#i want to trap him in a little box and shake it around

[deep-space-lines]

So we know Gabriel’s armor changes color from a default silver to red when he’s super pissed. Implying his armor changes color with his emotions (because he’s a special little princess).

So the obvious question is: can he blush

[tonycries]

One More? Please? - G.S.

Synopsis. A kiss always solves everything! But when a kiss turns into something more…well, it’s only a desperate attempt to unseal yourselves from this damned prison realm, right? Right?

Pairing. Gojo Satoru x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, unprotected, coworkers to lovers, being stuck in that damn box, oral (female), mutual másturbation, spitting, fáce-sítting, máting press, Satoru is down bad for you, chóking, overstim, multiple rounds, créampie, pet names (sweetheart), swearing.

Word count. 4.4k

A/N. Happy belated two months to this blog! Concept inspired by this post by @kingkonoha.

“Maybe we should kiss and see if the box opens?”

“That’s the dumbest fucking thing to ever come out of your mouth.”

“Hey- it works in the movies! True love’s kiss and all-”

You heave out a heavy sigh that makes even the skeleton at your shoulder shake its head in pity. Goddamn, if these curses weren’t going to kill him then you will. 

“I take it back. That’s the dumbest fucking thing to ever come out of your mouth.”

Satoru hooks a thumb over his blindfold to gaze at you with mock seriousness. Oh, how the mighty have fallen - and how you were teetering dangerously close to a stroke with each dramatic bat of his long lashes.

“C’monnn~” he whines, with the flair of someone that was not sealed in an inescapable prison, “Don’t tell me that in all these years you’ve never once been at least a little tempted to kiss me, sweetheart.” 

“I’d rather kiss that dusty skull.” Shooting him a pointed look that makes even the skulls at your feet recoil. It would almost be hilarious if it wasn’t for the fact that you were trapped. In the prison realm. With Gojo Satoru of all people. Possibly forever.

Shit, is this karma for all those times you ditched Satoru with Nanami instead of dealing with him yourself?

Now, Satoru might be going about it with the subtlety of a sledgehammer, but just a few minutes ago when his life flashed before his very eyes at the mere sight of Suguru - or at least, the monster wearing his body - he’d expected some of his favorite memories to be the ones with you in it. 

You - his lil’ coworker - in all your gorgeous, smart-mouthed glory. And maybe if he was lucky, he even expected a couple glimpses of you in his future. Preferably with a giant rock on your finger.

But that’s a story for another time, what he certainly did not expect was for your stupidly heroic (and quite beautiful) ass to jump right in the middle of the prison realm’s ensnarement. 

Although, honestly, right now he doesn’t think he’d want to be locked up in here with anyone but you - and that withering glare you send him. 

Undeterred, Satoru has the audacity to throw his head back and laugh. Laugh. A sound you’ve come to realize over the years, as innocent as it sounds, does not bode well for you or your sanity. 

A sanity that’s been slowly dwindling since your first day of meeting Satoru. Back then, a brash, cocky new teacher that waltzed into the halls of Jujutsu Tech in those pretentious sunglasses like he owned the place. 

Well, not that he was any different right now. Lounging over some disgruntled skeletons, you half-expected him to pull out a deck chair and start sunbathing amidst the bones. Your begrudging coworker - and occasional bane of your existence - seemed right at home. 

You, however, were decidedly not having the time of your life. 

“I swear, you’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” you grumble, wincing at the bones prodding you from almost every angle. 

“Can you blame me?” he hums, now fully tugging down his blindfold to hang around his neck, “It’s not every day I get to spend quality time with my favorite person in the world.”

You scoff, strangely self-conscious as those striking blue sweep your figure from head to toe. “Lucky me. Well why don’t you spend this quality time helping me figure out how the hell we can get out of here.”

“I already told y-”

“Anything but that.”

With a sulky huff, Satoru peers down at you, “Then we just wait till someone gets us out of here. I’m sure Megumi-chan is just tearing his emo hair out trying to unseal this thing.”

“...”

“You’re absolutely correct, Yuji then. Or…” he tilts his head towards a sad pile of bones, “We end up like our little friend over there. Though I’d make a far better looking skeleton-”

You don’t hear the rest of Satoru’s rant over the small noise of concern that falls from your lips. Something hot and prickly pooling in your stomach at the fact that yes you really were stuck in the prison realm with Gojo Satoru. Possibly forever. And no this wasn’t some strange dream like when you and Shoko accidentally raided the wrong brownie box in the kitchen.

Shit. 

And perhaps it showed on your face, because you’re jolted out of your reverie by warm fingers intertwining with yours. Grounding. Satoru’s eyes now searching yours with an intensity that made you squirm uncomfortably. 

“Hey, we’ll figure this out, okay?” he mutters softly. “Remember that time we accidentally set the training ground on fire?” leaning in closer now, “Or that mission we got chased by that cursed vending machine?”

You roll your eyes, a reluctant smile tugging at the corners of your lips despite yourself. “Yeah, and then you nearly got us killed trying to order a sweet tea. ”

Satoru chuckles, squeezing your hand reassuringly. “See? It worked out, didn’t it? It always does, sweetheart.” 

And if your heart does a strange little lurch, well, then you just blame it on the femur jabbing into your side. 

All is quiet in your little hell. That is, until.

“Hey, Satoru…does kissing really work in the movies?” 

You barely catch the way Satoru’s breath hitches ever-so-slightly as he leans in closer. eyes sparkling with mischief. And oh you knew that look - one that was usually accompanied by a lecture by Yaga, one that sent shivers down your spine. He grins, “Well, there’s only one way to find out, hm?”

Embarrassment and amusement bubbles inside you, tumbling out in the form of a barely-audible, “A peck. One.”

“Awww. Eight?”’

“No.”

“Five?”

“Satoru.”

Minty breath fanning your face, “Okay okay, one peck and a kiss to your forehead. C’mon, it’s a bargain~”

Pinching your nose, you sigh out a weary, “This is so stupid. Fine, but if it doesn’t work then I’m strangling you.”

And it’s all that is said before his lips are on yours.  

Soft. Satoru’s lips were so soft. And he tasted so unfairly of caramel apples and sweet, sweet mischief. Just like him. Feather-light and fleeting - yet the kiss burns into your brain with an intensity that you strangely didn’t mind.

It’s over before you know it. The cold air hits your lips as Satoru’s words ring in your ears, a disappointed little, “Aw, that didn’t work.”

Barely even risking a glance at the still very sealed realm, your body reacts before your mind - the expensive cotton of his uniform collar soft against your fingers as you pull Satoru towards you with a sense of urgency you can’t quite explain.

And then you’re kissing him. And he’s kissing you because shit this is all that Satoru’s been dreaming about since he turned 23 and suddenly realized that oh you were frighteningly everything that he ever wanted. 

“S-Satoru,” you whisper, breathless against his lips. 

“Shhhh, my girl. One more. Didn’t work.” 

His lips are searing on yours. Urgent and greedy, because fuck if it took getting trapped in the prison realm to finally kiss you then God knows when he’ll be able to again. 

Which is why he breathes you in like he doesn’t have enough time, and probably never will - even in this godforsaken box where time never passes. 

“Shit. O-one more.”

Drinking in your sweet gasps as he intertwines his tongue with yours, tasting how sinfully delicious you were. Satoru’s hands wander the expanse of your body, cupping your head to kiss you deeper, snaking down to squeeze your ass - and everything in between. 

Pulling away ever-so-slightly with a playful bite to your bottom lip, he leaves a trail of hot, open-mouthed kisses down your neck. The disappointed whine that leaves your pretty mouth makes all the blood in Satoru’s body rush to his cock. 

“Sweetheart.” he grunts into the crook of your neck, lips ghosting over your racing pulse. “Y’think I kissed the wrong lips?”

Oh? 

Satoru’s words send a jolt of electricity running down your spine - all the way down to your heated cunt. “W-what?” you managed to choke out, cheeks flaring as he raises his eyes to meet yours and-

Oh.

Oh, shit. If the curses weren’t going to kill you then Satoru sure might. 

You’re snapped out of your thoughts by Satoru carefully jostling the two of you so that he’s lying on his back, your body manhandled to straddle his pretty face. 

“Satoru, when you mean ‘wrong lips’...here?” you trail off, still reeling from him and the abrupt change in position and him. 

“Exactly what I mean,” he chuckles, the sound rumbling through his chest and vibrating beneath your dripping cunt. “Now, spread ‘em wider f’me. Let me taste you- Need it s’bad.”

Body moving as if on autopilot, your knees part wider to let him greedily take in the sight of your soaked panties. Beads of slick seeping through the thin fabric each time his hot breath meets your cunt. 

But not for long - the cool air hits you before you realize what’s happening. Because Satoru is ripping your flimsy panties off with one hand. Throwing it behind to God-knows-where with the urgency of a madman. 

“Shit, so wet f’me already.” he groans, mouth watering at the obscene sight of you clenching around nothing. “S’gorgeous. You really are perfect everywhere, huh?” he mutters through lazy, languid kisses along your thighs. Tongue darting out just so to leisurely trace circles along the heated skin. 

Strong arms wrap around your thighs, the stretch nothing with the two long fingers spreading your swollen folds apart. Your face burns from just how adoring Satoru looks below you.

You buck into his touch, “Hngh- Please. Wan’ your mouth on me.”

And perhaps the great Gojo Satoru decided to be merciful for once in his life, because without another word, he’s surging forward. Tongue flicking out to tease your sloppy entrance, pooling your juices before tipping his head back, back, back to let it slide down his throat so sinfully.

Shit, Satoru could just cum in his pants right now, of course you taste heavenly. Better than he could’ve ever imagined on any lonely night. 

You shudder as he flattens his tongue across your folds, sliding teasingly between them, grazing your swollen clit just barely at an unhurried rhythm that almost has Satoru forgetting where he was. But quite frankly, he couldn’t give less of a fuck about it either.

“This what you wanted, sweetheart?” he hums around your clit, the vibrations making you squeal. Sucking gently, tongue rolling harshly against your bundle of nerves, over and over- “Cause it’s what I’ve been wanting for years.”

The words ring in your ears almost as much as the lewd squelches below. Years?

“F-fuck- feels hngh- What do you mean y-years, Satoru?” 

Oh, Satoru thinks he could pass out just at the way you whine out his name so prettily. Eyes rolling to the back of his head, a hand hastily snaking down to unbuckle his pants. “Mhmm~ Couldn’t go a day without sparring with you where I didn’t think of bending you over and tasting you right there y’know.”

Your eyes snap down to meet Satoru’s hazy, half-lidded ones. Something dark and feral shining within them. And right now, thighs wrapped around his head, you don’t think he’s ever looked happier. White locks splayed out, a fucked-out expression on his face as his tongue bullies past your folds, you could feel the slight smile curling his lips against you. 

It’s overwhelming - both his confession and the way Satoru was making out with your cunt like a man starved.

Nose-deep in your pussy, tongue alternating between its abuse on your throbbing clit and dipping in and out of your sloppy hole at a maddening pace. Mouth only speeding up ruthlessly at the way you convulse and grind involuntarily on top of him.

God, Satoru was going insane at the way your walls were sucking him up so good, clamping down with each push of his tongue. 

“Shit- made jus’ f’me. You like that, don’t you?” he growls against your cunt, voice hoarse with desire. “Like fucking my face with your pussy?”

“Oh! Ngh, yes Satoru- L-love it-”

A bruising grip on your hips, encouraging you to rock against his face. Harder. Tongue more desperate. He couldn’t get enough. Meeting your every grind, tongue lapping at your cunt so obscenely. 

Breaths ragged and hot against your cunt, drinking you in with the desperation of a man that wouldn’t mind giving up air for your essence. And it was Satoru - of course he wouldn’t mind.

Especially with the large hand snaking up your thigh, going from drawing reassuring patterns at your hips to rubbing tight, little circles on your pulsing clit. Hasty, and urgent - like he had no time to waste. “Tha’s right, my girl. Give it up for me,”

Every cell in your body is on fire, every nerve ending singing with pleasure at the way Satoru plays your body like an instrument. 

“M’close, Satoru- Hah- s’close.” you moan breathlessly, a hand tangling in his soft strands. Using it as leverage to ride Satoru’s pretty face just the way you like it.

But you didn’t have to - because Satoru seems to already know exactly what to do. Exactly how to quirk his tongue just right to brush against all your most sensitive spots. Exactly how to match the rhythm of his abuse on your clit to the way he was tonguefucking you into delirium. Exactly how to look at you with such a hungry expression that devours you almost as much as his mouth. 

“Cum f’me, sweetheart.”

Satoru didn’t even have to ask. Because you’re cumming with a strangled gasp of his name. White-hot pleasure coursing through you like lightning, body trembling as you cum all over Satoru’s pretty face. 

Hands moving your limp, boneless hips across his face, forcing you to ride out peak after peak on his red lips.

As the blood roaring in your ears bates, and you blink back your vision, the first thing you see are those familiar blue eyes gazing up at you. Holding you steady, lips brushing gentle kisses along your inner thighs. 

Oh, how beautiful he was like this.

“S-S’toru?” you mewl, still sensitive from your orgasm as Satoru shifts underneath you to sit you prettily in his lap.

“Mhm?” he nuzzles your neck.

“One more. It didn’t work.”

Oh, if you knew the only way to shut up Gojo Satoru was to say something like this then you would’ve done it a lot sooner. 

But Satoru’s stunned silence doesn’t last for long, because he grins, low and sultry, “You’re right. It didn’t work.”

The metallic clinking of a belt echoes in the stuffy chamber as Satoru hastily pushes down his pants. Cock springing free to hit his lower abs, “What a shame.”

You blink at the sheer size of him - he was going to split you in two. It was unfair, really. Water is wet. Gojo Satoru has a big dick. 

But oh was he pretty - so pretty.  Prominent veins glistening in the dim lighting, fat tip flushed your favorite shade of delicate pink, leaking furiously in between your thighs.

Gulping, you reach out to wrap your hand around his achingly hard cock. So warm and heavy in your hands. “Y-yeah, what a shame.”

Both of you watch - entranced - at the way he twitches in your grasp at the mere sound of your voice. A maddening little bump! bump! bump! against your palm as you begin pumping him slowly - so agonizingly slow. 

“Oh- Feel s’good, sweetheart.” Satoru hisses lowly as you swipe at the precum beading at this head. Thumbing teasingly under his sensitive slit, tracing delicately along his veins. 

