#i barely recognize him without his Fake Old Man look

[lightlysaltedsalt]

Being in a "weird place" and settling it by having your breakdown on a merry go round is perhaps The character trait of all time

[amiableness]

Dad!James Potter x Bsf!Reader ☼ 1036 words | briefly 18+, and thank you to @moonpascal for your thoughts and ideas!

You only agreed to go to the pub because James seemed keen, but in all honesty, you’d much rather be tangled up in his bedsheets with him. Slipping into a dress that hugged you perfectly and dabbing on a pretty red lip was a definite perk, though. 

This was one of your first outings with your friends now that James and you were officially together. Telling your friends had caused quite a scene. Marlene’s excitement was so loud you half-wondered if your hearing would ever be the same, while Lily, genuinely happy for you, seemed like she might tear up any second.

The pub is buzzing with chatter and clinking glasses as you settle into a cozy corner with your friends. James has his arm draped casually around your shoulders, his thumb absentmindedly tracing circles on your skin. 

You’re lost in thought, your mind drifting to Henry and wondering how he’s doing with the babysitter. You know he’s probably fine—he always lights up when Angela’s around—but it still feels strange not being the one there with him. Sure, it means you get a night out with James, but part of you can’t help missing those quiet nights with Henry, just the two of you.

You're so lost in thought that you don’t even notice the man approaching the table. He claps Sirius and Remus, both of whom have their backs to him, on the shoulder with a bit too much enthusiasm. Remus flinches, startled, while Sirius practically leaps out of his seat.

“Boys!” he calls out, a cheery smile on his face, and you can tell he’s been drinking a tad too much. “Long time no see, mates.”

"Colin!" James lights up, his grin matching the man's excitement. You barely recognize him—maybe you’ve seen him in old photos with James and the boys, but it’s clear they haven’t kept in touch much since school. "How’ve you been?"

Colin launches into a debrief about his life after school. And the boys listen and sprinkle in a few comments to show they’re listening. Marlene meets your eye and fakes a yawn, which makes you smile. You weren’t listening all that much, either.

“Wait!” You glance up at Colin’s sharp exclamation and realize he’s looking at you. “You’re Henry’s mum!”

Without thinking, you smile and nod. If you hadn’t had those two drinks, you might have hesitated and weighed your words more carefully. But in your heart, you already considered yourself Henry’s mum—James had even told you that Henry called you that when they were alone. The only thing missing was Henry saying it to your face. “Yeah,” you say softly, a warmth spreading in your chest. “I am.”

James nearly knocks over his drink, freezing mid-reach as your words sink in. His eyes widen in surprise, and the usual confident grin falters, leaving him completely flustered. Sirius and Remus exchange an amused glance, barely containing their smirks at how thoroughly you've caught him off guard.

He knew you hadn’t wanted to go out tonight. The way you’d flashed him that pouty lip when he mentioned the group plans and how you'd been invited—it had almost broken him. Now, as he sat here, he was wishing he’d caved and stayed in with you. 

But then, he wouldn’t have heard you call yourself Henry’s mum.

He hardly hears the conversation happening between you and Colin. Instead, he’s lost in thoughts of making you his wife and giving Henry a sibling—or maybe two or three. His mind flashes with images of you, stomach full and swollen. He likes the idea of everyone knowing how well he’d fucked you. So pretty and so full of him. His throat feels dry, and the last place he wants to be is in this pub. He wants to be home, burying himself inside of you as you beg him to make you a mum.

He stands up abruptly, the chair squeaking as it scrapes against the floor, propelled back with surprising force. All eyes turn toward him, curiosity etched on their faces as he reaches for your purse, which hangs off the back of your chair.

“I’ve forgotten that our babysitter has to go by midnight.” James rushes out. “We have to get home.” 

Colin doesn’t seem to notice James’ sudden urgency, but you do, your brow furrowing as you catch his impatient glance. She didn’t have to leave by midnight—James had told you both that the night would stretch longer. Still, when he stands and extends his hand to you, you take it without hesitation. Your goodbyes to Colin and the others are rushed, barely uttered, before James is already tugging you out of the pub, his grip firm as if he can’t wait another second to get you alone.

“Jamie, what is going on?” You ask as you step into the cool night air, the door slamming shut behind you and effectively cutting off the lively chatter of the pub.

“Fuck, do you know what hearing you call yourself Henry’s mum did to me?” He rasps out your name, and the tone of his voice sends a thrill through you—it's unmistakably filled with desire. You reach his parked car, and he sharply flings open the door for you, the sudden movement catching you off guard. 

You stand there, fully aware that he’s waiting for you to get in, but you don’t move. Instead, you watch him closely, taking in every detail. His cheeks are flushed, and his breathing is uneven, revealing just how much your comment has affected him. The anticipation hangs between you, thick and electric, and you revel in the power you have over him in this moment.

“Baby, get in the car. Please,” He nearly begs, “I can’t wait any longer.”

“You don’t want me in the car?” You tease, the flirtation in your voice almost sending him over the edge. You can see the effect it has on him by the way he inhales sharply, his eyes fluttering shut as if he’s trying to regain control.

“I’m trying to be a gentleman, which means getting you home so I can take you in our bed,” He breathes out. “Get in the car.”

You don’t need any more convincing after that.

please please please consider reblogging and/or commenting. they keep me motivated to continue writing and reblogging spreads my work 🤍

[thewritergx]

Nympho Sam Winchester x F!Reader

Summary: Sam, Dean, and y/n go on a witch hunt. Things take a wrong turn when Sam unknowingly becomes cursed.

Warnings: Guns, Knives, Blood, Sex Pollen, Rough Smut (no mercy, squirting, choking), Dom!Sam but still needy.

Word Count: 5K

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

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I had been hunting with Sam and Dean for about a year now. I met them on a ghost hunt in Texas, where we both showed up to the same house. I was thankful they showed up when they did, saving me from getting blown in the head by a spirit. After the hunt, we kind of just clicked and they decided to take me in. Sam said something about not “letting you leave to die alone on some stupid hunt”. Dean agreed. Honestly, they needed the touch of a woman in the bunker, lighten up the mood some. Sam and I often did research together, finding new monsters and ways to kill them. While Dean and I mostly drank beers and played first person shooter games. Call of duty was our favorite. I was thankful they gave me a permanent place to stay. For The first time in my life I had my own room and the closest thing to family. Bobby quickly became like an uncle to me, helping anytime I needed him. 

After a few hours of driving, we made it to a quiet town outside Charleston. Over the past few weeks there have been a number of strange deaths. A man choking on tens of razor blades, supposedly in candy. A woman drowned while bobbing for apples. It was clear a case was here. Sam and I had hit the books hard, studying a few different monsters that fit the case profile. When we got to the town, a short interview with the man’s wife resulted in many answers. While Sam and I spoke with the widow, Dean without any struggles, was able to find a hex bag behind the fridge and air vent. Clearly, we were dealing with a brave witch. One with a good amount of power. After a few hours of different interviews and flash in our fake FBI badges, Sam was able to locate a house where we presumed the witch dwelled. The perfect hiding place for her curses and magic. It was a lone house in the middle of a field, abandoned for years.

I sat in the back of the Impala as Dean drove behind the house, concealing the car behind a row of thick oak trees. The yard was overgrown, tall dead grass covered the back steps of the house. A fog had rolled in and the wind was blowing like a tornado. The steps to the house were made of cracked cement, gravel-covered and brittle. Inside, the walls were painted a cool brown, but many patches of the paint had piled away, revealing the bare walls underneath. The color, once lively, had turned to a dust dull shell of itself. Huge windows revealed the moonlight. Their wooden panes were broken. Glass was completely missing out of a few while others looked like rocks had been thrown into them, allowing the wind to hiss through. 

The air was thick and musty, dust seen flying with the naked eye. As we stepped, the floorboards creaked, a hiss echoing throughout the house's empty frame. Broken glass and trash littered the floor. We walked through the living room, Sam close behind me with his gun drawn. Symbols of red, maybe blood, were painted along the entrances of door frames. Some I recognized to keep out demons and angels. Dean made his way through a short dark hallway, lit only by the flashlight he carried.  

“Guys, over here”, Dean called out. Toward the end of the hallway was a locked door, which stood out from the lack of dust on the handle bars. 

“Someone has definitely been in here”, Sam whispered. Amongst the rest of the house, the door looked brand new. Dean swiftly kicked the door open, revealing a steep set of stairs descending to the ground. Sam went first, his tall frame obstructing my view below. I went next while Dean traveled close behind. The wooden steps creaked with every movement we made, reverberating all around us. I gripped the handrail, feeling the old rotted wood slightly crack under my grip. We finally reached the bottom of the steps, revealing a big dark room with cluttered boxes and left behind furniture. I searched for a light switch. It was freezing, and I could barely see the walls throughout the darkness. The ceilings were short, Sam almost having to bend over in an attempt to not hit his head. 

“Alright, watch your step”, Sam whispered. Dean and I nodded our heads, trying to step through the piles of old boxes. 

After searching the walls and ceiling, I found a string hanging in the center of the room. I pulled it and a dimly lit light shined. It wasn't bright but it was enough to add light to the space. With more light, we were about to see a corner of the room previously hidden. This corner was different from the rest of the space, less dust and no clutter. Sam approached the corner, finding a broken-down table filled with various items for a spell. It was dark oak, covered with a thick black cloth. It seemed to be a makeshift space for spells and curses, animal bones dangling from the filling above. In the center of the table a bronze bowl sat. A single human heart inside. Blood riddled the table, red drops aligning the bowl. A slightly opened box set next to the bow, filled with stones and various herps. It looked like a mixture of dried roses, egg shells, and a thick white paste I couldn't recognize. There were numerous candles, the wax was still dripping down. Whatever was here was still close by.

“What the hell?” Sam sounded perplexed, trying to figure out what spell the ingredients might be for. He knew he had seen this before but couldn't recall its purpose. Dean and I stood behind him, observing the scene. Each of us gripped our guns, witch killing bullets inside.

As we stood with our backs turned to the rest of the space, the light began to flicker and candles laid out on the table lit themselves. The air grew even colder and a loud scream like cry was let out. The three of us turned around quickly. Shadows advanced across the room as a woman dressed in a long worn-out cloak appeared. Her hair was long and matted. Silently, she brought up her hand, revealing long black nails and unleashing a force that knocked Sam over, onto the table. Sam let out a painful grunt as he crashed into the table. The bowl of blood and the heart spilled over him, and he quickly threw it off him. He laid for a second, turning his back and wincing. Sam let out a gag as he tried to wipe the blood away, remnants stuck to his shirt and hands. 

The witch began to chant something in Latin. A few words I made out were “desiderium, opus, flamma”. Her voice rang out and Dean began to get impatient. Dean shot several rounds, but she’s able to deflect them. She threw the gun from Dean’s hand, sending it flying across the room and landing hard on the floor. With her magic, she lifted Dean and I into the air, choking us as our feet left the ground. Sam was quick to stand, shooting back at her as he pulled himself off the table. It was a good distraction as a couple of bullets flew past her. She vanished, dropping Dean and I onto the floor. I sat, gripping at my neck as I tired to catch my breath fucking witches. She appeared again, grabbing Sam in a chokehold as she gripped tightly across his back. Dean quickly reached behind him, pulling out another good from the holster attached to his belt. The witch was smart, not giving Dean a good angle to shoot her that wouldn't hurt Sam too. In my pocket I pulled out a small hex bag Bobby packed for us. Back to the basics I guess.  I searched the room for a bowl, eyeing the one Sam threw off him a couple feet away. With the witch focused on Sam and Dean, I was able to run and grab it, blood sticky on the outside. The witch began whispering in Sam's ear. He trashed, trying to get her off him. He was able to knock her loose a bit. Dean took his chance to run at her, using the butt of his gun and slamming it against her head. She let out a groan and knocked Dean to the floor. I pulled out a match from my shirt pocket, striking it quickly as I threw the hex back into the bowl. I threw the match into the mixture and chanted the incantation Bobby taught us, “Furor divine virtute in infernum eam detrude” and threw the ingredients on to her. A thick cloud of black smoke engulfed her and blood began to pour from her eyes and mouth. She screamed and flames came from the ground, leaving ash as she quickly vanished to nothing. 

“Glad I practiced that,” I laughed. Sam grabbed Dean off the ground. Dean patted dust and a few spider webs off his pants.

“Dude, you reek”. Dean laughed as he looked Sam up and down, blood covering his shirt, hands, and a bit of his neck. 

“Take me home.” Same frowned, unbuttoning his flannel shirt and throwing it on the ground. 

I took a few pictures of the ingredients used on the table and the heart Sam threw by a mess of boxes and old junk. “For our research,” I explained as the boys asked what I was up to. “Never seen that before,” I mumbled mostly to myself. 

The boys and I made our way out of the darkness of the house, a creepy vibing causing me goosebumps. When we got back to the Impala, Sam quickly unbuttoned his flannel, throwing it in the truck of the Impala. He dug through our duffle bag of supplies, pulling out multiple bottles of water. He poured them onto his chest, trying to wash away as much blood as possible Without any access to soap or a shower. I tried not to stare but it was honestly a great sight to see. 

“Sammy, come on. Ain't staying out here all day”. Dean called as he got into the driver seat, Baby purring out as he turned the key. 

Sam let out a disgusted moan and climbed into the back seat. 

“No one is hurt, right?” I questioned, looking back at Sam and over at Dean. I sat in the shotgun seat, inspecting my body for any cuts. 

“I'm good, just stinky” Sam huffed out. 

“Stinky is an understatement”, Dean shot out. Luckily our hotel wasn’t too far away. Only about 25 minutes out. 

Dean turned up the radio, blasting Metalica. 

“What the hell was that witch saying anyway?” Sam asked. “I didn't recognize those sets of ingredients at all.”

Dean drove with one hand, tapping the steering wheel to the music. “Whatever it is, she's dead now. I say good riddance bitch” he smirked. 

Sam nodded his head, his eyes suddenly heavy. After a few minutes, he was slumped over in the back seat heavily breathing and lightly snoring.

I shot an eyebrow at Dean “he’s tired,” I laughed.

We drove for a few more minutes, finally arriving back at the cheap motel we all shared a room in. I was exhausted. I swear Dean almost passed out on the road a few times himself. Although our fight wasn't much, the day as a whole was long and drowned out. I Knew I wouldn't get much rest tonight, my adrenaline too high to let my body relax. Sam was still knocked out, his body heavy and worn. 

“Sammy, Sammy…” I lightly pushed against him, shaking his body awake. 

Sam opened his eyes, blinking a few times. He rubbed his eyes with his palm, adjusting to the lights of the Impala shining above. 

“We’re here already? Guess I feel asleep”. He mumbled. His voice was always so thick when he woke up. I tried to ignore it and focused on grabbing our stuff out of the car.

Dean parked the car just outside the room. Could never sleep too far from his precious Baby. Sam dragged his body out of the impala. He was a sweaty mess, dragging his finger through his long brown hair. He stumbled as he got out of the car, missing his first step.

“Wow, you okay?” I asked as I grabbed him by the shoulders.

Dean shrugged his shoulders walking closely behind us. 

“I just feel really really hot. I’m nauseous as hell.” Sam took another step forward. I could feel his body shaking. His breathing was unsteady and fast.

“Maybe you got car sick, let's get inside and I'll see what we have”. I held my grip tight on Sam, scared he was going to fall over. 

I supported as much of Sam’s weight as I could as I walked him up the few steps to the door, his big hand gripping tight around my waist. 

“Dude, what happened to you?” Dean asked, opening the door and throwing our bags down on the floor. 

“I don't know, I'm just so hot. Like my skin is crawling on fire. I need a fan” Sam's face was balled up uncomfortably. He kicked his shoes off, throwing them in the corner of the room. I led him to one of the beds, trying to set his heavy body down as softly as possible. 

“Here, just sit. I'm gonna get you something. Try to relax”. I hurried to the kitchen area grabbing some aspirin I sat on the counter earlier and a cold water bottle out of the fridge. 

Sam groaned as he laid face down in the fetal position, waiting for me to get with the medicine. 

“Here take this,” I leaned down, gently placing the pills in his hands and undoing the cap of the water bottle. 

“God, Sam. Your forehead is hot as hell. You need a shower,” I smiled slightly but I tried my best to take the situation seriously. It was clear he was in a lot of pain.

“Okay, okay. I'm gonna go.” Sam dragged his big frame up painfully, his hands close to his lower stomach. “I’m gonna throw up,” he mumbled as he rushed to the bathroom. 

“What the hell is going on with him?” I asked Dean, who had already made his way to the fridge pulling out a beer and a cold pizza. 

“I don't know. I mean he was fine before left that house…” Dean thought for a moment. “The witch. I saw her whispering something to him. You don't think, maybe it's still affecting him?” He had a bit of concern in his face now.

As we spoke, I heard Sam’s groans coming from the bathroom and water starting from the shower. 

“Let me see those pictures you took,” Dean rushed over. He grabbed my phone, scrolling through the pictures. 

“I don't recognize this at all. Seems like a pretty unique spell.” I whispered in an attempt to keep Sam from hearing. 

I listened closely as Sam continued letting out painful groans and heavy breathing from the bathroom. 

“Call Bobby, I'm gonna check on him.” I stood, knocking on the bathroom door. 

“Y-yeah, c-come in.” Sam crocked.

I walked in slowly, steam filling the small bathroom. “Sammy, I thought you were hot. Probably want cold water” I stated confused.

“God, my skin is itching. I need like, I don't know. I need…pressure”, Sam blurted out quickly.

“Pressure?” I asked confused.

“Yeah. I-I don't know. Something is seriously wrong with me. Feel like I'm gonna burst into flames but the hot water is helping.” Sam stood in the shower, his arms out, pressed against the wall to balance him. He tilted his head down, the water bouncing off his long hair and onto his body. As he looked down, he noticed another problem. He was hard. Like harder than he’d ever been his whole life. His dick was bright red and the sound of my voice ringing out across the room made it jump with every word I spoke. 

“Y/n, I-I need you to uh, need to to get out,” Sam’s voice was like a whimper. Pain and need thick from his throat. 

“Oh, okay. Just call my name if you need anything.” I tried to sound pleasant even though he just kicked me out when I was trying to help. 

When I walked out the bathroom, Dean was pacing back and forth. “Okay, well. Hold on, y/n is here now.” Dean put the phone on speaker, Bobby’s voice ringing out.

“Okay, y/n tell me everything you remember.” Bobby spoke.

“Well, there was a human heart, a lot of blood. Some herbs that looked like different flowers. Red roses maybe. There were like fifteen candles. I think they were pink. And she whispered something to Sam. Before that she spoke a few words. I think desiderium, opus, and flamma. That was all I could make out. Honestly, not sure what any of them mean.” I tried to recall as much as the events as I possibly could. 

The door to the bathroom gently opened a crack. “Y/n, could you uh, hand me some clothes?” Sam mumbled. He stood in the doorway, water dripping down his tanned skin. 

