’

Something must show on your face, because he’s quick to show you his own hand. There is a matching silver band there, and it causes your heart to swell so much you think your heart will give out. Astarion, with great care, slides the band onto your finger and then looks at you, hopeful.

‘Whatever you feel, I shall feel,’ he says like a promise. ‘You and I, together.’

You guide his mouth to yours before you can do something silly like cry. When you touch his chest, intent on finding his heartbeat, you can feel it so frantic against your palm.

What is a better story than a prince and his knight? A savior and his sword? The bards will sing forever about the prince and his favored knight, their matching rings, their sacred vows. You ache with longing. You surge with love. It is all Astarion’s fault.

You push your hands through his thick curls and guide him to lie on top of you. You can feel the ring humming with magic. Though you are sure this isn’t its intended use, you can’t help but feel nervous.

You take him into your arms. He collapses into you and your only thought is that it’s a little poetic. You have caught a star as it fell from the sky. Now, it rests in your hands again and again and again until, slowly, you cannot exist without one another. His mouth finds yours, and your hands with the matching rings reach out for one another as though choreographed. Astarion presses you against his sheets and you willingly let him devour you once more. It’s all you’ve ever wanted.

Astarion kisses down your chest again. He kisses your tummy and all the muscle you’ve earned from being a knight. He kisses every scar from every battle you’ve ever endured all the way down to your hips, to that warm core that lies between them. You moan unapologetically, head rushing until you’re almost positive you’re going to faint. Astarion presses a kiss between your legs, growls as though he was a man starved before finding you, and takes you into his mouth.

It’s a little romantic how you’ve grown together. You were each other’s firsts  —  Astarion taught you how to kiss, and you taught him how to fondle someone else’s body without feeling shy about it. You had first used your mouth on him, but he had taken all of the knowledge you had given and weaponized it against you the next moment that he could. He’s determined to please, desperate for compliments, hopeless in all his endeavors to please you almost as much as you’ve pleased him. But unlike you, Astarion is selfish and he reaches for fruit to pluck that anyone else would have discarded as soon as something better came along. He chose you.

He licks and bites and nuzzles and feasts upon the very fruit of you, groaning at how you taste. It’s his favorite taste in the world, and he would brag about it if it didn’t make your cheeks flush. He laps at your folds hungrily and squeezes the thickness your thighs until they’ve bruised.

‘Little star,’ you whine, pressing your hands to your eyes. ‘Please, please.’

His tongue is like torture. Astarion never does anything without fully committing, and from your time together, you know he’s memorized every little thing he can do to drive you absolutely wild. He’s pulled your legs over his shoulders, his fingers moving on after bruising them to dig into your hip bones, and he hums so prettily for you.

Even you aren’t sure what you’re begging for. You want Astarion to stop teasing you so insistently. You want to feel his heartbeat, you want to taste his lips. There’s a part of you so empty and full of longing that if you wait any longer, if you withhold anymore, you might lose yourself. The only thing serving to ground you to this world is depravity, twisting carnal lust, and the depths of your love. You shiver under his touch and moan even as you try to hush it.

‘  —  star!’ you cry sharply.

You try to twist out of his grasp, crying at how determined he is, but Astarion simply drags you back down to where he is as if it’s nothing to him. He doesn’t stop torturing with your tongue until you’ve choked out a sob and chased your release, chest heaving from the effort. He doesn’t let you go for long either, climbing up your body so that he can press encouraging kisses to your jaw, pushing your damp curls back from your temple.

Astarion pushes his nose against your ear and breathes in, almost so desperate to have memorized your very scent. It’s always been his little habit. As if just by knowing your smell, he is able to do whatever he needs to accomplish in this world.

‘You,’ he murmurs between kisses, ‘are always so magnificent for me.’

You reach for his hip, the back of your knuckles sweeping against his sharp bone. ‘I want to do the same for you,’ you say shakily. ‘Let me have you, please. It’s all I want.’

He moans, soft and quiet, and settles between your legs. He kisses you again with that same hunger. The same, almost desperate kind of lust. He presses you so far into his sheets that you’re not sure you’ll ever be released from them again. And you think you would be fine with that. There’s nothing more that you want than to stay here with him. His hands joined with yours, your hips pressed to his, forever until the world has ended.

You slide your hands across the broad sweep of his shoulders and feel as his muscles shift. He is so gentle with you even when he doesn’t have to be. He’s cautious, meticulous, almost ridiculously polite because it’s you. His love is like an apology for everything you’ve been through, and when he cradles the back of your head, you lean into his touch.

‘You are mine,’ he says tenderly. His thumb sweeps across your cheek.

‘Take me,’ you say hungrily. ‘I am your prize.’

‘You were created by the gods for me,’ Astarion tells you sincerely. He sits onto his knees and pulls your hands flush against his stomach. ‘Look at how well you fit against me.’

You were never one to be shy before, but his praise causes you to turn your cheek aside and look away. He pushes his hands up your thighs, searching, admiring. He says pretty words, but he’ll never understand if you were to repeat the things he’s said back to him. Underneath that prestigious bravado and practiced façade, Astarion still understands little of his own divinity and worth. You’re thankful for him as much as he is for you, and you allow him this. He finds his worth at your core and marvels in it, allowing you to see him as Astarion. Like a mortal making a deal with a cambion, he reaches for you.

‘Do you want me inside of you?’ he asks in a graveled voice.

‘More than anything else,’ you reply, choking on how thick your want is. You think about how it feels every time he’s claimed you and shudder. ‘Please.’

‘I am going to get lost in you for hours,’ Astarion promises. He smiles, dangerous and dark. ‘When you return to your post, you’ll feel me still. You’ll be sorer than you’ve ever been.’

You are so aroused it’s painful. You ache and twist, spreading your legs so that he might take you then and there without so much as a second thought. You need the closeness. His grounding touch. His cock, as much as it would embarrass you to say aloud, has been on your mind ever since he invited you inside his room. He strokes your hip.

‘You’re shaking,’ he says fondly.

He leans forward and kisses you. He connects with you like that, nose brushing yours affectionately, before he stares at the little shivers you’re now aware you’re doing. He sees everything, knows everything. It delights him.

And then he slides his cock into you. Slowly, agonizingly, inch by inch. He squeezes your hip in encouragement, but you’re too full and he’s too thick for you to manage any coherent thought. He’s determined to reach the deepest parts of your core.

Astarion speaks through gritted teeth. ‘You are perfect.’

‘No,’ you say. ‘You are.’

‘I like to watch,’ he says honestly. ‘I like to see how you take me. You’re so tight here, did you know?’

‘More  —  ’

‘Use your words for me.’

You swallow. ‘I want you  —  to fuck me.’

‘You’ve been a good pup,’ Astarion says with a small laugh. ‘I’ll make love to you until dawn calls.’

For the faintest few heartbeats, this is the only way you want to exist. He is pressed inside of you, and you are surrounded by nothing but him and his scent and his bed and his pretty words, longing so intently to memorialize this moment. Astarion is haloed by the silver moonlight. He shines prettier than the crown he wears at court.

He shines brighter than the stars.

You’re aware of how fragile your breathing sounds. You forcefully drag air down into your lungs and hold his gaze, so warm and soft when he looks at you. You don’t know why it’s so different this time with him, but you reach out until he entwines your fingers together and you lose yourself in a way you haven’t before. You don’t realize you’re crying until he coos at you and calls you beautiful.

Astarion only moves once he’s assured you’re not in any pain. He’s conscious of the way you tense, but you shake your head and try to dry your tears.

If you’re being honest, you aren’t really sure why you’re so emotional tonight.  You’re ignoring what the rings promise on purpose. A meaning that you are too nervous to confront. You know it’s how much you wish this was your fate. It all comes to a boil when he leans forward and kisses the tip of your ear. Astarion wraps his arms around you and moans softly in your ear, the heat of his cheek flush against your temple.

‘I love you,’ he whispers.

‘I can feel you,’ you whisper back, voice uneven. ‘All the way inside.’

‘Our souls are touching tonight,’ Astarion promises you. ;This is what I want to give you.’

Once he’s assured that you’re fine, Astarion begins moving inside you. You still feel overly full. It’s almost difficult to breathe, that you’re so aware of how deep his cock is inside of you  —  as if it’s the first time you’ve experienced him before. He murmurs encouragement into your hair and ruts further and further, but when you press your fingers against his biceps, you can feel how he’s shaking too.

‘Let me be yours,’ you say softly, eyes fluttering closed. ‘Let me be with you, Astarion, please.’

‘You are my pretty consort,’ Astarion says fiercely. ‘You belong to me, and I to you.’

His consort, his knight. The one he comes home to, that he ignores all the other lovely people at court for. The idea of it makes your blood warm, makes you feel a little wild and different. You rock your hips back against Astarion’s. Feeling him lose what little of his control pushes you over the edge. You start mumbling nonsensically, thank you, thank you, my prince, my star, thank you, I feel it, Astarion and he growls low in the bottom of his throat. His hips stutter against yours and you know with a little wiggle, you could make him spend then and there.

It’s only when Astarion pushes into you as far as he can go, the tip of his cock pressed as deep into your core as you can handle it, that you remember what a devout worshiper you are. You’re fully aware of how your spine protests the way your back arches up off the bed. You feel Astarion’s mouth hot and desperate against the side of your throat, his hands slowly sliding down your skin to grip your hips, the tips of his fingers digging in harshly to the curve of your ass.

When you dare meet his gaze, you’re mesmerized. 

Astarion has always been the most beautiful person you’ve ever set eyes on. The height of his cheekbones, the way they flush when you moan his name. His uneven smile, the way his teeth point when he laughs. His intense eyes that take in even your faintest moves. He is sharp and calculated, cunning and keen on dramatics  —  but underneath, you can see the gentler side. The warmth in his gaze. The way he laughs ugly with you instead of with practiced finesse. You fit rather well together. Perfectly, like a puzzle. Intoxicatingly. He catches you staring and his breath catches in his throat.

You must be quite the sight as well. Astarion always lavished you with the utmost attention, often buying you things you’d never need as a knight. Rings, gowns, circlets and other finery to wear with him on your occasional strolls through Baldur’s Gate when you were off-duty and carefree.

You feel nearly feral at this moment. It takes all your self-control to not rake your nails down his spine or bite his shoulder because you’re too full and he’s too much and you’re almost certain you’re going to explode, but you wrap your legs around his hips and pull him tighter to you until there’s almost nothing else he can do that grind uselessly, desperate sounds coming from both of your mouths as you try to hold on just a little longer.

Without thinking, without caution, you whisper, ‘Inside  —  Tonight, I want you to  —  ’

‘Gods,’ he chokes out. ‘You’ll be the death of me.’

‘Please,’ you beg. ‘I’ve been good. I’ve been  —  ’

Astarion burrows his face against your collarbone, whining unceremoniously. That’s when you can feel it, his cum, hot and warm, so wonderful and dizzying that you also forget to be dignified. Your fingers stutter against his skin, and if it was painful to experience, the only proof is the way Astarion hisses at the burn and coils dangerously beneath your touch.

‘That’s it,’ he soothes proudly. ‘You’ve done well, my sweet.’

You murmur, ‘So much.’

‘Don’t tease me,’ Astarion says. He pouts his bottom lip. ‘You’re quite beautiful, you know.’

‘Not as beautiful as you,’ you say.

‘Well,’ Astarion allows with a small laugh, ‘I am rather perfect, I agree.’

He groans when he pulls away from you, brow furrowed in concentration. He trembles with exertion, and whatever other plans he might have had are forgotten, for Astarion drops down into his sheets beside you in all his naked and exhausted glory and presses close to you, an arm thrown over your waist.

A pang of guilt hits you at the sight of his closed door. Your armor is thrown carelessly across this floor, and while you wish you could enjoy this moment of bliss with him, you must continue to do your actual duty of guarding the prince. You move, delicate, to stand up. Astarion wraps his other arm around you.

‘Where are you going?’ he demands tiredly. ‘The sun is not yet up. Come back.’

‘My post  —  ’

‘Fuck your post,’ he snorts. ‘Your only duty is to lie in my bed and look pretty.’

You open your mouth to protest, but Astarion fusses. It’s hard to deny him even though you know only what the Captain of his Kingsguard has instilled in you. The moonlight is a gorgeous embellishment on his skin, and the ridges of his body are enticing enough that you forget your vows for the time being. Your heart squeezes at the tenderness. Astarion welcomes you back into his arms without further complaint. It’s your turn to tuck your head against his shoulder, basking in the warmth of his body as he cradles you close.

‘This is where you belong,’ Astarion tells you plainly. ‘You and I belong in bed having forgotten our other duties forevermore. The kingdom may fall to rot and ruin for all I care. As long as I have you, I care not.’ He touches your hip.  ‘I know what you must be thinking. That it isn’t that easy. But it is that easy. I’m the prince and I want it to be so. I see our fate in my dreams.’

You allow yourself to daydream and doze for the moment. He’s murmuring sweet things into your hair, and your eyes are so heavy you know when you close them, it’ll be hard for you to wake up if you give in. The ache in your muscles is comforting. It’s a reminder of all the ways Astarion has ever had you, and you can’t help but wonder if this really is where your life was always meant to head.

You do fall asleep. Despite your best efforts to stay awake, you fall into a peaceful slumber with Astarion’s hand petting your spine. When you next awake, Astarion is no longer at your side. He’s sitting on the edge of his bed staring out of the window watching as dawn begins to peek through.

He hasn’t left you entirely alone. He’s draped his many fancy satin blankets over you and somehow managed to coax your head onto a pillow without waking you. You’re almost inspired to fall back asleep at the sight, but the view of Astarion basking in an orange glimmer keeps you from entering the depths of your mind once more.

‘No,’ Astarion says. He’s smiling. ‘Don’t move. I like the way you look.’

‘And how do I look, your highness?’

‘Sated.’