And by God does it do something to you to see the great Gojo Satoru falling apart for you, hair tousled, lips kiss-bitten, and eyes looking at you like he wanted to positively eat you alive. It made your cunt throb so desperately, slick forming a dark wet patch on his trousers. 

Not one to be left behind, his long fingers deftly snake down to your dripping cunt. Not wasting any time before bullying his fingertips past your swollen folds, curling expertly to press down against that one spot that has your fist faltering on his cock. Hard. 

Pretty little moans left your lips at the way Satoru so easily matches your pace. Thrusting knuckle-deep into your pussy in and out - hitting that spot over and over.

“Shit, Toru- s’deep inside me. I’m- hngh-”

Satoru was in heaven, really. You were so warm and wet around both his fingers and his throbbing cock. 

Only two thoughts running through his mind right now - 1. He was right, your hands were softer and more sinfully delicious around his swollen cock. And 2. The hardest battle he’s ever fought was probably right now - at your mercy, trying not to spill all over your hands because he’d be damned if he finally scored the girl and came in two seconds.

Shit, he thinks fingers almost erratic now, he needs you to cum. Right now. 

As if sensing his urgency, your moves become more frantic, Satoru’s brows furrowing at the way you increase your pace. His hips twitch, as if trying to thrust into your fist. matching your pace as you start stroking him harder, faster. 

Ah, but alas, the great Gojo Satoru’s reputation precedes him. 

“Oh, fuck- M’gonna-” And soon enough, you’re seeing stars behind your eyes - or maybe those were tears - as you cum. Hard. 

Body moving before your mind, you’re clenching around Satoru’s fingers, grinding down so ferally as you edge him closer and closer. “C’mon, Toru. One more, right?” you whisper brokenly, lips ghosting his ear.

Breath coming in short, strained gasps of what sounded like your name now, “Oh- fuck ngh- so close.” he warns, voice hoarse. “If you keep doing that, I won’t be responsible for what happens next.”

You smirk, raising a brow, “Is that a threat, Satoru?”

Willing his fucked-out eyes open, they bore into yours as he utters, “No, ah- it’s a p-promise.”

Without warning, Satoru clasps your wrists, forcing you to stop pumping him. The disappointed mewl threatening to spill from your lips is cut off just as your back hits the ground.

Slam!

You think you could almost get whiplash from how swiftly Satoru had you caged and splayed out so shamefully beneath him. 

You whine, “But you didn’t even get to-”

“Fuck, not now. Gotta feel you or else m’gonna cum so embarrassingly all over your fist.” He rests his throbbing erection laid out so enticingly across your stomach, leaking hot precum onto your skin. And that makes you shut up, eyes mapping where it ended and realizing that yeah, you might’ve faced more mercy with the curses outside of this box. “Besides. One more, right?”

And before you can respond, Satoru’s spitting on you once. Twice. Thrice.

You flinch as the wads of saliva hit your dripping cunt, mixing with your slick so obscenely as Satoru smears it across your swollen folds. Your mouth drops into a soft oh! of disbelief as he promptly pops his thumb into his mouth, groaning at the taste. 

“Shit.” Satoru hisses lowly, “One more might just not be enough.”

Not wasting a moment longer, he’s bullying his throbbing cock into your snug cunt. Head thrown back as your plush walls desperately try to accommodate his size.

“Oh. Oh shit hah- should’ve been locked up here ngh- sooner.” he groans, words straight from his cock. “Feel s’heavenly around m-me.” Because God Satoru thinks he wouldn’t even mind staying here for the rest of his life if it meant he got to have you like this.

You moan at the positively delicious stretch of your pussy, plush walls unable to decide between pushing him out and milking the soul out of him. “Hah- Toru s’too big. I can’t-” 

“You will.” he grits out, teeth clenched and brows furrowed as he focuses on letting you adjust. Pressing inch by fucking inch. Eyes rolling to the back of his head as he fights that feral part of himself that just wants to plunge into your pretty pussy till his tip kisses your cervix, and you’re drunk on nothing but his cock.

But he didn’t have to - because you’re immediately wrapping your legs around his toned waist, pulling Satoru to you recklessly until his heavy balls smack your ass. Tufts of snowy white hair - already so wet with your slick and his precum - finally meeting your cunt.

“Ah! Shit, s’full Toru.” you keen, body bowing into his.

There’s not even a hair's breadth between your bodies now as Satoru chuckles darkly. “You little minx. Thought you couldn’t handle me, but you really wanted to be split apart on my cock, huh?”

You feel almost shy under his gaze as you mumble out a quiet little, “Well you did say one more.”

Ah, Satoru thinks deliriously, if you aren’t Mrs. Gojo by the time you two get out of this then there’s seriously something wrong with him. 

But he doesn’t tell you that. Instead with a satisfied smirk, he claims your lips in a searing kiss, sucking your tongue so lewdly as he did with your cunt. Parting for only a second before pressing his lips to yours again. And again. And again, as if it hurt to part.

“Mhm. Always wanted to do this, sweetheart.” he hums against your pretty lips. “Fuck ever since you hah- walked in on that first day.” 

Kissing you sweetly with a tenderness that doesn’t translate to his hips as pulls back, back, back. All the way till his angry, hard tip was just grazing your sloppy entrance. “One more.”

Body moving before his mind, his hips start fucking into your dripping cunt recklessly. Satoru doesn’t fuck you with the finesse he imagined he would all these years, rough, harsh thrusts fueled by pure need and all the desperation from these last few years.

In one, fluid movement, the burn of the stretch hits you before the realization that Satoru has thrown your legs over his sculpted shoulders. 

“Ah- So good, Toru. Oh my god- hah-” you mewl at the change in angle. His pulsing dick expertly hitting that one spot inside you which has your words slurring together, body arching off the floor to press so impossibly close against him. 

And, well, Satoru isn’t any better - because he’s slamming his cock into you mindlessly. Hitting that spot over and over. 

With one hand, he caresses your stomach. Whispering out a ragged, “Feel me inside? Feel me right…” Pressing his palm down hard, “Here.”

The other forces you to look up at him, drinking in your whines of “Yes yes yes, can feel you s-so deep hngh- inside me, Toru.” 

You’re so cockdrunk and full of Satoru that you barely notice the hands groping their way down your body. Catching harshly on your swollen clit, starting to draw, quick, frenzied circles that match the cadence of his hips smacking into yours. 

“Look at me.” he murmurs raspily, “Open your mouth.”

And you can do nothing but take it, tongue lolling out so lewdly for the warm stream of spit that hits it. Once. Twice. 

You look up at him with teary eyes, as you take it all -  anything and everything he was giving. And it makes Satoru bow his head with a fucked-out groan, cock twitching so animalistically as it keeps plunging inside you roughly. Deft fingers on your clit becoming more desperate.

Harder. Faster. Balls squeezing so painfully. Like a lamb to slaughter, he was going to eat you up - and you were going to let thim.

You squeal at the overstimulation, hips bucking up for more more more-

“God, sweetheart, you don’t know what you do to me.” he moans, voice strained with desire and the euphoria of getting everything he’s wanted for so long. It was driving him insane. “Now c’mon. One more. Give me one more like my good girl.”

“Hngh- yes- Toru!”

You don’t even know what “one more” means anymore - all you do know is that you’re cumming and cumming all around Satoru’s unforgiving cock. Walls fluttering so snugly, your body convulses as you cream around his cock. Nails dragging down the expanse of his sculpted back, Satoru’s name leaving your bruised lips and into the heady air like a prayer every time his tip kisses your cervix. His new favorite melody.

And that seems to be what makes him snap as well - because with a final, sloppy thrust, he’s painting your walls such a sinful white. Pumping thick, hot ropes of his cum into your quivering cunt. 

“Shit- yeah, my girl. Take it. Take it all f’me.” Satoru shudders above you, head thrown back, chest heaving as he fucks you through your high. Movements nothing more than shallow, mindless little thrusts to get you both off so animalistically. 

It was so fucking filthy - and exactly what you needed so badly. He was exactly what you needed so badly. 

Now, Satoru only had to take one look as you use him so obscenely for your pleasure - eyes dazed, drool trickling down the corner of your mouth - before he thinks he might just cum again. And again. And again until he physically couldn’t anymore.

But first…

Pulling out of your heavenly pussy with a lewd pop! His long fingers delicately collects the mixture of slick and cum now gushing out of you obscenely. 

Aw, what a waste, Satoru muses as it pools below you sinfully. If it was up to him he wouldn’t waste a single drop from your pretty cunt. 

But no matter. 

Abruptly, Satoru bullies two fingers into your mouth - forcing you to taste yourself, to taste him. Pressing right at the back of your tongue in a way that has you choking and gagging around him, teary eyes just begging up at him. Perfect - you were so perfect for him. 

Kissing your forehead with a tenderness that doesn’t match his actions, he hums, faux innocence lacing his words, “What a shame, the box didn’t open yet.”

And oh does he love the excitement lighting up your exhausted eyes. Pretty thighs twitching underneath him as a slow, fucked-out little smile curls your lips. 

“One more? Please?”

A/N. Plagiarism not authorized.

[ms-spkhd]

It's not like there's anything inherently wrong with Steve. Just...weird. Odd. A wealth of other various synonyms to describe his decidedly bizarre behavior.

Well, Bizarre's a strong word.

But Eddie's point still stands! Steve's a little to the left and it makes Eddie feel endlessly awkward for noticing. The fact that he's uncomfortable about it compounds his unease over it.

"Wanna talk about it, then?" Jeff asks, riffling idly through the record crate. Of course, the one day off they spend window-shopping in Indianapolis results in Eddie getting the fucking 'let's discuss our feelings about things' talk from Jeff. He wonders how the man isn't green with sickness from therapizing all the goddamn time.

Eddie rolls his eyes. "I'd look like an idiot."

"Would the idiot keep running or confront his problems head-on?"

"This feels like a trap."

"Oh yeah," Jeff says simply.

"Like the ones with the cardboard box and the stick."

"Pre-cisely."

Eddie's shoulders slump in defeat. Better the idiot who speaks, he supposes. "He's very smiley about me being gay."

"Smiley."

"Smiley. As in he's acting like I vomit flowers and shit rainbows." Eddie shakes his head in frustration. "I'm not opposed to the support and everything...it's just that. He's like an octave higher than usual about it."

Jeff purses his lips in thought. "Like, his voice?"

"No--like...like, he's very enthusiastic about my sexuality."

Eddie leans back against the shelf behind him. Steve's a nice guy, really, but the way he goes about his support of Eddie feels like he's trying to compensate for something. A lack of empathy when he was younger, perhaps.

"He always asks if I have a boyfriend, or if I've been hooking up with any guys lately--which, hello, does he not know that queer metalhead nerd isn't a very hot item here?"

Jeff pulls a face but nods in understanding.

"And when I tell him obviously no, he says he can hook me up with his, what? Fucking father's brother's cousin's former roommate? It's like he's begging for a double date with him and his new squeeze, it's goddamn ridiculous." "New squeeze?"

"I'm hyperbolizing." Eddie blows a raspberry and shrugs. "He says it's sad that I don't have someone for how good-looking I am. You're making the face again."'

Jeff snaps out of whatever trance he's in, his drawn eyebrows shooting up to his hairline in surprise. After his gawking mouth clacks shut, he cautiously gestures at Eddie to continue.

"It's stupid," Eddie concedes, "but I really don't understand what changed, y'know? He used to be this cool, confident guy with a dorky side, but now he's just so...I don't know."

Jeff smiles lightly and knocks Eddie's shoulder with his. "I have a theory."

"Go on."

"I think Steve isn't being supportive."

"Uh-huh."

"Far from it, actually."

"Yeah. Whatever you say, chief."

"He isn't smothering you," Jeff points out. "He wants to fuck you."

Eddie blinks. Takes a moment to access and really take in what Jeff just said. "What?"

"Or at least, he wants you in an entirely non-friendly and possibly even carnal way."

"Excuse me?"

"Biblically."

"Dude," Eddie insists. "What. The. Fuck."

Jeff raises his hands placatingly. "Steve clearly likes you. A lot. He probably sees you being gay as an in for him."

"Okay, well, I don't understand. He tries to set me up with randos he knows all the time."

"He called you good-looking."

"While he was trying to set me up with said rando!"

"Guys like him have a really backward way of doing things." Eddie crosses his arms sternly. "Or he's straight," he says.

"Again," Jeff asserts. "Good. Looking. Dude, he's fucking obsessed with you! You said he's an octave higher around you now, right?"

"Because he's a well-meaning friend?"

"Eddie, remember when he crashed band practice last week?"

Oh yeah, Eddie remembers that. The man of the hour randomly parked in Gareth's driveway, leaned against his Beemer with his arms crossed, and watched Eddie play like he fucking hung the moon. Afterward, he'd sung his praises for the band and gave Eddie a yellow guitar pick attached to a sparkling silver chain. "Found the pick a couple of towns south with Robin the other day. Reminded me of you," he said softly. "Since you lost your last one."

It went unspoken where Eddie lost 'the last one'.

Eddie remembers smiling back at Steve with the force of a thousand supernovas, and thinking later in the night that it felt like a scene from a romance movie. Steve's favorite color is yellow, isn't it? It was like he wanted a piece of himself with Eddie at all times, right next to his heart.

Eddie didn't want to give himself that stupid hope. That Steve Harrington wanted in on his heart.

It doesn't feel so stupid anymore.

He looks back at Jeff and says, "Oh."

"Yeah, oh."

Part two

[monstersholygrail]

Just being neighborly

Pairing: Orc neighbor x fem!reader— yandere reader, nudity, dryhumping, rough play, kidnapping(?)

This fic was inspired and continued off of this post by @bunnis-monsters ! (With permission ofc)

Ever since your new neighbor moved in you had had your eye on him. He had appeared on what you originally thought was going to be an ordinary day. Arriving with a large U-Haul truck yet he was the only one to come out of it.

He was strapping orc, tall and handsome— though he clearly didn’t know it. But that was perfectly fine, you were more than happy to let him know.

You were surprised when he moved to the back to open it up and started taking in boxes and furniture all by himself. The sight of him lifting up an entire dresser with one arm soon had your panties soaked with arousal. You had never wanted to swap places with a piece of furniture so bad. You couldn’t believe you were jealous over a dresser. A dresser! Yet you were and you totally couldn’t deny it.