I quickly dugg in his bag, pulling out a pair of black boxers and a loose t-shirt. I handed it to him as he poked his hand out slightly through the door. “Here you go.” I smiled. My fingers brushed against slightly and Sam let out a whining sound. Not really like he was in pain, more like he needed something. 

I walked back to the phone, listening for more information from Bobby. “I mean, the roses made me think it’s gotta be a love spell. But the heart? That would be so, etching for intense power. I’m gonna do some research, call you back as soon as I find something.” I heard books opening as Bobby hung up the phone. 

Sam walked out of the bathroom, his hair shaggy and wet. He looked like a mess. 

“Sammy, you good?” Dean asked, meeting Sam’s eyes. 

“Yeah, yeah. I feel a bit better.” He lied, laying back down on the bed. 

“Listen, I'm going to find a gas station that's still open. Get you some tea or some shit.” Dean spoke fast. “Call me if anything changes. Won't be gone long.”

Sam nodded his head, too strung out to answer.

I sat on the edge of the bed offering Sam a smile. He forced one out in return but I could tell it wasn't genuine.

“Can you turn on the Tv, need a distraction?” Sam’s head was tilted back, leaning against a pillow and the bed frame. He closed his eyes tight, and pulled the covers over him. 

“Of course,” I replied, grabbing the remote and flipping to the first free channel. A documentary about space played, “Seems relaxing,” I stated. 

Sam nodded, not really paying any attention to what played. “I'll be right back okay, just stay here.” I walked to the bathroom grabbing my back. I changed quickly into a big shirt, a graphic T with a photo of Star Wars, ditching my sweater and bra on the bathroom floor. I pulled my jeans off and underwear off, replacing it with a pair of black Nike shorts. I was so ready to be out of those sweaty clothes. 

Sam stayed still, counting down the seconds I was gone. Every step I took away from him caused a shoot pain to ring out through his body. He was craving me, his dick still has hard ever, even after trying to jerk off in the shower. He brought his hand down to his member, snaking it under his shorts and pumping up and down a bit. It provided a bit of relief but he needed more. Needed you gripping onto him. 

When I walked back into the room, Sam was in the same position. His face was a bit more constricted than before. He looked at me, his eyes half opened. “That's my shirt,” he mumbled.

“Sorry, it was the first thing I grabbed when we left the bunker.” I smiled, climbing back in the bed next to him. “Need anything?” I asked softly.

“Yeah, I think. I um…not sure how to say this but I think I need you” Sam looked into my eyes, pleading.

“Well, I'm right here. Just tell me what you need me to do.” I sat up more, meeting his eyes.

“No. I mean like. God…My head was killing me but the closer you get, the better i’m feeling. It’s like my body is aching for you.” Sam’s face was serious but gentle.

“I don't understand what you mean“. My cheeks turned a bright red.

From across the room, my phone rang out, a high-pitched melody playing. I jumped up, grabbing it from the bar. “It’s Bobby”.

“Y/n? Think I found something…Something weird. Real weird. Bobby's voice rang out as I put him on speaker.

“Well, spit it out, Bobby. What are you waiting for?” I asked impatiently.

“Okay, okay. I think Sam is under a nympho spell.”

“Nympho spell? What the hell is that?”

“Well from what I'm reading, it's a sex spell. Kind of like what a siren uses. Lowers men into a witch's trap so they are more easily seduced.” 

“What? So it's like viagra in a spell? How do we fix it?” I looked over at Sam, his face hit and flushed.

“Well, the lore says men who fought off the spell but die from an intense fever. So as nicely as I can say this, Sam needs a piece of ass.” Bobby sounded a bit grossed out by that. 

“Okay, but the witch is dead? What am I supposed to do, stand on a corner and wait for a lady to offer herself right up?”

“No, no. The spell is focused on one person. You just need to figure out who that is.”

I thought for a moment, taking in Bobby’s words. “That makes sense…Bobby, I gotta go.” I hung up the phone quickly, meeting Sam’s eyes from across the room. He brought a pillow up to his hips, gripping it tight.  

I grabbed the phone again and called Dean.

“Hey, is he good?” Dean spoke.

“Talked to Bobby and um. Well, he basically told me Sam has a sex curse that can only be cured if we…ya know…do it.”

Dean was quiet for a moment before he started laughing. “So y'all gotta, what, just fuck?” He blurted out. 

“Listen, just don't come back to the room. I'll see if this works. And Dean?…I never want to speak about this night ever again.” I whispered.

“Alright alright, just be careful. Don't do anything you don't want to. I'll get the room next door.” 

I hung up, placing the phone back on the counter and walking over to Sam. I swallowed deeply. It's not like I haven't thought about it before, just thought it would happen differently, I guess. 

“Sammy, I think you’re right. Think you might actually really need…me.” I approached him slowly, kind of afraid of what my words might do to him. Sam was gripping the sheets under him, biting his lip so hard I think he might have drawn blood. 

“I think you're under a spell, sammy. One I can help with, if you’ll let me.” I stood at the foot of the bed waiting for his answer. God, okay. Please, Please. Just need to make this go away. Please.” He sounded almost drunk, slurring and groaning at each plea. I can't lie, it was making me go crazy too. 

“Okay, I will. I promise this will work”. I hoped it would anyway.

I swallowed and made myself more confident. I can do this. I will do this. Besides, I couldn't just let him sit here and die like this. I climbed up the bed, sprawling myself on top of Sam. My hips lined up with his. I immediately noticed Sam became relaxed, the grip on the sheets loosen and his eyes finally open. 

“Y/N, what are you doing?” Sam spoke, his voice calm now. His hand immediately reached for my waist, pushing me down on top of him. “I don’t know if I can stop if you let me start. I swear I never felt a need like this before.” Sam's eyes pleaded with me. 

“It’s okay… I just want to make you better. Just do whatever you need. I’ll be fine.” I met Sam’s eyes, smiling a bit. I was nervous and I knew he was right. He wouldn't be able to hold back at all. 

Sam looked me in the eyes before quickly slamming me down on the mattress, hovering over me. “I’m so sorry y/n but this is gonna hurt.” Sam spoke before pinning my arms above my head and crashing his lips against mine. 

He let out a groan at the kiss, bucking his hips into me for any sort of friction he could manage. He tasted like mint and smelled like fresh pine. I tried to keep up with the kiss as he sucked my bottom lip, dancing his tongue around mine. 

I roughly ended the kissing, ripping my shirt shorts off and throwing them across the room. The air sent a cold chill through me. Sam placed a string of kisses down my neck, sucking hard leaving a trail of dark purple bruises after every touch. A part of me loved that they would stay for days. 

Sam quickly pulled his own short off, his cock free. I watched as he grabbed his thick member, pumping it roughly. He had the biggest dick ive ever seen in person. Probably around eight inches and at least an one and a half inches thick. God, would that even fit? I guess it made sense, seeing as how the rest of his body was so big. 

Sam brought my legs up, putting him around his shoulder and lined his cock up with my entrance. I brace myself as he slammed into me without any warm up. No mercy. 

He dragged himself through me, slamming into my cervix so hard I would feel it for days. “Fuck sammy, feel you in my stomach.” I screamed.

“Be a good girl for me, give me that tight pussy.” Sam growled loudly, ripping through me with so much force I was already coming. A thick clear liquid leaked out of me, onto the base of Sam’s cock. 

Sam showed no signs of stopping, no care that I was already a creaming mess under him. He kept his pace fast and rough. “Fucking clench that pussy around me. Such a good little girl.” Sam growled. 

He brought a hand to my neck, gripping it tight. It was the perfect pressure at first, but he gripped down tighter, making all the air escape me. I tried to get him to stop but my words only came out as interrupted whines. He gripped harder, causing my yes to fall a bit. The room spun and I began seeing black. I swear I actually passed out before Sam finally let go, pumping into me harder and harder. 

“Sammy, please. It's too big, too much.” I did my best to get him to slow down. 

“No, it’s not. Be a good girl and take it.” He replied back. 

I felt myself go over the edge again, digging my nails hard into his back. I knew my nails would leave marks. Sam showed no signs of pain, in fact I think he liked it. 

“Tried to warn you, baby. Told you it would hurt.” Sammy mumbled, “Open your mouth little girl.”

I followed his instructions, a bit scared what he would do if I didn't. Sam leaned down, holding my cheeks and spitting roughly in my mouth. It was hot and thick as I swallowed, causing me to gag a bit. 

“Such a good girl. I love you, you know that?” Sam finally slowed his pace for a moment, meeting his eyes with mine. “Fucking love you so much, swear I always have.” He pressed his lips onto mine again. This kiss was different, slow and gentle. 

“Oh fuck, Sammy. I’m gonna cum again. Please. I can’t. I can't” My words were like cries as the head board slammed against the wall of the hotel.  

“Mmh, I know you can baby. Know you have more in you. Don’t give up on me now.” He mocked me, using a bit of a whining voice. 

His cock was driving me crazy. I could hardly keep my legs on his shoulders anymore. 

Another orgasm ripped through me. I started feeling like I was going to pee, a sensation I never felt heavy in the back of my pussy. “Sammy, Plea-”.

Sam cut me off as he quickly pulled his couch out, sending mu juices out like a water hose. “Fuck baby, got you fucking squirting for me already.” Sam bragged. 

I screamed his name, my back arching off the bed as he slammed back into me over and over. Tears filled my eyes as I begged him to cum, wet streaks falling down my face. He whipped them away with his thumb and brought it to my lips. I parted them slightly and began sucking. “That’s it baby. Just relax, let daddy do his job.” Same whispered deep in my ear. The name echoed through my thoughts. Didn’t expect him to like that. 

“Fuck, daddy. Please. I can't cum anymore. Daddy, please cum. Please cum inside me.” my arms fell by my side, no strength to keep them up anymore. 

“Fuck y/n so nasty for me. Want me to fucking cum? Breed this tight little pussy, huh?” He was condensing, slapping his balls against the base of my pussy like a maniac. 

“Please, Daddy. Just want you to cum.” I moaned weakly. 

Sam growled as he sped up his pace, moaning my name over and over again. I felt a warm liquid shoot into me as he began slowing down, dropping his body weight on top of me. 

I moaned and cried as I felt him go soft inside me, only pulling out when rolled over. 

Sam turned to me, placing soft kisses onto my lips and dragging me onto him in a hug.

“Y/N, you okay? I’m so sorry I didn’t mean to hurt you? What do you need?’ Sam rambled as I shook on top of him, a mess of juices. 

“Let me clean you up.” Sam stood walking to the bathroom and running warm water under a rag. He softly spread my legs a bit, whipping up and sign of him. I moaned, closing my legs to try and stop the sensation and pressure on my clit.

 Oh Fuck, I, bruised you. I’m so sorry y/n. Let me see.” Sam spoke as he moved my hair away from my neck, a string of hickey and bruised from his finger bright red.

“I-I’m okay. Just need you here with me” I moaned. 

Sam gently sat back on the bed, caressing my back and letting out quiet “Shh’s”.

“I did mean it. When I said I loved you,” Sam quietly spoke, placing soft kisses on my shoulder. 

“I know. Love ya too, Sammy”.

[drarry-mini-bang]

Drarry Mini Bang - Week 1 round-up

On Our Side (M, 46k) by 🖊️ PhantomGrimalkin 🎨@sweatersinthesummer

Summary: The war is over, and Harry is trying not to be obsessed with Draco Malfoy. Which would be easier if Andromeda’s desire to reunite her family didn't result in Harry and the Malfoys being invited to the same events. After a few months without insults or fights, Harry recognizes his attraction and figures out how to ask Draco on a date. Their relationship is surprisingly easy, unfortunately Harry’s life is still complicated. They're stuck navigating past traumas, the press, Black family drama, a child that no one knows exists, and a quirk of wizard biology that was left out of his sex education.

like a wheel spoke (T, 34k) by 🖊️ justdistress (ao3: harDeehar)🎨 @stazvlt

Summary: When Andromeda is hospitalized and three-year-old Teddy's temporary fate is left in their hands, Harry realizes he and Draco are not as incompatible as he thought. The exact opposite, actually. Somehow, this makes everything worse before it gets better.

Fake Happy (T, 10k) by by 🖊️@a-sentimental-man 🎨 @anzukero

Summary: Happy birthday, Harry," Draco told him, his voice soft and fond. Harry blinked, taken aback for a moment because⁠—because Draco never sounded like this, apart from a few moments where Harry could swear he dreamt it. If he thought Draco was handsome before, he was breathtaking now, gaze soft on him. "Didn't think I would forget, did you?" Harry's just broken up with Ginny⁠—if months ago could be considered "just"⁠—trying to get through his job while hating every minute of it. The only highlight of his job is Draco Malfoy. That is, until he wakes up on his 21st birthday with a small dragon tattoo on his wrist, the unmistakable mark of his soulmate.

Thorns (E, 68k) by 🖊️@orange-peony 🎨@itsphantasmagoria and @pocketlessdruid

Summary: Harry looks at his reflection in the mirror and starts his morning routine by putting a Glamour on. After a moment, it’s not Harry Potter who stares back at him, but Gustav Meris, renowned magical portrait artist. Too bad Draco Malfoy has returned to England after ten years to ask for his portrait to be painted. 

The Haunting of Hogwarts (M, 84k) by 🖊️@briamarie38 🎨@navi1088 and @regretfulcorrine 

Summary: Twelve years after the Battle of Hogwarts, Harry Potter, barely clinging to his reasons for being an Auror, is asked by cursebreaker Draco Malfoy, his best friend and not-so-secret crush for the last decade, to help investigate a developing case at Hogwarts. Animals are showing up dead and the ghosts are acting weird. After some investigation, it seems it was all a bit alarmist until the next full moon and they've got a victim drained of blood and essence on their hands. Before they know it, they're knee-deep in dark magic, and Harry is in a race against time to find the culprit before Draco is taken as collateral. Featuring lots of banter, an irresponsible level of cuddles, and drarry shippers Ron and Hermione. 

[silverstonesainz-archive]

🫧 carlos + fake dating

(but not like a whooooole long fake dating, more like a "hey, i know u dont know me, but ______ is right there and i need you to pretend you're my s/o)

kissing strangers [cs55]

summary: the story of how you got a boyfriend in exchange for beer. note: yes i wrote this as a blurb too. and yes ducky is still the nickname bc i actually hate writing 'y/n'.

“ducky, i just don’t understand why you just won’t go on one date with me. just one, i promise i’ll make it worth your while.” 

you roll your eyes, grimacing at the nickname. “for the last time chris, no. i don’t wanna go on a date with you.” 

you had barely walk through the door of the bar, your old high school classmate already pestering you for a date. he was hot on your tail as you make your way through the bar, waving the bartender over your way. 

“why not? c’mon ducky i-“ 

“stop calling me ducky, chris. and i don’t have to tell you why not, just take the million no’s i’ve given you and go.” 

the bartender has finally made his way over to you, taking your order and making your drink quickly. chris is relentless, still trying to convince you that a date with him would change your life. you’ve tuned him out for the most part, knowing full well that no matter what you say he wouldn’t give up. you take and pay for your tequila sunrise and slide off the barstool. 

“have a good night chris,” you pat his chest and walk away, weaving yourself through the crowd of dancing bodies in hopes of losing the man. but to no avail, he was still trying to get to you. you were thankful for the few people who recognized him stopping in the midst of the crowd, giving you time to hide. 

in a fit of desperation, you grab onto a taller man by the arm and pull his attention off his phone. he has floppy dark hair and strong features, stubble sprinkling his jaw. he furrows his thick brows at you. 

“hi, i know you don’t know me, but this fucking weirdo that won’t leave me alone is right there and i just need you to pretend to be in love with me.” you look down at his beer and back up at him, “i’ll buy you a round if you say yes.”

 he chuckles, slipping his phone into his back pocket. “quite the offer you’ve given me, how can i say no.” 

you breath a sigh of relief, smiling widely. you’re just about to introduce yourself when you see chris beginning to move towards you and your new friend, in your peripheral vision. without much thinking, you grab the man’s face towards and smash your lips onto his. his hands grip your waist, pulling you flush against him. his lips mold into yours, kissing you feverishly. you feel his tongue trace your bottom lip, sending a shiver up your spine. he was a really good kisser, you really lucked out.

you take a chance, popping one eye open to see if chris was still making his way over to you. he was in fact, right in front of you and your fake boyfriend. you jump slightly, pulling away from the kiss and smile, flustered.

“chris, jeez.” you say bashfully, leaning into the man in front of you.

“who’s this, ducky?”

“ducky?” the guy whispers, tilting his head in confusion at you. you ignore him, looking up at chris.

“this is my boyfriend… uh-“

“carlos,” he takes one hand off your waist, outstretching his hand to offer a handshake. chris shakes his hand, eyeing him skeptically. 

“didn’t know you had a boyfriend ducky, you should’ve said so.” the boy looks at you, eyes flicking from carlos’s hands on your waist and your face. 

“well no should’ve been enough for you.” 

the boy holds his hands up, nodding. “i’ll leave you alone. sorry for your troubles. nice meeting you man.” 

and with that, he walks off. you sigh in relief, stepping off the man and smiling gratefully up at him. before you could offer thanks, carlos’s lips are back on yours. you can’t help the smile on your lips, kissing him back for a moment before pulling away in a fit of giggle.

“sorry,” you mumble, “i try not to make a habit of kissing strangers.”

“mmm, i don’t mind.” he mumbles, leaning into you to kiss you again. you grin, placing your four fingers on his mouth and shaking your head. “aw c’mon ducky.” 

you scowl playfully, “no. not ducky.”

"yes ducky. i like the name. ducky... it cute, unique-"

"i'll kiss you if you stop calling me that."

"deal."

[thatsdemko]

fake it? part two - p.gavi

part one series masterlist

masterlist

warnings: teasing + sarcasm

face claim: Olivia Rodrigo

a/n: to check out pairings please check part one!

it had been a whole week since the red carpet fiasco. your name was stuck on all social media for hours after the event, following into the next morning. your eyes were glued to your phone you barely got any sleep.

somehow having drifted off to sleep you were woken by a phone call from your mother. she must’ve seen the news by now you thought to yourself before quickly picking up, “hola, mama how are you?”

“gavi? the eighteen year old. gavi?” she repeated the question multiple times before allowing you to finally share your words and how things went down. she laughed once you finished your story, the public was going to have a field day if she chose to comment on the relationship.

“I don’t believe you. the boy has to be in love with you! I saw the way he looked at you on that carpet.” she gushed over pablo and his traits, your attention was lost on the pictures of you both that showed up on your twitter feed of the two of you. you zoomed in on the picture your mother must’ve been ranting about. you saw how he positioned himself in front of you to adjust your dress, you saw where his hand was placed, and where his eyes were looking. you couldn’t help yourself, but allow yourself to feel something for the younger boy.

“are you listening to me? I asked when can we meet him!” your mothers voice booming through the speaker of your phone pulled you away from twitter and tapping back to the conversation.