‘Come back to me, my love,’ you say. You try to hold one of your hands out, but you’re still so very tired from before. You press your cheek further into the pillow. ‘’m cold.’

‘I was thinking,’ he says.

‘Enough thinking,’ you whine. ‘I miss you beside me.’

‘Promise me something first.’

‘What shall I promise?’

‘That when I am king, you will help me create my new world,’ Astarion says, peering affectionately at you from over his shoulder. ‘A world where you are both my shield and my consort. A world where no one else like us has to get hurt.’

You start to sit up at that, blood suddenly rushing to your head as you try to think of what he means. Were you not already his Shield, extending your Sword to his greatest foes? Were you not already his Consort in all but proper name? You furrow your eyebrows, too sleepy and overwhelmed, but Astarion is quick to come to your side, to press kisses into your hair and against your ear and at the tears on your cheeks.

‘When I am king, there will be no need for us to hide like this,’ Astarion promises, petting his hand comfortingly down your spine. He shushes you. ‘I will sit on the throne and you will sit beside me.’ When he’s certain you’re done crying, he adds, ‘Or in my lap, if you prefer.’

Somehow, there’s only one thing you can manage to say. ‘I love you.’

‘And I love you,’ Astarion says. ‘That’s why I will do this for us.’

‘Will it go well?’

He hums. ‘Of course it will go well. I will be king. I will make it go well.’

You say again, ‘I love you.’

‘We are the Prince and his Shield,’ Astarion tells you sweetly, voice melodic in your ear. ‘This will be our world. You were made for me, and I was made for you, and we will do as we are meant to do.’

‘I promise,’ you say, ‘to help you.’

‘Then say no more, my love,’ he whispers. He kisses the side of your throat again and slowly pulls his silk sheets away from your skin. The cold morning air leaves a trail of gooseflesh down your spine, and he tastes every knot of it with his mouth and tongue. He gives you commands, ‘Let me have you again. You’re so beautiful in the morning light. I need you now more than ever. Gods, the things you do to me.’

You rock your hips back to meet his. It’s an alluring situation straight from your wildest, most longing of dreams  —  a world where you might sit alongside Astarion as he rules, no longer a simple guard dog to follow commands, but something else. Something sweeter.

It was like marriage but better. The thought of you and Astarion rising to godhood through his own determined means rather than falling into the same song the bards often liked to play on unrequited love. You allow him to trace his fingers down your stomach to that place between your legs, your warm core where you’re certain he’s found his divinity. Astarion presses his cock against your lower back and gives into his own avarice. He bites your shoulder almost a touch too rough and leaves a bruise in the shape of his teeth, reveling in your shocked cry.

You want him.

You want to be by his side, to kneel at his feet. You want to watch him dress in the mornings and fall into his arms every evening. You want to place his crown atop his brow. You arch your hips against his waist, and ponder about the creation of the empyrean heavens above. You will guide him to become celestial.

It’s with a near untamed fervor that Astarion tears through his sheets to get to you. He slides his knee beneath yours and pushes it forward, his breath warm and hiccuped against the blade of your shoulder. He doesn’t hurt you and he never would, but he slides his cock inside, the tenderness of earlier forgotten.

‘Be loud,’ he encourages you, groaning, his hand still scrambling against the arc of your belly. He sounds debauched. ‘Let them all hear. Let them know.’

He fucks into you like he wants you both to grow together. One body and one soul. You’re glad for it. It only intensifies the burn from the evening and pushes you to a place you’ve never been before. You’re almost certain you see sparks in your vision, but you do as asked. You don’t swallow down your moans. They’re taut, sharp, staccato ah-ah-ahs that match the sun’s rise.

It’s almost sweet how hard Astarion fucks into you. His princely demeanor is gone now, the control he tries to exhibit. He moans freely as well and kisses without meaning. Your shoulder, the back of your head, the nape of your neck, and he’s babbling things that don’t make sense. But you’re no better. Your cheeks are so warm you’re feverish, hands clenched in his sheets, and the pleasure borders on welcomed pain when he sits up behind you, knee still forcing you to be pliant, as he drags his cock in and out of you from behind. Astarion is watching again, one hand on your lower back, the other on your ass. When you try to hide your face in mild embarrassment, he scolds you.

‘Let me see you,’ Astarion rasps. ‘Let me see, I want to see everything  —  ’

So you let him, shifting and arching as much as your back will let you. Your muscles feel strained. Your mind is hardly there. But the prince has asked, and it would be rude of you to not heed his call. It’s not as though it matters. You’re easily distracted by the way he presses himself in and out of you, intoxicated by the gravitational pull he’s created between you. You can’t help but lean into his every touch, to mewl, to whine the exact way he likes.

You wonder what Lord Gortash would think of his loyal dog if he saw it now. You were taught the blade and the bow, how to use a lance and a shield, and you were never meant to be anything more than a warrior given to the ground so that he could get on the good side of the king. There isn’t much of your life you can remember before you were brought to the steps of the throne room and thrown down before the prince and his father. All you remember is looking up and seeing an angel smiling down at you.

So you arch your back and push up into your elbows, looking over your shoulder to catch Astarion’s eyes. He’s constantly looking between your face to make sure you’re alright and looking down at your hips where your bodies meet. He has the audacity to blush. It makes him look sweet and less severe.

‘More  —  ’

The fairest thought you have is that you’re not sure you can take more. There’s something ferocious building in the pit of your stomach, a volatile hunger unlike anything you’ve ever experienced before. Your almost delirious with how much greed is inside you, how you long to do this all day if you could. Sitting pretty on your hands and knees and belly while Astarion ravishes you  —  forgetting your duties and the kingdom  —  but it’s somehow worse than before when you’re aware that he would do the same. Gone is any sense of decency, replaced by something carnal, something infernal.

Just when you think he might be done with you, Astarion pulls out and drags your body along. He lays handsomely in the center of his pillows, a deep blue and rich satin and silk display, and pulls you into his lap. His bottom lip is ruined from where he’s bitten it in an attempt to maintain control.

He arranges for you as he likes. He tilts his head to the side as if looking upon a painting. Finally, he coaxes you upwards and whispers kind encouragements as you guide and slide his cock back inside of you. You aren’t sure how far it can go, but then it goes deeper and deeper and deeper until you’re sick.

‘Oh,’ you cry sweetly. ‘It’s too much. It’s too much, I can’t  —  ’

‘You can,’ Astarion promises, rubbing his thumb across your hip. ‘You can do anything. You were made for me, and I was made for you, and we were created for this.’

You sit atop him, your ass flush against his hips, and try desperately to not squirm in his lap. The wiggling makes it worse, you think. You feel swollen around him. He feels thickest inside of you. And you can’t help but lean forward as he rubbs his hands up and down your spine, kissing your temple and cheek and jaw. You can kiss him better this way. You can taste the sweetness of his mouth, taste his words.

‘I love you,’ you say over and over.

‘I know,’ he murmurs, kissing your tears.

And you do cry in this position, overwhelmed and stuttering. Astarion guides your hips back and forth across his so that he’s not necessarily drilling inside of you, but watching how you dance across his cock. He always watches so intently as if he’s afraid to miss anything you do. He guides you intently, humming, tensing beneath your thighs as you try to balance yourself with your hands on his belly.

Astarion moans at the sight. He sounds positively wrecked. You decide that you want to hear him sing for you again, so you raise your hips this time and slide them back down. You squeeze your eyes shut in concentration, treating it more like trying to hit a tricky shot with an arrow rather than taking and un-taking every inch of his cock. You’re trembling so much that you seek out his hands, guiding them away from your hips so he can tuck them under your thighs for help.

‘Ah,’ Astarion says hoarsely. ‘Fuck.’

And that’s how he helps you, his hands helping carry your weight so that you can bounce on his cock and enjoy every minute of it. The physical strain is worth it. You know Astarion likes to watch, possessive of the way you look and ride, and his eyes shine with a certain kind of deviance that you’ve grown to love.

It’s a long way from where you started as a poor soul standing on the steps, but you lean forward and kiss your raison d'être on his open mouth, savoring the way his bruised lip tastes in your mouth, enjoying just how much he enjoys you. The sunlight warms your skin and basks Astarion in a golden glow, so impossibly handsome that they should write songs about the way he looks after a night of lovemaking. He groans, trapping your bottom lip between his teeth and bites down hard enough you’re almost certain he’s drawn blood.

You don’t mind it. You welcome the rougher things, enjoy them as much as he does. You lean back, hands now behind you on his thighs, and try to not feel too self-conscious about how open you’re being with your body. You’re encouraged to do it. His reactions are what drive you to be better. Because Astarion’s eyes widen slightly to take in the sight of your legs spread apart as you sit on his cock, your skin shining with a delicate veil of sweat. He comes with a rough moan.

Gods, you could listen to the sound of him all day.

You fall forward onto Astarion’s chest. Your limbs feel like nothing after a night of increasingly more difficult sex, but it’s worth it for the way he spoils you after. Astarion kisses you nice and slow, lips and tongue and teeth, as if an apology for the roughness you willingly endured. He cradles you close to his body. He always seeks your warmth, always tries to press as close as he can.

It’s your turn to preen under his careful ministrations. Astarion pushes your sweaty hair back from your face and runs the tips of his fingers across your cheekbones and forehead, following the delicate lines of your bone structure. He lightly pinches your cheeks as if to savor the heat of your blush, but it doesn’t hurt when he does it. He kisses them better. He helps you slide back down into his sheets and takes note of the mess, smoothing his fingers against the bruises and love bites he’s left as gifts against your skin.

Astarion takes gentle care as he lifts your hand. He admires the ring on it and watches as he slides his fingers into yours so that his ring can crowd the empty spaces of your fingers. He kisses the back of your hand like a proper prince and then unceremoniously collapses down by your side, boneless and lazy.

‘You’ve made a mess,’ you accuse him sleepily.

‘I made you happy,’ Astarion corrects.

You reach out and touch his throat. ‘You’ve ruined your sheets.’

‘These sheets are perfect, my love,’ he murmurs. ‘Just like you.’

Later in the morning, after you’ve rested again despite your attempts to stay awake, you’re coaxed back into existence by Astarion’s lips dancing softly against the nape of your deck. You’re almost certain he’s going to ask for more  —  a thought that startles you  —  but instead he lifts you from the depths of his blankets and carries you to a bathing tub in the corner of his quarters. He lowers you into freshly warmed water, and you try to not let how much you long for him show.

‘The maids  —  ’

‘They’ve seen you,’ he says with a shrug. ‘But they did not care. You should have heard the way they swooned over us.’

He lavishes you again with rose petals and fancy perfumes and soaps. He guides a cloth over your skin and even massages a rather determined knot in your hip. You lean into his touch, eyes fluttering closed. You’d let him pamper you for the next month if you could.

‘I will have you like this often,’ Astarion warns. ‘Tonight. Every night. You have no idea what you’ve done to me. It’s like you’ve enchanted me.’

He’s climbed in with you at this point, tucked behind you so that he can style your hair in a plait. He likes the way it’s gotten long. You can tell how hard he’s thinking by how silent he is. His fingers trickle water down your spine and occasionally trace the shape of a petal against your skin. You shiver and allow him these idle distractions, basking in his touches and singing while he allows himself to wander in his lost thoughts. You fall asleep again briefly, lulled into a dream by the warmth and the relaxing scents of the many perfumes and Astarion humming softly in your ear.

Astarion washes your chest again to avoid having to leave the bath. He’s in one of his contemplative moods, eyes somewhere a thousand miles away, lips twisted in curiosity. You would’ve stayed forever as well, but the water is slowly getting colder and you’re beginning to shiver. You look over your shoulder at him. You watch as his eyelashes flutter and close as if he too is moments away from falling asleep, but then you see it. A sign of melancholic hope.

‘You and I belong together,’ you tell him.

‘We are the greatest match together the world has ever seen,’ Astarion agrees. ‘There is no one else.’

‘It is an honor,’ you say. You catch a petal in your palm and show him.

He pulls your fingers up to his mouth with his own hand guiding you. He kisses your palm and the petal, and then each of your fingertips one by one.

‘I’m doing this for you, you know,’ he murmurs.

‘You are doing this for us,’ you say, shaking your head. ‘We are a family.’

‘We are more than a family,’ he insists. ‘We are more than lovers. Our souls belong together.’

‘I’ve never been happier,’ you say.

Whatever world Astarion is imagining, you’re beginning to see it too. A world where being a king means more than throwing extravagant parties and hosting masquerades and balls and ignoring those in need. Astarion cares because you care, and that makes your heart squeeze dangerously. You are with Astarion when he usurps his father’s court. He had called them weak-willed men in front of his own council, his lip curled in distaste. They had allowed a shadow ruler to take his father’s place for years, had controlled the crown like a puppeteer would his prized puppet. And now, Astarion has pulled together enough favor to overthrow those who had betrayed him, who had betrayed you, and who had betrayed Baldur’s Gate most of all.

‘I believe you are sitting in my chair,’ Astarion calmly tells Ketheric Thorm.

The removal of the pretenders is fairly certain. Ketheric’s own daughter Isobel aids in his arrest. The installation of Astarion’s council is relatively easy with such esteemed replacements. Wyll Ravengard takes his father’s place as Lord Commander of the Flaming Fist. Karlach takes Enver Gortash’s place as leader of the city guard, betrayed as you were, and her eyes burn with heat when she pulls him from his tower. Gale and Shadowheart had been planning the entire thing for years behind the scenes, favoring Astarion against the old court. All you do is stand beside Astarion with your hand on the hilt of your blade though no one dared raise their arms against him.

Astarion’s coronation takes place later that week, and even with all the planning, he does not allow you to stray from his side. You are with him when meeting with the emissaries Lady Lae’zel and Lord Halsin and Lady Jaheira. You are with him during his fittings. You are with Astarion the night before when he fucks you so hard you see stars.