Imagining yourself finally in his huge muscular arms as they circle around your body and trap your form against his, begging for you relieve some of pressure you had caused in his cock. Showing you exactly what he means as he rubs you into the bulge straining against his pleated pants. His large hands digging into you roughly as he helps you grind your slick core against his impressive erection.

Luckily you catch yourself daydreaming before he can spot you practically collapsed on the railing of your porch. Your brows furrow as you wipe your mouth, a small bit of drool on the corner of your lip.

Deciding you need to get your claws in him, so to speak, before anyone else in the neighborhood does, you think of the perfect excuse to head on over.

Knocking on the back of the moving truck, lemonade glass in hand, you wait for your new neighbor to notice you. He whirls around clumsily at the noise, causing the truck to slightly shake.

“Hi, neighbor! Welcome to the neighborhood. Thought you might be thirsty so I come bearing drinks!” You greet, flashing him your most flirtatious smile.

Orc neighbor comes to the opening of the truck slowly. Your head tilts back the closer he gets and you force yourself not to literally purr in delight. You push your chest out as you hand him the glass, knowing the view of your cleavage from his angle must be spectacular.

He crouches down and carefully takes the glass of lemonade from your hand between a few of his fingers. There’s an evident dark green blush on his cheeks and you can’t help but giggle at the sight of it.

“Thank you, little lady,” he mumbles shyly. Your smile widens, looking over your new obsession.

Oh, he’s so darling. You already want him all to yourself. But you know you’re going to enjoy the chase. Even if he isn’t aware of it.

It started off light, you wanted to at least give him time to fall for your advances. Your seduction plan would gain a natural intensity, fitting to the clear chemistry between you and your orc neighbor.

First you always seemed to end up needing to borrow a cup of sugar. He was more than happy to give you some and you made sure to thank him with a hug that let him feel you completely. When he never tried to cop a feel you opened up all your blinds and started making it normal for you to walk around your house naked. Letting him get little glimpses here and there. But when you realized he’d avert his gaze, being the gentleman he is, you knew you had to make your interest more obvious.

So you start peeking through the curtains, waiting to see when orc neighbor goes to take out his trash so you can go too. Wearing nothing but your flimsy almost see-through robe. Letting him watch as your nipples harden the longer you both interact.

When you head back into your house you purposely leave the door open, waiting for orc neighbor to come inside. And of course because he's such a gentleman he nervously comes up on your porch and reminds you softly that you left the door open.

Oh my, silly you. Your mind must be so all over the place that you just happened to forget in your rush! Luckily he was there to save you from someone bad coming in. Of course, such heroics deserve a reward so you invite him in to have breakfast with you. He’s so busy looking around your comfy home that he doesn't hear you click the lock in place as you shut the door.

You must be so clumsy this morning because when you go to bring him a nice cup of coffee, you accidentally trip and end up spilling it all over him! Apologies spew from your lips as take some napkins you just so happened to be holding and start patting all over his tummy and his crotch.

His cock twitches under your attentive touch and he blushes, hoping you don't notice. But of course you do. You notice everything about him. He quickly assures you it's ok but that he should get home to change.

That won't do, no, not at all. You tell him that's not necessary at all as you enjoy wearing oversized shirts but they're hard to find in human sizes. Much more common in orc. So you're sure you have something that'll fit. He's too bashful to refuse such an offer.

You head into your closet and grab the first oversized shirt you can find. Absolutely positive that he won't notice how it smells like him. Or that it looks eerily similar to that shirt of his that went missing a few days ago.

To be continued…?

[cutielando]

game night | l.n.

synopsis: in which game night gets a little too competitive

a/n: based on this request!

my masterlist

As the winter break finally came around, Lando had made plans for him, you, Max and Pietra to take a trip to the mountains, just the four of you.

Which is how you guys found yourselves nestled comfortably in a cabin deep into the Swiss mountains, chatting it up and just enjoying the quiet atmosphere that the off-season provided you with.

But, knowing Lando, he couldn’t stay still for more than an hour at times, and would always find something else to do.

Just like he did now.

���I’m bored” he had announced, groaning and throwing his head back against the couch.

You chuckled, knowing he would have said that sooner or later.

“So?” Max asked, looking up from his phone at his friend.

Lando was silent for a moment, contemplating about how he could cure his sudden found boredom.

“Let’s play a game or something” he suggested, his eyes lighting up.

"Like what?" you asked, your hands running through his curls softly.

He pondered for a moment, his eyes glancing around the cabin living room before his eyes landed on a shelf full of board games.

Not saying anything, he jumped up from his spot on the couch next to you, beelining for the shelf to analyze what he was working with.

"Let's play Monopoly" he said, his eyes twinkling as he took the box in his hands and rushing back to sit down next to you.

You, Max and P all groaned in unison, the last thing either of you wanted was to play Monopoly with Lando.

Lando stopped in his tracks, looking at the three of you with wide eyes.

"What?" he asked, his shoulders deflating.

"Mate, you know how you get whenever we play Monopoly" Max said, glaring at him.

He pouted, looking at you for support.

You bit your lip and shrugged, making him gasp.

"You too?" he asked, looking at you with a hand over his heart.

"Baby, I love you, but you know how competitive you get whenever we play" you said, trying to be as gentle and nice as possible.

"But I want to play..." he said, pouting and looking at the ground.

You sighed, shaking your head as you exchanged looks with Max. Both of you knew Lando was playing the both of you, wanting to make you feel bad for not wanting to let him play.

Max sighed, closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Fine, we'll play" he muttered, making Lando erupt into a wide smile as he sprinted towards the coffee table to lay everything out.

You laughed at his antics, shaking your head fondly.

"I wanna team up with P" you called out as she took your hand.

Lando whipped his head around, staring at you with betrayal written all over his face.

"What? Why? We always team up together" he said, his eyes sad.

He almost made you change your mind, but flashbacks of past game nights with Lando made you stand firm.

"That's exactly why we should change things up a little bit" you argued, trying to keep his spirits up.

He pouted, glaring at you while setting up the board. He kept it up for a minute or two longer before he sighed and nodded.

"Fine, but just this time" he said, pointing to you.

You nodded and leaned over to kiss his lips quickly before you got and moved so you were sitting next to Pietra.

Lando huffed once again before he finally let go of his anger and instead focus on "discussing strategies" with Max.

As the night went on and the game was in full swing, Lando's competitive side slowly started to show itself when Max landed on one of your properties and had to pay you almost all the money they had.

"MAX! What the fuck, mate? You just walked right into their trap!" Lando shouted, pushing Max as he stared at him with wide eyes.

“I can’t control the fucking dice, now, can I?” Max argued back.

You and P, on the other hand, were trying not to laugh, finding the exchange between them too funny.

They continued to bicker like this until late into the night before you called it quits on the game.

Instead, you were now snuggled up on the couch with Lando, the fireplace doing a fantastic job of warming you up.

The world around you was silent, the only sound echoing through the warm cabin being the crackle of the fireplace.

Lando was staring at the crackling fire, his hand playing with the ends of your hair.

Looking down at you, he noticed that your eyes were shut, your breathing evened out as you peacefully slept on him.

Smiling a little, he pressed a soft and gentle kiss on your forehead, whispering a quiet "I love you" as he let himself succumb to a peaceful sleep.

Dreaming of you.

...and beating you at Monopoly.

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[chiiyuuvv]

understands ★

down bad!nicholas 1.5k words

notes! inspired by song linked in 'notes!' "i'll admit that i'm scared / 'cause i've never really cared as much as this / it's worth the risk" screamed nico so ofc i had to write about it. warning!! this is very delusional, read at your own risk

▸ 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘺?

“ta.. da..” nicholas pops out of his hiding place once he hears the rooftop double doors creak open. the huge grin plastered on his face shrinks to a shy smile, suddenly self-conscious now that you were in front of him. “hi..” he mumbles, the back of his neck suddenly itchy from embarrassment. 

“hi,” you breath out in shock, your eyes darting past flustered nicholas to scan the deck he decorated just for you. it seemed unlike his character to put so much care in an objective, a picnic blanket placed in the center of the area with pillows surrounding the perimeter. a speaker was placed to the far left of you, soft rnb echoing from the device. there wasn’t a need for any lights, the cloudless stars being your source to see. 

“do you like it?” nicholas’s voice releases the breath you didn’t even know you were holding, his chest pressed against your back as he drapes his arms around your waist. “i, um.. put a lot of time into it,” his deep chuckle rings in your ear, his chin resting on your shoulder. 

“why?” you turn in his embrace, your eyes widening at the lack of space between you. nicholas looks down at you as you look up, the sparkle in his stare brighter than any star in the sky. if you examine closely, the tips of his ears match his hair, the small smile still adoring his features. 

“you know..” he starts off timid, his voice small as his shoulders do a little shrug. “i just wanted to.. say thank you, for everything,” the way his voice trails off suggests there were more to his reasons, but for now, you nod in acknowledgement at his heartwarming gesture. 

“you didn’t have to,” your voice was as small as his as you pressed your head against his chest. he takes it as a sign to bring you closer, his fresh scent invading your nose.

“i had too,” he defends. you could only chuckle at how persistent the boy was being, especially after the incident. you always found it to be no big deal, unable to realize how much you changed the boys' world.

nicholas was upset.

the joyful cheers of your friends and their video games fade into nothing once the male prances past the living room and into his room, slamming his door with frustration. the commotion makes harua jump in his seat, you and taki sending worrisome looks at each other. “don’t mind him,” euijoo chimes, placing his controller on his lap as he shakes his head. “he just needs some space. anyways, who’s up for another round of mario kart?!” and just like that, the happy energy resumes like nothing happened. 

maybe it was your stubborn attitude telling you to do something after euijoo told you not to, but you found yourself in front of nicholas’s door moments after the boys passed out from their gaming.

“go away,” his voice was raspy compared to the soft knocks on his door.

“i brought some strawberries,” you squeak, still determined to make the male open the door. “i’m sorry if i’m being annoying, i just want to make sure you’re oka–” the door swung open before you could finish your sentence, hair covering nicholas’s sharp eyes as he looked down at you like you were some type of pest.

“if i take the food, would you leave me alone?” he sounded irritated, his words straight to the point.

“actually,” you give an awkward smile, “can i come in?”

nicholas was stressed.

“i feel like i’ve been trapped inside a box filled with impossible accomplishments, yet i have no one to turn to when i need help,” nicholas mutters, his head placed comfortably on your lap. you hum in response, giving him the opportunity to rant his heart out as your fingers comb his hair. “it feels so hard doing everything by myself.”

“who says you’re by yourself?” nicholas perks up at your words, your hands still in his hair as you give him a reassuring smile. “i’m sorry you feel so imprisoned, nico,” you begin, your hand sliding down to cup his cheek. your thumb rubs the skin. “it may not feel like a lot, but you have me to support you.”

“oh,” he breathes, shocked by your words. “thanks.”

nicholas was in love.

“are you good?” you turn your head to the boy in question, your elbow resting against the diner table. nicholas turns to face you with a smirk, jokingly raising an eyebrow. 

“what, i can’t laugh at what my own best friend is saying?” he teases, suddenly glad you were sitting on the same side so he could itch closer to your body. his heart skips a beat when you lean even closer, your noses centimeters from each other. 

“not when our nico sounds so cute!” yudai, the friend you forgot was accompanying you chimes. he leans his chin into his hands on the other side of the table, nicholas snapping his head to the older in annoyance.

“i’m not cute,” he nags, sending yudai a look. the boy only winks in return.

“yeah, you’re right!” you defend, playfully furrowing your brows at yudai as you wrap your arm around nicholas’s shoulder, bringing him closer to you. “you’re my cutie,” you giggle, pinching the boys cheek. unline how he reacted to yudai, nicholas keeps quiet, clearly flustered by your words. 

“but i’m wrong when i say the exact same thing,” yudai bellows, raising his hands in defeat. “favoritism!!” he says, loud enough to get looks from across the restaurant.

…

“you’ve put so much time and effort into me, the very least i can say is thank you,” you appreciated his words, but deep down you knew there was something more to nicholas’s actions. especially since he’s been acting so differently around you. the way his eyes linger onto yours, how his lovesick smiles appear as soon as you enter a room. he makes you feel warm inside, like you were so special to him. 

“you’re welcome but,” you stop to chuckle in disbelief, “no one sets up an entire date to show how grateful they are, nico. seriously, what’s all of this about? you’ve been acting so weird lately,” your fingers trace his jawline as you speak, determined to pry his mind apart.

“because i..” he stops to catch his breath, his heartbeat speeding up when he looks into your eyes. a hand lets go of your waist to interlock the fingers on his face, placing light pecks on the tips. “i’ve never felt like this before,” the boy finally opens up, squeezing your hand. “i never felt so carefree, so loved. you’ve taken me in like i was yours to begin with, you’ve been so sweet, so soft, so inviting. i can be myself without receiving any judgement, i can feel upset without having to be guilty about it. y/n, you help me realize that..”

“that?” you tilt your head, tears welling up at nicholas’s precious words. the boy keeps quiet, his nervousness getting the better of him. he feels as if he doesn’t deserve one drop of your undivided attention. you were an angel that flew from heaven who constantly put a smile on an unorganized guy like him. you had a life, yet you put it on pause to help regulate nicholas. all those late night calls filled with encouragement when you could have turned off your phone and went to bed, he didn’t know what it was that made him worthy of you. you were too good for him. 

he must do something to show how much he appreciates you, right? even if that meant rehearsing his confession for hours in front of a mirror after he got home from work, or turning his rooftop into something you’ve always dreamt about. although he was scared, he still thought you were worth the risk.

his eyes stay glued to yours as you stand in the tense silence. his heart speeds up again because god, you were so pretty. he hates that he’s come to this realization now. in a swift movement, his hands let go of your body to gently cup your cheeks, lifting your chin so now he had a straight shot at your lips. 

he licks his own in anticipation, your presence making his mind go blank, your soft breath erasing all the doubts in his head. he lets out a sigh before connecting your lips in a feverishly slow pace, his figure being sent to a world of bliss as your mouths move against each others. he starts to feel dizzy when you grip his shirt, pulling him closer like you were going to lose him if you didn’t. words couldn’t never express the amount of love you had for each other. 

letting go of your lips, his hands circle around your waist again, ducking his head to kiss the salty tears from your face. if it weren’t for your soft giggle, you would have heard the boy sniffle. he pushes your foreheads together, closing his eyes in bliss.