“I don’t know, mom. it’s not even a real relationship? why would you want to meet him?”

“just in case you fall in love with him.”

—

to make your mother happy, he agreed to dinner with just your mother. there was no way you could go home with pablo gavi to your father, and then try to explain your situation. it would be near impossible for him to listen without trying to strangle the young man.

“just remember to hold my hand, I’m sure there will be paps somewhere.” his eyes scanned the surroundings in the car trying to figure out if the coast was clear. your mother picked a spot far off the grid that you were sure no man with a camera would want to go and chase you down, but you were sure there was somebody out there.

“yeah I know.” you rolled your eyes in annoyance before you both got out of the car and he took your hand in his making your way into the restaurant where your mother was already sat waiting.

once you got inside, both of your hands slipped back to your sides and you guided him to your mothers table in the back of the restaurant. you passed a few elder couples on the way there, you were sure none of them kept up with fc Barcelona players dating lives, but they did recognize the midfielder.

“ah, my favorite fake couple.” your mother rose from her chair immediately wrapping you in her embrace. it wasn’t like you hadn’t seen each other last week, but to Pablo it looked like you hadn’t seen each other in months.

“Pablo, this is my mom.” you gestured to her and before he could stick his hand out your mother was wrapping him in her arms. she was not one to shake hands.

“I don’t do handshakes, gavi.” she pinched the skin on his arm before returning back to her seat and you all sat down for dinner. you were thankful for the privacy of the back of the restaurant so nobody had to hear your mother spilling the details you filled her in on.

“so my daughter is only good enough to fake date? you don’t like her that much?” you watched his cheeks flush red stuttering to find words. he was lucky your mother started laughing which gave him a sense of relief.

“she’s just joking with you. don’t take her too seriously.”

“I’m just as serious as your relationship with my daughter, gavi.” your mom chuckled at her words allowing the young boy to feel safe in her presence. he smiled as well watching you both move on to a side conversation.

“so she knows?” Pablo looked between the two of you. he didn’t want too many people outside of the little circle of you, him, and pedri to know. he knew he could trust the older woman who sat across from him, and allowed him to possibly toy your emotions. she knew one of you was bound to fall in love.

“I know that what you’re doing is only going to make one of you fall in love. and I have my bets on you.” her index finger pointed right at him seeing his skin turn pale and his eyes to open bigger.

“now let’s order, I’m hungry!”

enews

liked by pedri, leomessi, _rl9, and 1,300,605 others

enews who is the new Barcelona wag that appeared on Pablo Gavi’s arm? her name is y/n y/l/n and we got all the dets on her! click the link in our bio to find out more!

view all 6,110 comments

pedri @ yourusername 😃😃

| liked by pablogavi

usern1 no gavi is taken :(

user2 she didn’t even look happy to be next to him on the red carpet

usern3 not him going for someone older

usern4 she’s so pretty like what?? 😭😭 already a big fan of her @ pablogavi

[thehistoriangirl]

The Tides Have Veiled [Eight]

Viktor x Fem!Reader----Gothic AU/ Spooky Sea/---3.6K-----SFW**

> MASTERLIST &lt; <- Previous // Next ->

Synopsis:  Piltover the Old has an old lighthouse that looms over an abandoned port. From the house in the wailing cliff’s edge, the lighthouse owner watches that the beacon is being lighten up each time darkness arrives, so that monsters wouldn't dare to crawl inland, or so legends say. Both buildings are haunted, maybe even the man himself, by both past and present ghosts.

Surprisingly, the keeper’s work is beyond turning on the beacon every night— but the rest is on you to discover.

Chapter Summary: Strange things happen in the city for those who aren't used to its busy streets, so far afar from the sea. Though the water is never so far away to not reach out for you... and maybe not just you.

Tags: Strangers to Lovers | Slow Burn | Fake Marriage | Fluff and Angst | **Mentions and Symptoms of an Unspecified Ilness (TM) | **Mentions of Blood | **Mentions and Imaginery of Drowning | Teeny Tiny Bit Lil Pining | Nightmares|

Taglist: @bittercyder @lunar-monster @local-mr-frog

Eight: The Sea's Call [Pt. 2]

It was strange to see Viktor framed by the bright morning light of the city; hues of red shining through the locks of his hair poking around his ears, the freckles of brown embedded inside his amber eyes.

You couldn’t stop from feeling heat pooling in your stomach when you remembered that you had kissed him minutes ago, a tingling sensation where his lips had brushed yours.

Stop. Focus. You’re staring.

Oh no.

“Is something the matter?” Viktor said, observing you from the corner of his eye before looking away, the cobblestone of the park nearby was uneven under your heels, almost twisting your ankle when he caught your wandering eyes.

“Ah, no, no. Um… I’m just watching the sun.” Why couldn’t just be like him? Viktor looked unfazed by the new sensation of a ring around his finger.

He quirked an eyebrow, amusement inking his tone. “I suppose it’s a rare sight back home.” You nodded, feeling your words stolen from your mouth, any other lie you were about to concoct gone. “I was thinking…” he ventured. “If you’re interested to see my workplace?”

“You mean the Academy?”

“No. For now, I work as a researcher in the Natural Science Museum. It is still managed by the Academy, of course, but I don’t work as a teacher per se.”

 “A museum? Sounds interesting.” You paused, remembering the towers reaching the sky with its black needles, and multicolor glass windows from the main Academy building. “Is it pretty?”

Viktor turned to see you, a soft smile barely curving his lips. “I’ve seen prettier things,” he said, eyes twinkling. “But yes, I’d say it is.”

Hands started to fall from your hairstyle when you nodded, recognizing the trolley station at the opposite corner of the park, surrounded by tiny pine trees. “Let’s go,” you said, almost dragging him toward the car when you saw the small train-like vehicle doubling the avenue. “Before it left us!”

Viktor chuckled, your hand firm in his. “Patience, patience. You’re going to make me fall.”

“I’ll hold you,” you replied, quicker than your brain could analyze the words to tell you that maybe you shouldn’t have told them. “I mean, so you won’t fall.”

Wide golden eyes trained on you for a moment too long before parting from your face, the luminous white light hitting the trolley’s window showing Viktor’s cheeks covered in a faint pink due to the warm day ahead.

“Right,” Viktor muttered, squeezing your hand to guide you inside the trolley before letting go. “Of course.”

Black marble floor echoed with each one of your steps, and some light from the exhibits dimmed without the main chandeliers lit, suspended in the middle of the rooms. You had stopped to admire the building, a new marvel of architecture.

While the Academy was built taking a gothic cathedral in mind, the Natural Science Museum was made of an iron skeleton that could be visible in the arches holding the curved ceiling; gigantic panels of glass let you see the city below.

It made you remember the beacon’s room; and you couldn’t stop from imagining being a keeper here, looking at the city sleep, with only the streetlights as company on those moonless nights.

Here in the flicking landscape, where the past had to place to stay unless encased behind a glass vitrine, in the darkness of a storage room practically forgotten.

You stopped somewhere halfway into the main lobby, following the sign of one of the permanent exhibits toward a side room, the words: The Deepest Fears: Monsters and Legends of the Ocean, prickled your curiosity. Viktor's name shown on a corner of it alongside other researchers.

The exhibit was barely lightened by the tiny beacons framing each specimen and diagram, the first big panel showing an introductory banner with a collage of images, one in which you saw Piltover the Old’s lighthouse in a white-and-black photograph.

The Calling. So it had a name, then.

Stepping further inside, the animals mounted behind the glass looked amorphous, and for a moment you were back in Viktor's office, with the stale salty air, the humidity that seemed to cling into the wallpaper, wanting to seep and break into the surface.

Aquatic serpents bigger than your body, pools of formaldehyde filled with rests of giant squids, teeth of monstrous, giant sharks; your view swept all of them, stopping in one figure that looked almost human against the dimming room.

You felt a weird icking in the pit of your stomach, heavy and unavoidable. The space the specimen occupied was familiar somehow, was it… the once occupant of one of Viktor's entire walls on his basement office?

The siren?

Viktor touched the small of your back, and you opened your eyes, jumping away. “Eh, pardon me. I lost you for a moment,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “Let’s go. I’ll show you all the exhibits once the museum opens for the public.”

He pushed you gently in the opposite direction, still smelling the salty marine breeze in this closed space, so far away from the coast. It’s just my imagination, you repeated, like a plea, inside your head. I’m homesick.

Back to the lobby, Viktor walked you toward a simple wooden door that read Authorized personnel only, gesturing for you to go inside, a nude hallway welcoming you as he clicked the door closed behind you.

“The elevator is in the fourth door at the left,” Viktor told you, passing next to you to take the lead, his legs brushing your skirts in the narrow space. Much more so when you got inside the tiny metal cage next to him, your shoulders almost brushing.

“I apologize for not letting you see the whole exhibit,” he said as you felt a pull upward from your insides, the cage lifting with a muffled mechanical rattle. “Some security guards don’t like people visiting them unless the museum is open.” Viktor shrugged. “Sometimes, specimens get stolen from the storage rooms, so you can’t never be less careful.”

“You helped create that exhibit,” you chimed in, planning to say it more like a question, and less of an.. accusation of sorts.

Viktor tilted his head to the side. “… yes, I collaborate in the elaboration of all exhibits regarding marine specimens.” He observed you from the metallic reflection of the elevator’s doors. “Why?”

“I saw the lighthouse,” you muttered, feeling a bit stupid. Well, of course. The nearest settlement from the sea was Piltover the Old, and the city was called after said coastal town; it was only obvious they would have such archives of information about the beacon.

He turned to look at you, this time without the help of any reflections, expecting you to continue once your thoughts had been crafted.

“It’s named, ‘The Calling’,” you said. “Did you know it?”

“Yes, I did.”

You frowned slightly. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Viktor tapped his cane on the floor, the elevator ringing the arrival at the fourth floor, gazing toward the hallway extending in front of you. "Nobody had called it like that since a long time ago."

He stepped out of the elevator, using his cane to stop the doors from closing as your frozen figure regained some senses, though you couldn't stop from asking, ignoring the still silence hung between you two:

"Do you know why is it called that way?"

Light flooded inside the hallway, big windows flanking both sides of the building with a wall separating left and right, filled with offices.

"No," he replied after a long pause in which you thought he wouldn't answer. "I suppose there has to be a chronic about it somewhere in the History Faculty of the Academy."

Some people were already there, mostly the cleaning services, so Viktor slipped his hand into yours, walking side by side toward his office, muttering good morning back to every person who greeted him first.

"I'll see if I can search for it one of these days."

His office was little and cluttered, twin shelves covering the side walls, the desk tucked in the middle, all covered in notes scattered everywhere, filled with scribbles in blue and black ink, books open with paper sheets as marks inside its pages.

Viktor took a pair of coffee mugs and what seemed to be tiny glass bottles that you had seen in the only pharmacy in Piltover the Old, his hands shoving them away, inside a drawer, though you could still see the rim stains of coffee in some of his research papers.

“What do you think?” he said, gesturing for you to sit in the only seat available: behind his desk.

“It looks like your office back home. Minus the light.” You pointed to the window, seeing buildings next to each other in a perpetual hug, streets moving fast and filled with tiny dots, like those of an anthill. "It's pretty," you commented afterward because you didn't know if he was looking for compliments for it.

You could imagine him, back bent while reading some document, writing away as all white light morphed into yellow and then orange before dissipating. How many nights he had spent here, accompanied by his desk lamp, a tiny beacon that may or may not make him remember the lighthouse? Make him remember you.

Don’t be stupid.

Your gaze localized the spines of all the books tucked into the shelves in whatever order let Viktor keep as many inside a row as possible, the titles varying from new white or gold lettering to worn-out voids of black where a name ought to be. His mandatory degrees are on the wall, encased like the specimens down in the exhibits.

“I didn’t know you had studied Literature," you said, pointing to a bachelor's degree next to a specialty in Folk Literature.

“Oh? May I ask why that is?”

You shrugged. “You’re a scientist, aren’t you? Don’t you think Folk Literature is everything people tell you not to do while in science?” You said, remembering your mom’s old books about scientific studies.

Viktor sat on the edge of the desk. “I believe there are some things that aren’t meant to be studied scientifically.” He paused. “Like art.”

“Do you make art, Viktor?” You wanted to see if there was something of his creation in the house, like a forgotten poem or a tale, a watercolor, even.

He shook his head. “Not anymore.” He chuckled. “Though I particularly like to hear people sing.” Reclined on his right hand, he turned to observe you. “Do you sing, by any chance?”

A nervous giggle bubbled out your lips. “Maybe I do, though not that well.”

“Perhaps I could hear you someday,” Viktor commented, and you laughed, not knowing if it was meant to be a joke or not. And too embarrassed to ask.

“Viktor, are you okay?” you said, leaning closer to him so he could hear you among the voice of the filled restaurant, a cool breeze moving the locks of your hair you had decided to set free after visiting the museum.

You were almost finishing your food, while he barely had eaten his now cold spinach cream, playing with the cherry tomatoes on his chicken salad.

He smiled. “Why, yes. Of course. I’m just… not hungry.”

Frowning you looked at him unabashedly; the dark eyebags, hollow cheeks, and paleness of his skin.

“You haven’t eaten anything since we left the town, Viktor.” Settling your napkin aside, you were about to stand up. “Let’s go find a doctor.”

Viktor looked at his plate, lips pursed in a pout. “Don’t worry about me, I’ll be fine.”

“I don’t believe you.”

He sighed. “It always happens to me when I’m in the city. Must be something about the air pollution. I have some medicine in the apartment.”

“Then let’s go!” you said, not caring about the nearby customers looking at you with frowns. “You’ll get sick if you don’t eat soon.” Despite his obvious sickly state, Viktor chuckled. “What’s so funny?” you grumbled, looking for a nearby waiter to ask for the check, and to give you Viktor’s unfinished food as takeout.

“Nothing.” He stood up once everything was settled, his body wobbling more than it was normal. “Huh.”

“Careful.” You rushed to his side, taking him by the arm to stop him from toppling over. “What are you feeling?”

“Just… dizziness,” he mumbled, looking where your hand had taken his arm in a gentle grasp; cheeks tinted red.

You put your free hand on his forehead, golden eyes widened at the gesture. “You’re hot. I think you may have a fever.”

“I’m fine,” Viktor said, stepping away from your touch. “But if it will make you feel calmer, let’s go.”

He wasn’t, but you couldn’t deny how of a good actor he was, his jaw tense to keep the pain inside, steps still firm and continuous, though Viktor leaned too much on his cane. A whole act that only practice could make convincing.

Drowning his objections, you put him in bed, helping take his shoes off as he grumbled that you were exaggerating; though by this point he had become the color of the bedsheets.

You patted a cold cloth on his forehead, dabbing away the beads of cold sweat his shivers produced. Eyelids fluttering close and open, a hazy golden gaze trying to focus on your face leaning closer to his, brows knitted in focus.

“Viktor,” you said. “Viktor, tell me where you keep the medicine.”

He groaned. “I… I promise that it has never been this bad before,” he mumbled, more for himself than for you.

“Viktor, that isn’t important now…”

“I wonder…” Viktor blinked his eyes open, observing your face, from your eyes to your lips, and then back up again before closing them. “They’re… in the kitchen. The cupboard with the tea. It’s labeled.”

You blinked, confusion making your brain work slower, or perhaps it was due to the strange flutter in your stomach. Very childish of you. “Huh,” you said. “I’ll be back right away. Please, do not move.”

You stood up from the edge of the mattress, feeling his hand brushing yours. “Viktor?”

He sighed, his eyes closed so you couldn’t read into them. “It’s… nothing. Thank you.”

You had to climb into a chair to reach the top shelf of the cupboard, with dry leaves labeled inside white ceramic jars until you found the one you were looking for, making him a salvia tea and retrieving some meds from the bottom of the cupboard, a bottle of aspirins with barely a couple of them inside.

You carry it all back to the bedroom on a wooden tray, finding a void in the dipped mattress in which Viktor was supposed to be.

“Viktor?” You say, settling everything on the nightstand, hands pushing aside papers and pens. Then, a cough echoed from the bathroom, the door ajar instead of fully closed, letting you see a line of light filtering from under the entrance. Frozen, with sudden terror, your body took more time than normal to react.

The bathroom door was cold under your rigid fingers, heart climbing to your throat. Inside, the light hit the white mosaics, blinding you until Viktor’s figure materialized in front of you, crouched in front of the lavatory, some of its surface stained with a rosy mix of water and blood.

“Oh my god, Viktor!” You said, collapsing to his side, not really knowing what to do. You could smell the salty taste of blood clinging into the air.

Despite his body jerking with every cough, he had enough force to push you away.

“Viktor…”

“No, don’t come any closer,” he uttered, his coldness piercing like a dagger through your heart. With the back of his hand, he swiped the bold away, though there was still a pink trace of diluted blood in the corner of his mouth. His eyes shone against the lamp, and you couldn’t pinpoint if the unnatural glow was because of the artificial bulb or because his eyes were brimming with tears. “I want… I want to be alone. I’m going to take a bath.”

“Then let me—”

“I appreciate your help, but…” He curled into himself, pushing his hair away from his brow. “I don’t want you to see me like this.”

You bit a reply, sinking your teeth into your lips. But what to say? You didn’t have any right to chime into his life, and he had chosen not to accept your help, so there was nothing you could do. Being his fake wife didn't mean he was going to open up to you overnight—if at all. Backtracking your steps, you let the bathroom door open, only to hear it slam close once you were in the hallway, pushed by Viktor's cane.

"I left your meds on the nightstand," your voice echoed, dull against the wooden door. At least he couldn't hear the hurt bleeding from your tone with the wooden surface between you.

He didn't answer, and if he did, your ears were incapable of taking in any sound. Until hours later into the night, with the silence clinging into the witching hours, the apartment lit with the orange glow of the lamp in the living room, barely casting any hues into the hallway you had curled against. Hoping to hear anything from inside the bathroom besides some cough that echoed through your bones as if it had been your chest that was ripping.

The floor was cold and hard, muscles aching every time you moved your legs and back into another position. Viktor didn't wish for your company, or your help today. But maybe he could change his mind, maybe something would happen that would push him into calling you; and what if you were gone by now? Asleep on the couch? You knew he wouldn't dare to wake you up.

You couldn’t with the idea of something happening to him and not noticing.

Shadows crept all around you, the whole apartment growing like a monster, with its eyes set on you, the corners too pronounced, the perfect lair of a predator.

Between the sudden coughs, you heard the familiar splash of water; a wave arriving to shore. The gnawing cold followed; clinging to your feet, legs, hands. It was too dark to see them clearly, but you felt the water clinging to your body, the ever-growing wave escaping from beneath the bathroom door.

Jumping to stand up, you pounded on the door, but it just wouldn't bulge. Your hands were blue from the freezing water, and if that was how your hands looked, you didn't want to imagine how Viktor would be, lying against the cold tile.

Viktor! You wanted to scream, but when you opened your mouth, only water poured outside, one growing from inside your lungs, burning on its way out your throat, salty and heavy like hopeless tears.