You are there the day of his coronation. He is dressed in brilliant reds and off-whites and wears a crown with rubies. You stand alongside him in the armor he commissioned for you styled after Dame Aylin’s and hold the sword gifted to you from the crown.

It is a wedding as well.

A wedding of peace and resilience. A wedding of love and understanding.You drop down before him to one knee and swear anew your vows, though now they taste sweeter on your tongue.  I am the Sword of the Crown, the Shield of the Realm, the Consort of the Chosen. I serve no one but the Rightful King, the First of His Name, the Soul of Truth, Astarion Ancunin. When you rise, Astarion kisses you.

[nectardaddy]

full throttle | sakusa kiyoomi

chapter three | boss level germ | 🏎️

masterlist

Heart racing and hands sweaty, she took a deep breath before reaching over to grab the steering wheel in the passenger seat. The quick release making a small ding as it's turned into place and locked.

This is dumb. So many people are watching.

But thoughts were drowned out by the passenger door opening and closing abruptly; an all too cheeky smile greeting her, making her worries wash away. "Kick his ass!" Noya yelled with a laugh, "you did it before, do it again!" In one fluid motion, he had buckled himself in and deemed himself her co-driver. Not that she minded; she needed the morale boost that he was all too good at giving.

Only minutes before, the tall, standoffish Sakusa had walked right up to her. Looked down upon her with a hard gaze and an annoyed expression, a mask hiding the small scowl on his features. "Are we racing, or not?" Asking like it was already predetermined, a disservice that he had to, but a given that she would. Now here she sat, mind reeling over the fact that now she had to. Talked a big game and now had to deliver once more.

She knew the street like the back of her hand. But so did he. And he was seasoned in all regard: a pro in drifting, always racking up points for angle and straight up style. It was menacing.

At the end of the day, Sakusa was nothing more than an adrenaline junky who hid it well. Relishing in every qualifier, every tandem, and every street race he so happened to come across on occasion.

But this was exhilarating, a passion he had only ever seen in the eyes of other professional drivers. A drive that was fiery and loud, one of which that might have intimidated him if he thought too long about it.

A passion that was kind, bubbly even, despite the loss she took. Running to his car with lack of regard, only to tell him, "that was sick!" And "that's the best drifting I've ever seen! How'd you do that?" Voice loud, even through reveling in loss, and excited.

Remembering in high school she was nothing more than a girl with a souped up car, and not a clue how to use it, didn't make sense now. She could drift. That was for certain. Drift with a blazing passion that even he couldn't rid his mind of. "You could've fooled me as a pro."

maybe he was flirting, just a little, maybe? but there's no way he'd tell those three that. he did like her in hs after all, and seeing her (almost) beat him again was pretty nice.

he doesn't even know himself, but it was nice to talk to her again.

yn only blew an oil gasket so her miata lives on!! she just has to fix it first

noya's car was insanely messy before today until yn told him to clean it out before the meet. stepping over random wrappers and everything just to get in.

noya is always late to trade classes so that means yn will be too :)

atsumu genuinely stopped asking sakusa things and just started doing them from this point on

sakusa simply wouldn't know what to do with himself if she actually went to the qualifiers. obviously people go, it's a well known thing, but that would mean the public and press see his friends trying to set him up with a random woman.

suna really doesn't care that yn likes sakusa, he's just here for drama

yn will be asking akaashi for help to replace the gasket

taglist under cut

@wyrcan @hilichurl-lover @neuviloved @mayariviolet @wqnsho

[heartsoji]

haikyuu boys with an s/o who's really scared of horror movies

pairings: iwaizumi x reader, oikawa x reader, tsukishima x reader, bokuto x reader

a/n: lol this is me i actually cannot with horror like at all

warnings: post-timeskip in iwaizumi's

iwaizumi hajime

iwaizumi's pretty good with horror movies

occasionally, he'll be a little caught off-guard with a sudden jumpscare, but he's pretty much fine otherwise

now YOU..

you are not ok.

you are screaming, hiding, and tearing up

he honestly doesn't really understand what's so scary about them

since i hc iwaizumi to be a realist, he'd be like

it's a movie. it was filmed. those are actors. it's so obvious none of that stuff could ever happen in real life

still, he understands that you're really scared and tries his best to comfort you

time to put those beefy athletic trainer arms to work

he lets you cling onto them for the whole movie and lets you use then as a stress ball

iwaizumi's a traditional, old school, cheesy hopeless romantic. convince me otherwise.

therefore, his method of comfort usually comes in the form of soothing words and back rubs in his arms

its actually quite nice. he lets you scream into his titties (HE HAS TITTIES AND THEYRE MORE ROCK SOLID THAN REGINA GEORGE'S MOM'S. CONVINCE ME OTHERWISE.)

when you're truly scared scared (like heart pounding, sobs racking ur body, you're def gonna get rlly bad nightmares type of scared scared)

he will probs turn it off bc he thinks that no movie ending is worth this much terror

he cares about you a lot, after all. he thinks its slightly amusing when you're screaming your head off at the obviously fake blood, but he would never want you to be fearful for real

rubs your back and whispers soothing words into your ear

"its ok" "i'm right here" "don't worry, i'd protect you if they ever came" type of stuff

after you've calmed down a bit, he'll try to make you laugh

jokes, tickles, anything, really!

he hates seeing you scared. he just wants you to be happy

10/10. marry me sir.

oikawa tooru

lol

hate to break it to you but

tooru is equally as scared of horror movies

you guys have to cuddle up in blanket burritos together and scream at every jumpscare

honestly you both only make it through the movie through sheer willpower

if you're crying, he'll try to comfort you, but tbh he's pretty damn scared himself

however, once the movie is over, he's totally fine

movie forgotten. out of memories. what movie should you guys watch next?

but YOU

you're still crying

you're still really shaken up

you're def gonna have nightmares

he takes that opportunity to be the manly man he is and swoops you up bridal style

he's very charming. he looks at you in the most dazzling, heart-melting way

lol boy u were just crying too stfu

he cuddles you close, and just like iwa, whispers sweet words into your ear

however, unlike iwa, they're much more...childish? playful? how to describe them..

"it'll be ok. your big, strong, boyfriend will protect anything that tries to hurt his princess" "*dramatic gasp* YOU DON'T THINK I'M CAPABLE OF FIGHTING IT OFF BY MYSELF? HOW COULD YOU UNDERESTIMATE ME LIKE THIS? THIS.. THIS IS BETRAYAL" "they don't even look that strong. im sure i could hit a volleyball at one and it would rip into two!"

stuff like that

he would make sure to cuddle you extra close that night

overall, he's pretty fun and is good at making everything seem less serious. 8.5/10!

tsukishima kei

honestly, he's as affected by horror movies at the average guy

he doesn't find them as terrifying as oikawa, but he's definitely not as unaffected as iwaizumi

but you'd never know that

why?

he just hides his emotions really, really well

also he just sometimes focuses on the wall behind the tv and drowns out the voices

he just sits through them and bears them, basically

now, why? why in the world would he do this when he doesn't even enjoy it?

to make fun of you, duh. shouldn't that have been obvious?

when you leap 30ft out of your seat into the air, he laughs at you

he'll even add onto your fear by like grazing your opposite shoulder when you aren't looking and pretending he didn't do it

hes a brat

but honestly, he partially enjoys it when you spring onto him at the jump scares, no matter how much he denies it

as we all know, the boys a lil shy about asking for affection

with horror movies, he gets your affection without even asking for it! yay!

but once the movies over, if you're really shaken up, he'll use his giant beanpole arms and spoon you until you fall asleep

but then he'll be an ass about it the following week

pokes, grabs, jabs you and will say,

"huh? it wasn't me. maybe it was the (wtv villain or ghost or spirit or wtv from the movie)!"

2/10. makes fun of you and makes the movie even scarier tbh. the 2 points r only bc of the comfort he gives after its over.

bokuto koutaro

like most things in life, bokuto goes between two extremes, and never crosses into the middle

he's either having super insane cut shots that go BOOM

OR he's doing awful and is in his emo mode

same thing with this

he either isn't affected by it at all and just laughs

or he screams when the character breathes a lil too heavily

now, if he thinks the movie's not scary at all, he's pretty good to watch with if you're super scared

during the scary parts, he lets you cling onto his beefy arm while he just watches the movie in amusement

like there's a really scary scene where there's a huge jumpscare into the most climatic scene in the movie and you're burying your face into his arm but in the background you just hear:

"HAHAHAHAHA! Y/N Y/N! YOU GOTTA SEE THIS! HE'S...HE'S GETTING CHASED BY THIS GREY LITTLE CHILD! HAHAHAHA ITHIHIHIT'S EYES LOOK LIKE TAPIOCAAHAHAAHA"

"oh the grey little child is smiling! it's kinda cute! why is the main character guy sweating? he looks like me right after a long game"

"why'd the grey little child pull a purple thing out of his throat? what's that? i wonder what it tastes like though..i think it would be a thick gummy texture, but maybe a little gooey on the inside. definitely grape-flavored. the really sweet artificial good one. oh.. now i want a gummy!"

yeah

he definitely makes it less scary because he makes all the scary stuff seem really stupid

honestly pretty nice. you might not get as many nightmares because of him

now

when he's terrified, he's more terrified than you

*main character sneezes* "AHHHHHHH"

think oikawa x 800

mhm

honestly, you kind of have to take the comfort role even though you're deathly afraid of horror movies

"kou, he's just walking. its ok."

honestly he makes it seem less scary like this too because it forces you to see why the movie isn't actually that scary because you have to find out the reasons to comfort him

8.7/10. a sweetie

[08melancholie]

8 Random Micah Bell HCs

A lot of these are connected to Baylock or Micah's family because I love the two of them (Micah and Baylock) way too much, and because Micah's family life is way too interesting to me to pass this opportunity up.

Used to baby-talk Baylock when he first got him as he grew up, however his father once caught him and he got reprimanded because it was 'un-masculine' and made him look 'weak'. Hasn't done it since then, however he does still talk normally to Baylock when he's sure he's alone and that nobody can catch him. Considers Baylock his best friend and, when talking to him, often gossips or complains about the others in camp. Micah's favourite way to blow off steam after someone pisses him off in the gang is ranting to Baylock as he tends to him.

Micah is very sentimental about his guns because they were passed down to him from his father. They are basically like a family heirloom of some sort in the Bell family, and that's why Micah was insisting on getting them back; getting them re-made wouldn't have been the same, and thats why he couldn't leave them in someone else's possession. He was afraid somebody like Norman wouldn't have taken care of it as well as Micah does, mostly. It being passed down to Micah by his father is the reason he's so excessively careful about them; cleaning them constantly, for example.

Micah hides the features he got from his father and tries to make the features from his mother stand out more. For example, his eyes are from his father—so he hides them under the brim of his hat. His hair colour is mostly from his mother—so he keeps it long and makes sure it's the first feature you notice. His father preferred being clean shaven or having a very simple stubble—so Micah grew a beard out and make it a style that would distract from the few features that are from his father, making himself unrecognisable when compared to his father.

Micah is always cold. That's mostly why he's wearing the leather coat all the time—ever in hot weather like in chapters Clemens Point and Shady Belle. I mean, the swamps may not look that hot, but I definitely think that, looking at what the others were wearing, it's pretty damn warm at least; so him wearing a leather coat on top of a, presumably long-sleeved undershirt AND a vest, the normal person would be sweating pretty hard. That's why I think he doesn't mind it, and enjoys it since he feels cold all the time. Would explain him not sweating all the time or complaining much during Colter. In fact, I don't remember him complaining about the cold once!

On topic of Baylock; Micah's had him since he's been very young. It was part of Micah's outlaw starter pack, given to him by Micah's dad. He got his own horse, satchel and holsters—and of course, he received his two Double Action revolvers as well.

Once when Micah was still just learning how to ride Baylock—when he was young, of course—he tried to get him to jump over a fence. At the time, Baylock was still only a pony, and of course—failed to jump over the fence. Ended up hurting his leg and Micah couldn't ride him for a while. As soon as it happened, Micah thought that Baylock was going to die and felt so bad he sobbed until he threw up. Didn't try making Baylock jump over basically anything taller than an inch for years because he kept thinking back on that scenario and didn't want it to happen again; safety first.

When he first sent a letter to his brother Amos, he actually had hopes that Amos would have even a little sympathy for him. However, when he got Amos' response letter, he had to re-read it multiple times and then left it on that crate where Strauss is to process it. He wished for a way to reconcile but knew Amos well enough to know his threats were not empty and that Amos would have no problem shooting Micah if he even tried to visit him at home; or even worse, Micah would have to fight back and shoot at his own brother to keep his head. However, 'defending' himself would just be proving his brother and everyone else right—that Micah was violent and not to be trusted around Amos' family, especially his nieces. Micah would have enjoyed having family and being called uncle a lot—main reason as to why he contacted Amos was to try and meet his kids.

It's canon that Micah was drunk during the final mission, 'American Venom', and that's the main reason he acted so odd—almost no reaction to being shot and betrayed by Dutch; that silly walk he did before falling to the ground, all of that. However, Micah knew John was coming, and the reason he got drunk was his fear of death. If Micah was sober, he knew he would have been too on-edge to even shoot his guns; stuck on thinking that he might actually die today. So once he knew John, Sadie and Charles were coming for him, he got overly-drunk so that he wouldn't feel a thing. It didn't exactly work, as Micah still felt every shot—both the one from Dutch and from John. He knew his end was coming, and he was too scared to go fully aware of his death.

Goofy silly guy I love thinking about youu </3 Should I make more of these? I'd love to hear what y'all think about my silly little headcanons and thoughts...

[mca-attack21]

Nothing Like Greys Anatomy (Jeremiah x Conklin Reader)

TW: Hospitals, surgery

You hated being sick. That’s probably why you chose to ignore the loss of appetite, vomiting, and fever. The stomach pain was a little more severe than normal, but you had just started working out with Jeremiah, so you figured it was a combination of sore muscles and vomiting. You decided to pop a few ibuprofens and spend the day in bed with a book. It wasn’t long before Jeremiah knocked gently on your door. “Love, are you awake?”