“you’re the only one who understands.”

︴bonus! kinda got carried away, anyways i hope you enjoyed hehe

▸ taglist 📬 @cherrycolaberry , @wtfisgoingright . @slytherinshua , @luvnicho , @enhacolor , @lakoya

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@chiiyuuvv on tumblr . do not steal works/headers/line dividers

[rottiens]

contents. satoru gojō x fem reader, embarrassingly self indulgent, established relationship, very cheesy (im soooorry), divider by adornedwithlight.

"What?" Gojo chuckles softly, his fingers sliding a little further down your waist, drawing you even closer to the warmth of his body.

Everything is quiet outside; the sun's rays shyly sneak through the gaps the curtains allow, while the warmth of the sheets wraps around you, making you want to stay there forever. It is your safe place.

Your fingers materialize in front of his face, and Gojo follows them with his gaze, as if mesmerized. When you brush his nose and trace soft lines on either side of his cheeks, he shivers slightly, his eyelashes fluttering with a gentle twitch.

"You have freckles," you say simply. "One, two..." you begin to count, but you lose yourself in the constellation of tiny reddish dots that decorate the perfection of his skin.

"You're lying," he says with a playful tone.

"You also have on your back," you add amused, touching his nose once more. You try to slide back under the sheets, but he catches your hand and pretends to bite it. His teeth make a slight pressure, and you exaggerate the pain by letting out a squeak. "Ouch!" you laugh, unable to contain yourself.

"You've told me before," he comments, softening his tone. "That I have freckles."

"Really?"

Gojo shakes his head softly, but adds nothing more. He's embarrassed to remember that you were the first to notice it, even before you two were dating. Since then, he hasn't been able to stop thinking about it. He leans in and deposits a soft kiss on your forehead.

"I have to go soon."

You pout and reach for his hand under the sheets, catching it with your own.

"Stay a little longer, it's still early."

"It's late enough, angel." Gojo tries not to smile as he says it. "You sleep a little longer, we can go for dinner later."

"One last kiss before you go?" you hold out your arms, but he slips out of the trap, standing up suddenly.

"Not this time."

"You're cruel." You snuggle back into the sheets, watching him stretch.

"You know what happened the last time I agreed." As much as it pains him not to give in, he knows that if he goes near the bed again, he'd end up skipping school. And while nothing would make him happier, he has responsibilities to attend to, especially today.

"Do you know what you want to be for Halloween yet?" He's about to say, "Your husband," but holds back. His chest tightens and he has to control himself not to look at the closet, where the little box with the ring he's going to give you soon waits hidden in one of his jackets.

"Hm."

"Cowboy? I think you'd look sexy in a hat." This makes him grin. "Deadpool? Vampire?"

"Let me think about it. I'll have an answer tonight."

"Good. You better, Mei Mei won't let us in without costumes."

Gojo closes the distance between the two of you. His weight causes the mattress to shake slightly as he leans toward you and kisses your forehead.

“I'll have an answer tonight,, now sleep some more and dream of me. I love you."

[revelboo]

Revel- Revel, please, my bank account can’t, I’ve ordered too many little guys- Where am I even gonna put them all?! 🤣 Happy holidays, hun, and take care!!! If it wouldn’t be too much to ask, I’d love a little more Ironhide or IDW Bee if you’d be willing to spare some!!! Much love!!! ♥️

They don’t take up any space- and I just saw the new ones not released in the U.S. yet. They’re even smaller 😆 I may have bought a box…

Last Night Pt 7

IDW Bumblebee x Reader

• Glancing at where you’re wrapped in a blanket on a counter watching Ratchet work on him, he resists the urge to joke about you worrying over him. To tease, because you’re obviously not in the mood. That look on your face when you’d seen he was hurt had shook him. He’d known you were slowly starting to open up to him despite being unhappy about the circumstances, but he hadn’t thought you’d really cared. Hadn’t dared hope. “You’re going to have to take the whole arm off, huh? Can you please beat him with it when you do,” you say and as his head turn’s in surprise, your eyes are dead serious, but you’re smiling. Teasing him now that you’re sure the danger is over and his spark warms.

• “I ought to lock him in alt mode for a week,” Ratchet mutters. “For being careless.” Hear Bumblebee’s weak ‘hey, now’ of protest as his head turns sideways to stare at you. Making you uncomfortably aware of the way he’s smiling at you. Like he’s happy to be in Medbay getting poked and prodded. Because you’re there. Not sure how you feel about the warmth spreading through you at that stupid grin, you pointedly ignore him in favor of watching Ratchet work. So maybe he’s growing on you. So what? You’re still here against your will. Even if it’s not his fault.

• “You love me, admit it. You were worried,” he teases since you’d started it. Grinning when you scoff at him, looking everywhere but at him and he knows he’s right. That anger of yours at the situation no longer aimed right at him. Accepting that it wasn’t his fault, that he’d been trying to help. There’s still guilt about trapping you in the Ark, there probably always will be, but he likes it better when you’re not actively blaming him.

• Love? Yeah, right. “I was only worried they might stick me with someone worse if you die on me.” Because in all honesty, he’s not so bad. It’s not like anyone you’d dated in the past was ever half so attentive unless they wanted something. Since sex is so far off the table to be laughable between your species even if he had the necessary parts, it’s hard to keep your guard up. Having decided he’s just lonely and he likes having you about. Having someone to talk to. And you might like talking to him, his optimism wearing you down.

• “You care. You like having me around.” Grinning when your face flushes and you shake your head in denial, too flustered and embarrassed to come up with a retort. And teasing you? Watching you get aggravated with him, but not truly angry? It’s nice. Being on the smaller side means getting forgotten or left out sometimes among the Autobots. Knows that and fully intends to make sure that it doesn’t happen to you even if he gets on your nerves. Because he likes having you beside him and can’t help reaching after you even if he’s getting on your nerves.

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[tommydarlings]

fighting lessons | c.l

pairing: dom!charles x sub!reader

warnings: smut, dacryphilia, overstimulation

w/c: 1.2k

summary: your brother was convinced that you need someone to teach you some basic self defense techniques — so he chose his best friend to teach you some…things.

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It was stupid in your opinion but your brother was convinced that you should learn how to defend yourself. You understood the worries that he had since you’re his sister, a young girl in nowadays disgusting men’s world, but it still sucked in your opinion.

“Just so you know, I won’t go easy on you,” he said with a tiny grin, making you tone your eyes before you put your arms up into the typical fighting position.

“Is that the best you can do, little one?” He teased you once again with that nickname as he dodged once again another punch from you, looking down at you with slick smirk.

You huffed, hitting his boxing gloves covered palm again before you gulped and stared up at him with narrowing eyes, basically telling him to shut the fuck up.

Charles laughed at your facial expression, “Say it,” he whispered and nodded along his own words, “c'mon, say it,” he lowered his arms,

“I know you want to, don’t be so shy now,” the monaguesque told you, making you slowly shake your head,

“Let’s just continue charles, c‘mon,” you sighed before you raised your fist and hit him right in the shoulder, forcing his body to stumble a tiny bit backwards. You really tried to bite back your grin but it was no use, he already caught you wickedly grinning up at him.

Charles bit his inner cheek as you covered your mouth to hide the wide grin covering your face now, but he didn’t really look happy as you giggled like a little girl.

“What?” You said as you looked up at him, “I did what you wanted me to do! I hit you!” You laughed with a grin, knowing he didn’t expect it at all.

Your brothers best friend licked his lips, brushing his hand through his rather messy hair, “Try again,” he said in a quite and deep tone, surprising you.

You stopped laughing, “what? Are you sure?”

Charles only nodded before you briefly shrugged and hit him again… or at least you tried to, only that this time he actually — obviously — expected it and quickly caught your fist, turning your entire body swiftly around and pressing his chest forcefully against your back without saying a single word.

“Told you that I won’t go easy on you,” Charles muttered into your ear from behind, lips almost touching your temple as he secured your arms over your chest so you weren’t able to move them, trapping you between his muscular arms and grey compression shirt.

Charles cleared his throat as he felt your ass rubbing against his crotch area, briefly squeezing his eyes shut and furrowing his brows in pleasure before he spoke up, “You do know that you need to do better if you really want to be able to defend yourself in the future, right?” The monaguesque mumbled from behind.

You briefly closed your eyes as well and took a deep breath as you felt his bulge through your pants, “I know,” you admitted in a hush tone, slightly turning your head to the side so that Charles was able to get even better access to your neck.

You heard Charles chuckle for a few seconds before you gasped, suddenly feeling his lips kissing their way from your behind your ear down to your shoulder blade, palms squeezing your arms.

“Good,” Charles replied in a deep and raspy tone, lips still dancing along your hot skin as you dropped the back of your head against his chest, getting lost in the pleasure that he was making you feel.

You gasped, gulping another whine that wanted to escape down before you put your visibly smaller onto his biceps, lightly squeezing it, “Charles, w-we shouldn’t… you know, my brother-”

But your brothers best friend quickly shut you up by putting his hands down your pants, fingertips already teasingly playing with your clit as you stumbled over your words.

“Oh god, c-charles,” you cried out as he circled your clit, lips softly touching the skin behind your ear now, there and then gently biting your earlobe with a deep breaths,

“Yes mon amour?” He replied in a cocky tone, probably smirking behind you as his other arm tightened around you trapped body, making it literally completely unable to move away from him.

You dropped your head forwards, brows furrowed before you heard him groan into the back of your neck, forehead dropping onto your shoulder as you slowly rubbed your ass against his now very visible boner, biting your lip as you noticed how his breathing got more uneven because of it.

“You — oh my god,” you whined in a high pitched tone as he dipped his middle finger into your wet pussy, collecting some of your juice before he went back to rubbing your clit, “you like that?” You quickly gasped before you whined again.

Charles deeply chuckled behind you, groaning and biting his lip before he switched to biting your shoulder, groaning and moaning into your heated skin as you continued rubbing yourself against him, gulping as you felt how big he actually is.

“Fucking hell, y/n baby,” he gulped, making you smirk before you threw your head back, eyes rolling into the back of your head as you felt yourself coming closer and closer to your release, “The t-things I wanna do t-to you right now, shit,” he gasped, “you don’t even wanna know,” he chuckled again, making you cry out.

“I think I-I do actually,” you nodded with a smirk, rubbing clenching pussy against his fingers now as well, feeling your orgasm already building up, “tell me, god charles… please for the l-love of god…tell me,” you whined pathetically.

Charles only raised his head and kissed the sweet spot behind your ear, “You wouldn’t even u-understand a thing, mon amour,” his fingers sped up, making you see literal stars, “you’re to pure for that, aren’t you? Am I right?” He nodded along his words as he said them in a raspy tone, “way to pure and innocent, that’s what you are baby, that’s exactly what you fucking are,” he mumbled.

You felt like you were levitating, like you saw stars, like it was just you and him on this planet right now, nobody else. You bit your lip before you couldn’t hold it back anymore, trembling legs breaking down as you furrowed your brows and came all over his fingers, forcing him to go down with you as your knees hit the floor.

“I got you, don’t worry mon amour,” Charles kissed the top of your head as his fingers till continued rubbing your sensitive clit, making tears shot into your eyes due the overstimulation you were feeling,

“let it all go, baby… don’t hold anything back, want it all c'mon,” he continued as your whines got louder since he still wasn’t stopping.

“C-Charles!” You loudly spoke up, palm slowly reaching forward to stop his moving hand by grabbing his wrist but his hand wouldn’t stop for a second, he just ignored your weak grip on his wrist and continued smiling like in a mean and teasing way behind you,

“I know it feels good, little one, don’t even try to deny it,” he whispered into your ear from behind as you were so close to actually screaming from the overstimulation, your legs shaking like they have never before, “why don’t you be a good little girl for me and put your hand away, yeah?”

You gasped and cried as charles continued talking to you, ordering you to do something but at the same time calming you down whilst you gently removed your palm from his wrist, placing it back onto the floor to gain balance.

Charles chuckled behind you, “that’s my good girl.”

[dr3amfyr-e]

modern!jace bf thoughts ( wc. 1117 )

i’m shaking and foaming at the mouth I NEED HIM. i had to expel this from my brain before i could sleep, i’ll prob write more about these at some point. or maybe i’ll abandon this blog in a week 🤷‍♀️ we’ll see. i am able and willing to expand upon any of these, ask box is open >:)

jacaerys who is, first and foremost, a gentleman. he’s opening the door for you, pulling out your chair, giving you his jacket.

he buys you flowers — he knows your favorite kind, dw. he’s like the kind of boyfriend who makes lists of what their partner likes, but he doesn’t make a list, he just knows.

is it a little unnerving? maybe! but he just loves you :3

jacaerys who thinks to be loved is to be known. he wants to read your favorite books and listen to your favorite songs. he wants to know your coffee order and try it, so that he can experience something he knows you love. ( his is a caramel macchiato. btw. )

jacaerys who is so attentive and mother hen. he can clock if anything is wrong, like any change in your demeanor. in your vibe.

he’s brushing the hair back from your face, tucking it behind your ears. he’s fixing your jacket collar and re-looping your scarf. ( i want to say he fixes your posture, but look at his )

he can, and will, fix any problem you have. just tell him! confide in him! he wants you to!

he’s kind of a worrywort. did you eat? would you like to eat? how much did you sleep? are you okay? are you okay? hey, are you okay?

jacaerys who always smells good, and has clean clothes, but will force you to hug him when he’s sweaty from football ( ⚽️ ) or a run. gross!

speaking of running, if you stay with him at his family’s home in Dragonstone at any point over the summer you will be going for a run with him! sorry!

he’s talking you through it ( the run ) . he’ll go at your pace and coach you. you don’t have to go far either! he thinks you’re bonding by doing this 😊 ( he is wrong )

jacaerys who craves physical affection. he wants you touching him RIGHT NOW. PLEASE.

he’s got his arms around and/or his hand in yours, just, all of the time. fingers interlocked too, he will be adjusting your hand to achieve this position! :)

you’re sitting on the couch? he’ll be next to you in a sec! god forbid you want to sit in an armchair, he is in your lap ( jk. not really. ). he goes out of his way to be directly next to his partner. he’s standing next to you, sitting beside you. if you have class together, his seat is next to yours! eating together, he’s sitting next to you there too. he will also lay on top of you; if you’re vertical so is he.

but, to be more serious: he thrives on the reassurance. if you’re holding his hand, he knows you’re with him. if he can wrap his arms around your waist from behind, it’s reassurance that you’re not going anywhere, he’s got you.