Please… you thought, hands scratching the wall to plead for air, but all you could sense was water. The water coming from the bathroom, the one coming from your body; bubbles and foam as if you were in the sea.

A water grave, just like your mother’s.

Did she… feel this way? A burning sensation on the chest, as if lava were inside your nose and throat, setting ablaze the fear and dread of death to let the water take over, leaving only a carcass behind.

You collapsed on your knees, rolling to the side; the water rippling with your hit, surrounding you like an invincible enemy. You couldn't even cry, for your tears were mixed with water.

The scream of the cliff calling you, muffled at first, the light of the living room now gone.

Everything was water. Including you.

That nightmare all over again, with the moonlight barely illuminating the surface of the water as you peeked at the woman jumping off the cliff. You swam closer, as you usually did in this dream, ignoring the voice nagging ominously at you about your mistake. But it was too late. You didn’t stop swimming.

While arriving at the spot where the woman would've fallen, you heard it.

A scream of your name.

Gasping, you inhaled so much air your lungs hurt. Golden eyes were looking at you, eyebrows knitted in worry.

Viktor called your name again. “Are you alright? Why aren’t you sleeping in the bed?”

“Vik… Viktor!” you croaked, taking his cold hands in yours. Taking in the way the lamp in the living room carved his face like that of a statue; intelligible and beautiful. Atemporal. “How are you feeling?”

He waved your question away. “That isn’t important right now. Did you fall? I heard a thump noise outside and came to investigate. What are you doing in the hallway?”

“I’m… fi—” you gasped for air, a dry whistle coming from your throat when you inhaled.

You touched your chest, leaning against the wall. No, no, no… was this another dream? Was this real?

Viktor called your name, taking you by your shoulders. “Tell me what’s wrong,” he said, his eyes widening in horror. "Miss, please breathe. You're getting blue. Do it slowly and superficially at first. Just… just see me. We’ll do it together.”

You tried, but something had clung to your chest, a pressure that only grew while looking at Viktor trying to guide your breathing. It blocked your throat, the bigger lump you've felt, and for a moment you wondered if it wasn't an act of revenge from your body, making you accountable for all the times you sealed your tears, now all of them flooding into your makeshift dam, cracking it.

Tears pooled in your eyes, a last plea of agony before you felt the wave coming from inside of you break into your lips.

Collapsing on your knees, you threw up salt water, leaving only a faint trace of pink blood diluted into it.

[mastersmoke]

- The visit - Part one Smoke is maybe jobless right now but not without money. Last night was a blast. He got completly wasted. Completly hung over started the day. It was a shitty feeling, a short night. His morning coffee were some hard poppers hits, a few cigs and jerking off to some porn while also sniffing his smelly sneakers. After that he layed down on the couch scrollin through insta and tumblr, chatting with slaves mainly. Loud rap songs flooding the room, cig smoke filling the air. He was getting horny again especially when this bitch wrote him to come over. Why should he sit one hour in a train just one way? The bitch started begging. So he said, convince me good. Luckily this pathetic worm understood the hint. 200 bucks. Not bad. He inspected his outfit. Nike trackies, White tank top, big silver chain, nike cap, sneax and bad smelling sox, already turning darker.

The train and bus rides were a shit show. Starring people, avoiding him. He was in a bad mood. On the way to the fags flat, he lit up a much needed joint. Shit the new stuff he bought was strong. He took his time, making clouds and getting high as fuck. After a while he stood in front of the fags appartement house. Shit even he lives in a better house. In this moment a teenage boy came out of the door. A typical wanna-be-gangsta with fake Gucci cap and a Set of clothes from nike. Decent style to be honest. For a second they looked at each other. Checking out who is in front of them. The young guy, maybe 15 years old, made an aggressive node and said: What you starring at arsehole? Smoke made a step towards this lil fucker, blowing his weed smoke towards him. The step towards him let this boy recognize his reeking aroma of a real man, booze, weed, cigarettes, cheap parfume and sweat. The boy made a step back. But Smoke made a fews steps more to him now standing directly in front of him. With a growling voice: Listen you cheeky motherfucker, make me angry and i smack your face onto the street or i use my little friend here. With that said he lifted up his tank top, revealing the 9mm gun he brought with him. Just in case. The boys eyes widen up, he took a breath. But Smoke began again: you understand you lil fucker? The boy looked up into his eyes, closes his mouth and nodded. Barely capable of not showing his upcoming fear. Smoke inhaled a last drag of his joint and spoke again making clouds: Now fuck off! The boy quickly walked away, head down. Smoke looked left and right for possible witnesses. Nothing. With an evil grin he tucked his top back again. He was a true Gangsta now. To be fair , this lil fucker wasn't the first one getting cocky with him. The last one was took by surprise. Not expecting Smokes sudden brutality if you didn't recognize his superiority.

Maybe he should have robbed the boy but never mind. Those boys often talk about money but did not have one. But back to the bitch. He rang the bell. This lil encounter aroused him. Boy, this bitch will suffer badly.

[thal-ent]

The annoyance

(Kate is @yanasae 's character, a lot more from others are mentionned cw for unknowingly misgenring someone, internalized transphobia, unsafe binding mentionned for like a line, and because I can't stop myself there's background Basgil lol)

It's 2022, and the start of the year was comparable to hell on earth.

Virgil, quite honestly, didn't understand a thing about what happened. The people around him speak a language he doesn't understand, and even the... Help of a man who somehow spoke romanian didn't do much. He's been assigned classes to learn english and japanese, to be able to communicate with others in the school. Some speak romanian like him, but he doesn't approach them. He shouldnt even be here, hundred of thousands of kilometers away from his village, but the letters were very clear about the fact he didn't have a choice.

He tries to remember the faces of the people he'll have to share a year with. The small, angry boy with pinkish hair. The tall... Girl ? With a bag on her head. The guy that tries to avoid attention who he shares his room with. The girl with a fake leg and a cane, like the old hunters from his village, who tried to talk to him before leaving when he didn't respond. The boy with white hair who looks even more lost than Virgil. The girl all in pink that he already can't stand when she talks. Another boy with white hair, one he almost didn't notice until he saw how nobody could touch that boy. The chaotic brown haired girl that kept yelling and had to be stopped by a big guy with blonde hair, both covered in scars.

He didn't remember any of their names. Names weren't exactly his thing. Neither was learning theory, but he knew Marius would want to know, so he sits through words he barely recognize and a translator at the ready. He's not the only one who gets one, the girl with the bag and another with blonde and pink hair get ones as well.

There's also the weather. He refuses to take off the vest of the uniform they make them wear. He considers himself lucky to get pants, and not a skirt that would have been humiliating, but they dont do a lot to hide his silhouette. His coat is hung in the closet they gave them, but he's not allowed to wear it as long as it's still warm. But that's the problem, it's too warm. For the first time in his life, Virgil misses the fresh air of his village, the cold that lingers well into the spring. Here he only has the rain to help, always gone too fast.

He does wear something less covering sometimes. They let the students like him use the sports' equipment, the man with glasses and one blue eye who spoke romanian said but didn't elaborate on. There's always people here, and they stopped trying to talk to him after he stopped paying attention to them. Well, that's not true. He did speak with one of them, a very tall girl without hair. He didn't catch her name, but she pointed the cross on his chest and showed her own. They shared a few words in latin, despite her weird dialect. She didn't talk a lot, and went back to a weird girl with curly brown hair after, but Virgil liked that girl.

But he didn't have time to waste on that. The training was nice, when less people were here and he felt like he could drop the bandages on his chest. He hated their surprised gaze, but ultimately his fell on someone else. He was still a hunter, the "Ultimate vampire hunter" if you believed what that letter said. And he started to suspect a vampire was in the school, hidden in plain sight. A red head, green eyes constantly hidden by glasses. Virgil doesn't know his name, only that he's apparently from the year before him. He's tall, skinny and almost... Pathetic. But something is weird with this boy.

He's been following him, when the annoyance first made herself known.

She was a girl from his class, one of the shorter names. She has ginger and pink hair, but not a pink like the one of the girl with the tablet. A flashier one, and longer hair tied in a way Virgil knows is to avoid it being caught while moving. She's way shorter than him, tries to not look like the kid she obviously is.

She starts speaking, but he doesn't understand. He thinks he recognizes a word or two, but when he tries to walk past her and follow his prey, she puts herself on his path, stopping him. He tries to go to her other side, but she follows, making him loose the boy he was looking at. She pulls out her phone and types on it before showing the screen to him.

"Fight me" is written in romanian, next to what he guesses is probably french or english. He only looks more confused, so she types again. "I want to fight you, I want to know what a "vampire hunter" fights like"

He groans, really not wanting to. She's barely 16, obviously just trying to get a rise out of him. But what does he has to loose ? His prey is far by now, and he knows the look of someone who refuses "no" as an awnser, he was one like her once.

So he follows her, gets the sword she gives him. It's lighter than he's used to, less deadly as well, but he guess that's the point. They're not here to kill each other, they're here to spar. But he was told to always give his all, even against the kids that barely started training. Her stance is firm, she knows what she's doing.

They trade large swipes for a moment, test the waters. He's not used to the weapon, and knows he's less agile than he would, feels the bandages on his chest limit his hair intake. But it's all details, when she looks at him with the determination of someone who has a thing to prouve. She's weird.

It doesn't take very long until he's able to push her and puts his sword on her throat, pinning her hands under his knees. She grimaces, but lets her head fall to the ground with a thud. He goes back up, keeps his eye on her. The crowd that formed around them starts to clap, as if given a good spectacle. She gets back up and goes to her phone, showing it in his face once again.

"why did I loose ?" He makes a face, one he knows she can't read. So she puts the phone in his hand, and he starts to write slowly.

"you dont try to kill." And she doesn't respond, which Virgil takes as a promise to let him get away.

He hopes she wont bother him again.

**

Of course she kept bothering him.

One loss wasn't enough for Kate, no. She kept pestering Virgil, calling his name and yelling for his attention, even when he was trying to be calm.

It's 2023 now, a full year passed and he's still in this school. He speaks relatively good english now, so they left the phone on the side. Hers is miles better than his, but she corrects his mistakes when they happen, free of jugement. He started to get closer to some people in his class, his dormmate and Mika, notably. He also stopped treating the boy from the year before him like a prey. Turns out, Bastien is way nicer when you speak to him.

Kate tho ? She's unsufferable in a very weird way. She gave him a gift for his birthday, and he still doesn't know how she learned the date it was on. But now, he traded bandages for a binder, and his ribs feel better than they had in years. They still spared a lot, Kate an eternal looser.

She's weird, he thinks. She looks dejected everytime, but keeps coming back for more, especially when he's with someone. She doesn't ask for tips, learns on her own and sees how he steadies himself, how he holds his weapon. She just doesn't get she doesn't have to only use that, for fighting.

She's a self imposed loner, and he can respect that. So he never mentions how she always come find him when they're eating. Once she asked how he got his scars on his eye, and was genuinely surprised when he told her vampires are indeed real, and that he killed more of them than he knew actual humans.

He's surprised when Emerens doesn't joke about him liking Kate or the opposite, but he appreciate it, his relationship to the girl everything but romantic. Instead, the man whines about his own partners while teaching Virgil english when Mika isn't available, and Virgil shuts his mouth by teaching him latin.

He started running with the tall girl who spoke latin, Tomyris. She's nice, they understand each other despite their diverging faiths. He often ends up holding their running partner Subaru on his back for the latter parts of the way, and they always talk. It's nice.

He misses Marius and his parents, but he finds himself not missing his village as much.

**

It's 2024, and he knows that if she could, Kate would have pushed him into one of the hall's walls by now.

They're friends now, he thinks. She's still annoying in her own way, learned to bite her way through their fights, and that's how they ended up here. Her eyes are full of something akin to fury, making their gray look black. He knows why she's angry, she's the second person to notice it, in Hope's Peak. Or at least to mention it to him. He doesn't wear the jacket anymore, but still wears the long sleeved shirt of the uniform, white on white.

She tried to bite his arm but only found solid, cold silicone instead of the meat of flesh and blood.

"What the fuck happened."

"I'm a hunter, Kate, it comes with risks." he said the same to Bastien, to his shocked horror. He told him it was a necessary sacrifice and he'll say the same to Kate.

"You lost your fucking arm ! That's not a fucking "risk" !" he knows she wants to say other swears than "fucking", but she speaks in english out of respect for him and her vocabulary is limited in that language.

"But i'm alive, so it was a good one."

She looks at him with wild eyes, and he doesn't know if she's about to punch his face or headbutt it. He braces himself for it anyway, but she just lets go of his shirt.

"That better be the last of your "sacrifices". That's..." her voice trembles, and he puts his flesh hand on her head, pats it in a weird show of affection they never shared.

"I'll try." he said the same to Marius, when he woke up. She's not his brother, nor his sister, but he doesn't like seeing her annoyed by something that is not a petty lost game.

[not24opposumsinatrenchcoat]

REALLY FAST if you get freaked out by body horror or general gore, I would advise you skip. I don’t want to give too many warnings because that’ll ruin the whole surprise, however there is lots of body horror and animal gore, lots of blood, weird creepy shit. You have been warned ‼️

So I have been writing as a hobby for like my whole life and I literally have no where to put my work other than here, so uhhhhhhhh take this

So like a year ago or so I made an attempt at a short horror story, I’ve always been super into horror and stuff and I was experimenting. At the time I rlly rlly liked this and I’ve gone back and edited it a bit, I’m not sure how I feel about it now but anyways I hope someone finds this and enjoys reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.

Okay here we go

1: The farmer. The sheep. And the fog.

The wind bellowed coldly through the grass, the moon shone down onto a lone pasture. A few toads let out low croaks here and there. A herd of sheep slept peacefully in a large field of grass, encased in a rickety wooden fence. The moon's light illuminated their wool, and against the viridescent grass, they looked like spider silk, lumpy but soft.

The sky was cloudless, but in the cold concealment of the darkness, a gentle fog crept up onto the grass. The moon's yellow gleam made the fog look soft and crisp. It was low, only covering a few inches above the ground, and even then a sharp eye could pierce through the fog’s cover and see the sleek blades of grass underneath, which were gradually forming small drops of dew.

Beyond the pasture, an old house lay bare against the tress. It had chipped paint on the door, and the bricks that made up its walls had been smoothed down over time. The roof was uneven and different color tiles dotted it from when it would collapse occasionally. The chimney jutted from the roof awkwardly, and at an odd angle, looming to the side like a wilted flower built from stone. A few bricks were missing here and there, though it still stood, puffing a thin stream of smoke into the night sky. The floor of the house was filthy, and if you weren’t careful the hard wooden planks would assault your feet with brutish splinters. If you were to step with too much weight, the house might feel as if it were going to plunge down on you. Though with a fire burning and a soft bed, anyone would call it home.

Inside this house, however, lived an old farmer. He was quiet and rather irritable. He lived alone, only visiting the nearest town, (which was very far off) for the occasional selling of his sheep's wool, and to purchase any drop of alcohol he could find. No one bothered him except a few wolves who liked to scare his sheep in the night, causing panic and waking the old farmer for hours on end. Once the farmer had sent the beasts a warning shot into the air with a musket, and they had left him alone since.

In the sky, a thick cloud drifted over the moon. Severing the light from the pasture below. The wind suddenly stopped as well, and the toads and their croaks vanished.

All was silent.

After an impassible couple of moments, one of the sheep abruptly stood up and walked silently through the fog, and to the edge of the pasture that faced the woods. Precipitously, the sheep started yowling mindlessly at the tranquil trees. Just as oddly, none of the other sheep woke, nor joined in the disturbance. The single sheep stood alone and without movement, aside from its mouth. If one were to look closely at it for a long while, it would be as if the sheep was simply fake, if it was not for the movement of its mouth and the sounds it made, one would assume it was in fact fake. Possibly a statue, or a wooden toy.

The sheep continued its mindless screaming, and soon the farmer woke, he groaned and grabbed his musket. Assuming it was more wolves come to further pest the old man. He swung open the door quickly, musket ready. But no one was there. The farmer saw it was one of his sheep, he recognized her as Morrigan and grumbled to himself as he put his gun down against the door frame.

As he walked away from the doorway, he felt the warmth of the small fire that lay in the chimney, be torn from his skin, leaving him in the crisp nighttime air.

The scarcity of noise and wind made the hair on the back of his neck stand up, goosebumps began to swiftly latch onto his skin. He ignored it and continued to the pasture.

He clambered over the low wooden fence and made his way over to the bothered sheep. He did notice, however, how odd it was that all the others were still mutely asleep. As the farmer came up to the screaming animal, he had to cover his ears, her screams seemed to pierce the air and strike his brain into an immediate headache. He pressed on and came up next to her. He looked into the dark wood to see what she may be upset at, but nothing other than trees and other greenery stared back.

He attempted to soothe Morrigan by petting her, but it did nothing. And he quickly had to cover his ears again hastily. He stood up and tried to nudge the sheep away with his foot, but it did nothing yet again, it was almost as if the sheep was fused with the ground, unable to move or be moved. After a moment, he tried to nudge her harder, but still nothing. Finally, the ill-tempered farmer had had enough, he kicked the sheep in her side.

A sickening noise cut through the air substituting the screaming, a concoction of a sharp series of cracks, and the dank sound of decaying flesh filled the silent air. Morrigan did not falter, though her mouth hung open, frozen mid-yowl. The farmer, aghast, fell back into the wet grass, his boot covered in blood and perished flesh. The fog hardly wavered and abled over him quickly. He gaped at the rotting sheep, which was still staring blankly at the woods. She looked as if she had been petrified in place, or stopped in time. The smell of thick blood and iron wafted through the air, as well as the pungent smell of decaying meat.

The farmer, terror-stricken and furthermore panicked, looked over at the other sheep in the pasture but was only met with something equally horrifying, all the sheep were standing up as well. They all stared at him. Now, normally sheep's eyes looked at their sides, the vertical pupils eyeing for dangers on either side of them,, as most prey eyes do. However, these sheep were looking, directly at him, looking straight forward at this impoverished man. All of them were unmoving and silent. The farmer stared back, aghast at the horror before him.

Without the light of the moon (which was still hidden by the fixed cloud), the sheep looked plain and heartless. Their eyes glossed over.

All was silent.

A single, sharp crack of bone broke through the air, and the farmer looked back at Morrigan. Her body remained still, and unmoved, but her head had roughly turned to look at him. One notable thing, this sheep’s eyes still remained at its side, as a normal sheep's eyes would. However, after a few everlasting heartbeats, Morrigan’s eyes suddenly looked straight ahead, at the farmer. And as it did so, her jaw opened, revealing a pungently rotting mouth and throat. The farmer felt ailed.

Abruptly, another crack broke through the air, as the sheep’s bottom jaw fell to the ground, leaving her putrid tongue dangling out, and her throat exposed. A few chunks of flesh fell after it, the sheep was still again.

All was silent.