“Yes Jere, you can come in.”

“Why is it that my beautiful girlfriend is hiding away from the world?” he asked, being dramatic. 

“I’m not feeling the best.”

“Awe, babe,” he frowned. He took in your appearance, you looked flushed. “What’s wrong? Just feeling sicky?” he asked, placing a hand on your forehead, “You definitely feel warm.”

“My stomach hurts, I’m nauseous, I kept throwing up last night, and I’m pretty sure I have a fever cause I keep getting chills.”

“Why didn’t you wake me up? I could’ve taken care of you,” he asked with pouty eyes. 

“Because I’m fine Jere, I took medicine about an hour ago, I’m just waiting for it to kick in.”

“Can I get you anything? Do you want to spend the day cuddling and watching movies?”

“That sounds nice, Jere.”

You went to stand up but the dull ache on the right side of your stomach suddenly felt like it exploded. Your vision was taken over with a blinding whiteness, you cried out in pain. You would have fallen to the floor if Jeremiah wasn’t there to catch you. 

“Y/n? Talk to me. What’s wrong? What happened?” He asked frantically, but you were too busy crying out in pain to respond. He shifted his weight and hoisted you into his arms bridal style. Quickly carrying you downstairs, he was met by his mom who came hurrying round the corner. 

“What happened? Is she okay?”

“I don’t know, she said she wasn’t feeling well and then when she went to stand up she almost fell over.”

“Get her in the car. I’ll call her mom.”

He carried you outside and got you situated in the backseat with your head on his lap.

“You’re okay, I’ve got you, everything is going to be okay,” he promised repeatedly.

After a few minutes the pain seemed to subside. Your breathing returned to normal.

“You okay princess?” Jeremiah asked. 

“It hurts Jere.”

“What hurts?” 

You held your right abdomen, “Here.”

“Sounds like appendicitis” Susannah chimed in. 

You groaned. 

When you got to the hospital Jeremiah ran in and grabbed you a wheelchair. When they were checking your vitals they were concerned that your heart rate was elevated and that you had a 102.4 fever. This apparently was on the edge to where they could not tell whether you appendix had burst or not. They took you straight back to a room. The Doctor came in and examined you, explaining that you definitely had appendicitis. They needed to get a CT to determine if it could be treated with antibiotics, if it needed to be surgically removed, or if it had ruptured. To say you were scared was an understatement. You’d never liked hospitals and being the patient was 10 times worse. 

Jeremiah was by your side the whole time. He helped you change into your gown. He held your hand as a nurse put in an IV. He even convinced the nurse to let him go down to CT with you. They made him stand in the protected room and watch while they got you all situated. He could see that you were freaking out, so he took a chance and flipped on the mic. 

“Y/n you’re doing great. Just close your eyes and pretend you are floating in the pool. The space donut is going to take its pictures and I’ll be here the whole time. I promise.”

You calmed down and the radiologist thanked his and got started.

A few minutes later, you were headed back to your room. Everyone was crammed in there. Jeremiah had to sit on the end of the bed, careful to avoid your wires. 

“Wow, full house in here,” the Doctor said as he walked back in, “Unfortunately, it does look like we are going to have to remove your appendix. We will do laparoscopic surgery. You should be able to go home today or tomorrow. You’ll have pain meds and antibiotics to take. Take it easy for the next two weeks and then you should be good as new. Of course you’ll need to follow-up with a primary care doctor,” he explained. 

Jeremiah squeezed your hand, a silent signal that you were okay.

Your mom followed the doctor out into the hall, no doubt bombarding him with questions. 

It wasn’t long before they took you to pre-op. No family allowed. Everyone wished you luck and promised they’d be there when you got back.  In the room alone you were starting to freak out about everything that could go wrong. After all you had watched Greys Anatomy, you were aware that even the simplest surgeries could have fatal complications. You were so in your head that you hadn’t heard the door open. 

“How’s my beautiful girl?”

“Jeremiah? You’re not supposed to be here.” 

“I used my charm on one of the nurses. We only have a few minutes.”

“I’m scared,” you admitted.

“It’s okay,” he promised, placing a kiss on your forehead. 

“But what if it's not?” 

“Then we will figure it out. Together. I promise.”

“I love you.”

“I love you too. I’m gonna sneak out, before I get caught,” he explained before kissing you.

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

The next thing you remember was waking up. 

“Hey there Sleeping Beauty.” Jeremiah said, standing up. “How are you feeling?” 

“I feel great,” you answered, still loopy from the pain meds, “Has anyone ever told you you’re cute?” 

Everyone laughed.

“Surgery went well, we should be going home today,” your mom informed you. 

“You’re pretty, you know that?” you replied. 

Again everyone laughed. 

You well asleep again, the next time you woke up you were much more alert and oriented. This time only your mother and Jeremiah were in the room. The others had all been sent home by your mom. She would have tried to get Jeremiah to go with them, but she knew better.  

"Hi there," you smiled.

"Hi there," Jeremiah answered.

"How'd it go?" you asked.

"They said once your up and walking that we can head home."

"That's good," you paused, "Did you come visit me right before or was that a dream?"

"That was real," he smiled.

"So when they say I need to be up and walking, what are we talking? Cause I'd walk a marathon to get out of this gown and back into my clothes," you joke.

Jeremiah and your mom help you to stand and you start to walk a bit. It definitely felt weird. Your mom got one of the nurses and soon enough the Doctor came back in with discharge instructions. Jere took great pleasure in wheeling you out to the car.

When you got home the whole gang had a movie night. Though you fell asleep not even a quarter of the way through the first movie. Jeremiah just held you in his arms, happy to have you home.

[raayllum]

Allegorical Rayllum in "Dreamer's Nightmare"

Really thought I'd walk out of Dreamer's Nightmare thinking more about the broyals + Harrow, or an Ezran centric meta (and there may be ones to follow) but this was something that stuck out to me on my first two read throughs and was a truly unexpected part of the graphic novel so...

This is exactly what it says on the tin, and full spoilers for all of Dreamer's Nightmare.

Let's go

Crumbs

The biggest crumb(s) we get are arguably Callum 1) recognizing the mural as belonging to an elven temple, and 2) this panel below that definitely made me chuckle.

I also, accordingly, lost my mind over the elf-toy from 1x04 being a gift given to Ezran / the boys by the end of the comic, which seems to be modelled both after the Moonshadow elf featured in the story, and of actual canon Rayla per 1x04 itself, down to the girl having a similar hair style, markings, and being a sword wielder. (This also informs our basis for the next section.)

However, the definitely meatier stuff has to do with the Dream Warden (DW) creature, its history, and Ezran's interactions with it, so that's where we'll be focusing, and subsequently big spoilers for the graphic novel. Last chance to get out if you hadn't read it yet!

Identity and Loss

So there's a few things we learn about DW and their little mortal friend.

Long ago, a Dream Warden, still new to the world, befriended a mortal child. This violated the traditions of its kind, but the Dream Warden was young. Each night, it flew to the silver shores of sleep and each night found its friend there, wide-eyed and waiting. And beneath the watchful stars, they could adventure together through the child's dreaming world. But one night, sleep blossomed into dream, the Warden found itself alone. The child did not appear that night, nor any night that followed. The Dream Warden searched dream after dream for its friend. Sorrow became fear came anger, and soon the Warden left nothing but nightmares to flower in its wake.

This happens, of course, because the child has grown up and left their old dreaming behind, and the relationship between youth and dreams vs adulthood (actual and perceived) is something the comic is likewise interested in. Callum wants to be grow up so he can help, but as Harrow says, "Part of being grown-up is looking out for others," and there are many moments Callum acts far more like the 9-11 year old child that he is here than an adult, even if he is definitely more mature by the novel's close than he was at the beginning (and so on and so forth into S1 / beyond).

It is these two things — the abandonment of dreams (a life with Callum) to taking up an 'adult' task (assassinating Viren) in the name of "looking out for others" (Callum, the world) — that leads to Rayla leaving in Through the Moon. This is due to having fallen out of favour the idea that she's "stronger together" (BH) with anyone and missing the memo the boys receive/believe from Harrow—and their mother's actions—that they are "safest together".

So we have a Moon creature (seemingly) befriending an elven (mortal) child, even though doing so goes against the traditions of its kind. Then one day the Moon elf disappears in the action / guise of growing up, leaving the DW despondent, angry, and alone. Saddened, fearful, and furious they leave behind nightmares. [Sidenote: I do love the consistent metaphor of blossoming to flowering, it's nice.] Eventually, they fall into a deep depression and slumber.

This is a pretty close beat-for-beat of Esmeray as well, down to being left behind by a creature connected to the Moon arcanum who specifically "mysteriously dies"/leaves and subsequently causing an icy, snowy storm that shrouds the heavens (hides the starlight) until a return and/or reconciliation.

When she disappeared, she left you all alone. In pain. The storm isn't your rage. It's your grief. Your loneliness. On moonless nights, you miss her the most.

All of this is, however, mostly subtext, even if Callum and Esmeray match up in S6 and S4 in more than one instance, so I thought going through Dreamer's Nightmare that Callum's evident parallels to DW, and even Rayla to the moon child, that it would likewise remain subtext. Imagine my surprise when it wasn't.

Ezran

I've talked about Ezran and Rayla and their parallels before, decently extensively. Despite having different personality presentations, they have very similar cores. Both are less inclined towards violence in spite of Ezran having access to power and in spite of Rayla's upbringing, both have received prejudiced consequences for things they couldn't control (the assassin hit out on Ezran due to his father's crimes / Rayla being Ghosted partially because of her parents' as well as being seen as a monster), and these things contribute to them questioning perceived monstrosity more than, say, Callum, would.

We see this even reflected in Dreamer's Nightmare, where Callum despairs and in a desire to protect him and Ez, defaults to, "If I can't fight it, what can I do?" versus Ezran stating, "I can't fight you, and even if I could, I don't want to."

And while I have other thoughts on Callum and the 'monster' motif / label that you can read here, what I want to reaffirm here is the way through Ezran's connection with the Dream Warden, we also highlight his understanding of Callum both in the graphic novel and while Rayla was away / in the early days of her return.

Callum as a character has always been a character with a tenuous grasp on his own identity, especially in arc 1. He states in 2x04 that "when I got magic, I finally felt like myself" in trying to explain "how I've lost that. I'm just trying to find my way back". I think we can draw a point of comparison between Callum losing magic and not feeling like himself and Callum losing his mother and not feeling like himself, both in the immediate aftermath and repeatedly on the anniversary of her death. We also see elements Ezran mentions of Callum not feeling like himself (not drawing, his anger) that come out in S4 / 4x01 and 4x02, notably while Rayla was gone. It's only after she returns and they've begun to reconcile that we see Callum draw again (5x02) for example and indeed be more relaxed (somewhat) with his temper.

Through these periods, though, Ezran has been his cornerstone. Callum was lost in grief with Sarai, but finds his way back to Ezran; Ezran guides him out of the tower in 1x03 and into the quest to Xadia; Ezran is there even when Rayla is not, and Ezran encourages him to open up, recognizing there just as he does with the Dream Warden:

But it's easy to lose ourselves if we don't let others in. And I don't think you want to be angry and alone forever.

So Ezran through his assertions and understanding of both his brother in the comic's present, as well as the Dream Warden, takes everything that was previously subtext for Callum in the graphic novel as a character in the context of how he responds to loss (specifically Sarai and Rayla's loss), and makes it text:

DW lost their Moon arcanum connected best friend and fell into a furious sorrow, and that sorrow being disturbed is what brings the angered splintering back in full force. Dreamer's Nightmare ends, of course, with the creature being pacified and presumably going to bond with more new children, rather than just being shut away forever. Since Rayla isn't fully gone, and since she comes back, his tale of moon-friend-disappearing related woe ends differently with the full reconciliation, but the period of processing the grief and anger to "to hope and maybe forgive and love again" (4x03) remains the same.

This bodes well for theories regarding his love for Rayla and despair/desperation over losing her being what turns Callum into a 'monster' in S7, by which I mean Callum believing himself to become a monster through helping Aaravos / dark magic corruption, and believing himself to be something worth killing (4x07, 6x03) should those things transpire. But as Ezran says, all it takes is one (or two) people seeing you through the periods of anger, sadness, or splintered corruption to bring you back to your whole self again. Given the basis for Dreamer's Nightmare, I'm extremely hopeful that both Ezran and Rayla will have their roles to play in bringing Callum back to himself, just as Ezran's bonds with Callum and with Rayla will undeniably play a part in bringing Ezran back to himself, too.

With all this in mind, let's talk about the doll.

The Elf Toy

So the elf doll haunts me, nor is this new, by any means. I posted a bit about it when Dreamer's Nightmare had just come out, but I've had my eye on this thing since I first noticed the game motif some time after S3 aired. While it's since expanded to include Aaravos and his pawns (and dark magic) more directly in arc 2, said game motif in arc 1 mostly referred to the Key of Aaravos, with the motif and key itself being properly introduced in 1x04: "This is the game room, cube should be in there" / "It's a toy. A piece from a children's game."

A game motif oriented episode that then, therefore, likewise introduces a toy Rayla stand in, and one that Dreamer's Nightmare, purposefully being released before S7 for evident reasons for both brothers at least, harkens back to directly.

Like I think I can speak for all of us when I say I never thought we'd see the damn thing again. It's in 1x04 primarily to just emphasize how humans (namely Amaya) have always seen elves as scary monsters, it looks like Rayla to drive that subsequent point home, and yes it's a toy in an episode with the series' core Game Motif being centred for the first time, but that doesn't mean it's automatically connected. I'd like it to be, I think it'd be fun and very on brand for TDP's style of writing if it was.