( children of divorce* just act like this, dw )

jacaerys who feels all of his emotions. he does not bottle things up 🙅‍♀️

he cries: when he’s frustrated, when he’s upset, when he’s angry — especially in front of his mom ( this is canon )

sure, he’s confident and self-assured. but he’s also vulnerable, and it’s good!!!

he confides in you ( a big believer in ‘date your best friend’ ), he hopes you feel safe to do the same <3

i talked about it in this post — he can be really mean. it’s defensive, he doesn’t mean to, but it happens much more than he’d like ( he’s still unlearning things from his childhood )

it rears its head when you’re arguing, or if he feels trapped. and he’s good at it too, hitting the most tender spot he can.

he feels awful afterwards. he’s always quick to acknowledge what he did and apologize. if you cry, he’ll probably cry too ( that’s just how the cookie crumbles 🤷‍♀️ )

he’s on your level, holding your face in his hands, telling you how sorry he is. and, maybe he’s kissing the tears off of your cheeks — but, that’s between you and him

he’s aware of how unhealthy this defense mechanism is, he’s working on it! call him out! make him aware! he might not like it in the moment, but afterwards he’s appreciative. ( he’s in therapy! — all of rhaenyra and alicent’s kids are . )

jacaerys who drives and lets you mess with his radio. so often it’s his siblings and step-siblings he’s driving around, and he just wants to listen to his podcast, please, luke, don’t touch the radio.

but you? whatever! you can spend the whole car ride adjusting the station, or trying to pick a song on aux and he won’t care! or, you could talk over the radio ( he’s yelling at his brothers for this ) ! he just likes your presence.

both-hands-on-the-wheel driver, he might hold your hand at stop lights though. when he has to break hard he puts his arm out in front of you, to stop you from going forwards ( do you guys know what i’m talking about? ) he has supreme big brother reflexes

jacaerys who wants you to like his family so bad. they’re so important to him.

his best friend is his fifteen-year-old brother and he’s a major mama’s-boy, and he’s not embarrassed! he is a little nervous for you to meet everyone. it’s too hard to explain, so he doesn’t.

“ that’s my step-mother. yeah, she was married to my grandfather before she was married to my mother. um, so my step-siblings are technically my uncles and aunt. yeah, it’s kind of confusing. “

jacaerys who loves taking pictures of you. digital or film or phone, he’s on you like paparazzi. candid king.

you’re also going to be all over his instagram, sorry. he’s an instagram story fanatic, so you’re featured often. he prob has a highlight dedicated to you titled “ <3 “ or something.

jacaerys is a big kisser.

he’s kissing you on the mouth, often. probably when he shouldn’t.

most of the time it’s chaste kisses in parting, or sweet pecks because he just remembered he can do that!

also big on kissing your forehead and cheeks. and the column of your throat.

he’s polite and respectful! he will also make out with you any chance he can! slipping tongue in the stairwell at one of his mother’s galas. we are in public. ( he doesn’t care )

jacaerys who is such a lover boy. he just wants to love you, and show you how much he does. he takes pictures to immortalize memories ( okay roland barthes ) and engages in the things you love to experience you more intimately. he wants to make sure you’re safe, and happy, and cherished — like you deserve to be.

he wants to love, and to be loved.

[lowkeyrobin]

MINHO ; just like the rain

summary ; youre the rain to minhos storm clouds

warnings ; language, talk about mental health and self hate, mentions of death

track ; rain, sleep token

word count ; 874

masterlist

Minho was fairly reserved and didn't talk to many when he had the opportunity to. He'd lost friends, his memories, his life, coming to the Glade. He lost everything and for what, to run around a giant maze for the rest of his life? He was trapped in a cycle of sleep, eat, run, map, eat, and sleep, and he had been for years now. He felt worthless, and hated himself deep down. Thomas and Newt knew but didn't know how to help over his shrugging off of the situation. They decided if he needed to talk, he would if he wanted to or if he was ready.

But, upon your arrival, he found some sort of comfort in you. Your calm and friendly demeanor just had him spill himself one night at another Greenie bonfire. You listened to him talk for hours and gave him a whole motivational speech and reassured him he'd be alright.

And now, he could finally say that the viscous cycle of overworking and hating himself was over, and it had been since the first time you smiled at him.

You were the rain to his storm clouds.

Just like the rain, you cast the dust -his self hatred- into nothing. You washed the salt in his wounds from his hands.

You had your hooks in him, drawing him closer and closer each and everyday. He could see you in his dreams and in his fate, yet still deny the persistent questions from Newt and Thomas, and even Fry and Winston.

He went out of his way after spending hours in the map room just to talk to you and hear all about your day. Even the sound of your voice comforted him and sent a shiver, almost a tingling sensation, up his spine and into his brain.

He jogs to your side, wondering what you're up to at this hour at night. You snuck out in the middle of the night, wanting to feel the cold, wet rain against your skin for a bit. It wasn't pouring but it wasn't lightly sprinkling either, a fair amount of water soaking you.

His feet almost fall beneath him due to the mud under the grass, making him lightly gasp as he reaches out to you, now turning around as you heard him.

"Y/n!" He gasps, recalculating his footing to not fall.

You quickly reach your arm out for him and catch him at the forearm. You steadily help him back on his feet with a smile and chuckle while his face heats up from embarrassment.

"You good?" You ask, wiping away any stray rain around your eyes before it seeped in, not wanting to try and be bothered by it in the moment.

He nods, looking away for a moment. "What're you doing out here?"

You shrug, loosely hanging onto his wrist, not noticing, although he does. "Enjoying the rain"

"Why?"

"...It's nice, I guess. Makes me feel like there's hope outside the Glade"

He nods, seeing and feeling you drop his wrist. He slings an arm around your shoulder, a usual act of affection between you two.

You hear the rain pitter and patter against the Homestead as the force of the little raindrops increases. However, it’s soothing. You feel like you can stand here with Minho forever. He provided an odd comfort, even when silent, as just knowing he’s there beside you could rid you of any worries or fears.

"Are you not cold?" He asks, feeling goosebumps rise along his arms and legs.

You shake your head no with a shrug, "Why, are you?" You tease with a smile.

"No, no, no. Definitely not." He defensively speaks, playing into the joke as he retracts his arm from your shoulders and crosses them. His sassy personality was showing through even in the middle of the night. "I'm never cold, ever"

"I'd be really concerned if you were never cold, Minho. Maybe we should send a note down with the box asking about it" You speak, playing around with him. "Maybe we should stop hanging out. What if it's a contagious disease?"

"No, no, I mean, just get cold! Just like, not around you," He shrugs, taking back his last words.

"Oh?" You question, your lips curling into a smirk. "Around me?"

"I, uhm-"

"Hm?"

Before you can process what he's doing, Minho swiftly moves his hands to your jawline and smashes your lips together. You swear you hear a lightning strike as he does so, and rest your hands on his shoulders, not denying this new act of affection. You could get used to this.

You're the first to pull away, shocked and confused.

"Minho?"

He's silent, face burned up as he can't look at you.

"Min-"

"Don't talk about it"

You take a moment to think before patting him on the shoulder, turning back towards the Homestead.

"I'm going back to bed. Enjoy the rain"

He nods, crossing his arms again as he looks out towards the Deadheads again. He hears you slowly trudge off across the Glade, the squishing of the mud and wet grass below you drowning out as you walk further and further away.

"Damnit"

"Language!"

"How the hell did you just hear me?!"

[archangeldyke-all]

why did I see this post and immediately think of Sevika?? https://www.tumblr.com/sappho-made-me-do-it/764096234440032256?source=share I can def imagine her doing this in public because she's so damn possessive

this gif gave me shivers watching it and thinking about sevika... i've been thinking about this ask all week i'm so happy i could finally write it!!

men and minors dni

sevika's gonna blow your fucking cover.

silco sent the pair of you up, undercover, to get dirt on one of piltover's long standing aldermen. it's well known that he's got very illegal ties with a development company-- taking close to twenty percent off all their earnings in exchange for letting them start development on the longstanding zaunite promenade.

the only way you've managed to sneak into this party (held in his own fucking home because he's rich enough to live in a house with a ballroom) is by pretending to be complete strangers.

you're a cater-waiter. this was an easy cover. almost all the staff working the event are from zaun, you just picked the nearest one your size and handed them a sack of coins to trade outfits and scram for the evening. it was the easiest decision of the kid's life.

sevika's cover wasn't so easy. silco insisted that sevika shared an uncanny resemblance to a well-known socialite, but when you got there to drug the lady for the evening and disguise sev, you nearly pissed yourself laughing. perhaps the woman looked like sevika forty years ago. but now, she's a crouched over, wrinkled up, old lady.

so, she was easy to knock out. it wasn't so easy getting sevika to look old. you told her to tell her friends she got work done. she glared at you so hard you're surprised you didn't burst into flames.

but the thing is, it's not even the shitty disguise that's gonna blow it. it's the fact that she won't take her fucking hands off of you.

and, it's not a spoken rule, but people from piltover-- especially ones this rich-- do not interact with cater-waiters... and they certainly don't keep pinching said cater-waiter's ass, and trailing off to eye-fucking at you across the room mid-conversation, and trapping you in a pantry to have a steamy makeout session mid party.

and now, to make matters worse, another one of the cater-waiters is trying to flirt with you, too. and you really don't want to deal with a sevika murdering anyone tonight. it would totally blow your cover.

"so..." you think their name is zack? zane? asks. "i've got some weed. me and a couple of the dishwashers are gonna go to some topside bar after... you wanna join?" they ask.

you cringe and shake your head. "sorry, i gotta get home." you mumble, quickly grabbing the fresh plate of appetizers from him and sprinting out of the kitchen.

you bump right into sevika and groan. the wrinkles you'd painted onto her skin with eyeshadow are completely smeared and gone from earlier, and she's got her eyes pinned on the swinging door you just came from.

"did they fucking touch you?"

"do you want a bacon wrapped shrimp madame?" you ask.

sevika's glare drops momentarily, and she shoves two of the shrimp in her mouth, her eyes rolling back at the taste, and then her glare returning. "i'm gonna fucking kill them. find a way to fill a to-go box with those." she growls, pointing at the plate.

you giggle and take a quick look around, making sure nobody's looking, before swooping in to kiss her cheek. "they didn't touch me. i won't let them. please just play along for a little longer so we can ditch this lame ass party and go home." you whisper.

sevika sighs, then crouches back over in her old lady posture. "fine." she grunts, turning around and shuffling back to the party. you chuckle, and she flips you off over her shoulder.

she doesn't drop it.

to be fair... zin(?) does make a pass at you again. they find you refilling the refreshments and wrap their arm around you like you're familiar, or something.

sevika sees it, and your stomach drops. you're pretty sure you can see steam coming out of her ears.

you duck out of their arm and scurry across the ballroom, shoving the bag of ice you're carrying into the nearest uniform's arms.

sevika's storming across the floor (much faster than any old lady should) and you meet her right in the center, one finger pointed out and a nasty glare on your face.

sevika freezes, half a foot from you, her eyes darting between whats-their-name and you.

"we are surrounded by hundreds of people. do not blow your cover." you whisper-shout.

sevika deflates again, and you think that's the end of it. you quickly turn around to leave the dance floor, but sevika grabs your wrist, and pulls you back into her chest.

you gasp-- and before you can say anything, she's licking one long stripe up your neck.

you shudder, your eyes falling shut for just a moment, before you pry them open to make sure nobody saw, giving a firm elbow to the gut. sevika just chuckles, and from the sound of silverware clattering to the ballroom floor, you know whats-their name saw too.

"i'm gonna fucking kill you." you mutter.

"i look forward to it." sevika giggles, giving your ass a firm pat before walking away.

taglist!

@fyeahnix @lavendersgirl @half-of-a-gay @thesevi0lentdelights @sexysapphicshopowner

@shimtarofstupidity @chuucanchuucan @badbye666 @femme-historian @lia-winther

@sevikaspillowprincess @emiliabby @sevikasbeloved @hellorai

@glass-apothecary @macaroni676 @artinvain @k3n-dyll @sevsdollette

@ellieslob @xayn-xd @keikuahh @maneskinwh0re @raphaellearp

@iamastar @sevikitty @mascdom @nhaaauyen

@mirconreadzztuff22 @veoomvroom @lushh-s3vik4s @katyawooga @lesbodietcoke

[not-neverland06]

paranormal love

James ‘Bucky’ Barnes x fem!reader

a/n: Bucky is going to be very OOC for the first half of this. Just trust the author on this one, it will all make sense in time. (Toxic relationships, paranormal happenings - you have been warned)

Summary: Moving into this house was supposed to be the blessing your marriage needed. Instead you only seem to be twisted against each other. Something lurks within these walls, something angry, something lonely. Someone wants you gone, and he’ll do whatever it takes to have his revenge on the woman who left him behind. (Part of my Halloween Palooza)

“Okay,” you say, balancing the camera in your palm, zooming in on James’ back while he unpacks the kitchen boxes. “Wanna smile for the camera?”

He gives you a glance over his shoulder before turning and waving to the camera. He chuckles a little, glancing down at the lens and then back at you. “What are you doing?”

You sigh, placing the camera on the counter and letting it record. “Well, you know how the lady said this place was haunted?”

He rolls his eyes and glares at you. “I told you not to listen to her, that chick was off her meds.” You swat at his arm but he bounces away from you playfully. 

“Shut up,” you mutter, holding back a small laugh. “I just thought that if there were any supernatural happenings,” you nod towards the camera, “we’ll need proof if we’re going to make this a tourist trap.”

James smiles, leaning over to press a brief kiss to your forehead. “Good call, babe.” You smile after him as he heads back out to the truck to bring in more boxes. Your eyes briefly dart to the camera before you shake your head with a disbelieving chuckle. 

Do you believe in the supernatural? Yes. The metaphysical? Depends on who’s trying to sell you their tarot cards. But you do know that when that woman handed you the keys after you bought the place, you’d never seen such stark relief. 

That poor old woman was terrified of living in this house alone. Of course, the old bitch didn’t tell you about all the horrific things that happened here until after you signed the deed. If you had known this place was haunted, even if it’s not, you never would have bought it. 