The farmer, who was still flabbergasted, shuddered and held back vomit. He risked a vacillatory glance back at the other sheep, and he realized with a lurch, that they had all gotten closer, the closest one being merely a few yards away, whereas before, it had been at least 20 feet away. What was even more frightening, was the fact that they all had managed to move silently.

He looked back at Morrigan, his throat dry, sweat glistened on his forehead. She stared back at him, and without warning, Morrigan’s tongue began to steadily, but swiftly, slide from its mouth and towards the farmer. Bits of putrid flesh fell from the slithering tongue and onto the ground. The tongue slithered towards the farmer, like a snake stalking its next bite of food. It advanced to the farmer and rested on his shoulder, it was muggy, and pulposus. The man shuddered violently.

“What… are you…” Was all he could muster to say, his heart screamed into his ears. His hands dug into the damp grass and trembled against the earth.

The sheep looked blankly at him for a moment. Until a slit appeared on the sheep's forehead, it cracked open as if it were a rotten egg, and scarlet clotted blood gushed from it as a third eye gradually opened. This eye was completely red, with a black verticle sheeps pupil. It pierced through the farmer's soul and the farmer felt a sharp coldness reverberate through his body as it did so.

Forthwith, All the other sheep started screaming, but were cut off suddenly as the 3 eyed sheep rapidly wrapped its tongue around the farmer's neck

Crack

All was silent.

[…]

AAAA THATS IT if you read all of that i hope you liked it, again idk how i feel abt it now but i am pretty proud of the scene descriptions in this I think I did well with that. I don’t love the ending but besides that i think it’s okay

(I’m rambling sorry)

But if you like this I’m currently working on the rough draft of a full length novel, centring around space and isolation and has a similar vibe to Alien. If you wanna see some stuff from that idk lmk I enjoy the attention 🤭

(Also I have no clue how to use tumblr nor do I understand the culture but I’m trying my best 😭)

[catreginae]

Thou Shalt Not Fall: A Sad Tea Party

Warriors is confronted by three, worried friends. A couple notes here! a) this is part 2! Part 3 is going up tomorrow! If you haven't read part 1 though, I think you can manage without it. b) you get all of these updates because I promised I would upload two chapters this weekend if Warriors won the tumblr sexyman contest. I'm sure you know the result if the first of two updates this weekend. c) I changed Artemis to Athena because quirkle gave me the strength to. No, it's retroactive yet, but it starts here.

[Previous] - [Next]

View the Master Post here!

To the castle now?”

Warriors nodded. They've been in his era for a few days now and they've yet to find anything that warranted a band of experienced heroes. Sure, a few bokoblins here and there, but those battles turned into a competition with some of them trying to find the most surprising way to kill the bokoblins. So far, Wild was winning – he killed a couple with a mop. A mop. He knew Wild was good with a wide variety of weapons but damn, that was something else.

“If there's anything weird happening in Hyrule, Athena and General Impa would know. We should be there sometime tomorrow.”

Time nodded. He knew how it was.

“You looking forward to it, old man?” Twilight asked. “You know Athena and General Impa from the war, right?”

“I do miss Athena and Impa,” Time said with a smile. “I especially miss Proxi though.”

Warriors only hummed. Time would miss the one person who would let him get away with all of his crimes and even help him commit said crimes. He missed Proxi too, along with Athena and Impa, but he wasn't sure he could face any of them at the moment. Even plastering a fake smile for the others was hard and he was pretty sure that he wasn't fooling any of them, but they didn't ask.

He didn't miss the way Time looked at him with a frown when he failed to add anything to the conversation. It was difficult to talk to any of them when Warriors kept thinking about how he one day might tear one his brothers' throat out with his bare teeth. It was all too easy to imagine one of them laying on the ground, bleeding out from his neck, instead of the traitorous woman.

Maybe he should just stay at the castle and let the others leave without him. What right did he have to stay with any of them? They would just insist he come along despite the dangers he posed because they were too damn kind for their own good.

“Warriors?”

“Hmmm?” He wasn't even sure who was addressing him.

“Are you alright? You've been really quiet and out of it since you ate all of that hemlock. Are you sure it didn't do anything to you?” Wind asked with a pout.

“Ah, it's not the hemlock. It's something else, but I don't want to talk to about it.”

And those were the words that would get everybody off his back. If there was one thing they all held close to them, it was their thoughts and their secrets. There wasn't a whole lot you could keep to yourself when you travelled with a bunch of people but they had their thoughts and secrets – until those secrets blew up in their faces, of course. Until then though, they kept their secrets close to their hearts and nobody pried until they really felt it affected the group.

The rest of the day went with everybody leaving him be.

They reached the castle by late afternoon.

And that's when it all began.

A guard was assigned with guiding the others to their rooms for the evening while Impa and Proxi dragged Warriors away for a meeting with Athena. What kind of conversation would be just between the four of them? If it was about the monsters, shouldn't the rest of them be with him? Surely, Impa and Proxi recognized Time and Wind?

“Link!” Athena called out as they entered her study. She wrapped him a tight hug as Impa closed and locked the door behind him, then went as far as to close the windows as well, pulling the curtains across to darken the room. For a moment, the only source of light in the room came from Proxi and Athena's fireplace but thankfully, Impa was quick to light up some lanterns. Of course, the three of them would be considerate enough to close the curtains, but he really didn't need them to fret about him that much. He could handle indirect light, but he appreciated the thought nonetheless. “I've been so worried about you.”

“I've missed you too. I write when I can but I never know when the letters will arrive when I'm in another timeline.”

“It's not the letters I'm worried about. Please, have a seat.”

He almost didn't because it made him nervous, but she was his superior so he did as he was told. At the table, her guest table where she discussed reports with him sometimes, there was a steaming teapot and several cups. It made him wonder if she was expecting him.

“Tea? It's still warm.”

“Thanks,” he mumbled. She filled one of the glasses and he took it, bringing to his lips for a sip. It was unexpectedly fruity.

“We had a report of a strange murder from a town we know you frequent,” Impa started. He felt the blood drain from his face. Of course, the messengers were quick on their feet in peacetime and not when he needed them to be quick during the war. “Stabbed through the heart with a stake but the guards who reported it suspect it was the heavy trauma to the neck that killed the victim. Although I did not go see the body, the descriptions led me to believe it was the work of a vampire, and the stake was to prevent the victim from becoming a vampire themselves. Care to explain yourself, Captain?”

“She was a traitor,” he mumbled quietly, barely loud enough for him to hear over his roaring heart. He took a deep breath through his nose and let it out through his mouth, trying to calm himself. He never expected the murder to get back to the castle. He really should have hid the body. He thought it was good enough to just make sure the other Links never found out. “She tried to poison me and my companions with hemlock. I'm very aware of how it tastes at this point. I wouldn't care if it was just me but she put eight other people in danger and most of them had nothing to do with the war.”

“I'm not concerned so much with the reasoning, Link. I know you don't kill unless your life or the life of somebody you care about is threatened. It's a decision you don't take lightly. I understand that part,” Athena said quietly, putting one of her hands on top of his own. Warriors almost pulled away in case she was preparing to kill him with her magic. It was the first time he found himself afraid of her, afraid of what she would do now that she knew what he did. “But what happened? Why did you use your powers to do it?”

“I...” He clenched his free hand tightly into a fist. His cup of tea went ignored.

“Link, please, we're just worried,” Proxi said. “You never talk about the vampire stuff. It can't be good for you to bottle it all up.”

“What is there to even say about it? Nobody's found a way to get rid of the curse and nobody knows how to help me. We can talk about it all we want, it wouldn't do anything.”

“Link-” Athena started but all his frustration was starting to bubble over and when he was frustrated, he started rambling.

“I wish I could tell you what happened, Zelda, but I really can't. I was going to drink her blood anyway because I wasn't going to let her get away with trying to hurt innocent people and suddenly, I'm just covered in blood! I don't fucking remember tearing her throat out, I just know that I did. I didn't want to go that far! I just have this... fucking blank in my memory and there's absolutely nothing that can be done because I'm just some monster that everybody pities! Hylians can't help because they don't know what it's like and vampires can't help me because I'm just different enough that they don't understand what it's like either. I don't even know why I keep trying!”

He didn't realize he was crying until the tears splattered onto his pants. Proxi nuzzled his cheek.

“I don't belong anywhere, Zelda, I really don't. I thought I fit in with the other heroes but if I kill one of them too? What if I can't remember doing it?”

“Link,” Impa started. “All of the people you came to the castle with know you're a vampire, correct?”

Link nodded weakly, trying in vain to quell the tears in his eyes, to stop the tears from rolling down his cheeks. All he managed to do was silence the sobbing though. He couldn't fight the tears, apparently.

“Then trust your companions to help you. You may have been brought together to fight a common foe, but you should take any opportunity to learn from new people and new environments. If you're not comfortable with us, then trust them. Surely, nine minds are better than one.”

“Most of them rely on me for all their vampires facts.”

“Maybe that's what you need – people who don't know,” Athena said simply. “A fresh perspective might help. You need to tell them what's on your mind though. They can't help if you don't let them help, if you don't tell them what's going on.”

What if he did tell them that he was scared of hurting them and they finally rejected him? What if they did what he wanted them to do – to be careful around him, to be wary of what he could do – and decide that the risks outweighed any benefits he brought to the group? Warriors wasn't sure he could handle it. He viewed them all as brothers. He let himself get attached to all of them. The rejection, even if it was the best for them, would hurt. It would hurt a lot.

“I don't know,” he mumbled.

“I know you have a hard time accepting help sometimes, but you need to put your head in the game and stop feeling sorry for yourself. How can you work in a group if you have such concerns and can't bring them up?”

Warriors had a couple of responses but he bit his tongue.

“Impa, that's enough.”

Impa hummed but otherwise stayed silent. Warriors took the moment to try to collect himself as Athena took both of his hands into hers.

“Link, no matter what, we're here for you. You're always welcomed here. We just want to help if you will let us.”

For a moment, he didn't know what to say, so he raised his teacup again and downed half the cup. It wasn't the way he liked to drink tea, he preferred to take his time with it, but he was desperate to just do something other than cry. “Thank you. I appreciate it.” It sounded basic, but he meant it. It wasn't like he had any other home to miss. “What of the body? Does Lady Elena know about what I did?”

“We haven't spoken but I suspect she's aware. However, the general population doesn't suspect a vampire so you're safe in the regard. They suspect a monster, so Lady Elena won't try to murder you, I'm sure,” Impa answered. “Although it's unusual for a monster to go for the throat like that, it's not entirely unheard of. It only screams vampire to whoever is already aware of the existence of vampires.”

Well, they weren't wrong about that. It was a monster. As if she read his mind, Impa pinched his ear and twisted. He hissed and swatted at her hand.

“Stop it. We're not here just let you wallow in self-pity.”

Athena cleared her throat. “Lady Elena might want to have words with you, so I would advise that you head to the manor next if possible. In the very least, she might know something about how to prevent something like this in the future. Of course, you and your companions are welcomed to stay here for a few days to rest and collect your thoughts.”

“The real reason why we're here is for any suspicious monster reports.”

“How about we talk about that tomorrow?”

“But Zelda-”

“Seriously, finish your tea, and get some rest. If not for you, at least for the rest of them, got it? I'm not going to let you fight monsters when you're so troubled.”

He supposed she had a point, so he downed the rest of the cup and put it on the table. If it was one of his soldiers in his spot, he wouldn't put them in a battle because distracted soldiers were bound to get themselves or somebody else hurt. If a fight broke out now, he wouldn't be able to focus on it and that could be disastrous.

“Okay, tomorrow.”

“Good. Go get some rest or take a walk, alright?”

With that, he and Athena hugged it out again and he took his leave. Proxi followed him out of the room, nestling herself in his scarf as he walked towards his room. He wasn't sure where the others where placed, exactly, but he had his own room regardless.

“You know you can talk to me about anything, right?”

“I know. I know you always have my back,” Link said softly.

He knew the others did too. He just... wished he could be honest with them.

[beigehearts]

Multiple requests are fine! Requests are unlimited. 

This is a cool idea so hell yeah

Yandere Adult Trio finding you after a few years after escape CW: physical abuse, mentions of kidnapping, blood, needles

Hisoka

This is rather nice actually. A quiet life in the middle of nowhere where no one questions you. It’s somewhat of a farming community you live in. You work at a farmers market, selling fresh fruits and vegetables to the same people every day. Everyone here recognizes you under your fake identity, and treats you as part of the community. As if you didn’t randomly appear one day. As if you aren’t in hiding. 

It’s been about three years you would say. Three years since you escaped... him. You dyed your hair, wore colored contacts and completely changed your clothing look. You moved countries, learned a new language, and completely dropped your entire identity and life. It was the only way you could escape him. How you escaped him remains a mystery to you too. He was always attentive but- you escaped that last time. Slipped through his fingers. 

Mr. Grady, the oldest farmer in town hobbles over to your stand and smiles with his big loose mouth. He only has a few teeth but you don’t need many when you blend all of your food anyway.

“Oh hello Charlie. How are you today?” He asks with his frail old man voice.

You smile back and begin bagging up the usual for him. “Very good Mr. Grady. How are you?” 

Your conversations are never short but it’s almost become a highlight of your day to hear the old man ramble. “Oh you know. The sheep dog are sick, so I tried rounding those cows up with my cat. He practically got trampled!” He throws his arms up as if it’s unbelievable. You somewhat listen as he continues. “... moral of the story is, cats are unreliable and only have two lives.” 

As you hand the paper bag over the counter the old man stops to think for a moment. “I saw someone new up by the shops today, he was a real character. Quite tall too.” 

You nod and get the change for the money he hands you, “Oh really? Did you talk to him?”

“He wasn’t much interested in me. Though he didn’t seem like a normal traveler. He was much too eccentric for that.” He offers one last toothless smile, “Don’t work too late. It’s time for the foxbears to come out of hibernation soon.” 

Before you can further question him, he hobbles off pretty quickly for an old man. Of course you’re overreacting but someone eccentric and tall randomly coming to town? No it couldn’t be. It’s been over three years since then. And he wouldn’t go this far for you would he? 

After closing up the shop you grab the keys to your car and head for the ‘parking lot’. It’s a field with white lines spray painted on the grass with a single light to illuminate the whole place. You hop into your car and are just glad to finally go home after a long day. It was rather slow but that’s because it was a tuesday. It is very busy on friday-monday. You start your car, and turn on the air, you plug your phone in and relax some into your seat.

You adjust your rear view mirror and scream when you do. You just barely catch the reflection of someone in the back of your car. He’s sitting in the back seat watching you closely. You decide against turning around to face him.

“Hello y/n. Or is it Charlie?” He asks calmly, as if it were a casual conversation.

You clear your throat and try to control your shaking. “What are you doing here Hisoka?” 

He ignores your question completely. “You really know how to choose a nice town. Quiet, friendly, off the grid.”

“I suppose.” Your hands grip on the steering wheel tightens. “How did you find me?”

“Oh, well, it was quite hard really. You did a good job. But once I found the first person who helped you change your identity, it was just a matter of going down the chain.”

You’d rather not think about what happened to those people. “And what are you doing here?” You repeat your question.

“Well there’s only one thing I’m here for of course.” He leans back in the seat, just barely having enough room for his legs. “I’ve come to bring you home.” 

“I don’t want to. It’s nice here.” You state as if you have an option. 

He leans forward this time, and cranes his head around the drivers seat to whisper in your ear, “It’s really not up to you pet.”

Before you can even react, there’s a rope around your neck, and he’s pulling you hard against your seat. You claw at the rope and gasp for air. You try to turn some but the rope burn hurts too much. You manage to get your fingers under the rope around your neck, and throw yourself forward.

His head smacks the back of your seat but your head smacks the wheel, honking the horn. There’s no doubt that you’re bleeding. You throw the rope over your head and jump out of the car, and run. But he’s much faster.

He jumps out of the car and before you know it, he grabs the back of your shirt, pulling you to him. He holds you against himself with his arms, leaving no room for escape. But you have one more trick up your sleeve. You throw your head back as hard you can and headbutt his face. There’s a loud crack that you can only assume is his nose. 

He groans and his nails dig into your skin through your clothes. “You really got feisty while I was away.” His nails begin to pierce your skin, ripping through the cloth of your shirt. “But it’s no matter, it only turns me on more.”

Illumi

To say you’re on the run is an understatement. You’re practically sprinting away even all these years later. You know that if you stop for even a few days that he would find you. You spend no more than three days at a time in the same place. You’ve travelled half of the world by now- and quite honestly it has been somewhat nice. Not just the freedom from the suffocating grasp of your captor Illumi, but being able to see the world. You would never have done this if not for the situation you were in. Maybe things happen for a reason.

It feels like forever since you’ve been travelling. But the reality is that it’s only been two years. Two long years of not stopping. You have a new name and often go days without eating. It’s not easy getting money when you aren’t in the same area for long. 

It was late night when you escaped from him. He never let his guard down so you just had to go for it. He wasn’t expecting you to make a mad dash out of the manor, and hide out in the woods for a few days. Slowly but surely you managed to get out of the mountain prison, leaving through the small door next to the office. The man working at the entrance was sipping tea and reading the newspaper when you left much too busy to pay attention to you. You’re more than sure he was punished for missing you leaving. But sometimes you wonder if he chose to ignore you on purpose, and let you escape. 

It’s a beautiful morning. You slept on a few blankets and a sweatshirt as a pillow on the ground of a cave. It was hard to get any sleep at first but you managed to get used to the back pain. The sun is shining through the canopy, streams of light illuminating the cave. The grass outside of the cave is wet with dew droplets. It’s only slightly humid but the breeze with the warm weather is heavenly. It’s not every day you get good weather like this. 

You sit up and stretch your arms in the air, yawning tiredly. Your usual morning routine was to get a fire started, and put the tiny kettle above it. In your small backpack you have a few essential items. Coffee being one of them. You get out your tin can after jimmying a fire and filling the kettle with water from a nearby stream. You drop some instant coffee grounds in the kettle and bask in the aroma of coffee. 

You pour yourself a cup and put some powdered milk packets and splenda in the cup, stirring it with a stick that looked relatively... clean. But you had a feeling that today was the day. You weren’t sure why this morning you knew he would find you. But you did. Almost on cue, you hear footsteps approach behind you.

You bring the tin cup to your lips, taking a long sip of the hot coffee. 

“So this is where you’ve been.” You don’t even flinch at his words. You knew this was inevitable. 

The coffee burns your tongue. “Yes, I must have stayed here for a day too long. Don’t you agree Illumi?”

“Yes. It was quite stupid.” There’s a silence between the two of you. You continue sitting on the ground with your back facing him. “Are you ready to leave?” He asks as if he’s picking you up from and elementary sleep over. 

“May I finish my coffee first?” 

“I suppose.” Though he doesn’t move from his spot, his gaze staying firm on your back.

Luckily you haven’t spent all this time just running, but training. In self defense to be specific.