That's said, let's go over it from various angles, starting with order of events:

Kid has elf toy, is buried under rubble

Callum and Ez pull them out and usher the kid to safety

The boys / Ezran resolve the conflict and defeat the 'monster,' with Ezran realizing it's not a monster, and instead relating it to Callum explicitly

The boys receive the elf toy as a gift

The most direct reasoning here, then, goes twofold:

Placing the toy here adds depth to Ezran thinking back in 1x04 about what makes something/someone a monster, which is the subject of the conversation at hand, and how it was incorrect

It is here in DM because we're revisiting the Banther Lodge next season, and there's going to be an emphasis on seeing people (others towards Callum; Ezran towards Runaan) not as monsters / reminding Ezran of his love for Rayla. We may see the toy, probably not, but that could be the thread

Therefore, that is where I think I'd leave it in terms of being a toy with a deeper purpose... if not for the fact it's referred to as a Gift. I've talked about the gift motif here in TDP and how arc 2 makes it much more of an emphasis, largely in regards to magic and magical sources of power:

However, where it's most notable in the 'gifts' Aaravos gives: his pawns are not just his pawns, but often tethered to him through magical objects. Claudia's current pawn intro has the Sun staff, which was given from Aaravos to Viren to her; Callum has the cube, a similarly ancient relic passed down through generations; "Lay it down? But it was a gift," Ziard says, the Staff clutched in his hand, and Viren later cites it explicitly a toy: "You had a lifetime to play with your toys, but now you hide them all away or destroy them."

To the point that throughout the various gifts given (the moon opal pendant, Rayla's goodbye letter, the sun orb from the Sun, the trio's gifts of sacrifice to Rex Igneous, Janai's sword and Miyana delivering the sun seed, and more I'm sure) the only things referred to as / that are both gifts and toys are the Key of Aaravos and the Relic Staff.

And, now thanks to Dreamer's Nightmare, the Elf (Rayla) doll.

Obviously this doesn't mean the elf doll is an ancient relic, or powerful, or even important, I think. Not on a literal level. But the final pages do tease it's a bringer of misfortune, which Rayla absolutely is (or is supposed to) when she lands on the boys' doorstep 6-5 years later. She's assumed to be a bringer of misfortune at said Banther Lodge where both the toy and cube are found, which is why she's taken captive.

What characters thus far receive things in the graphic novels, too, comes into play later. Claudia's map to the unicorn she acquired in The Puzzle House seemingly fulfilled its purpose pre-series with her tracking one down already, only to have another purpose in mind as of 7x01.

It's not beyond the realm of possibility to me, therefore, with all this in mind:

The doll was included as a throwback to 1x04

It will have importance

This importance will possibly relate to Rayla

If the motif of it being a gift and a toy is relevant, than the objects on par with it are the Relic staff and Key of Aaravos

Something something "Rayla's life is a fair exchange for the Key of Aaravos" because we all know what we're doing here by now

In summary: you lost your Moonshadow elf best friend and that caused you to become a monster / nightmare ("we had to fight our own people, it was a nightmare") and Dreamer's Nightmare just expected me to feel totally normal even before interweaving the gift motif into the game/toy motif with the damn Rayla stand in doll from 1x04 of all episodes. Yeah.

And that's really all I got for this one, but I hoped you enjoyed the allegorical thread break down and the game motif theorizing!

[merrybloomwrites]

You Can Start a Family (Extra: Coachella)

Summary: You attend Coachella 2024 with Harry, Mitch, and Sarah. Between discovering new music, meeting people you would never have dreamed of meeting, and spending time with your three significant others, you'd say it's a pretty perfect day.

AN: Thank you to @ba8ygal for requesting this! It was very fun to write, especially with Harry currently making the rounds attending a bunch of festivals!

ALSO! I took some creative liberty with the Coachella schedule and blended Friday and Saturday's shows so it makes sense for the story.

Previous Chapters: Can be found here!

Word Count: 1.8K

CW: alcohol consumption

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

One regret you have in life is not going to Coachella in 2022. It’s not that you had an opportunity and turned it down. In fact, you didn’t even know it was happening until after it ended. You also weren’t a Harry Styles fan at the time. But you woke up one morning in April and suddenly your entire tik tok for you page was Harry Styles and Shania Twain singing together. 

Growing up, your parents always listened to country music so Shania’s songs were often played. It’s no surprise the algorithm showed you these videos, and you’re very grateful that they introduced you to Harry’s music. 

In the following weeks you watched not only Harry’s Coachella videos on repeat, but videos from numerous past performances both solo, and from one direction. Suddenly, your life has been changed. You were now a huge Harry fan. 

After finally seeing one of his concerts, you became obsessed with his band as well. Which is why it was so startling to bump into his drummer Sarah, and her husband/Harry’s guitarist Mitch. Even more surprising is when the married couple got close to you, so close that they invited you into their relationship, which eventually grew to include Harry as well. 

Now, months into the four of you being together, you’re headed on a trip to Coachella. It’s not too often that you all go out in public together, not because you’re hiding per se, but more because Harry’s been laying low since Love on Tour ended. Plus Mitch and Sarah had been busy with Mitch’s tour for Come June. 

All three of them are extremely excited to attend shows, rather than be in them for once. They love performing, but it’s nice to take a break and let other people entertain them for a day. 

The four of you had created a plan for which shows you’d go see on this one day adventure. The toughest part would be getting from Chappel Roan’s set to Sabrina Carpenter's. Who in the world thought to put them at overlapping times? 

Getting there is more of a production than you’re used to. But this being such a busy music festival, everyone’s safety is being taken very seriously. Meaning instead of the four of you just driving there together, you’re loaded up in a van with a driver and a couple security guards. 

You’re sitting next to Sarah in the back row, Mitch and Harry in front of you. Harry turns to you and says, “Stay close to me today. I don’t want anything happening to you.” You fight the urge to roll your eyes considering he’s already said this numerous times. But you know he means well, is just looking out for you, so you reply, “I will, Harry. Promise.” 

To be honest, you’re a little nervous. The closer you get, the more real the situation becomes. Sure you’ve been talking about this day, but now that it’s here you feel a little worried. Mostly about what people might say about the four of you together. 

You’re going to have to be careful, keeping a distance from Mitch and Sarah so people don’t speculate about your relationship with them. It’s always exhausting when you need to tiptoe around your boyfriend and girlfriend but it’s worth it to keep your relationship steady. 

You’re also nervous to be seen in public as Harry Styles's girlfriend. You’d overthought your outfit, changing it repeatedly in the past few days. It wasn’t until all three of them told you that they loved your outfit that you finally felt confident in it. 

You just hope you won’t embarrass them, that you won’t reflect poorly on Harry. You know that people can be harsh, and they’ll judge Harry based on the things you do and say. So yea, you’re a bit anxious to be attending a music festival with him. 

When the four of you arrive you’re taken to a VIP area. It’s where you’ll be hanging out any time you’re not watching anyone’s sets. You’re only there a minute before other people start arriving. You lean close to Harry’s side and he quietly whispers information about everyone. You’re grateful that he’s keeping you in the loop, making sure you know what’s going on around you. Otherwise, you know you’d just be standing there with a polite smile and feeling so out of place. 

After a quick lunch, you all make your way to one of the stages. As you walk out, Harry’s hand goes to your waist, making sure he’s always in contact with you so nothing can happen to you. 

You all spend the afternoon listening to a number of performers, switching stages when necessary. There's a moment when Harry leaves to run to the bathroom and someone else in the crowd gets close to you and Mitch instinctively pulls you to his side. Sarah quickly intervenes, stepping between you two so she can hold onto you instead. 

You hate not being able to be near Mitch in public. At least with Sarah people just think the two of you are besties so you can get away with holding each other, so long as it doesn’t look too romantic. 

Finally it’s time to see Chappel Roan. You’ve been looking forward to this moment. She’s as great a performer as you’d heard and you have a wonderful time singing and dancing along. You'd taught the other three how to do the Hot To Go dance, and you know videos of them doing it will be posted all over social media before the day is over. 

As soon as her set is finished, security guards help you get to Sabrina Carpenter’s stage. You’d missed the beginning, but have fun watching the rest. Mitch definitely notices the way to watch Sabrina, but truly you can’t help it. She’s hot, and you have eyes. 

Harry suggests grabbing food and eating dinner in the van. He knows you’ll all appreciate some time to recharge and be away from other people. You sit in the back with Mitch, still keeping space in case people see in, but you do get to hold hands for a bit which fulfills your need to be close to him. 

“What time is it?” You ask as everyone finishes eating. 

“About 7:15,” Sarah replies. 

“Can we check out Jon Batiste for a little bit?” You ask. 

“Of course love. Ready to head over now?” Harry answers. 

“Yup, let's get back out there!” 

You miss the look the other three share. They’re so endeared by your excitement, so happy to bring you to your first festival and see you have fun. If there’s one thing they love, it’s being able to introduce you to new experiences, and they love seeing it all through your eyes. 

For the next hour you all walk around the festival, peeking in on a couple different artists before finally making your way to see Ice Spice. This had been Harry’s request, and the rest of you were on board. 

You’d seen a fair number of celebrities throughout the day, but nothing could’ve prepared you for what happens next. Taylor Swift and Travis Kelce enter the VIP area you’re in, and quickly make their way over. 

Harry lets go of you briefly to hug Taylor and shake Travis hand. 

“Taylor, this is my girlfriend, Y/N, and this is Sarah, and Mitch,” Harry says, introducing you all. You’re taken aback when Taylor pulls you in for a hug as well. 

You’d been a fan of hers since you were in middle school, but you’re determined to keep your chill. You settle for a simple, “It’s so nice to meet you! I love your music.”

“Thank you so much!” She replies. “Have you made it to any of the Eras Tour shows yet?”

“No, I haven’t been able to go,” you say with a jokingly over exaggerated frown.

“Okay, well we have to fix that,” she says, and before you can process what she means, the lights go down and music begins to play. 

You all focus your attention on the stage, cheering for Ice Spice as she begins her set. As everyone dances and signs along, you notice Harry being even touchier than before. You’d all had a couple drinks throughout the day, nothing too crazy but just enough that he’s definitely feeling a little loose. And he always gets extra clingy when he’s had a drink or two. 

It never feels overbearing or possessive with Harry (or Mitch and Sarah for that matter). It always feels safe, secure.  There’s also a sense of pride in having Harry by your side. You know there are thousands of people who’d love to be in your position, and you try to never take for granted the fact that Harry has chosen you. 

The four of you dance together, laughing when you see Travis effortlessly lifting Taylor up to see over the crowd, Harry jokingly doing the same a second later. It’s a fun little group, and it’s easy to see everyone is having a great time letting loose for the night. 

When Ice Spice finishes you all say goodbye to the others, Taylor taking your phone number with the promise to be in touch, which absolutely has your mind spinning. 

You’re starting to get tired but you’re not ready for the night to end just yet and so you watch No Doubt followed by TheDrums. The latter band was Sarah’s find, having obviously been intrigued by the name and then fell in love with their music. It’s not what you’d normally listen to, but seeing how much she enjoys it has shifted your perspective on them. 

It’s nearing midnight and Harry notices how much you’re starting to lean on him, indicating your energy is officially depleting. With a look to your security, your group starts to head back to the van. 

You and Sarah once again take the back row, and you only last a few minutes into the drive before you’re sound asleep on her shoulder. When the van pulls up to your shared home, you’re woken up by the feeling of someone jostling you. 

“Sorry baby, tried to carry you in without waking you but it’s an awkward angle,” Mitch says. 

“That's okay,” you practically slur out, moving just enough to get out of the vehicle and into Mitch’s arms. He carries you straight to the extra large master bathroom and the four of you all get ready for bed. 

Even in your drowsy state you can’t help but think about the contrasting sides of your life. Everything is always so lavish and exciting when you’re in public with your partners, but here at home it’s so calm, so domestic. 

Crawling into bed surrounded by the others, you’re so grateful for every aspect of life that comes along with loving and being loved by Harry, Mitch, and Sarah.

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

Thank you so much for reading! Someone else requested an angsty extra a long time ago and I could not for the life of me figure out what to do. BUT I finally got an idea so that will be coming soon!

[heartfullofleeches]

Damsel in Duress

Yan Damsel + G.N Reader blurb

-

"My hero~"

Closing shift was a drag. Cooped up behind the counter till dawn - the store watched you more often than not until you were "graced" with the chance of another living soul walking through those doors. Your saving grace from the monotonous life of a gas station cashier was a patron on the rise in frequent appearance.

A cosplayer, you assumed - from their style of dress and the whimsical way they carried themselves in mannerisms and speech. You got a good laugh out of seeing them weave through tiny, narrow aisles in those giant, puffy gowns they dawned. Damsel is what you called them which - by coincidence apparently seemed to be their name. Another reason for the title beyond their attire was they couldn't do a thing on their own. Asking for sliced apples when they were standing in the very same aisle fruits were stocked. Questioning the proper ways to use a fork and if you'd teach them with demonstration. To every task you helped them with they thanked you with the tagged on honorific of "My Hero" at the end. Getting into character was one thing, but sometimes it really did feel like they just popped out of the pages of a fairytale.

It's getting pretty late. You wonder where your entertainment is-

Bang!

Sharpened nails scrap across the glass doors still rattling in their frames. Blood red as the cloak masking their features; you watch as the hand welding the crimson talons yank the door's handle and flings their blood inside. It leans against the frame - barricading the doors as footfalls rebound in the distance. Expressionless- their eyes well with tears as they scan the store finding you where you always were.

"Lock it...."

You remove your headphones. "What?"

Their lips quiver, voice rising with a hick. "He's coming... Lock the door!"

A shadow creeps over the parking lot. Reaching for your keys, you volt over the counter as it runs for the door - crouching beneath Damsel as they apply all their weight against it to keep it shut as the handle shakes violently. You lock the door, keys knocked out of your hand as the figure throws himself against the door, and drag them away from it as you stand. Their face falls against your shoulder - the scent of copper flooding your nose.