Sadly, all your money and savings are now tied into this home. James says not to worry, that there’s nothing wrong with the place. But he’s always been a cynic and he’s never really believed in anything so miraculous as ghosts. Besides, he’s the type of guy to argue with you until he’s purple in the face that the sky is red when he’s in a mood. 

There’s no talking him out of this. And you can’t begin your newlywed life arguing with your husband about the place you just made your forever home. Anyways, it’s not like you’ve noticed anything bad yet. 

The camera is mainly a joke to mess with James and make yourself feel better about the whole thing. You’ll turn it off tonight, be done with it, and hopefully get over this irrational fear of yours. 

12 AM

You spit the toothpaste into the sink and rinse your mouth with water. You’ve noticed a strange metallic taste with all the unfiltered sinks. You're worried you might have to call a plumber or someone to check it out. You don’t want to get lead poisoning your first night here. 

You freeze, still bent over the sink, and your jaw snaps shut. Eyes are boring into the back of your head, hateful and angry. It’s not James, you would know if it was. This is something different, the hair on the back of your neck is standing up, goosebumps rolling up and down your arms. There’s a rush of cool air, like something running past you, and your head shoots up in surprise. 

You scream when you see James in the mirror’s reflection. He jumps back in shock, lowering the camera and giving you an exasperated look. A second ago you’d been completely alone and he’d been downstairs, where the fuck did he come from?

“What the hell, James?” You wipe your mouth off with the back of your hand and whirl around on him. He glares at you, eyes narrowed in dissatisfaction. 

“Talk about an overreaction. What the hell is your problem?” He snaps, taking that tone with you that you know means you have to be careful. You don’t feel like getting into another fight with him. Especially not tonight. 

“You scared me,” you trail off into an awkward laugh, hoping to ease up the mood a little. He slams the camera down on the counter. Your shoulders jump and you flinch back from him slightly. “What’re you doing with the camera?” You ask, glancing down at the lens and frowning. You spot the red blinking light and realize he’s still recording, your brows furrow in confusion. 

“It was your idea, wasn’t it?” His tone is short and you huff in disappointment. You hadn’t realized something as small as a little scare would piss him off. You used to be good at reading his moods. Since the wedding, though, he seems to have just gotten more and more unpredictable. 

You take a seat on the edge of the bed, your feet dangling over the floor as you kick your legs. You hate how tall the damn bed frame is, you have a horrible paranoia that something’s going to grab you one day and yank you under. James, of course, had just laughed when you told him this and then bought it. He thought it was funny, that it would help you overcome your fears. 

You still have goosebumps from earlier, the same breeze from before tickles the pads of your feet. You glance down with wide eyes, yanking your legs into your chest and scooting back from the edge. James flips the lights off in the bathroom and walks to the end of the bed. He’s dragged out the tripod and has got it pointed at the bed. 

You tilt your head with a coy smile, “Planning on having some fun tonight?”

He glances between you and the camera, a confused furrow between his brows. You scoff out a laugh as the realization dawns over him. “If you’re up for it, I wouldn’t mind some after-dark fun.” You roll your eyes and tug the covers over your legs. He leaves the camera and crawls on the bed towards you. “But that’s not what it's for.”

“Oh yeah?” You glance over his shoulder and then turn back to him with an odd look. “Don’t tell me you’re buying into the supernatural junk?” You tuck your head into his chest, letting him pull you closer as he flips the lamp off. “You’re supposed to keep me tethered to reality, remember?” You tease, looking up at him. 

He glances down at you and shrugs. “The lady did say the master bedroom is the worst, I’m just curious if we’ll catch anything.” 

You shoot the camera a concerned look and shake your head. “I hope not,” you mutter. You snuggle in closer to him, trying to dismiss the feeling of someone watching you. You’re sure it’s just from the camera being on you. Besides, you always get too deep in your head about this stuff.

3 AM

You shoot up in bed, chest heaving as you stare down at your feet. James shifts behind you, grumbling as he flips over and steals the rest of the blankets. 

Your heart is pounding loudly in your chest as you simply sit there, staring at the end of the bed. You pause, holding your breath like the room might tell you its secrets. 

You’re normally a heavy sleeper, not even a fire would get you up. But something just did, you were ripped violently from your slumber. You almost want to dismiss it as an incredibly vivid nightmare. Yet, you can’t ignore the throbbing, almost freezing pain, that’s shooting up and down your left calf. 

The muscle is spasming sporadically and you can still feel the phantom touch of someone squeezing your leg. Your hip is sore from where you’d been dragged down. You’ve had pretty vivid dreams before. You’ve woken up with your feet sore like you’d been running, or your muscles cramped from twitching around so much. But this is a lot. 

You take in a deep breath, slowly pulling your legs into your chest. You slump over your bent knees, hoping to catch your breath and settle your racing mind. It’s impossible to ignore how cold your leg feels, you feel like you’re losing blood circulation. You can’t just go back to sleep with it like this, you’re gonna have to go downstairs and get James’ heat pack. 

You’re seriously starting to lose feeling in it now. You’re wondering if something didn’t drag you and maybe you’ve got a blood clot screwing your circulation up somehow. Hundreds of different possibilities race through your mind, each more worrying than the last. You can't sit up all night scaring yourself, you’re just gonna have to suck it up. 

You briefly consider waking James up so you don’t have to go downstairs alone. You hate how those stairs look in the dark, you feel like something is standing at the end, waiting to reach through the banister and drag you down. A ghost, however, sounds more inviting than making James grumpy before he has to go in for work tomorrow morning. 

With a heavy sigh, you force yourself off the bed and blindly grope through the dark for the wall. Your left leg is practically dead weight as you drag it behind you. Your hands skate along the dusty walls and you grimace, making a mental note to dust tomorrow. 

You’re trying to take it slow, to squint out as many shapes in the dark as you can. It’s nearly impossible to tell when you’re going to hit the stairs. You can only pray that you don’t go toppling headfirst down them. 

Slowly, you inch your toes forward and curl them around the edge of the step. From there it’s a long, arduous process of just trying to get down the stairs. It feels as though with each step you take, the house only grows darker. 

You wished you had taken the risk and turned the lights on. The feeling of eyes following you only gets worse as you finally reach the kitchen. The further you get from the bedroom, the worse your leg begins to throb. You can only be happy that you still feel it at all. 

Your hand skates along the wall until you feel the cool plastic of the light switch. As harsh as it is against the linoleum, it’s a stark relief from being all alone in the dark. You dig around in the moving boxes until you find James' heating pad. You toss it in the microwave and pull yourself on the counter, drumming your fingers while you wait for it to warm up. 

He hates you. He hates that you live in his house. He hates that she’s gone. Bette, he’ll miss her, the way the old woman’s face would screw up in terror always brought a sick satisfaction to him. 

You press the warm pad to your leg and hiss through your teeth as feeling begins returning to your calf. He has to admit, he hadn’t meant to grab you quite so hard. He just wanted one good scare, to either get you out of here or show you who's in charge. Your leg has turned an odd color in the shape of his handprint and it makes his lips curl up. 

There’s a loud ringing from upstairs. It grates on his already frayed nerves and makes anger roll off of him in violent, tangible waves. Your nose twitches, your face screwing up as you look around. There’s a suspicious glint in your eye, one your little husband doesn’t share with you. 

He has to admit, you’re smart enough to realize the truth of your situation, at least. Your husband doesn’t share the same characteristic. He seems alarmingly self-assured, not that he minds, those are his favorite types to break. 

He can hear upstairs, better than you would ever hope to. He listens as your husband picks up the phone, quietly yelling at someone on the other end. A woman, if the timbre is anything to go by. They both sound incredibly angry. He’s not interested in listening to something as trivial as this. 

He turns away from you and moves towards the stairs. He pauses at the base of them, glancing over his shoulder and really taking you in. You look so small, curled up on the counter with the look of a frightened child. 

You scream as the lightbulb above you explodes, plunging you into complete darkness. He smiles to himself, drifting up the stairs and lingering at the end of your bed. Your husband’s head shoots up in alarm and he pulls the phone away from his ear. 

The name Martha lingers on the small screen before he quickly flips it off and rushes out of bed. He blows right through the man at the end of his bed, flipping on the lights and racing down the stairs. He calls out your name, voice frantic and bordering on paranoia. 

He hadn’t thought you two would get scared quite so quickly. He’d been hoping to enjoy this a bit more. Perhaps he should slow down, and savor the long fall into madness before he claims you both. He hovers at the top of the stairs, watching as your husband comforts you. 

He’s got his arms wrapped around you, trying to keep you quiet and get you to calm down. From a distance, he could almost be the perfect husband. But that look is all too familiar, he’s seen it a hundred times before. It’s only now that he recognizes it for what it is. There is no love in your husband’s gaze, only the fear that you’ll find out his little secret. 

He goes back into the bedroom, swipes the phone off the nightstand, and retreats into the shadows. 

“Don’t,” you slap James’ hands away from you, glaring at him. He purses his lips, huffing out a sharp breath and taking a step back. Anger brews under your skin, warms you up, and makes your jaw ache from how hard you’re clenching down. 

“How can you say I made it up?” You shout, no longer caring how loud you are. Your voice cracks at the end as you take on a shrill pitch. You yank up the leg of your yoga pants, shoving your leg towards him. 

Not only has the skin dipped in the perfect shape of a hand, but it’s also turned into an unnatural shade of green and purple. It’s like no bruise or injury you’ve ever had before. James looks down at the mark like it’s a bug to be squashed or a pile of dog shit he just stepped in. 

He fixes you with a sneer and shoves it away from him. You let out a harsh breath and stumble slightly into the counter. “Would you quit fucking showing me that? It’s freaking me out.”

You throw your hands up in the air, giving him an eat-shit look. “How do you think I feel? It happened to me.”

He shakes his head and turns towards the coffee pot, pouring himself another mug. You can’t believe how dismissive he’s being about this whole thing. You have indisputable proof burned into your flesh, and he’s completely ignoring your worries. 

“We need to get you to the doctor, okay?” He shakes his head, giving you the look of a disapproving parent, rather than the supportive husband he’s supposed to be. He hadn’t even been worried for you last night, just mad that you’d woken him up for nothing. 

“It’s probably a blood clot, not a damn poltergeist.”

“James-” His phone ringing cuts you off, and your eyes narrow in disbelief as he reaches for it. It’s closer to you on the counter so you snatch it up before he can grab it. 

“What are you doing?” He demands, taking on a concerningly low tone. 

“We’re going to talk about this, you’re not getting out of this one, James!” 

He whispers your name in a voice you haven’t heard before. His face is dark, brows set in determination as he slowly extends his hand. “Give me my phone.”

You glance at the Nokia and then back at him. The fear that’s been ever-present since last night turns into something else. Anxiety and suspicion make a wicked and nauseating brew in your stomach. “Why?” You whisper, eyes narrowing on him as he takes a step closer. You stumble a step back, holding the phone out of his reach. 

You feel your hand tremble with its vibrations before it begins to ring again. You look towards it just as James lunges forward. His shoulder nearly barrels into you as he grabs your wrist. His grip is so tight you almost feel the bones creaking together. “James!” You gasp, the phone tumbling from your palm and into his hand. He shoves you back, tucking it in his pocket and glaring at you. 

“Don’t touch my phone,” you open your mouth to argue and he takes a large step forward. His foot slams against the ground and you flinch back from him, eyes wide in surprise. “Do you understand me,” he demands, slowly and his voice low. 

You nod, your jaw gaping as you stare at him. He runs a hand through his hair, refusing to meet your eye now. Dark strands fall onto his forehead and he looks more disheveled than you’ve seen him in a long while. 

He looks at his watch and clenches his eyes shut. He pauses, taking in a deep breath as he straightens his tie and rounds the kitchen island. “What are you doing?” You ask, your voice so quiet you’re surprised he even hears it. 

“Going to work,” he snaps. You can’t look at him, you just keep your eyes glued to the floor as the door slams shut. You hold your breath until you hear the car going down the driveway. Ever so slowly, you peel yourself away from the counter. 

Your hand drifts, without thinking, to the imprints on your wrist. “What the fuck,” you mutter, a stunned sort of silence taking over. You can’t help but just stand there, completely dumbfounded by how quickly a simple argument escalated. 

He’s always had a shorter temper than most, but that was extreme. A door slams upstairs and you scream, leaping forward and whirling towards the noise.  “What the fuck!” You shout again, stumbling towards the knife block behind you. You can hear footsteps running upstairs and swallow around a ball of fear sinking in your throat. 

You almost call out ‘whos there,’ but that’s a little too stupid for you. You’re not planning on being the bimbo who dies first in every horror movie. As much as James likes to tease you for being a little simple sometimes, you are equipped with basic survival skills. 

You look towards the coffee maker, the port where your home phone should be is empty. You rush towards the windows, glancing out the driveway and cursing when you find it empty. You were hoping that James might still be in his car, steaming before he comes back in to apologize. But, no, he’s really gone. 

Another door slams and it feels a little petty. Despite the way your heart races and you’re struggling to catch your breath, you don’t feel like you’re in any immediate danger. The looming presence that hung over you last night is gone. James had dismissed the lightbulb exploding as an old house and bad lighting. 

You know better, despite the claims otherwise, and you sincerely doubt that there’s an actual person upstairs. And whatever it is, was smart enough to steal your phone. You slink towards the end of the stairs, just barely craning your neck so you can see into your bedroom. Except the door isn’t open like you left it. 

Light comes through the crack of the closed door. You take a tentative step up, eyes squinting as you try and get a glimpse under the door. A shadow darts past, like rushing footsteps. You gasp, leaping back and covering your mouth with trembling hands. 

The hair on the back of your neck stands, and the loose hairs from your braids blow across your cheeks, tickling your sensitive skin. Old vents, that’s what James told you. His attempt to explain the inexplicable breeze that seems to be following you everywhere you go. You’re bundled head to toe in fuzzy socks, warm pants, and a too-big sweatshirt. And still, you feel your fingers nearly go numb and you can barely feel your nose anymore. 

That’s not a poor AC system. And those aren’t feet under your door. You’re so focused on simply watching the movements under the door that you completely forget anything else. You’re blind and deaf as you watch whatever is moving about in your room. A loud clank breaks through the silence and you nearly scream. 

Your bones almost jump out of your skin as the ice machine starts going and rattles up the old fridge. You clench your eyes shut, taking in a deep breath and glaring at the white machine. “Fuck me,” you mutter, holding your chest and just barely calming yourself down. 