Quickly you jump up and turn around, you move your arm to throw the coffee on him in hopes of burning him. He grabs your wrist, but the coffee does land on his forearm. You bring your leg up to kick him in the side but he grabs it right as you make contact. The only hit you actually manage to land is when you throw a punch with your free hand at his throat. If it were anyone else they would be stunned for at least a few seconds. But this wasn’t anyone. He shows no sign of flinching. 

“Are you ready now?” He asks.

You allow your body to relax and he lets go of your limbs. “Go ahead, put a needle in me.”

He doesn’t argue with your point, pressing a needle to your chest and the last thing you hear is “Don’t fight it.”

Chrollo

The very thought that all of these people by his side had no qualms about you being kidnapped makes you sick. All of them had many chances to set you free and yet they stayed loyal to your captor, as if this were normal and okay. So many people witnessing this unhealthy obsession and not even muttering a word about it. Honestly you find it more ridiculous than you do sad. How did he have all these people under his thumb? Was he really just that powerful? 

Wherever he went, you went. One day he had what they called, ‘a mission.” You had caught a cargo train out west and jumped on, as stowaways. It’s not as if anyone checked each boxcar. All of you had fallen asleep in the small space of the boxcar. The train was at full speed, with no sign of stopping anytime soon. Cargo trains were much faster than you anticipated. Once you were sure everyone was asleep, you stood up casually as if you were just stretching. In case someone woke up. Which they did. Nobunaga peeled his eyes open and examined you. But he was too slow, you leaped out of the car before anyone could grab you. You went tumbling through a field after hitting your head very hard against the ground. It wasn’t the perfect escape but it was an escape.

After that you found a nearby farm, and while it was still night you stole a horse from a barn. You rode for many miles, until days later you found a very busy city. Somehow you managed to make a life for yourself, becoming a low grade secretary. 

Today was a slow day, your employer did not have many clients today. You checked in on your boss to see if she needed anything but she waved you away. You decided to play solitaire on the computer, a perfectly valid way to waste time. 

The phone rings and you pick it up while still keeping one hand on the mouse to play solitaire. 

“Hello this is the Seedling Lawyer’s Office. How may I help you?” You stick the phone between your ear and shoulder, playing solitaire. 

There’s a chuckle from the other side of the phone. “So it is you.”

Your blood runs cold, and the only thing that your head is telling you is ‘run’. “I’m not sure who this is, could you please state your name and purpose for calling?” Playing dumb seems like the only decision right now. 

“My darling, there’s no need for the semantics. I’m coming to pick you up right now.” Perfectly on cue, the sliding doors of the building open and you drop the phone, standing up abruptly. 

His eyes show affection and kindness, but there’s a glimmer of... rage. You look around but no one is in the waiting room and you know the cameras are fake for security. This is a cheap layer’s business after all. 

“There’s no need for the semantics Chrollo.” You try to say mockingly but it comes out more as fearful and unsure.

His smile drops and he begins walking towards your desk. “Do you understand the consequences of your actions y/n?” He scoffs kicks the heavy desk to the side as if it weighed nothing. “I missed you of course.” 

“Ah well, maybe I needed a break.” It comes out as a question. 

He corners you against the wall and places a rough hand on your cheek. “Oh darling, oh my sweet darling.” His smile reappears, as sweet as it always has been. “I’m going to kill your entire family.” His hand grips the side of your face roughly and he tilts your head back. 

“You really are something. I would never hurt you, you know.” He places a gentle kiss against your cheek despite his tight grip on the side of your head. “But that doesn’t mean there aren’t consequences for what you’ve done.” 

You swallow the lump in your throat and grab his wrist. “Well you’re hurting me right now.” 

Immediately he drops his hand and sighs. “I would never hurt you intentionally, or if not necessary.” He grabs your throat, holding it so tightly you wonder if you’ll ever be able to talk again. He’s crushing your air ways and vocal cords. You claw at his wrist but its useless. “Disciplining you does not count as hurting you.” He leans forward, and if you could yelp you would.

He bites your cheek, definitely leaving a mark. After drawing blood, he licks it up. Your vision is going dark but you’re simply not strong enough to fight back. “Do you understand darling?”

[dreamwritesimagines]

Burn The Witch 6 - The First Date [Bucky Barnes x Reader]

A.N: Thank you so much for your wonderful support and feedback my loves ! ❤ Here’s a surprise chapter to celebrate TFATWS starting, I hope you like it as well and please let me know what you think! ❤ Thank you! ❤❤❤

Warnings: Enemies to lovers, fake dating, mentions of blood, sex, violence, death, manipulation, language, guns, knives.

Summary: First dates can end in strange ways.

Series Masterlist

Every agent in your division knew the Winter Soldier, the unstoppable assassin, the infamous ghost story, the man who had been fighting for over 80 years. He was a legend, and meeting him was something you were all taught to avoid ever since the espionage world had found out about his existence.

The last time, a whole team of heavily armed soldiers were sent to take him down and he had managed to disarm every single one of them without even needing a weapon. So theoretically if you were to send an agent to meet him, you would probably make sure that agent carried about a thousand weapons and preferably went there in a bulletproof vehicle.

Instead, you were told to wear a cute dress for the first date.

Lovely.

“How come I can’t wear any of my clothes?” you asked, pressing the phone to your ear as you took a look at all the dresses lying on your bed.

“Not that your sniper outfits aren’t hot, but wearing them to your first date with the Winter Soldier might not be the brightest idea.”

You heaved a sigh, “I still can’t believe you changed my whole wardrobe when I was outside, Chloe. What was wrong with my usual clothes?”

“They’re not what your cover would wear.”

“Uh huh.”

“Pick the one with those small flowers on it,” Chloe said, “Mini dress, chiffon. Cream colored.”

You hummed and grabbed the hanger, then held it over your body.

“Are we sure?”

“Trust me. Perfect for the first date.”

“Did mini dresses exist back in his time?” Keith’s voice reached you, making you frown, “Or was he born in those times with those giant dresses?”

“Excuse me, why am I on speaker?” you asked, “Also Keith, what are you doing in the headquarters? I need you and the team ready to interfere anytime.”

“I’m not in the headquarters, I was grabbing coffee and Chloe wanted to come with me. No worries though, we’re around your area.”

“Are you insane?” you snapped, “You brought her to the field?”

“We’re just getting coffee—“

“Chloe, get back to the headquarters,” you insisted, “Now.”

“No! You have a date, Keith gets to relax at this new café, and three of us can barely spend time together nowadays!” Chloe said, “It’s always you guys who have the fun.”

“Honey I’m on a date with the Winter Soldier so that I can gather intel, Keith is going to be at that café because he and the team needs to be nearby in case my cover is blown,” you said patiently, getting into the dress,  “It’s not like we’re hanging out without you.”

“Detail.”

“It’s not just a detail-“

“No I mean the security detail is ready.” Chloe cut you off, “I got my laptop with me, I hacked into the café’s wifi.”

You pinched the bridge of your nose, “You did what?”

“Yeah I figured I could use a change of scenery and Keith said yes.”

“Keith, I need you to listen to me carefully,” you said, “I’m going to kill you.”

“Y/N!”

“You can’t kill me.”

“Can’t I though?”

“Yeah you have a date, remember?”

You checked your wristwatch and cussed under your breath, rushing to put your shoes on.

“I put a small gadget into your wristwatch,” Chloe said, “I figured he’d recognize the ring if he saw it again. If you press the button there, the team will be called to your location shortly.”

“And if things get exciting, make sure to take the watch off,” Keith let out a laugh, “You don’t want us to interrupt your fun over an accident.”

“It’s just the first date, idiot.”

“Yeah and I’m—I’m sure there’s a rule against killing on the first date.” Chloe said, “Right?”

“Nah I killed a target on the first date before,” you mumbled, “But I wasn’t told to get into a relationship back then so… It’ll be different this time.”

“Try not to give the guy whiplash though, will you?” Keith said and you frowned.

“What does that mean?”

“It means dating etiquette changed since 1940s.”

“Oh don’t worry, I got that covered,” you said but your head shot up when you heard the doorbell ring. “I have to go.”

“Okay, but—“

“No time Keith,” you murmured, walking to the door. Your heart was pacing against your chest for some reason as if it was a real first date, and you swung the door open to reveal Bucky waiting for you at your doorstep. He put his hands into his leather jacket, taking in your appearance.

“You know what to do if you get in trouble.” Keith said and you hung up quickly to push your phone into your purse, smiling wide at Bucky.

“Hi!” you said, “Shall we?”

                                                         ***

Now to think of it,  the last time you had been on a date without carrying any weapons had to be ten years ago if not more. But you had clear orders for this one, your superiors were convinced that carrying any kind of gun or a dagger would alert him, even if you thought it was invisible to outsider eye.

After all, he was an assassin and looking for weapons on a person from miles away was second nature for assassins.

You would know.

“So you moved here a month ago and you just know one place?” he asked as you waited for the barista to prepare your coffee, “A coffee shop? That’s it?”

“I know a milkshake shop too.”

He tilted his head, “You mean where you work?”

“That still counts,” you defended yourself “But if you insist, I might let you show me around next time.”

“Please do,” he said, “Just a heads up though, there’s a huge possibility that most of the places I know has been closed down years ago.”

“Oh that’s okay,” you told him as the barista put your coffees in front of you. “We can explore the new sights together then.”

A smile graced his lips while he led you to the table furthest from the window facing the door and you had to suppress your grin.

You weren’t the only one who was scanning the cafe for possible emergency exits and safest spots after all. Sitting by the window was a civilian mistake because in case of a shooting, you’d be in the clear sight for the shooter.

You had a feeling not many people considered that possibility on a first date.

“That sounds good,” he pulled your chair for you and you paused only for a moment before taking your seat.

Right. Born in a different era.

He took off his leather jacket and your gaze wandered off to his vibranium arm before snapping back to his eyes. He was watching you with his brows slightly raised, as if waiting to see your reaction.

“Sorry!” You said quickly, “I’m sorry, I just…”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“Bucky—“

“Really,” he assured you, “Don’t worry.”

You took a deep breath, pushing your behind your ear.

“So, it’s good to meet in a place that looks like it belongs to 21st century isn’t it?”

He hissed in a breath, a mischievous light glimmering in his blue eyes “Do you want me to be honest?”

“Brutally honest.”

“I would be lying if I said I don’t miss the uniform.”

Your jaw dropped before a smile spread over your lips, “Look at that,” you said, “Told you you weren’t rusty.”

He chuckled, “I’d hope not.”

“And hey, if you miss how it was back then, some things aren’t that different than 40s,” you said, cradling the warm cup in your hands. He tilted his head.

“You think so?”

“I know so.”

“Like what?”

“You know, I’m glad you asked because I actually did research in case it came up.”

He lowered his cup, “You did what?”

“Um… do you promise not to be intimidated if I am brutally honest?”

He leaned in, eyes locked to yours, “Cross my heart.”

“I did research,” you nodded, making him let out a small laugh. “No wait, listen— I just… I didn’t google you or stalk you over Instagram so I had to prepare myself in a different way.”

“I know some of those words,” he pointed out and you took a deep breath.

“It means I didn’t look you up.” you said, “When I was sixteen, I promised myself I wouldn’t look anyone up before the first date but that rule doesn’t extend to doing general research.”

“You didn’t look me up?” he asked and you shook your head.

“No.”

“Why not?”

“I like getting to know people on my own,” you said, “I’m not really interested in people’s pasts, does that make sense?”

He stared at you for a couple of seconds, “Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

“Maybe not,” you admitted, “But I’ll do it anyway. Trusting people is kind of my thing, past or not. I’d rather be mistaken than prejudiced.”

A silence fell upon him as if he was astounded and you rested your chin on your fist, keeping your eyes on him.

“What?”

“Nothing,” he said after a beat, “Nothing at all.”

“So—anyways, some things aren’t that different,” you said, leaning back, “Some details, that is. People still— we still go to movie theatres, that was a big thing back then too right?”

“Oh absolutely,” he said, “For first dates too.”

“We still wear hats sometimes,” you counted with your fingers, “Some people still prefer to call their partners daddy—in a different context, don’t google that— and we still have jello.”

“I heard about that,” he mused, a playful smile on his lips, “The jello, that is.”  

You grinned, scrunching up your nose.

“So yeah. There’s your crash course.”

“I appreciate it,” he said with a chuckle, “And hey, if it makes you feel any better I didn’t google you either.”

“Because you don’t know how?”

“Because I don’t know how,” he admitted, “I should probably start making a list, I keep asking Sam about some pretty common information.”

“Really?”

“Yeah I mean—for example, I don’t know if it’s still acceptable to bring a gal-a girl,” he corrected himself and cleared his throat, “Flowers for the first date.”

“You were going to bring me flowers?”

“Yeah! Yeah . I was going to actually, then Sam said it was old fashioned. Sharon said it was a good idea, but…”

You furrowed your brows, “Okay let me get this straight, you listened to your friend who’s a guy and not your other friend who’s a girl. About what girls like on the first date.”

A look of realization dawned on his face, “That might not have been the brightest idea now that you mentioned it.”

“No disrespect to Captain America but he might need to work on his romance skills,” you pointed out and took a sip of your coffee.

“How about you?” he asked, “What’s your story?”

I was recruited at the age of 16, just last year I took down a whole team of bad guys all by myself, I could probably kill someone in 5 different ways using this coffee cup and spoon alone.

Or not.

You had been over this. You had a full file back at home filled with details of your new identity, designed to look unsuspicious.

“There’s not much to tell I’m afraid,” you muttered, “I grew up in a small town. Everyone knew each other, and I thought it was nice, until my grandmother passed away. Then there were way too many people asking me if I was okay. In the grocery store, on my way to work… I just wanted to get away.”

“I know the feeling,” he said softly and you nodded.

Of course he did. This whole identity was fabricated for him after all.

“So I figured I could move away,” you said, “There was nothing to keep me there after all. I lost my parents when I was little, that was the reason why my grandmother took me in.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Oh don’t be,” you said quickly, “Really. They just….”

My mom died in a car crash when I was 5, and one day I came home from school and my father was nowhere to be found.

Neither was his suitcase.

You had to give it to him, he had bothered to write you a note. If you could call that a note.

The infamous genius scientist had nothing to say other than he was sorry. You had burned that note that night, along with every picture in the family album.

“There was a car accident,” you tried to smile, ignoring the bitter taste at the back of your throat, “Drunk driver, came out of nowhere. They both died on impact, that’s what everyone says. I don’t remember them much.”

A silence fell upon you for a moment and you took a deep breath.

“Anyways,” you managed to say, “Enough about me. What about you?”

He paused before turning the cup between his hands, “That’s kind of a long story,” he said, making you arch a brow to shoot him a look.

“Well as it happens, my milkshake making schedule just cleared out.” you stated, making him smile, “We have unlimited coffee and time. Bring it on.”

                                               ***

Well, you didn’t know what you had expected but it wasn’t this. Considering he was under the impression that you were a civilian, of course he didn’t tell you any gory or top secret details but he didn’t try to make himself look innocent either, or any different than he was.

He was as sincere as an ex-assassin could be.

Cover or not, this was probably the best date you had ever been. In fact, after the first half an hour you almost forgot that it was fake, that you were supposed to dig for information instead of enjoying yourself.

You were still playing your part but it didn’t exactly feel like work.

“So no to motorcycles?” Bucky asked as you turned around to look at him better while you walked backwards.

“No to motorcycles!” you exclaimed, “Those things are deathtraps.”

“So when you said you couldn’t get on it because of your dress….”

“It wasn’t a complete lie,” you motioned at your dress, “Half because of the dress, half because I don’t want to die.”

“Do you seriously believe I’d let that happen?”

“Maybe.”

“Mmm and what was it you said earlier?” he taunted you, “About trusting people?”

“I trust people,” you insisted, “I don’t trust death machines, there’s a difference.”

Well, he didn’t need to know you had a motorcycle in Chloe’s garage.

“Here we are,” you pointed at the building standing a couple of feet away from you, “My apartment. See, I told you it was close. No reason for putting our lives in danger when we can just walk.”

“Does that mean I can’t show you around the city the next time?”

“On a motorcycle?”

“Mm hm.”

“I don’t—that’s a terrible….” You heaved a dramatic sigh, “Hypothetically speaking, what would I get in return?”

His smile was calm, almost amused, “What do you want to get in return?”

You crossed your arms, looking up at the sky as if you were deep in thought, completely aware of his gaze on you.

“Flowers,” you said after a beat, “I didn’t even know they were an option but now that I know, I want flowers.”

“Is that it?” he asked, “It’s ‘a death machine’, but flowers are enough to convince you?”

“Depends,” you mused silkily, a complete opposite of the wide-eyed look in your eyes as you batted your lashes, “What else do you want me to want?”

A shadow moved behind his gaze only for a moment before it disappeared again but it was more than enough time for you to see it, and that was when you realized that there was a reason why Chloe had sent you that file.

Bucky Barnes wasn’t completely a stammering love-struck puppy when it came to flirting. While it was true that he could be a little rusty –you didn’t know how he was back in the 40s-, he also knew when to stop talking to see how far you would go in this game.

He was letting you play and think you were in control before making his move.

Patience of a sniper.

“Um- thank- thank you for tonight,” you said, averting your glances as if you were embarrassed under his gaze, playing it coy, “I had so much fun.”

“Me too,” he said, “The next one will include flowers, I promise.”

You let out a nervous giggle and stepped closer to him before you stood on your tiptoes and pressed a kiss on his cheek. He inhaled your scent deeply, probably not even aware of what he was doing but you tried to hide your smile.

It was on the file Chloe had prepared about him. Bucky Barnes liked the scent of vanilla.

“Be careful riding that death machine,” you told him, biting on your lip before you made your way to the building. You hopped on the stairs to push the exterior door to get into the building, and pressed a hand on your chest, closing your eyes.

Why were you so giddy all of a sudden?

You threw your shoulders back and got into the elevator to press on the button to your floor. As soon as the elevator started to move, your reflection in the mirror caught your attention and you tilted your head.

Chloe had a point, it was a nice dress.

The elevator made a small noise and the doors slid open for you to pass, but when you entered the hall you stopped dead on your tracks. There were four agents waiting on your doorstep and before you could question what was happening, one of the doors in the hallways opened and Keith stepped out.

“Be careful riding that death machine?” he asked, “I could tell you the same thing but you didn’t invite him up here.”

“I wasn’t wearing a wire, how did you-?”

“We had a car around the corner just in case,” he said “You’d be surprised how far we can hear with these new gadgets.”

“I told everyone we can’t—“ you stopped yourself, taking a deep breath. “What are you doing here and why are there agents at my doorstep?”

He grinned at you, “How do you feel about being neighbors?”

“I feel fuck no about it, and why are there agents—“

“General is waiting for you in your apartment.”

Your heart dropped to your stomach, “What?” you asked as you walked past him and opened the door to your apartment, then stepped in.

“General?” you rasped out as you walked into the living room to find him there, sitting by himself.

“Shrike,” he greeted you, “Good evening.”

You tried to smile, “Good evening sir.”