"You fucking bitch! I'll kill you!"

Damsel shrieks, assaulting yet another of your senses as it drills through your ears. They latch onto your shirt.... Weren't their nails longer a second ago? They meet your gaze - face washed in fresh tears and bruises. "Help me.... please help me... I was on my way here when that man and his friend offered me a ride. I said no, but - they started to chase me and....and..."

Damsel breaks off in a quiet sob. You squeeze their shoulders reassuring, backing towards the back office eyes trained on the man pounding on the doors "Calm down. My phones in the back and the door to the other entrance only opens from inside. We'll hide there until the police arrive."

The man presses his face against the glass, the skin of his knuckles worn down as he beats the door. "What the hell are you doing? Get out away from that thing! It killed him. Dont belive anything it-"

Damsel tucks at your arm. You tear your attention away from the door and push them towards the office. Dragging them inside the break room you shove the coffee table against the door for good measure and fish out your jacket and phone from your locker. You throw the coat over their shoulders, dialing the police as you hand them some napkins to wipe their face.

"Breathe. We'll be fine in here. I'm calling for help now and they'll make sure nothing happens to you."

Damsel dabs at their eyes - faint smile dipping at your conclusion. "I'm not worried now that you're here... Guess you really are my hero aren't all, aren't you? I've never seen anything like that before, one second he was the kindest person and the next - he was like a rabid wolf."

"It's okay... You're safe now." You drape an arm behind their hood, consoling them as they hiccup and sob against your chest. You chalk the wind exiting your lungs as they latch onto you the ending results of your physical exhaustion, and retain a calm voice as you speak to the operator over the phone. Damsel squirms in their chair as you hang up.

"They're on the way... are you okay?"

Damsel fiddles with the strings of their hood. "I um.... have to go powder my nose."

"What?"

They bite their lip, face hidden in your jacket. "Use the bathroom? I know the only one here is outside so you don't have to come with me... It'd actually make me feel better if you stayed in here."

"Damsel, I cant-"

"I-it's alright, Y/n.... Long as my hero's safety is assured I'll be okay. I'm sure he's gone by now anyway. Do you mind if I keep your jacket?"

"...No... If anything happens - you scream and run, got it?"

"It's what I do best. I hope that someday there's something I can do to rewards your braver... For now...I'll leave you with this" Damsel springs from their seat and kisses your cheek as they pass. They push the table out of the way with surprising ease, looking back at you as they open the door. They smile - locking the door behind them and snapping the key.

Damsel steps out into the station. They walk past the bathroom and inspect the collection of household necessities your store had to offer. Could be better, but they'd made due. It grabs a pocket blade, ripping open the package and leaving it on the counter along with the exact bills and change for their purchase. The man is still there - eyes now wide fear. Damsel grins at him with a small wave.

"Oh!- Hello, glad to see your still here. I was going to let you go - but then you had to go and do a nasty thing and try to turn my hero against me. They're very brave - aren't they? I'm such a lucky traveler. Hmmmm.. so I'm the hood in this story and they're the hunter... What exactly does that make you? Mmm, I think I know...."

"The slaughter."

[zooterscooter]

the people have spoken :) 7am ramble under cut tee hee

thoughts came to me while making this piece !! made coherent by a day of writing and rewriting my ideas

not entirely sure how to start this and i really hope it’s cohesive LMAO i’m really sorry if this is borderline unreadable i can’t tell

but anyway. i’ve been seeing a lot of art and thoughts about click clack and what he has under his literal and metaphorical mask and i want to throw my hat in the ring as well

firstly i think it’s a pretty clear take on masking who you are, right. as an editor you’re always cutting things out and making things better and more consumable for others to enjoy. but it makes me wonder where the story editing ends and where the self editing starts and continues ? in canon, he’s cutting out the romance from “oh partner mine!” because he can’t stand to face his own feelings for thespius, but that makes me question how much more “editing” he does on himself and his life ? even beyond his love life, his relationship with thespius ?

i think that he’s scared, obviously. along with being scared of love, i think there’s a real high possibility that he’s scared of the responsibility of being a god, even years after being one. see- he might think he has to be perfect for his followers and always have this perfect persona for them to follow, putting himself on a pedestal. being the best at what he does, making himself out to be something great- always talking about how amazing and handsome he is- but beneath that i think there’s a bunch of insecurity. it’s like.. man cmon there’s no way you’re actually like this..

i think he might choose to not deal with it- “i have issues but i also have people to watch over so idrgaf about that rn” style. even before the whole canon thing with the letters happened i think there was a high possibility that he still carried a lot of his insecurities and kept emotions from being mortal, not finding any time (or maybe any reason) to pick apart these things and grow from it.

he might think that he, as a god, cannot POSSIBLY be struggling with anything. gods aren’t supposed to feel things like that. gods don’t have to deal with things like identity issues and human emotions. something must me wrong with him and he can’t tell anyone or else they’ll think he’s unfit to be in his position. maybe thinking that if he shows even the slightest hint of not being what he pretends to be, he’ll be outed and shunned, or the . ggg equivalent of that. yknow.

but yknow going back to the original point- how much more can he do this, put on a front, repress everything that doesn’t fit this image of himself he’s created for others (that he’s now starting to believe he has to be), change who he is- how long can he continue on with this all before it gets to be too much to handle ? too much to keep track of ? what would his breaking point have been, if it weren’t for the canon events ?

who is he really, and does he even know himself ? sure, he can control what others see with both the literal and metaphorical mask, but what’s he like with all that taken away ? there’s of course a little bit of either in the other, but i feel like the lines blur so much that it’s hard for him to pick apart what is what.

i do think after the events in game, he would probably work through his. problems. with the help of thespius, the other gods etc etc. he was vulnerable enough to finally accept his feelings for thespius, so i think he might eventually get comfortable enough with it all to go through the more sinister things, especially after the whole “communication with loved ones is good and healthy actually” message of the game. recovery is sweeter with the company of those who care,,

another, less heavy idea i had about the mask was that maybe he wears it as a way to hide himself away from the spotlight partially. being an editor always meant being behind the scenes, right. so maybe he uses it as a way to have some familiarity, some anonymity. or perhaps- as a friend offered while reading this over- as a thing to hide behind looks wise. maybe be was just self conscious of his god form but then the mask is what made his brand or something and he just kept it on for those reasons.

however i had that thought a month ago and now have some other ideas. maybe that started OUT as his plan, just to use it as a way to keep his public and private life separate, or as a crutch for his self consciousness- but then he realized that with the mask he could be whatever he wanted to be, whenever he wanted. and then it went downhill from there, turning into a long and emotional wreck that would haunt him for years and years and years and years-

as a closing note !! i also think this could be taken as a transgender thing, as well as an autism thing, perhaps even both, and quite possibly all three. idk stay tuned if people like this insight i might work with it more.

but yeah anyways !! i had a lot of fun thinking about this and its has been sitting in my head for a week or so… i finally got around to making that art, which kickstarted people’s interest in this, which was nice. i’ll definitely be making more art for this all and PLEASE let me know your insight on this if you have any,,, im all ears

also obligatory “this is just what i think it’s most definitely not anywhere near canon pls be nice 💔” bc im an anxious man about to go to bed

[espinosaurusrexex]

Refuge - a small town crime/love story

BuckyBarnes/WinterSoldier x Detective!Female!Reader

summary: You had a track record of cracking tough cases, but this one proved to be your breaking point. The Winter Soldier was out there, thirsting for blood, operating in total anonymity, and leaving a trail of bodies in the cold Colorado snow. Then, just as a snowstorm was about to paralyse the town, Bucky Barnes appeared on your doorstep – lost, sweet, and in dire need of help. It all seems too good to be true, but what happens when his secrets come to haunt him and Bucky’s blurred past reveals a predicament neither of you saw coming?

a/n: yeah I've been a sad bitch these days...

word count: 7k

warnings: mentions of blood, violence, killing and dying (as well as vague descriptions), probable misuse of police ranks (I don’t know how it works), little use of “Y/N” (like two times), language, a lot of angst and fluff, soft!Bucky, a hint of touch starved!Bucky, no happy ending, smut (unprotected p in v, soft!smut) !MINORS DNI!

･ﾟ✫* 𝒎𝒂𝒊𝒏 𝒎𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕 ｡✭･ﾟ✶ 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐨𝐧 𝐀𝐎𝟑 ✧*･ﾟ

I recommend playing the songs linked in the text - I listened to them a lot while writing 🧡

Long streaks of crimson soaked the innocent snow beneath your feet.

Whatever happened, it had done so quick. The streaks turned into clumsy blotches and soon there would be evidence of a tired body dragging itself through the inches of snow in vain. 

It was too late. You were too late yet again. 

Sam threw his hat in the snow with a frustrated groan, his fist clenching so tight you actually heard it pop. 

“He’s doing it again,” the officer pressed past his stiff lip, “he’s messing with us.”

“Maybe this time he’s actually gotten sloppy.” Your eyes trained on the dark red contrasting the white.

Something was different about this one. But The Winter Soldier never left his victims capable of running away more than 10ft - it wasn’t his style. So why did this one make it past the tree line?

“Don’t try to sweet talk it, Y/L/N, he knows that we’re on his tracks. And he’s doing this to prevent us from finding him out once and for all.”

Sam’s pessimism could really annoy you sometimes, but it did help solve most of your cases in the past - it turned out that considering the worst-case scenario almost always brought you to the truth. Nevertheless, there was still something off. And you were determined to find out what it was this time. 

You turned around and made your way back to the car where blue and red lights silently snook through the woods before you finally turned them off. 

“I’m tired of this shit. What are we going to tell Sheriff Rogers? I’m pretty sure he’s about to kick us off the case anyway.” Sam gruffly entered the passenger seat with a frown. He was pissed, and you couldn’t blame him. 

“We’re not telling him anything.”

“And how would that work?”

“Just let me talk.” The tires screeched on the tar before you sped out of the woods. 

❁ ❁ ❁

Cold. So, so fucking cold.

Bucky’s teeth were cluttering. He didn't know where he was. Nor did he know how he had gotten there. There was barely anything he remembered, really. The past two hours were how far his memory reached and after that? Everything blank. Not blank entirely though. There was fear and darkness but no images, no faces, just unease. 

He stumbled past the trees and over roots hiding beneath the thick layer of snow that had accumulated even in the forest. His surroundings looked familiar, but he didn’t know why. His feet, however, seemed to guide him exactly where he needed to be. He didn’t think, just let them be. His hands were aching from the cold, he couldn’t feel them anymore, and his lungs hurt with every icy cold breath. Dusk was already breaking past the horizon, and when the darkness would take over completely, Bucky would be done for.

After another ten or twenty minutes - he really couldn’t tell - Bucky could make out a house sitting at the edge of the woods. There was smoke coming out of the chimney and rising past the threes. The sight alone warmed him a little bit, but his legs were quick to remind him how frozen he really was. He stumbled the distance until he landed on the doorstep.

This was a really bad idea. But then again: he was going to die out here. 

His knuckles jammed against the wooden door, and it made pain shoot up his entire arm. But his left one was hurting even more. His whole body was - well... the parts he could still feel.

❁ ❁ ❁

You opened the door, but nothing could have prepared you for what you found. There was a man kneeling on your doorstep. His fingertips peeking out of cut cloves trembling from the cold, his lips broken with blood by the harsh winter wind now nipping on your bare toes as well. The warm light from inside your house illuminated his face and what you saw could have only been described as distress. Eyes laced with fear and helplessness, the man looked up at you. There were snowflakes clinging to his lashes, face pale and lifeless. 

“Please,” was the only thing he whispered, but his voice was weak and it made your heart plummet. 

“What... what happened?” You stood frozen at the door, bewilderment seeping through your body. 

“I-“ But his teeth were cluttering so much you could barely make out his words. You looked past him into the woods and then down the lonely street leading to your house. Nobody there. Another look to the little table by the door, where your gun was hidden. He seemed to be unarmed, too weak to fight, anyways. 

God, you hated how your instincts made you check through the whole situation, making the poor man die in the cold outside. But when you were done, and your eyes swayed back to his frame, you exhaled slowly and opened the door a little wider. 

“Come in.”

“Th- Thank you- u.” He dragged his tired body over the threshold and crawled to the fireplace crackling in the living room. 

You just stood still, closing the door after swiping the woods and the road one more time, and watched him tremble by the fire. After a while - he had stopped shaking - you approached him and he looked at you like a deer in headlights. When he noticed you weren’t doing anything but standing there, he faced the fire again and - that’s when you saw it: dark red staining the back of his head and sticking to his shoulder-long hair. It was hard to make out in the dim light, but he had definitely gotten a good hit.

“Sir, you need a doctor.” Your hand reached for the phone but he was quick to stop it. His ice-cold touch made you shiver.

“No, no doctor.” His eyes looked at you intently, switching left and right. “Please... I just need to warm up. And then I’ll be out of your hair. I’ll leave and you never have to see me again.”

You were staring again. Shocked, confused? Something like that. This man wouldn’t be leaving soon, there was a blizzard already hitting the state lines, and it would be here by midnight.

“Please... no doctor.” His voice was only a whisper now but it pushed through to you more than before.

“...no doctor.” He nodded slowly, relaxing a bit. “But... you are bleeding.”

“I’m okay.” He wasn’t. This man was anything but. Though, somehow, he had this weird aura about him that made you want to stay close to him. You weren’t scared or creeped out - you were... intrigued.

Your head dipped to the side. “Who are you?”

He hesitated. “Bucky.”

“What’s your last name?”

“I... I don’t know.” He looked defeated - stressed - but you deserved answers.

“What happened?”

“I-” he looked up again, pain evident in his stare before he closed his eyes. “…don’t know.”

A nod of your head in understanding. He must be tired, exhausted. You’d leave it for now.

“Would you at least let me clean your wounds?” If they were really as bad as they looked you wanted to get him to a hospital before the blizzard hit. Bucky nodded hesitantly but he didn’t move when you inched closer to take a look at his head. 