You’ve only been here a night, you shouldn’t be so fucking terrified. You’re ready to just go out into the backyard and wait the rest of the day for James to come back. If you could drive off, you would. But you’ve only got one working car right now and he’s taken it to work. You move to grab your laptop off the couch when something creaks behind you. 

Old hinges cry out as they’re slowly forced to work. The sound of steps going down the stairs occupies the space behind you. You can’t find the bravery to turn around, too scared to see what might be there. Something ice cold passes through you. It nearly feels like a violation, as though something was rooting through your insides like it belonged there. It couldn’t have lasted more than two seconds but it was more than enough to have you nearly vomiting up your scarce breakfast. 

The moment it’s over you feel yourself calming down. As though an instinctual intuition has been activated, you know the danger’s passed. Whatever it had been trying to accomplish with that little show, it did it. 

You turn back to your room, the lights off and the door open, looking just as you left it. You glance over your shoulder, looking into the kitchen before starting up the stairs. You give a hesitant peek into the room like you expect it to be a wreck. But it looks spotless, the camera is in the same place James left it, still recording. 

You file that away in the back of your mind. Maybe the camera picked up what happened last night, or maybe James is right. You really are just getting too far into your head. A shrill ringing goes off near James nightstand and you frown. Your phone buzzes on his side of the bed, MOM lighting up the square screen. 

You let out a short huff, quickly snatching your phone and answering. Maybe she can talk some sense into you, or, more preferably, come over to keep you company. “Hey mom,” you answer, smiling slightly to yourself. It’s been a little while since you’ve been able to talk to her. James had banned phones after the honeymoon and then you’d gotten caught up in house stuff, jobs, and the aftermath of the wedding ‘incident.’

An older voice than you’d been expecting answers on the other end, saying your name in a confused tone. Your brows furrow and you frown, “Mrs. Barnes?”

“Honey,” she sounds strained, like she really hadn’t been expecting you to answer. James must have taken your phone by accident. It makes sense, they’re both the same model, but you put a little pink charm on your Nokia so you’d stop making this mistake. Yet, when you look to your left, you see your charm lying on your nightstand. When had you taken that off?

“Where’s James?”

“Um,” you’re still a little thrown off by her voice and take a second to answer. “Work, I think he took the wrong phone,” you laugh a little, disconcerted that it’s not your mother’s comforting voice. 

“Must have,” she answers, she sounds like she’s a million miles away, her tone distant. “Well, um, just tell him to call me back.”

“Alright,” you hesitate, concerned by how off she sounds. “Is everything alright?” You know things have been tough for her since her husband passed on. James’ sisters have been helping her adjust, but the wedding had taken him away from his family for a little while. He hasn’t actually shown any signs of wanting to reach out and it makes you feel guilty, like you’re keeping him away from her. 

Mrs. Barnes, a living saint you swear, has been nothing but kind as she welcomes you into her family. This is the first time she’s ever been so distant to you. You act more like her family than James does nowadays. 

“Has, uh,” she coughs, clearing her throat. You can almost hear what sounds like Francesca on the other end, hollering at her. The sound of James’ older sister’s voice makes you smile a little wider. “Has James said anything to you?”

Your brows furrow and you shake your head in confusion, even if she can’t see you. “About what?”

“Oh, crumbs,” she huffs and you have a feeling whatever she was about to say was important, but someone is snatching the phone away before you can hear the rest of it. You’d been so focused on her voice that you hadn’t even heard James come back in. 

He glares down at the phone, face pale and eyes wide like he’s expecting something horrific. When he places it to his ear and hears his mom’s voice, his shoulders slump in relief. You narrow your eyes at him, disoriented by the strange behavior. 

“Mom,” he interrupts her rudely, “I’ll call you later. Okay?” He hangs up before she can answer. He tugs your phone out of his pocket and tosses it next to you on the bed. “Answering my phone now? What are you, my secretary?”

You slip your phone into your back pocket, not looking at him as you get off the bed. “I thought it was mine. I think my charm broke off.” You put some distance between the two of you, glancing down at his phone and then back at him. “Why are you being so weird about it?”

He flinches like you’ve just accused him of something far worse than being overly protective of his phone. “I don’t like you digging around in my phone. That’s a problem now?” You open your mouth to argue, but he just keeps going, cutting you off, “You’re so goddamn paranoid. First the ghost, now this,” he gestures vaguely at you and you scoff, crossing your arms and glaring at him. 

You two are devolving far quicker than he had anticipated. It must have been a fragile relationship, to begin with. James slams the door and you slump down on the bed, you almost look like you want to cry. 

He goes down the stairs, watching through the window as your husband lingers on the front porch. He calls someone, his mom, and starts yelling at her as he gets to his car. Looking away from the window, he sighs. 

He’d been close, if James hadn’t come home he probably could have pushed you over the edge immediately. He doesn’t know if he’s disappointed or happy that his game gets to go on a little longer.

You come back down the stairs, eyes rimmed red and shoulders slumped in defeat. You brush through him, not even noticing the chill he leaves behind in you. You have the camera in your hand and a cord in the other. He grins, excited to finally have you see the truth of what happened last night. 

You plug the camera into your laptop, scrubbing through the footage of last night. He leans over your shoulder and watches as goosebumps rise along your skin. You sigh, tugging a blanket over your shoulders, but he knows that won’t do anything to help you. 

Nothing will unless you leave. But your husband has made it clear that you’re not getting out of here until he has actual proof anything supernatural lurks inside these haunted walls. Right here, in your lap, you have your proof. A phantom wind blows up the sheets of the bed, an unexplainable tug of your leg that drags you halfway down the bed. It’s violent and he almost feels sorry, he really hadn’t meant to hurt you, only scare you. 

His fingers drift over your leg and you jump, whirling around, wide eyes looking right through him. He can’t help but admire the way fear makes them shine. You’re quite pretty when you’re terrified, he couldn’t say the same for the hag that used to live here. 

You’re slow to turn back to the computer, but when you do, there’s a slight curve to your lips that he appreciates. “I fucking knew it,” you whisper, slamming the screen closed and getting to your feet. 

You’re giddy, he can taste the satisfaction overpowering the fear. You round the couch, taking in a deep breath and shaking out your arms. Your face sets in determination and you start working on clearing out the moving boxes. 

He doesn’t feel the urge to mess with you any further. He leaves you in peace, lounging in your armchair and watching you work. He’s got a nice surprise worked up for you tonight, no need to take today’s playtime any further. 

You’re efficient, only occasionally getting distracted as you smile at pictures of your wedding day. You put those up on the mantle, beside some family photos. It’s clear how much you value your familial bonds, even your husbands. You put it front and center in the home, reminding him of how it once looked. 

There’s a stark sense of deja vu as he watches you work, a nauseating feeling of what could have been. He can practically taste the newlywed bliss you’re going through. Even with your husband being a piece of work, you still value him, love him. He’d once known that love, hell, he’d reveled in it. 

But the curtain always has to come down. The magic’s never real. He’s doing you a favor by showing you the truth of it all. His gaze drifts away from you cooking dinner and he looks towards the pictures on the mantle. 

James’ mother reminds him of his own. He always wondered what happened to her, what her life was like after he was gone. Neither of them ever got what they wanted. She died wondering what happened to her only son, and he died without getting to say goodbye. 

He thinks of Bette, and feels that familiar white-hot rush of anger, your scream comes a moment later. He glances towards you, confused, before he follows your eyes and sees that he’s accidentally shattered the frames of the pictures. 

You gasp, sucking in shallow breaths as you stumble into the counter, brows furrowed in terror. He clenches his eyes shut, sucking in a deep breath, and tamps down on the anger overwhelming him. 

The door opens and your socked feet go rushing towards it, you nearly slip on the hardwoods, arms spinning wildly as you right yourself. James flinches away from your frantic hands as you grab his jacket and drag him inside. “The fucking pictures,” you stutter out your words and point frantically towards the mantle. 

James grimaces, tugging at your hands and looking towards him. He doesn’t see him, of course he doesn’t. But he does see his little accident. James scoffs, face screwing up in anger, he turns towards you. His face is set like a disappointed parent. “You broke them? Our wedding pictures, seriously. All because of a stupid fight?”

He jerks away from you, storming towards the glass and kicking at it. “You didn’t even clean it up,” he says your name, tone increasing in anger. You stare at him, disbelieving and open-mouthed. 

He sits back on the armchair, thoroughly amused. He hadn’t even had to do anything to turn him against you. Your sweet James has just been waiting for a reason to get mad. “This is fucking petty, even for you.”

“What, James,” you stumble over your words, taking a hesitant step towards him. He thinks you’re pretty when you’re scared, but not like this. He doesn’t appreciate the way you approach your husband like he’s a rabid dog. You shouldn’t be scared of him, not yet at least. He hasn’t even had his fun with him yet. 

“It wasn’t me, I swear-”

“Not this ghost shit again, seriously-”

“I have proof!” You shout, your voice is desperate as you try and make yourself louder than him. You run towards your laptop, and ignore the burning smell coming from the oven. He gets up, drifting towards it and turning it off before either of you can notice. No point in having the house burn down. Where would that leave him?

You plug the camera in, turning the screen towards him. James doesn’t make a move yet, simply glaring at you like you’re a bug to be swatted. “Please,” you beg, pathetic and needy. He huffs, rolling his eyes as he watches you both. It’s all so familiar to him, he feels like he’s watching his unfortunate disaster of a marriage play out through you. 

You scrub through the times, cussing as you pass over the clip of you getting dragged. There’s a frantic look in your eye as you hit play. It almost makes him feel bad for what’s about to happen. 

“What am I supposed to be looking at?” James snaps. 

Your face falls and you move the mouse forward and back, looking like a madwoman as you try to find the right moment. You won’t, he made sure of that. Nothing but static plays when you get to the parts that would prove your innocence. 

James tugs at his tie, shaking his head in disappointment. “Not only did you fuck up all our pictures, you didn’t even have dinner ready.” He shoves past you, heading up the stairs and muttering to himself. He pulls out his phone, lingering on a contact he shouldn’t before pressing call. 

You stay still in the living room, looking at the shattered glass and then the oven. “I made your favorite,” you whisper. You suck in a shaky breath, swallowing hard as you kneel down to try and pick up the remnants of your wedding photos. 

3 AM

He sits on the bed, glancing towards the blinking red light of the camera. There’s a clear wall between you and your husband, even if neither of you wants to acknowledge it. You lay curled up in yourself, like a child afraid to seek comfort. He pities you, truly. 

He remembers the happiness of youth, the rush of being married to the person you believe is the love of your life. He will never forget the pain of realizing the person you’ve given everything to turning into someone you don’t recognize. 

His hand drifts over the swell of your cheek. Your lashes flutter, nose wrinkling at the cold brush of his touch. But you don’t flinch away from him, instead leaning into him and looking almost happy by his touch. 

He looks to your husband, eyes narrowing on his relaxed form. He sees the phone lying near him and his face sets in determination. He’s not going to let you fall into the same trap he did. And he certainly isn’t about to let another soul cramp the already stuffy walls of his home. 

It’s been quiet around the house. Less strange events and more strained dinners between you and your husband. You’ve taken to bringing the camera everywhere with you. But anytime a light bulb explodes or a frame topples over, the video goes static. 

You should have given up the hunt for evidence but you can’t give it up. You just need James to see, you need him to believe you. Or, at the very least, you need some assurance that you’re not going crazy. You’ve begun to consider the possibility. 

The bruise on your leg is gone, the constant chills that rack you are still very much present, but there’s nothing else. Everything that happens can be explained by the age of the house. You’ve only briefly discussed it with James’ sisters. Elizabeth gave you the number of a medium she knows. 

James had gotten angry when he found the business card after her visit. He didn’t like her filling your head with more nonsense and indulging you. You didn’t like how dismissive he was. It’s been a few days since the fight and you still have no desire to reconcile with him. 

It’s becoming easier to simply ignore his presence around the house. You know it’s not healthy. You’ve only just begun the marriage, you don’t need to have communication issues tainting it before it’s even on its legs. 

Still, it’s as though something’s keeping you from him. Every attempt at speaking with him is interrupted, thoughts of apologizing just to placate him are struck from your head quicker than they come. 

You stand up from the kitchen table, placing your pictures to the side. You’ve finally gotten new frames for them all, you only need to put them back up. You have no problems putting up the family pictures. Yet, the moment you make to grab the wedding picture of you and James, you grow inexplicably tired. 

Your eyelids flutter shut and you sway on your feet. Your bones grow heavy like you’ve been working all day. But you’ve only been up a few hours, and you had so much more to do today. You try and fight forward, leaning on the table and reaching for the portrait again. You almost feel like you’re nudged back, moved towards the couch. 

A short nap, you promise yourself. Just long enough to get your energy back. 

He followed him to work. That’s never happened before. He’s never been able to follow someone out of the house. He tried, with Steve, he tried to make every aspect of his life hell. But he couldn’t. 

Yet, with this one, he has no problem following him. Maybe it’s the odd resemblance they have. A haircut and a shave, they could be identical twins. But then again, he hasn’t seen his face in a long while, perhaps he’s misremembering it. 

It’s difficult to maintain this control. Half of him lingers in the house, with you, the other half is here. He’s being drawn closer to James and further from you. He doesn’t know if that’s conducive or an interruption to his plans. 

He only vaguely sees you, in his mind’s eye. He leads you to the couch, lays you down, and keeps you away from the reminders of James. He’s gotten good at keeping you both separated. It was easy to begin with, all he’s doing is showing you the truth of the man you married. If only he could really show you. 

James phone rings and he focuses on him once more. It’s Martha again. He hasn’t figured out the truth of their relationship, he’s sure he already knows it. He’s lived this life once, knows the truth of why a husband would act like this. The late-night calls, the constant misdirection of anger. 

He’s paranoid, terrified you’ll find out the truth. He wants to have his cake and eat it too. The perfect housewife at home, and the mistress who fulfills his every desire. At least, that’s his theory. He still needs to be completely sure. 

He ignores James, focusing once more on his connection to the house. He finds you right where he left you, deep in your sleep and completely oblivious to the world around you. He kneels before you, sweeping some hair off your cheeks and tilting his head as he takes in your restful face. 