“I wanted to see how the mission was going,” he said, “Your team says it’s been very successful so far.”

“It’s going according to plan sir, yes.”

“This was what, your first date?”

You licked your dry lips, commanding yourself to be calm. “Yes.”

He hummed and stood up, running a hand over his gray beard, his eyes darting around the room.

“Y/N,” he murmured, making your head shot up at hearing your name instead of your alias. “It’s possible that the last time we talked face to face about your mission, I came across a little…uncaring. I want you to know that it’s not easy for me either.”

You stared at him, completely dumbfounded.

“You’re like a daughter to me,” he said, “For me, putting you on this mission was no different than sending Chloe into Barnes’s bed. Granted you have an edge and proper training for field missions like these unlike her, but…”

Right. Manipulation of Enemy.

A.k.a the seduction class.

Your superior had almost failed you in that class.

“But all your superiors in the division is aware of your success so far,” he said, “There has been no hiccups, nothing to alert him which is a surprise. You’re playing your role well, and we will keep that in mind after this mission is over. You’re at the top of our list for possible handlers.”

For the first time in your life, that didn’t make you fill with excitement for some reason. You frowned at yourself and plastered a smile on your face.

“Thank you sir.”

“Anything you would like to report so far?”

“I’m going slowly in order to make sure I gain his trust,” you said, “But sir, there’s a reason why I didn’t even wear my earpiece tonight. Barnes is a pro, anything could make him suspicious and putting agents in cars to listen to us… That could go wrong.”

“You want to be completely alone on this mission?”

“I still want to have my team, but I want them to be completely invisible. I already have a tracker and an emergency signal on my wristwatch, but unless I specifically call for them, they need to be away. I can’t risk anyone compromising my cover, even if it’s unintentional by my team.”

He thought for a moment, “I see,” he said, “You make a good point. I’ll make the necessary adjustments.”

“Thank you General.”

He squeezed your upper arm as if trying to assure you and walked to the door, then turned around.

“Shrike?”

“Yes sir?”

“You’ve heard what happened to Marco, right?” he asked, “He was one of our best agents but got too involved in his seduction mission.”

You swallowed thickly, “I heard he’s missing.”

A small smile pulled at his lips, “That’s right. He was removed from his mission, then went missing.”

Killed.

He was killed by the agency when he fell for his target and both of you knew that.

“That’s unfortunate,” you managed to say and he nodded.

“It is,” he said, “Don’t make the same mistake. Actions have consequences.”

With that, he left your apartment and you let out a breath as you fell back to sit on the couch, your hands shaking.

“Yeah,” you muttered to yourself, “Yeah they do.”

Chapter 7 

[aftqrglow]

A Blessing, Beautiful And True

pairing: bucky x fem!reader

word count: 3.2k

warnings: use of she/her pronouns; swearing if you squint; mentions of death; mentions of food

a/n: this is a rewrite of one of my old fics that i absolutely hated with my entire being. i hate this a little bit less djaksjsjs also pls ignore how i literally cannot write a good ending to save my life.

dedicated to @xsamsharons for lending me her name. i hope i did it justice mi amor ily <3

Bucky learnt to value things.

Not the great, terribly material things people around him seemed to rush after. Not money, not even when he was barely getting by.

No, for Bucky, it was the small, seemingly insignificant things.

The tiny toy WWII soldier figurine he found at a yard sale one Tuesday afternoon, the one with the missing arm. The near-exact model of the car his father used to drive—rusted around the tiny steel axel, the rubber wheels worn from use. That yellow screwdriver set that sat at the very back of the tool cabinet in the garage, unusable because of the cracked plastic handles and rusted steel, that looked exactly like the kit he had once used to fix up the plumbing in his first apartment.

Bucky was used to valuing the broken little things.

He never truly understood what loving something whole, something complete felt like—not until he met you.

You, in your white sweater and blue jeans, hair tossed up in a braid. You, your eyes that dancing with unbroken light, like the rays of the sun on the ocean on a bright summer’s day. You, with the sort of kindness he never truly thought he would ever be worthy of, not until you showed him that he was.

You, the girl he fell in love with before he could ever truly know what love was.

Steve might’ve been the first to notice. He was with him that day, the day he first saw you. They had been hunting for a Christmas present for Tony, and even though Bucky wasn’t exactly thrilled to have to attend, he wasn’t about to show up empty handed.  

Steve didn’t even realize that the sly-footed assassin wasn’t by his side until he had walked the two blocks from the mall to his car. Hands ghosting over the gun tucked into the holster hooked into his waistband, Steve retraced his steps, his heart thundering in his throat.

Until he heard Bucky’s laugh.

Not the obviously fake chuckles he used to placate those around him. No, this was the laugh he remembered, the laugh he thought Bucky had lost.

This was Bucky’s laugh—his Bucky’s laugh, before the world stole him away. Pure and innocent.

Happy—so undeniably, inexplicably happy.

The tension eased from his shoulders when he saw you. Steve knew who you were, of course. Everyone did—or at least, everyone who had been around after the Battle of New York. Everyone who had seen you walk among the rubble, bleeding through your jeans, helping dig survivors out of the rubble, guiding them to shelters. Everyone who had seen you do everything you could help those who needed it more than you did, until your legs finally gave way and the only reason you didn’t collapse to the floor was because Steve caught you.

But Steve also happened to know why you’d done it. Because you were kind. Because you were selfless. Because you knew what it was like to lose everyone you loved, and to garner the strength to build yourself up anyway.

You’d lost people too—everyone you loved, killed during the Battle. Your family. Your friends. It might’ve seemed cruel to be spared. Might’ve seemed like a cold, dark twist of fate—and for a time, it did.

Steve had never known anyone to be resilient the way you were.

And maybe, just maybe, he thought to himself, as he watched his friend from through the glass, maybe you would teach him to hold on to the tiniest sliver of hope too.

—

Bucky didn’t even like books.

The only book he’d read—aside from the coursework assigned to him in his school days—was The Hobbit. And even that had taken him an ungodly amount of time to finish.

So yeah, Bucky didn’t exactly like books.

But he still visited the tiny bookstore on the corner every day.

He didn’t even buy anything. He just looked around, running his fingertips over the spines of the books that jutted out of the wooden shelves, the sunlight turning his eyes into uncharted waters of the oceans, swimming with undiscovered secrets and untold lies.

You would talk to him. All the time, and with no trace of the usual pity or sympathy that he heard when he spoke to people. You talked to him in a way that made him feel like himself, in a way that made him feel like he just might rediscover the man he used to be.

That first time he’d seen you was burned into the back of his brain, the image of you standing there with a hip braced against a bookshelf, dressed in a white sweater and jeans, your hair pulled into a braid over your shoulder. He had watched as a strand escaped, falling into your face.

And him—he'd stood there, watching you talk to another woman he couldn't recall because really, how could he look at anything else but you? Bucky was certain he looked like a gaping idiot, both wanting your attention to turn to him, and dreading the fact that he would surely make a fool of himself if you so much as looked at him.

Back in the 40s, things would've been so much easier. He would already have said something witty to make you laugh, he would already have been telling you about the carnival down at the beach and asking if you wanted to go with him.

But when your friend left, and you asked him if there was anything you could help him with, his voice sounded strange to his own ears as he croaked, "Books?"

You had laughed—and he found himself laughing along. A true laugh—for the first time in a long time, the sound didn’t sound fake to his own ears. For the first time in a long time, he felt like himself.

Bucky had taught himself to value that which wasn’t whole—because he wasn’t, either. Love was give and take. Love was equal.

If he was to deserve your love, he would have to be whole again. If he was to deserve your love, he would make himself whole again.

—

There was a sudden shift in the way Bucky viewed the world.

It had been three days since he last saw you, but he walked in through those doors anyway. He had no cause, no reason—he just couldn’t go any longer without seeing you.

You were sitting by the bay window at the very back, reading a book. He took a second just to take you in, to get used to the fact that you weren’t just a figment of his imagination.

The second you looked up, your face split into a grin, like you were truly, genuinely happy to see him. He couldn’t remember the last time someone had smiled at him that way. “Hey, you’re back! It’s Bucky, right?”

He nodded. He couldn't trust himself to speak, not when he was sure he would stumble over his words, not when he couldn't bring himself to string together a coherent sentence in your presence. 

"What can I help you with today?" you asked, snapping your book shut and placing it on the table. 

"Uh... What're you reading?"

You glanced down at your book before looking up to meet his eyes again. Blue, you thought, supressing a smile. Icy blue, but warm nonetheless—familiar in the way most things aren’t. "Wuthering Heights. You've never read it?"

He shook his head no. "Never been much of a reader, no. Is it any good?"

"It's one of my favourites," was your answer, watching as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other. The light caught the steel of the chain around his neck—the chain of one of those military-issue dog tags.

And maybe that was how it started—on that dreary cold Wednesday, when you'd stood next to the bookshelf by the window, telling him about your favourite book, but really all he could focus on was the late afternoon sun rendering the hue of your eyes several shades lighter, the soft slope of your nose, the fullness of your mouth. Every little detail about you was etched permanently into his mind—and he wanted to learn more.

He wanted to know everything there was to know about you. 

It was about closing time when he decided he had to go. Not because he wanted to, but because he had promised he would have dinner with Sam and Steve. And as much as Bucky wanted to stay, he was a man of his word.

Which is why when he promised you he would come see you as soon as he finished reading the book, you knew he meant it.

—

And you were right.

Two days later, he was back. 

It was raining that day, early in the morning when you were just about to open up. And there, standing under the awning in the freezing rain, was Bucky, the collar of his coat turned up against the wind, drenched to the bone.

"What're you doing here?" you asked, eyes wide.

"I just... I don't know," he said. Because he didn't. Bucky didn't even like books—but he did like being around you. There was a strange sort of calm about you, a sense of peace he'd only known in Wakanda. Around you, he was just Bucky—not Sargent Barnes, not the Winter Soldier—just Bucky. 

He liked being just Bucky.

You shook your head, but he could've sworn he saw the corner of your mouth tilt upwards as you fished your keys out of your pocket and unlocked the door. "Well, come on inside. I'll turn up the heat and get you something warm to drink. Christ, Buck, you could get pneumonia or something.”

He only nodded once. It didn't matter that he wouldn't get sick—not when the serum in his veins healed his body faster than normal. It didn’t matter that even if he could sick, he wouldn’t have cared, not when you were looking at him like that, with concern in your eyes for something other than your own safety.

You had a coffee machine in the back room, you told him. He followed you, lingering in the doorway as you bustled about, humming a tune under your breath. He recognized it as a song from that one Marvin Gaye album Sam couldn’t stop talking about. He recognized it as a song he wanted to listen to for the rest of his life, if only you were the one singing it.

He recognized that, for better or for worse, you would be his undoing.

—

After that, he came to see you every day.

When the weather got colder still, he brought you steaming cups of hot chocolate from your friend Bella’s café down the street. And on the days when he didn’t, he would head into the back room and make you coffee. You’d never had to tell him how you took it—after that in the rain, he’d somehow remembered what you liked.

You weren’t about to tell him, but you remembered what he liked too.

It started out simple—plum cider that you found on your weekly trip to the farmer’s market. An old vintage copy of The Hobbit from the forties. Rubber silencers for his dog tags that he never used but carried around in his pocket anyway—until eventually, you had something new for him every week, some insignificant thing that he looked at with the kind of childlike awe that made your heart twist into knots in your chest.

He walked you home too. Every evening, with his hands stuffed in his pockets, slowing his stride so that he could walk alongside you. He would stand outside, across the street, hands in his pockets, waiting for you to walk into the apartment you shared with Bella. Only leaving when the lights came on and he knew you were safe.

Bucky wasn’t much of a talker—you learnt that about him. He would spend all day sitting quietly in a corner of your store, reading one of the books he found on the shelf of used copies you kept in the back of the room.

He seemed to love those used books more than the new ones—books someone had already read, books that had already been loved.

He felt a little that way sometimes, too. A little too used for love, not loved enough for use.

But never when he was with you.

And you—you were falling for Bucky Barnes. A little by little, day by day, without even realizing it—not until it all came rushing to you one afternoon, like a dam breaking, like the ocean of his eyes pulling you under, especially when you felt his gaze on you from time to time, watching you as you worked.

That afternoon, a new shipment of books came in. You didn’t even have to ask him for help—he was already on his feet, snapping his copy of Anna Karenina shut, mumbling a soft, “I’ve got it,” as you signed for the order. Hefted the two cartons of books like they weighed nothing at all, and carried them inside.

There was a strange tightness in your stomach as you watched him, standing in the middle of your store—the only thing the Battle of New York hadn’t taken away from you—and you wondered just how it took so damn long to realize that the feeling of familiarity didn’t lie among these books, but rather, in Bucky himself.

—

It was a slow day, so the two of you spent the rest of the afternoon restocking the shelves. He asked you about each of the books, watching your eyes light up as you talked about your favourite ones, until conversation lapsed into a comfortable silence, the two of you basking in each other’s company as you worked.

You didn't even realize how much time had passed until you heard the door open and your friend Bella breezed in. She'd been here the first day Bucky had walked in, had noticed the way your eyes shifted to him mid-conversation like you couldn’t focus on much else when he was around. “Ready for lunch, y/n?”

You looked at Bucky, opening your mouth to ask if he wanted to come along. Not because you didn’t trust him to be alone at the store, but because you wanted his company. Because being around him felt like coming home.

He only waved you off. "Go ahead. I've got plans with Stevie. I'll be here when you're back though."

You believed him. You believed that he would always be around, for as long as you wanted. And you wanted forever.

"Was that the guy from before?" Bella asked, looping an arm through yours as you left the store, walking down the street. She brushed her fiery hair out of her eyes, turning her head slightly to look at you, yellow-green eyes filled with curiosity. “What’s his name?”

"Bucky. He... He's a friend," you said. 

"Well," Bella said. "He sure doesn't feel the same way."

"What do you mean?" you asked, confused.

"Y/n, he looks at you like you put the stars in his sky. Are you sure he's just a friend?"

"I... I don't know, Bella."

Because you didn't know what else to call him. Because you and him weren't friends in the way people usually are—you had always been more.

Bucky was always more.

—

"I've barely seen you," Steve said, picking up his can of Diet Pepsi and taking a sip. "Where have you been?"

"Around," Bucky mumbled. Because how could he explain why he was spending so much time at the bookstore with someone he'd only just met? How could he explain the magnetic pull he felt toward you, the inexplicable desire to just be around you?

How could he explain the way you made him feel like himself again?

But Steve knew. Steve always knew. He saw the growing stack of novels on his friend's bedside table, saw him reading at the kitchen table, book propped up against the jug of milk.

He also knew that all this was because of y/n. Because Bucky mumbled that name when he was too exhausted to even know what he was saying. Because Bucky talked in his sleep—and Steve could hear him calling that name through the thin walls that separated their rooms. "You've been at the bookstore?"

Bucky set his drink down. There was so use denying it—his friend would see right through him. Steve had known him for too damn long to believe in his lies. "She's so... I can't even put it into words. She makes me believe that there's good in this world. That all the things I did wrong don't even matter—not when I'm with her. It’s the way she looks at things, the way she’s capable of finding a little bit of good in everything. Like she found something good in me, Steve."

Steve knew it was true. Because he hadn’t seen Bucky this way for a very long time. Because he hadn’t seen that light in his friend’s eyes in a very long time, and ever since he met you, it hadn’t gone away.

—

Bucky had to leave for a couple of days.

He didn't tell you why—just that it was a work thing. How long would he be gone? He didn't know.

"I'll be back soon," he said. "I promise."

And he was. Five days later.

But Bucky was quiet—quieter than usual. 

It was a Sunday, and you’d somehow managed to drag him along to the farmer’s market with you. He walked alongside you, hands in his pockets, like he was aching to reach out and touch you but desperately holding himself back.

He’d almost gotten himself killed on that mission.

You took up too many thoughts in his head, too much space in his heart. And when the bullet narrowly missed him, grazing his ribs, his only thought was whether or not you’d miss him if he was gone.

You deserved better than someone who’s life was tied to the death of others. Someone who didn’t have so much blood on his hands.

A few paces ahead of you, Bella walked hand-in-hand with Bucky’s friend Sam. You were glad that Bucky had introduced them, glad that Sam made Bella happy in ways you’d never really known or understood before.

“Look at them,” you said, watching with a smile on your face as Sam quietly slipped a couple of oranges into Bella’s bag. “They look real happy.”

Then, turning to look at him, you smiled, and he couldn’t hold himself back anymore. Because you might deserve better, but he was selfish and stubborn, and the only thing he had wanted in so goddamn long was you you you.

“Go out with me,” he blurted, every thread of self-control he had so carefully cultivated to keep his head in your presence snapping. He felt like he was taken back to that December evening he saw you for the first time, when the words refused to leave his mouth, when you’d rendered him tongue-tied and helpless. Only this time, he couldn’t stop the words from coming out, not as he said, “One date, y/n. One date, and if you don’t have a good time, we can just forget it ever happened and move on.”

His heart shuttered when he saw the small frown creasing your brow, your voice soft as you asked, “Are you sure?”

“I’ve never been more sure of anything. I want to do this for the rest of my life with you, y/n,” he said quietly. “But for now, I’ll take that date.”

“Okay,” you said, nodding slowly. “Okay, Bucky, I’ll go out with you.”

He couldn’t help it. Bucky wrapped his arms around your waist, drawing you to him, lifting you off your feet and spinning you around until you were both laughing, childlike and breathless, blissfully unconscious of the knowing look on Sam and Bella’s faces.

Because really, how could he see anything but you? You had been it from the first day he saw, and you were it now—a blessing, beautiful and true.

tags:

@goldengoddess @wherearethesantreys @ughlantsov @for-bebbanburg @mriddlemethis @xleiaorgana @xsamsharons

if you would like to be added to or removed from my taglist, just send me a message or an ask off anon!

[mrs-gucci]

Rough Around the Edges {Prince Kylo Ren x Reader}

author’s notes: hello, hello! taking a quick break from all the fourth of july stuff to submit this piece for this week’s writer wednesday :) thanks @autumnleaves1991-blog and @clydesducktape​ for organizing this wonderful weekly event!

this story takes place in a medieval AU and is lightly inspired by certain elements in “Beauty and the Beast”.

warnings: angst with a hopeful ending. partially unreciprocated feelings. arranged courtship. time period-authentic sexism (women are meant to please men and that’s all). there’s a kiss.

(possible) tw’s: arranged relationship. implied age gap (not specified, but everyone’s above age).

word count: a touch over 2k

my taglist peeps: @frank-and-honey @shygirl268 @icarusinthesea​ ​@gildedstarlight @mrs-zimmerman​ @soldmysoulagain @roseepossee​​ @pascalisfairyy​​ (if you’d like to be added to or removed from my taglist, the link to the google form is HERE or on the top of my masterlist.)