The wounds weren’t that bad. All the blood in his hair made it look a lot worse, but he still needed stitches. He sat quietly as you carefully threaded the needle through his scalp. It wasn’t perfect but it would do. 

Bucky didn’t make a sound, not even when you accidentally slipped and poked him, he was quiet. 

“You can take a shower if you like - get all that blood off and warm up completely,” you finally whispered when you cut the last thread. All the other cuts on his face merely needed cleaning and the bruises were already forming, so there was really nothing you could do. 

“It’s okay. I won’t be staying any longer.”

But when he moved to get up, it was your turn to stop him. “Do you have somewhere else to go?”

“I’ll manage.”

“You’ll die. Blizzard’s already hit north.”

“I couldn’t stay.”

“You can.” Your hand sank when you noticed he wasn’t making a run for it. “At least until the storm passes.” He just nodded again but a hint of relief flushed through his orbs.

“Clean up, change. I have some clothes that will fit you. The bathroom is the first door on the left.”

Bucky followed your orders and disappeared into the bathroom without another word. You headed to your dresser to get the sweatpants and Hoodie Steve had always stored in there. He wouldn’t miss them, he didn’t stay the night anymore. But now it would serve another purpose.

You made your way back to the bathroom and gave Bucky the clothes, though the door wasn’t closed all the way and you could see the sliver of skin peeking through the crack. His back was littered with red streaks, most likely whip marks, and his left shoulder was scattered in bumpy scarring. He had a metal arm and that was about all you could see before willing your eyes away.  

Your gaze wandered to his jacket hanging over the chair and your fingers itched to know more. He was a stranger in your house, after all. A stranger you had chosen to trust, though. But your hands were searching through the pockets before that thought was finished. They were all empty. No wallet, nothing. All you found was a black mask and several compartments for weapons - all empty as well, though.

You exhaled. Who are you, Bucky?

❁ ❁ ❁

Bucky let the hot water run down his body. He looked at his left arm, the water hitting with drumming sounds and then repelling from its surface. Despite his lack of memory, he didn’t think it strange that an entire limb of his was missing, well kind of. It was okay - as if he had already coped with it somewhere in the past. The scars didn’t scare him either, or the red lines on his back. They were just there - accepted or not - unbothered. 

He closed his eyes and let the water fall on his face. Flashes of a fight lighting before his eyes. Torn between intrigue and horror, it was as if he had opened them.

Please! I’m begging you, please! God, please!

He was back. And the shampoo washed from his face in white bubbles. It smelled good. Like you.  

Bucky spent another minute under the water before stepping out and looking into the mirror again. What was he even doing? Dragging an innocent woman into this mess - whatever it was. 

His hand ran down his face and the towel hung low on his hips when he reached for the clothes you gave him. They were soft and fit him perfectly. 

It wasn’t long until he stepped out into your warm living room again. There was a pillow and blanket on the sofa now, and it looked more inviting than Bucky had seen in a while - at least it felt that way. He didn’t say much when he sat down carefully, feeling the soft comforter under his skin, and watched as you handed him a glass of water. 

“I’m right down the hall if you need anything.”

He just nodded.

“Will you be okay?”

He nodded again. But Bucky didn’t know if he was going to be okay. He was confused and scared and surprised you offered him shelter even though you knew nothing but his name. What a kind woman you were. 

You smiled sadly as you shut off the light, leaving Bucky to sink his head into the fluffy pillow. The flickers of flames in the fireplace danced on his skin when he closed his eyes, falling into a well-needed and dreamless slumber.

❁ ❁ ❁

He woke to the sound of dishes clinking the next morning, stretching and catching a new fire with his eyes before he peeked over the backrest of your sofa to your kitchen. He was more rested than he’d felt in a long time. And he didn’t know if it was the sheer exhaustion that had him fall asleep so quickly yesterday, or if, maybe, it had been the faint smell of lavender your sheets hosted. Either way, he smiled when he got up, and it felt a little strange to do so. 

“Good morning, Bucky.” You beamed over the stove where some eggs were sizzling, making his stomach grumble. 

“Good morning,...” He still didn’t know your name. But it was strange to ask now that he had already slept in your home. 

You chuckled as your name passed your lips and Bucky’s lips lifted into another small smile. 

You ate in silence then. There wasn’t much Bucky had to say and you didn’t seem to be chatty. Bucky didn’t mind. This, your house, had a certain serenity to it. The faint crackling of the fireplace, the homey smell of breakfast in the air, and the rioting storm pouring in soft flakes around it. It felt peaceful and calm and safe - even if he didn’t know who you were... even if he didn’t know who he was.

The day went by peacefully. At one point, Bucky explored your house. It wasn’t big, but full of memories, he could tell. There were pictures everywhere - some of people, some of places. Souvenirs, crafted things. Smiling faces stared at him as he carefully inspected the mantel pieces and something akin to sadness pulled on his heart. Bucky wished he had memories - ones like you did. Ones with happy people and gifted bookmarks. He was sure he did... somewhere. He was someone, right? He just didn't know how to pull that someone back. 

It was strange because he had memories. Faint ones. Some that didn’t feel right. His childhood was completely blocked out. He had tried to remember, and things came back to him in tiny pieces. This night he remembered his last name. Barnes. But then his mind associated it with strange callings of his name - urgent, demanding, unfriendly. It didn’t feel nice - none of his memories did. 

His finger drove over the small picture of a dog and then he smiled. 

❁ ❁ ❁

You sensed Bucky standing at the door as your head hung low above the desk scattered with pictures and leads. You didn’t bother hiding it from him though. Your house was small - it was almost impossible to hide things properly, especially if the days you spent snowed in kept being as quiet and boring as this one. Bucky was curious. He didn’t show it much but you notice the way his eyes scanned the room, how his brows twitched upon your frame above the files. He would catch a glimpse sooner or later. 

“Hey.”

“Hi.” Bucky wrung his hands. “Am I interrupting?” 

He watched as you shook your head, tracing the rim of your empty beer bottle. Careful steps approached you and then he stood behind you, a tense breath resealing when he most certainly took read through the reports. Except, he didn’t. When you turned, you watched him scan the decor on the walls. 

And he didn’t stop until you called his name.

“Yes?” His eyes were piercing even in the dim lamplight - they were pretty. 

“Is there something you need?”

He looked a little started at your question, his hands still kneading beneath him. It was hard to believe someone as tall and built as him could be shy - but here he was.

“I just wanted to... uh...” He avoided your eyes. “I remembered my last name.”

You smiled, a small jump in your heartbeat sneaking past you. “Oh, that’s great.”

“Yeah.”

“So what is it?”

“What?”

“Your name.”

“Oh, Barnes, Bucky Barnes.” He smiled. “And I also wanted to thank you... for being so kind.” He got shy again. 

But you stood and smoothed your hands over his shoulder, feeling him relax a little. “I’m just glad you are okay.” 

“Still, it’s not a given and I won’t take it for granted. So, thank you.”

There was a short silence in which he just looked at you and you wondered what else there was to discover about this extraordinary man before you. You could tell there was so much history and depth behind the ocean blue orbs focusing on you, so much more not even Bucky Barnes could access yet, and that made it all the more intriguing. 

Bucky shifted again, and then suddenly yet carefully, leaned in to encase you in an awkward hug. It warmed your heart from the inside out, but It didn’t last long before you could feel the tension return to his back. 

He pulled back, disturbed. “Everything okay?”

“I’m fine.” His eyes were everywhere but on you. “I’ll let you work.” And then he stumbled past you and out the door as you stood and watched him leave, turning back to your desk to see the array of crime-scene photographs littered on its surface. 

❁ ❁ ❁

The hallway was spinning when Bucky made his way back to the living room. 

A heavy body fell to the snow, hands shielding features, scrambling backward on the harsh white ground.

“Please! I’m begging you, please! God, please!”

Bucky’s metal hand collided with a face, releasing a loud cracking sound. There was so much blood. So much fucking blood. 

The room seemed to cave in. His chest rapidly rising and falling, Bucky made his way to the kitchen where he fell through the backdoor into feet of snow. The cool on his face calmed him down immediately, hitting him like the memory of it had done. He stayed there for a while, just enjoying the silence of the storm and letting the weather tie him to the ground.

That’s what he needed. A reminder, something to ground him, tell him how vulnerable he was, that there was still something human left in him.

His jaw clenched when he scrambled up again, skin burning from the ice piercing through the air. He was okay, he told himself, he was fine.

He shook his head and made his way to the little hut in the backyard, where he took your axe and began chopping firewood. A little distraction would do him good.

❁ ❁ ❁

After a simple dinner, you retreated to the sofa. Bucky hadn’t talked to you a lot and he felt a little bad you were stuck with him for another day due to the storm. But you never lost a word about it. In fact, you acted so naturally about it, as if he were a frequent visitor in your cozy retreat, one he had grown to associate with comfort and warmth in the short time being. 

“What’s your favorite movie?” You crossed your legs next to him. 

“I don’t know.” Bucky didn’t even remember watching movies ever. And it made him sad.

“Favorite genre?” You tried again. But Bucky just shrugged with a tight-lipped smile. 

“I like rom-coms.” You smiled and Bucky noticed yet again how easy it was to spend time with you. 

The TV began to play a generic song, but Bucky was too occupied looking at you. He couldn’t remember but he felt as though he had not experienced this sort of kindness in a long time, and it warmed his heart. But in the back of his mind, there was always that feeling of betrayal lurking in the dark. Because he began to remember things - things that lay not too far in the past and that were horrible, unspeakable really. 

He had not pieced them together just yet. Just snippets of memories, pieces of conversations rushing through his mind when he was triggered. And it scared him a little bit. But he didn’t want to lay his burden on you. 

“You’re not even paying attention.”

“Sorry.”

“Are you tired? We can stop the movie if you-“

Bucky shook his head. “No.” He smiled, not wanting you to leave yet.

“Okay.” You whispered before turning to the TV with a smile. As did Bucky. 

❁ ❁ ❁

Bucky woke with an unusual amount of peace. He felt warm and comfortable - well-rested too. The fire was lazily puffing in the chimney and the TV was off. But there was something, or rather someone else he noticed. He looked down, his eyes landing on your frame, tightly tugged to his body. You weren’t cold, even though the room had cooled significantly since last night, and your face looked so peaceful - unbothered. The sight did weird things to his heart. But his response to it was to sling his arms around you tighter, and for the first time in a while, Bucky felt as though he was protecting something rather than threatening it. 

A smile snuck on his lips unawares. You stirred, but neither of you loosened their grip. 

“Good morning.” Your head disappeared into his chest again.

“Mornin’” he could feel your frown through his shirt.

For some reason, it just felt natural to stay like this. Neither Bucky nor you moved for a while. You just lay there - not talking, not sleeping - enjoying the calm morning, even though Bucky could see the snowflakes rioting outside the living room window. 

His hand dragged up and down your back and you sighed. 

“What are you doing today?”

You pulled back a little, watching him, contemplating something - he could see it. 

“I...” You trailed off, but Bucky stayed silent. 

“You know what?” His eyebrows raised as you scrambled off the sofa and extended your hand toward him. “Come with me.”

And he did. You lead him to your office and Bucky was reluctant at first. The last time he was here he had a panic attack. But your hand was still in his, and it calmed him. 

“I’ve been working on a case for some time now... but I’m stuck.” You moved to the desk and Bucky followed. “There’s been a murderer tormenting the town for weeks, driving the whole department crazy. I’ve been looking at these files for days. Maybe a fresh set of eyes can help.”

“You... you want me to help you?” This was new. 

“Bucky,” your hand landed on his arm and his eyes were glued to the interaction, “we’re stuck in here for at least another day. Why not be productive? And who knows? Maybe you’re able to help me solve this case.” You smiled.

But he was still hesitant.

“That guy killed my partner’s sister. Anyone that can help us even in the slightest is welcome”

He gulped. “Okay, alright...”

You sat down at the desk, spreading out pictures, handing him files, and explaining what you had gathered so far. Bucky listened attentively. And even though he was a little scared to look at the pictures again, he warmed up to the process you guided him through. Everything was labeled and put to memos. 

The process and the document brought him a weirdly familiar feeling but Bucky shoved it off to the side - after a while, even enjoying the puzzle you laid before him. 

“This one is unusual... why did this victim get so far?” He mumbled. 

“Maybe he’s messing with us...”

“Or he was interrupted,” he stated plainly as he grabbed another picture. 

You were silent then, and Bucky looked up at you to find you smiling across the files littered on the floor. “You must have some sort of experience, those are some good observations.”

Bucky shrugged. Whoever he had been in the past was yet to be revealed to him, but he did admit that tactical thinking came easy to him.

“Also this,” he pointed at the latest crime scene photo, “these tracks are inconsistent. Normally, he attacks from the left. But here it’s all over the place. Something must have happened to make him stop and change tactics.”

“Something like...?”

“Maybe he got a hit himself. You said the forensic scientist approximated quick deaths. The Winter soldier always kills precisely.”

You nodded. “One hit and they're done for.”

“That takes a high amount of skill. There are not a lot of things that can interrupt these tactics. Except, if he wasn’t capable anymore.”

“There were no indications of the victims defending themselves. They never had a chance.”

“Were there no indications or was it just not tested anymore?”

“The blood.” Bucky watched as you sprung up. “There was too much blood. Some of it must be his!”

Attagirl. Bucky couldn’t help it, a proud smile painted his features. He watched as you pressed the telephone to your ear, a faint beeping caught by his ears, and then you frowned. 

“The lines are dead,” you sighed. 

“What are we gonna do now?”

“We have to wait out the storm... There’s no way we’re getting anywhere out there.”

His eyes swayed to the window, where a wall of white soft snow fell unrelenting. He nodded. 

❁ ❁ ❁

You were on the sofa again, there was nothing to do. The fire was crackling, and you sat next to Bucky with a cup of tea in hand. 