You sit in front of the mirror while Anna pulls your hair into a flattering updo. Your eyes begin to tear up at the painful sting of your hair being manipulated in such a forceful way, scalp throbbing with each of Anna’s harsh, calculated movements.

"Must you be so rough?”

She offers little empathy in her expression as she looks at you through the mirror’s reflection. “The Prince insisted that you wear your hair up tonight, madame. He was absolutely furious when you wore it down the last time, and I’m the one who had to stand there while he threw a tantrum over it.”

Your eyes roll, knowing all too well of your betrothed’s legendary fits of anger. He’s much too old to be doing such childish things, but god forbid you ever say that to him.

Anna finishes up with your hair, much to your relief, but now the real pain begins. You look over at the corset waiting on the bed and already, your ribcage aches.

“What, are you trying to turn it to stone?” She asks, and you shake your head. “Well, you’re certainly staring at it long enough. Come on now, stand up, we don’t have all afternoon.”

You sigh, rising up out of the chair and walking over to the bed where Anna’s standing, corset in-hand. She wraps it around your torso, pulling the laces impossibly tight over your ribs and stomach, caging them both within the garment. 

After the corset is very securely tied, Anna grabs your dress and helps you step into the golden yellow skirt. She ties the top part with just as much aggression as she tied the corset, making simply breathing a painful process.

“Try to at least look like you don’t want to jump out of the East tower’s window.” Anna remarks as you scowl at your reflection in the mirror. “Have you ever considered smiling?”

“I have absolutely nothing to smile about.” You reply curtly, unamused by this conversation or her suggestions.

She sighs in defeat. “I’m only trying to help, madame. You need to learn how to be a princess, or at least try and act the part.”

“I’m not interested in being a princess, Anna. But, if you ever asked my opinion on the matter, then you’d already know that. Now please, I wish to be alone.”

Anna’s surprised at the hostile tone of your words, but she keeps her lips pursed, knowing she’s in no place to press the issue any further. She simply nods, backing out of the room, leaving you alone.

Your bottom lip begins to tremble as your vision blurs with tears, abruptly turning away from the mirror so that you don’t have to look at what you’ve been forced to become.

There’s nothing that you wish for more than to be free from this life, free to live the way you want to live instead of the one that was chosen for you to live. You loathe the mask you must wear, the painted face that looks back at you through the mirror.

But, you have no choice...you’ve never had a choice.

-

The palace is aglow this evening, thousands of candles burning and casting a warmer shade across the normally-bland ivory color. Your shoes clink on the marble flooring as you make your way to the front steps, looking over the railing at the grand room below.

Lords and ladies, princes and princesses are all arm-in-arm, walking through to the ballroom. Some have stopped to converse with each other, fake smiles plastered on their painted faces. 

You huff to yourself as you reach the top of the staircase, and at the bottom, stands your betrothed. He looks up as you make your way down the stairs, a pleased smirk tugging at the corners of his lips with each step you take.

Kylo holds his hand out to you when you reach the bottom, guiding you down the final stair before looping his arm through yours. The two of you walk towards the ballroom, smiling and nodding politely at the other guests.

“You look nice.” His voice is flat, emotionless.

You huff in false amusement, physically having to prevent your eyes from rolling. “Am I supposed to thank you for saying that?”

"Ah, you’re learning.” He says, stopping to look down at you, fingers holding your chin and forcing you to look up at him while his eyes linger over your face. “Perhaps there’s hope for you yet, little dove.”

You yank your chin from his grip, snarling softly. “Don’t touch me.”

His hand suddenly comes up to wrap around your throat, teeth bared. “I can touch you however I please, young one. You’re mine, and you ought to learn your place.”

Once he feels you relax, feels you surrender under his touch, he lets go of your neck and continues walking as if nothing’s happened, dragging you along with him.

He wears you on his arm the whole evening as he talks to various noblemen and you just stand there, silent with a small smile, pretending like you don’t exist. 

Then, the two of you take a seat at the big table with King Han and Queen Leia, beginning to feast on the royal spread. You barely eat, partially due to the fact that you’re afraid to bust the ties on your corset if your abdomen expands even a little bit too far, and Kylo seems to take notice.

“I promise I didn’t poison it.”

You look over at him with widened eyes. He simply smirks, laughing softly to himself.

“I’m only joking, little dove.”

You’re incredibly surprised, stunned into utter silence at the fact that he’s just joked with you. You'd been convinced up until this point that humor wasn’t a part of his emotional capabilities, that he was only capable of anger, hatred, and inflicting fear. 

His hand hesitantly rests on top of yours, which makes you flinch. He looks conflicted in the moment, as if he’s deciding whether or not to be upset that you react this way to his touch.

“Why aren’t you eating? You need to eat.”

You look away, jaw clenching. “I know you don’t actually care why I’m not eating, Kylo. Plus, none of my answers will be good enough to please you, anyway.”

He stiffens, pulling his hand away immediately.

“Perhaps you’re right.”

Your eyebrows furrow at the tone of his voice. He almost sounds...upset. Not upset at you, though, upset at himself. 

The rest of the time he’s silent, only glancing over at you occasionally. Dessert comes around and you don’t even touch it, simply sitting up straight with your hands in your lap.

Couples rise from their tables as the musicians begin to play an upbeat tempo, gathering on the ballroom floor. Kylo stands up next to you, holding out his hand without a word.

You rise from your chair and take his extended hand, allowing him to lead you out to the ballroom floor. Dancing was customary in Alderaan and was a very popular practice at gathering’s like this. 

Kylo’s large hands drop to your waist as soon as you reach the floor and you reach up to rest your hands on his broad shoulders. The two of you sway in unison and make your way around the dance floor skillfully, gracefully. 

After the song comes to an end and another slower one begins, the Prince tilts his head down to look at you. His face is stoic, unchanging, but there’s something different about this look. It’s not as harsh or as emotionless as it normally is; there’s a certain gentleness to it.

Your eyes keep his gaze, looking back up at him with a curious glint in your eyes, drinking in his up-close appearance for truly the first time since you’ve arrived in Alderaan. He’s intoxicatingly handsome, there’s no getting around that, but his personality and temper leave a lot to be desired.

Yet, despite his hostility and distaste for you, you still find yourself temporarily entranced by his presence, melting under his gaze. It’s in this moment that you catch a glimpse into your own psyche, recognizing the true source of your vehement hate and closed-off behavior towards him. 

All of it is done out of a desire to hide your attraction to the man that you’ve tried so, so hard to dislike. There’s always been a small part of you that’s known this, but you figured that if you pushed it down long enough and acted otherwise, perhaps you’d eventually convince yourself otherwise. But, alas, those feelings of attraction have only grown and festered beneath the facade of hatred.

It is true, Kylo Ren is a moody, closed-off, hostile and frankly childish being, but you’re somehow able to look past that and see the diamond-in-the-rough quality to the young Prince. You know that somewhere, behind the stone wall he’s so clearly built up around himself, there’s a goodness to him. You’ve seen glimpses of it throughout the time you’ve known him, but he almost immediately shuts it down instead of letting it show further, a fact you find incredibly perplexing.

“Y/N?” His voice pulls you from your thoughts.

You snap from your temporary trance and shake your head. “Sorry, I was deep in thought.”

“I gathered.” He chuckles softly. “If I asked what it is you were thinking about, would you tell me the truth?”

“Probably not.”

He nods. “I appreciate your honesty.”

The two of you continue to move around the floor before the handsome Prince clears his throat, cheeks flushing a delicate shade of pink.

“May I ask you a question, completely unrelated to my previous inquiry?”

You nod, and he swallows harshly.

“What is it about me that you loathe so much?”

Your stomach drops and you suddenly feel a touch of lightheadedness begin to pressurize within your skull. You’re frozen for a moment as you try to decide whether or not to tell him the truth.

“I don’t...why are you asking me such a thing? I know you don’t actually care about the answer.”

His jaw clenches and his grip suddenly tightens on your hips. “Why do you always insist that I don’t care?”

“Because I know you don’t, Kylo. At least, not truly.” You reply, squirming beneath his grip.

“W-Well, what if...” He huffs, looking away. “What if I do care? Or am at least trying to care?”

You’re genuinely surprised by his words, taken aback for a moment. This is a turn you certainly didn’t see coming...

“I find your ever-changing moods and stubbornness often makes you difficult to deal with. You never try, at least up until this point, to understand my feelings or show any sort of interest in getting to know me, which just makes me feel even more unwanted than I already do, and I--”

Before you can continue, you’re cut off by a sudden presence on your lips. It registers in your mind, then, that he’s kissing you. You stiffen, and he pulls away slowly, eyes staring into yours.

“You are not unwanted, Y/N.” He says, voice low. “Never...p-please never think that.”

Did he just say ‘please’? That’s almost the most shocking thing he’s said thus far.

“I don’t think you’re a bad person, Kylo. Just...a little rough around the edges.”

His entire demeanor shifts for a moment, and for a split second, you swear he looks happy; truly, genuinely happy. Perhaps a bit of relief was sprinkled in, too. He wears a small, barely-there smile as he continues to look down at you.

“I would like to try and change. We should at least try to get along, considering the fact that we’ll be wed soon. I know you don’t want to be here, but I’d like to at least try to make things a bit easier, h-however I can.”

You can’t stop the smile that quickly spreads across your face, delightfully pleased to hear these words. Your expression widens his smile ever so slightly.

“I think we can certainly give it a try.”

Kylo nods, a subtly optimistic expression etched on his features.

“I’m looking forward to it.”

[nat-20s]

for @jonmartinweek THE FINAL DAY prompt- Pining/Longing. This one takes place, well, you’ll see

~*~

A Study of Longing, Told in Six Parts

Part 1

Martin wonders if he’ll ever get to a point in his life where kindness doesn’t feel like a shock to the system. It’s already surprising enough when Tim and Sasha invite him for drinks in a genuine offer of friendship, but for that kindness to come from Jon? Martin has no idea what to do with being believed, let alone being protected.

And now here he is, blearily opening his eyes only to find himself staring at a mass of hair. As he sits up and rubs the sleep from his eyes, the shape resolves into the form of one Jonathan Sims. He had apparently fallen asleep with his head cushioned on his arms, against the cot Martin was currently occupying. It’s not an image that Martin can fully process at the moment, so instead he debates whether or not to wake Jon up or quietly get off the cot to let him get some much needed sleep. He decides on the former, both thinking that it would be hell on his back to keep sleeping in that position, and that he would like an explanation.

Hand hovering above Jon’s shoulder, but not fully touching, Martin oh so quietly calls out, “Jon?”

That’s all it takes for Jon’s head to rush up with a gasp, glasses askew, and with the texture of his sleeves pressed in red marks on his face. It is a horribly endearing look. “Hrn?”

Martin opens his mouths, closes it, and waits for Jon to get his bearings. Jon smooths down his (frankly ridiculous) sweater-vest, adjusts his glasses, and slips back on his professional demeanor. “My apologies, Martin, I, ah, must have fallen asleep.”

Glancing to the crappy little digital clock resting on a file box next to him, Martin rolls his eyes. Only Jon could be quite so stuffy at 4:32 in the morning. “No apologies needed. Though, um, was there? Something you needed or..?”

Jon shakes his head and stands up, dusting off imaginary grime. “No, no, nothing like that. I had just, er. I had heard you cry out and I- I wanted to make sure nothing was going on. It appears that it simply a nightmare,so I will be.. taking my leave. Now.”

He doesn’t know what part of himself replies, “Oh! You don’t have to go!,” but he replies it anyway. Jon does that little thoughtful frown at him, which forces him to continue, “I mean, if you wanted the cot. For sleeping. I’ll probably be awake for the rest of the night, so, you know, no skin off my back .”

“Ah. No, that’s quite alright, Martin. Try to get some more sleep, there’s still a long work day ahead.”

Jon doesn’t even wait for a response before turning on his heel and leaving. Martin sort of hates how much he wanted him to stay.

Part 2

Jon is laughing. Jon is terrified, all the damn time, and yet, somehow, he’s laughing. Honestly, he was starting to wonder if he was still capable of it. Martin is gesticulating wildly with his fork, animated in a way that Jon’s only ever seen when in they’re in the middle of a rather silly debate. He thinks this lunch’s topic was something like whether or not snakes were cute? He lost the thread of conversation about half an hour ago, honestly. Covering his mouth, he lets the giggles run through his whole body, shaking his shoulders and heating his core. He feels light, heady, like he’s reminiscing with an old friend and they’re both on the edge of having had too much to drink.

He only wishes he could trust this feeling. He wishes that he could trust Martin, that they were normal coworkers having a normal lunch, that the previous person in Jon’s position had gone into an easy retirement instead of being violently murdered. He wishes he hadn’t read that letter telling him, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that Martin, Martin, who took him to lunch and brought him tea and seemed so very warm in so very cold circumstances, was lying to him.

Jon stops laughing.

Part 3

Of course, the second his body hits the simultaneously stiff and weirdly lumpy motel mattress, his phone goes off. It may only be about 8 pm, but he’s tired, and he’s sore, and he’s had a persistent headcold for the past week for some unholy reason, the last thing he wants to do is talk. However, only about four people have the number to the burner cell, and they’re almost certainly have a purpose behind their call.

Closing his eyes and letting out a sigh that turns into more of a groan, he picks up on the 4th ring. “Hello?”

“Hey, Jon! It’s Martin, I’m not sure if you have my number programmed in that phone, or if it even has caller ID if you do. Anyway, it’s been about a week since I’ve heard anything, and I wanted to make sure you weren’t, y’know, dead or arrested or anything.”

His previously tense and aching muscles all relax, without him consciously deciding to relax them, and a sleepy smile spreads across his face, because some time in the past year he’s become a parody of himself. Yes, maybe he should be more affronted by how much Martin’s tinny voice brings him comfort, but he’s had a rather terrible time of things since...since he began work in the archives, really, and he’s worn down enough that he can admit he misses his friend.

Huh. Friends. They are, aren’t they? Wonder when that happened. (He can guess, something involving a fake CV admission, but he doesn’t feel like it right now.) “Martin, I recognize your voice, no need to introduce yourself.”

“Right! Yes, uh, ‘course..of course you can. Right. Sooo...I take it you’re not dead, then.”

“Correct. I haven’t been arrested, either.” It’s only sort of a comforting lie, so Jon thinks it can be forgiven.

“Good. Great! Yeah, that’s...that’s good.”

The conversation could probably end there. Jon could probably tell Martin good night, and they’d hang up, and Jon could get the sleep he had been so desperately craving not moments ago. Somehow, he thinks that neither of them want that. Scrambling for something to talk about, Jon replies, “Hang on, isn’t it something like 2am over there?”

“It...might be.”

“Martin!”

“What! It’s not like you have a monopoly on bad sleeping habits. Besides, I was up anyway, and I just..”

“Just what?”

“I just missed your voice.”

Oh. Heat rushes to his cheeks, and tears start to prick at the corners of his eyes, and god. He had missed Martin’s voice too. “Really? I know you’ve had to listen to a fair number of tapes lately, thought you might be sick of it by now.”

“No. I mean, I am a bit tired of tapes, honestly, but even the ones that you recorded, that not really your voice, is it? I mean it is, but it doesn’t sound like you when you’re actually, um, you. I wanted..I wanted to hear you.”

Jon’s far too worn out to deal with that sentiment, and the way that it makes his heart clench. So instead  of addressing it, he says, “I am very close to being asleep.”

“Oh. Right, sorry, I’ll let you go-”

“No! No. Um. Would you mind staying on the line? Until I’m gone? I-I like hearing your voice. As well.”

“Oh! Sure, yeah, definitely. Anything in particular you want me to talk about?”

“Whatever you like. Something nice?”

“All right. I can do that. Um. Did I tell you about this little yarn shop I found the other day. It’s called ‘Puttin’ on the knitz’, and it’s…”

Jon peacefully drifts off, listening to the voice of the man who he can only admit in moments such as these, he wishes was in this bed, laying beside him.

Part 4

please come back please come back for the love of god come back I can’t believe you’re doing this do you have any idea how stupid this is come back to me come back come back come back

Part 5

There is plenty of things to long for in the apocalypse. A decent cuppa. The relief of actual sleep. Murdering Jonah Magnus. For there not to be a apocalypse. They are grateful, however, to not have to long for each other.

Part 6

Martin comes to without a knife in his hand, or bloodstains on his clothing. Those, under other circumstances, would be good things.

Martin comes to, laying in the grass, without anyone beside him. He barely has the moment to feel agony spike through him before he’s out once more.

There are no Jonathan Sims admitted to the hospital. As far as he can tell, no one was admitted into the hospital at the same time as him, and certainly no one with a stab wound.

There are thousands of ‘Jonathan Sims UK’, typed desperately into a library computer search bar, wielding mostly results about a sport manager and a romance novelist. None of the images are of the right person.

Sometimes Martin puts one foot in front of the other, carefully blank in heart and head. Surviving, even  during times that he’s not sure he wants to, is one of his greatest abilities.

Sometimes Martin despairs.

On the worst nights, he tries to call the Lonely back to him, tries to be swallowed whole. It never works. He’s not sure if it’s because the fears aren’t in the reality or if they’re not established enough to have any leverage or if his connection has simply been broken. (He doubts the last reason. He hasn’t been this alone since Tim’s funeral. Even then, Melanie had thrown a few stilted condolences towards him. No one is aware enough of him to give condolences now. He misses Melanie. He misses all of them. He misses Jon like a gaping, bleeding wound misses skin.)

Seven months later, and he has enough money saved and identity built that he moves on to Scotland. The little village they had been adjacent to exists in this reality. Daisy’s cottage does not.

On a whim, he enters the yarn shop. He’s not going to pick anything up, hobbies are the last thing he can focus on, but it’s nice to look. To feel the various textures, to take in the rich variance of colors, to, hopefully be present in his own body, if only for a moment.

Martin steps in. The bell chimes. He’s there. Standing in front of him. Whole. In a cry that’s closer to a gasp, he calls out, “JON!”

Jon turns, looks up at him, recognizes him even before he’s even fully seen him. It’s his Jon, he’s here he’s here he’s here. The callback of “MARTIN!” sounds like it was punched out of him, the start of a sob and a laugh all at once.

In a blink, they’re together, their embrace a tangle of limbs, a collision of lips, a mixture of tears. Martin can’t tell which of them is saying the litany of “thank god thank god thank god” and who’s repeating “it’s you it’s you it’s you.”

It’s Jon that’s telling him, “I knew you had to be here. I knew it, because I kept thinking. Surely. Surely this new universe wouldn’t be so cruel as to allow me to live, but to make me live without you.”

It’s Martin that replies, “I didn’t know. I thought it would be that cruel. Please don’t make me go through that again.”

Jon pulls him in tighter, eliminating the centimeter of space between them. Speaking into Martin’s neck, whispered in fierce devotion, Jon promises, “Never again. Never again. You and me. Together. For the rest of our lives.”

Barely discernible through his sobbing, Martin tells him, “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

~*~

There are people that think that wanting is more worthwhile than having. Martin thinks, frankly, that those people have never been in love.