The case didn’t stop swarming your mind though. You finally had a new lead, a small hint that could lead to a suspect and you had no way of contacting Sam or the Sheriff’s department. There was likely nobody working, anyway. Maybe Steve, he was crazy like that - he’d gone out in unholy weather when you had a fight once, just to give you space. 

Your eyes wandered around the room as your mind went through the case files again, and then, when they landed on Bucky again, a little shiver ran over your skin. 

“Bucky?”

“Hm?”

“Have you... Do you think it’s possible you were the thing interrupting the Winter Soldier?”

He looked at you blankly. 

“You were pretty banged up when you found me.” You didn’t try to insinuate anything, you were just a little worried... and curious. 

“There were no other tracks in the snow, though.” His shoulders slumped. 

“Oh, I don’t know. I just want to-“

His hand found your knee. “I understand.”

And your eyes locked. “Do you not want to know what happened to you?”

“I’ll remember it eventually,” he smiled reluctantly, “right now, I’m actually glad not having to worry about it too much.”

“Why’s that?”

“I don't know... I just prefer your company instead.”

You nodded and bit your lip to stop your smile from spreading. “I’m glad I’m not alone here, too.”

Bucky looked down, hiding his smile in vain.

❁ ❁ ❁

Icy wind whipped around Bucky when he noticed the man lying in the snow in front of him. He was begging, crying, screaming words he couldn’t make out in the storming winds.

And that’s when Bucky realized he was bleeding. Not Bucky, no, the man. He was lying in a pool of his own blood, drawing a growing circle in the snow - growing darker with every drop seeping deeper into the thick white.

So much blood. 

Bucky was confused, and worried, and scared. He didn’t know how he had gotten here, and when he moved to help the man, he scrambled away towards the treeline.

Bucky didn’t follow him. The look of utter fear had shaken him to the bone. What had the man been so scared of? Bucky looked down his body, past the heavy vest to a sleek silver knife wedged between gloved fingers.

He stumbled backward. Almost losing his balance as he sped in the other direction. Away from the man, the blood, the sheer horror of the scene in front of him. What had he done? What was going on?

“You need to wake up!” Bucky’s shoulder shook with your touch. 

Suddenly he shot up, shrugging you off until you landed on your butt next to the sofa. 

He was sweating, heaving, eyes searching the room until he realized that there was no danger and gore around anymore. Just your cozy living room and you. You.

“You’re okay, Bucky. It was just a bad dream.” Your hands were on him again, his covering yours. 

“I’m okay,” he reiterated.

“We’re safe here.” You weren’t. Because Bucky was the Winter Soldier. 

The realization hit him like a truck, his hands immediately retracting from your skin. His heart began to pick up its pace again. The memories flooding his brain overwhelmed him to the point of dizziness. But he couldn’t be close to you. Not after he had done the unspeakable. Not after he had killed your partner’s sister. This had become too personal.

“I need to leave.” He stood up too quickly, swaying dangerously before scrambling past you. 

“You can’t leave yet. It’s horrible outside.” You reached out to him again.

But he shook you off again. “I can’t stay either.”

“Why? What’s the problem?” 

Bucky halted, his shoulders sagging. There was no point in keeping it from you. You would find out anyway. And he would leave either way. It was just fair, you deserved the truth, to know you had sheltered an assassin for days. 

He turned to you with afflicted eyes. “It’s me,” he whispered shamefully, feeling his eyes fill with tears. 

You didn’t ask - just looked at him and swallowed hard. It was crazy how well you had gotten to know each other in the three days you were snowed in. But what was even more unfathomable to Bucky was that you understood. That you knew and didn’t flinch, or scream, or threaten him. 

“I... the... my weapons, they’re buried in the woods. It was me, I did it. They made me do it. They–“ A sob broke through his speech. 

You stood up to touch him but Bucky stepped back with the shake of his head. 

“They can control me,” he uttered and the statement heard out loud made him shiver all over. 

You reached out a third time and this time, Bucky didn’t move. He let it happen when your hands encased his cheeks and your lips laid a soft kiss on his jaw. “It’s fine.” Another kiss. “You’re fine.”

“I’m a monster.”

You shook your head with a teary smile.

“They’ll kill me when they find out.” There was no panic in his tone, he had already accepted his fate. The hard part was saying goodbye to you. 

“I won't let that happen.” Your forehead pressed to his.

“Why?”

“Because you’re not him anymore. You’re Bucky Barnes.”

Bucky’s heart picked up its pace. Somehow, hearing his name from your lips meant so much more than anything else ever could. And with a taste of hope on his tongue, his hands grabbed your face and pressed your lips to his eagerly. 

❁ ❁ ❁

You stumbled back but Bucky held you firmly in his grasp. He sighed into the kiss when you began to move your lips in sync with his, a lonely tear rolling over his cheek and stopping at your thumb. 

He was warm and soft, rough around the edges but so sweet. His chapped lips left your mouth; his arms wandered around your body as he held you tightly, face disappearing in the crook of your neck. 

Bucky was so full of affection, and passion, you could feel it in every touch he gifted you. You didn’t know how long he had gone without a kind word, without a reassuring smile, but you knew that you would give it all to him in this moment. 

“Come here.” His puppy eyes squeezed between your hands, he let you guide his face back to yours where you stole another deep kiss from him. 

But you wanted more. Needed to feel him all over - wanted to step into his skin if you could, just to be closer to him. 

You guided him back to the sofa until he fell backward with you pressed against his chest. There was not an inch of space between your bodies as your legs tangled slowly. Bucky groaned when his hand tangled in your hair, a soft nudge pushing you to the side until he was almost hovering over you. 

“You’re cold,” he stated upon feeling over your goosebumps. And then he, somehow elegantly, rolled the both of you off the sofa and to the carpet in front of the fire. 

Your skin was burning deliciously when he removed your shirt carefully, a cool metal hand soothing over the side facing the fire. His hard bulge nudged against your core when his mouth placed soft kisses over your clavicle. Little did he know you weren’t shivering from the temperature in the room, but you wouldn’t protest. 

Your heartbeat quickened with every piece of clothing left discarded around you. Bucky was all over you. Lips, hands, legs - a wild entanglement of limbs surrounded every content moan he gifted you and you loved it. 

Soft warm kisses placed a firm trail down his body as you worked your way to the hemline of his boxers. You removed them with ease, his hands not once leaving your body no matter how grand your movements. He seemed assured when he could feel you beneath his fingertips. 

“Will you stay?” You kissed his hip, hooded eyes looking at him through lashes. 

“Anything for you.” His breath was shaky. You moved to kiss his tip, but as soon as your lips touched his red flesh, “But-“ he pulled you up again. “I need you closer.” He smiled. 

“Okay.” And then your lips were back on his. His fingers danced around your body until they pulled your underwear off as well. 

You parted just to watch as your warm hands guided his tip along your slick folds, his cock witching when he touched your wetness, another shaky exhale escaping his chest. 

His eyes held yours when you lowered yourself until he was fully sheathed by you, a heavenly feeling consuming you with the delicious stretch he gave you.

You moaned in unison when you rolled your hips for the first time. Then another, and another. Until you found a comfortable rhythm that had Bucky bury his strong fingers in your hips, guiding you to meet every thrust of his own. 

Your name rolled over his tongue as his eyes closed and it never sounded as good as this. He stuttered when you squeezed his cock with your walls, chasing your own high as Bucky fought to hold on. 

There was so little talking in this passionate moment but so much felt said at the same time. Every touch of Bucky’s held stories in its wake, every kiss of his lips whispered soft promises to your body. You never wanted to let go again. 

Your hand guided his eyes to yours when you felt your insides squeeze unrelenting. Moans being swallowed by another heated kiss, you rode each other through ecstasy. The overwhelming heat of his body and the fire seemed to swallow you whole when your sticky body collided with his only to have Bucky sling his arms around you again. 

He kissed your head, whispering sweet nothing to your ear before the aftershocks of pleasure fully subsided. 

❁ ❁ ❁

Harsh knocks on the front door ripped you from your desk. You stumbled down the hallway as you tried to get to the intruder faster. 

“Y/L/N open the damn door!” You stopped. It was Sam. What was Sam doing here? The storm had begun to soften, but it was still not totally safe out.

A look to your left showed Bucky standing in the living room looking at you with unease written all over him. He scrambled to the wall on the floor when your hand moved to the doorknob. Sam didn’t know. Nobody knew that there had been a man hiding in your house for three days and it would stay that way... for now. 

“What are you doing here?”

“Hello to you, too.” Sam tried to step forward but you blocked his way. He frowned. “The lines went dead and I needed to show you this.”

Sam pulled a crumbled piece of paper from his jacket pocket, the silver star shining in the white landscape around him. It had stopped snowing this morning, and his truck was probably the only one making it through the streets.

Suddenly, Bucky’s face stared back at you between creased paper. He was wearing an army uniform, a proud smile decorating his features as he held his hat in his hands. “What’s that?” You swallowed hard.

“It’s him.” Sam showed the picture further. “His blood sample DNA is all over the victim.”

“The blood,” you whispered upon stealing a glance at your living room. “What... what are you gonna do?”

“That motherfucker killed my sister. And I am not going to rest until I’ve ended his life just as he did Sarah’s.” Sam tried to hide the raspiness in his voice at his sister’s name, but he failed. 

You couldn’t blame him. Sarah had been a wonderful person. Her death had come unexpectedly for everyone. Nobody could fathom that anybody wished her harm. 

I have his last known location. So are you coming or not?”

“It’s dangerous. The roads are closed off.”

“I don’t care.” You snuck another look to Bucky who was just blankly staring ahead now. He looked tense - frightened. 

You swallowed the lump in your throat. “Sam-”

“Don’t even try. This is ending, now.” He stepped back. “So are you coming?” His eyes were piercing. “...or not?”

You nodded with tight lips, gifting one last reassuring smile to Bucky as you reached around the door to grab your jacket and gun. Sam was already starting the car. 

“I’ll be back as soon as possible,” you whispered only to watch Bucky’s chest heave with panic. “I’m so sorry. I won’t let him hurt you.”

The car honked before you could hear Bucky’s answer, shoulders jerking as your head pulled from behind the door. 

“I’m coming!”

❁ ❁ ❁

“I’m gonna find him, and I’m gonna kill him.” Sam was gripping the steering wheel so tight, you thought it would break. “I’m gonna shoot him in the head, and I’ll watch him die just like he did–“

“Wilson.”

His head snapped to you with fiery eyes. But you were just as upset. The thought of Bucky being killed made you want to throw up. You obviously wouldn’t let that happen. Killing Bucky would do nothing when the actual bad guys were still out there, possibly manipulating a dozen other people into doing their dirty work. Bucky had told you the details he remembered, and it was enough to know that none of it was his fault - and most importantly - that there was a much bigger fish to catch. 

Sam clenched his jaw before looking back to the road. The mist had cleared slightly now. 

“I don’t think killing the Winter Soldier will solve the problem.” You instantly regretted saying that, because Sam slammed the brakes, making the truck slide on the icy road until it came to a stop. He was looking at you again. 

“He killed Sarah. He’s a criminal. A ruthless, cold-hearted serial killer.” There was so much betrayal in his eyes but he averted them again. “Even if I did not have personal reasons... he belongs behind bars at least. But the world would be so much better off if he was just gone.”

“Stop.”

“What?”

“You don’t understand.”

“Oh, really? Then please enlighten me. Because I would really like to know what made you change your morals.”

“You know, you’re not the only one that found out some things while snowed in,” you snapped and watched your partner look down contritely.

“It’s not just him. And it’s not him we need to stop.” You were careful about your next words - you needed to say them but you had no idea how to explain them. “There’s a whole criminal organization behind- ...behind the Winter Soldier program.”

“How?” His teeth were grinding. “How do you know?”

“I can’t tell you that” yet, you added in thought. Though you weren’t sure Sam would ever understand why you sheltered his sister's murderer in your home.

The car fell silent for a moment. But you swore you could hear Sam’s mind working overtime to decide how he would go about this. And then, finally, after what felt like an eternity, he reached for the ignition. 

“You’re lucky I trust you,” He muttered before starting the car again, shoulders still tense, and an ever-growing frown on his face. 

❁ ❁ ❁

It had taken a good portion of your energy to explain the situation to Sam without revealing your secret. It was hard and tiring, but you had planned a new strategy to approach the case with your partner. And now, several coffees and hours later, when the sun had already set beyond the woods behind your house, you found yourself on your doorstep with a smile. Because you knew that all of it would be forgotten as soon as you had Bucky back in your arms.

“Bucky, I’m home!” You called out before the door fell shut behind you. But there was something different about the place. 

Your eyes scanned the living room - no fire, lights out, and Bucky’s makeshift Bed was neatly stacked by the end of the Sofa. 

You smiled, still, he had probably finally decided to accept your offer to sleep in your bed. 

“Bucky?” You pushed past the bedroom door just to find the room empty as well. 

You frowned. You could have sworn he’d be lying there, waiting for you. But the domestic haze your fantasy cooked up in the few days of isolation the storm had brought you seemed to have clouded your brain. 

You tried the hut in the yard last - without luck. But it wasn’t until you came back into your house, sitting on the neatly made sofa that hosted a journey of emotions through the past days that the revelation hit you like a truck. 

A tear rolled down your cheek as your hands folded in your lap.

Bucky had come into your life like tragedy - sudden and with the force of an avalanche. He had brought you joy, and confusion, and pleasure, and warmth. Bucky had packed a lifetime of experiences and emotions in the span of three days, and then - just like he had appeared - and much like your initial excitement about coming back to him, he had vanished without a trace.

wow... here we are. I've had this in the drafts for a long time and tinkered on it throughout until it turned out this way. I hope you liked it. Please consider showing this post some love (reblog or comment) if you did - it really helps creators on this plattform! Love ya loads ~ℳ❁

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