You look so peaceful when you’re like this, a slight curl to your lips as you wander through dreamland. He wished he could keep you like this, wished he could completely get rid of James. But without him, you wouldn’t be able to keep the house. You’d leave it, leave him. He can’t have that. He’s been lonely for so long, he needs you, craves you. 

6 PM

“How was work?”

“Fine.”

Chewing fills the cavernous silence of your dining room. Forks scrape across porcelain, shallow breaths as you both dance around the tension that threatens to tie a noose around your marriage. You reach for your wine, hoping for another heady swallow. Just like before, you’re dissuaded from it. 

You grow tired at the thought of drowning your sorrows in the alcohol for another night. You clench your eyes shut and take a deep breath, moving the glass away from you and turning back to the roast you made. 

James’ brows furrow as he watches you. “Everything alright?”

You hum, “Tired.” He scoffs and your face falls flat. He shakes his head, muttering something under his breath as he cuts more aggressively into the meat. "Something wrong?” You demand, sucking on your teeth as you anticipate his answer. You’re sure it’s going to be the same broken record he’s been playing since the honeymoon. 

“Nothing,” he shrugs, tone dismissive. He pauses, taking a deep breath before laughing sardonically. “It’s just funny.” You hate how he does this, drags out his answers, and forces you to take the bait. 

You’re not playing this game of his tonight. You won’t do it again. You can’t keep going in circles with him, can’t keep indulging him in these childish tantrums. He waits, eyebrows raised and pretty blue eyes boring into yours, demanding attention. 

Those damn eyes. You wish he was just a little uglier, maybe then you wouldn’t have been so blind to how fucking awful he really is. You almost resent his mother and sisters for this. They could have warned you off, told you the horror stories of his past before the wedding. Instead, they’d warned you after it was too late and your entire life was entangled in his. 

“I work all day, come home, want a peaceful meal. What do I get?”

He falls silent again and you let out a heavy sigh. “I don’t know, James,” you drawl, bored of this already. Your patience for him is practically nonexistent nowadays. You used to be able to endure these conversations with him, or at the very least soothe him. But you’re tired of feeling like a babysitter and not the wife you’re supposed to be. “What do you get? A homecooked meal, a clean house, someone to come home to. Tell me,” you demand, slamming your hand on the table and surprising him. “What the fuck do you get?”

“A nagging fucking wife who does jack shit all day and complains about being tired! I work for us, so you can stay home and live out your little housewife fantasies!”

Your jaw drops and you suck in a sharp breath. You can’t even form words, nearly laughing at the audacity and ridiculousness of what he’s saying. “Oh my god,” you can only scoff, shaking your head and leaning back in your chair. You smile and roll your eyes. “You’re kidding, right?”

“No.” He stands, leaning on the table and trying to make himself bigger than he is. It only paints him in a more pathetic light. 

You cut him off before he can say anything else, scooping up your plate and storming into the kitchen. “You’re the one who insisted I quit my job. You,” you turn and gesture towards him, a disgusted sneer on your face, “wanted a fucking housewife. I was just the dumbass that listened to you. You have no right to throw that in my face. You wanted this, James!”

“Yeah, well,” for a moment you think he’s speechless. His jaw opens and closes, nothing but air leaving his parted lips. You should know better by now, he’s always got some bullshit to spew. “I didn’t think you’d be so incompetent at this.”

You drop the plate in the sink, leaning on it for support and closing your eyes. You take in deep breaths, trying to cool down the heat racing under your skin. Your blood’s pumping so hard you’re surprised a vein hasn’t burst yet. 

“Fuck this,” you push off the sink, shoving past him and moving towards the front door. 

“What are you doing?” He demands, watching as you grab your coat and your keys. 

“Going for a walk,” you tell him shortly, slamming the door behind you. You just need some time away from him, away from the suffocating shadow that seems to linger behind him all the time now. 

You pull the business card Elizabeth had given you and dial the number. You don’t know if this anger is coming from whatever the hell lives in that house or if this was always coming. But you’re not going to just roll over and let this thing ruin your marriage. 

7 PM

You’re out for an hour. He’s upset the entire time. He wants to drive James’ head into the corner of the counter over and over again until there’s nothing left but unidentifiable mush. It’s the same fight he used to have. It always started over something so stupid, he could never say anything right. 

No matter how many times he thought he finally figured Bette out. Every time he thought he had avoided some trigger for her, a new one formed. It didn’t matter how perfect of a husband he was, he would never be enough because he wasn't him. He wasn’t Steve, the man who could do no wrong in her eyes. 

He stands in the corner and watches as James paces for a while before he finally leaves, taking his keys and his phone. He takes the car and leaves you stranded here at the house. 

He knows that James could fix the car sitting idle in the garage. He could fix the car. It’s just another way of keeping you under control. James gets to decide when and where you get to go out, you don’t get a say. 

You seem relieved, though, when you come back and see James gone. You’re happier without your husband, it’s both good and bad. He needs you to resent James, needs you to hate him. But that could prove tricky for him in the future. 

“Thank you so much,” you’re on the phone, you’ve got something lumpy in your jacket. One hand lays under the buttons of your coat, stroking idly. “Yeah, Thursday sounds great. Thank you, again, for coming on such late notice.”

You hang up, placing your keys and phone in the bowl by the door. “Alright, sweetheart, let’s get you cleaned up.” You open your jacket, revealing a bundle of matted, dirty fur underneath. Somewhere in all that mess is the scrunched face of a pissed-off cat. 

You coo to it, stroking its head and ignoring the fact it looks like it wants to rip your hand off. You bring it to the kitchen sink and he watches as you take the next few hours to wash its wounds and properly groom it. 

He never cared much for cats, or any animals, really. He never had the time or the energy to try and take care of something other than Bette. She was practically a full-time job to cater to. But he enjoys how peaceful you look being able to take care of the cat. He enjoys how much sympathy you display, even as the little bastard rips and tears at your pretty skin. 

He looms over your shoulder, stroking his phantom fingers over the cat's wet fur. It’s enough to scare it into submission. Its claws release your skin and it shrinks back into your hold. He grins, backing away and leaving you to it. 

You frown down at the cat, murmuring soothing words to it as you look around the kitchen. Sometimes he thinks you see him, thinks you can truly see through all the walls and witness what’s left of the man he was. He knows it's foolish, a ridiculous hope. 

You’ll never be able to see him. Even if you could, you would only think of him as a tormentor. He was a blight on your home and marriage, why would you ever care about him?

3 AM

You feel eyes on you. Not the unfamiliar eyes you’ve been feeling, you know these. Intimately. You stir from your light sleep, squinting through the dark. Minimal light comes in through the blinds, but it's just enough for you to see the figure standing beside you. 

You gasp, flinching away from James. He just stands over you, glaring down at where you slept. Eyes devoid of anything. “James?” You whisper. Alpine, the cat you snagged from a neighbor’s dumpster, leaps off the bed. 

She hisses at James, skirting around him and running out of the room. Your brows furrow in confusion. You look back to James, muttering his name again. He gasps like he was dragged out of a coma. 

He stumbles on his feet, tripping over them and nearly nosediving into the bed. You instinctively steady him, guiding him onto the bed beside you. “What are you doing?” You hiss at him, holding his face in your hands and looking him over for any explanation of what was just happening. 

You’ve never even heard him talk in his sleep. Let alone, sleep with his eyes wide open and staring at you. It was beyond disturbing. There’s something unfamiliar in his eyes, they’re soft as he looks at you. Soft in a way they haven’t been for a long time. 

His hand comes up to cup yours, the other almost hesitantly running across your cheek. “James?” You ask again, caught off guard by the odd display of affection.

“I’m sorry,” he mutters. You’re ninety percent sure you’re still dreaming, he’s never apologized first before. It’s always been you to broker the peace. You’ll sacrifice being right if it means he’ll stop giving you the cold shoulder, he’s never done the same. 

You try to ask him what he’s talking about, but he’s surging forward before you can speak. His lips are chapped, dryer than you’re used to. He doesn’t give you much time to process anything. His hands drift to your waist, dragging you into his lap as he tilts his head to deepen the kiss. You’re taken aback by the taste of metal on his tongue. It’s coppery and bitter, not at all like the mint toothpaste you both use. 

He’s not kissing you like you’re used to. He’s not trying to devour you or suffocate you by shoving his tongue as far as it goes down your throat. This is gentle, sweet. It feels like you’re being savored, not claimed. You don’t mind it, in fact, it would be nice if you weren’t so disturbed. 

He’s not acting like himself, he barely looks like he should, and he tastes wrong. This isn’t your husband kissing you. You want to pull away, you try to. But his fingers are digging into your waist and your lips are firmly locked. You can feel the chill of his hands through your pajamas. They’re like icicles, you’re sure there’s going to be a mark from them in the morning. 

“James,” you manage to mutter, pulling away from him just enough to catch your breath. “What’s,” you trail off, tongue growing too heavy to speak. Your words slur together, become one nonsensical jumble stuck in your throat. 

He shakes his head, biting his lip and slowly lowering you back onto the bed. “I’m sorry. I thought this would work.” You narrow your eyes, you have barely enough energy to shake your head in confusion. Your lips part to ask another question. He leans down, pressing one last gentle kiss to you before your eyes roll back and you’re asleep again. 

“I told you I have it handled,” James practically pouts as he sits in your armchair. You used to use it to crochet, it’s got the best view of the backyard and you like to watch the bunnies that live under the porch. But more and more, he stays there. Every second he’s home, he seems to live in that chair. 

Bette had given it to you with the house. You hadn’t really thought anything of it, but with how he’s been acting lately, you can’t help but wonder if its’ connected to whatever secrets live in these walls. Most people would be haunted and their husbands would get worse, you seem to be experiencing the opposite. 

He’s kinder, he’s bringing you flowers and cooking you breakfast. You’re woken up with praise and gentle kisses. Then he’s back to normal by lunchtime. He’s miserable at dinner, only to wake you up in the middle of the night with saccharine apologies. You’re so sick and tired of living in this whirlwind of love and misery. You just want some goddamn answers. 

You need to know the truth of what’s happening to you. Is this just how James is? Is this the house? Is there even anything wrong with the house?

You’re hoping the medium will be able to answer that for you today. Mystic Wanda, the name doesn’t give you much hope but Elizabeth told you she’s one of the best. 

Alpine runs against your legs and James glowers at her. “I told you I wanted her out of here.”

“Tough,” you respond bluntly, eyes trained on the front door. He’d thrown a hissy fit when he saw her the morning after your weird make-out session. You hadn’t bent, though, and you know he’s still upset you’re no longer blindly giving into his whims. 

The doorbell rings and you leap off the couch, rushing towards the door and throwing it open. Wanda’s eyes widen in amusement and she smiles at your eagerness. “Please, come in, and thank you again for coming on such short notice.”

You usher her inside, offering to take her jacket. She passes it to you, eyeing the interior of your home and giving you an appeasing smile. “Well, Elizabeth is a good friend of mine, she told me you were having an emergency and I wanted to help.”

James scoffs from the armchair and she glances over at him with a bemused look. You glare at him over her shoulder. “James, I presume?”

“Oh,” his eyes widen in faux amazement, “did you divine that?”

Her eyebrows raise and you know she’s unimpressed. “I could tell from the attitude. Your sister warned me you were a cynic.”

He mutters a bitter, “Whatever,” under his breath and goes back to ignoring her. 

“I’m sorry about him,” you take her by the elbow, guiding her into the kitchen and away from him. You peer over into the living room, ensuring he can’t hear you. Wanda waits expectantly for you to begin speaking. 

“He’s why I wanted you to come.” You tell her, fiddling idly with your wedding band. “He’s not himself lately.”

“More volatile?” She guesses and you shake your head, laughing bitterly to yourself.

“Less, actually. But he’s unpredictable. I never know when he’s going to be this sweet stranger or the miserable man I’ve grown used to.”

Her brows twitch and a confused smile graces her lips. “Most people aren’t upset when their husband gets better.”

“I know it’s odd,” you admit, sighing and looking down at the countertop. “But, I just need to know I’m not going crazy. I’ve been dragging this around everywhere,” you push your camera towards her. “Every time something happens, the feed cuts out. I’ve been dragged down my bed, harassed, made to think I’m losing my mind.”

You run a rough hand over your face, feeling the aches of this whole experience settle wearily along your bones. “I just need some clarity. That’s all.”

“Well,” she reaches for your hand, squeezing it in hers and giving you a comforting smile. “I can certainly help with that.”

Wanda sits in the armchair, having booted James out of it. He seems a little bit more cognizant as he sits beside you, a little more scared. You keep a wary eye on him while Wanda closes her eyes and “connects” with the house, as she put it. 

She breaks the silence abruptly and it makes you jump. “This chair came with the house?” You nod silently but you have a feeling she already knew the answer. She hums, running her hand along the arm of it. 

“It was his before it was stolen by the man he called friend. He lives in it, watches you from it.” You feel your heart racing, panic steadily rising within you. It’s like a physical caress, the fear trailing down your spine. “He wants something, too many things,” she sighs and shakes her head, frustration playing along her fine features. “It’s hard to discern the truth of it all.”

“But he’s real?” You cut in, imploring her to tell you what you’re desperate to hear.

She gives you a resigned smile, but there’s no happiness in it. “I’m afraid so.” She shouldn’t be so apologetic, this is all you wanted. To know you weren’t crazy, to have James hear it too. But when you look to him for some satisfactory celebration, his face is slack. 

“James?” 

Wanda leaps up from the chair, taking a step towards him. Your husband is gone, any sign of awareness or thought is completely gone. He looks devoid of life, like he’s been a living corpse for weeks. “James?” You call again, voice threatening to break. 

His jaw snaps shut and you jump back, rushing off the couch and stumbling towards Wanda. She grabs you, tugging you behind her, and takes in a deep inhale. “It’s him,” she whispers, eyes wide with fear. “I’ve never encountered one so strong before.”

You glance at her and then back at James. There’s fury playing on his features, and again, those eyes you don’t recognize yet somehow feel familiar. “I think you should leave,” he demands, his voice low. 

It isn’t the normal way he commands you. This is a threat, a complete assurance of power. James stands up in one fluid motion, stalking toward Wanda. She goes stiff before you and you worry she’s going to go slack the same way James did. 

“Now,” he tells her, eyebrows raised with impatience. 

“James, she can help,” you try. His head whips toward yours and you flinch away from the intense look he gives you. 

“We don’t need her help,” he whispers your name and it almost sounds like he’s pleading with you. Your eyebrows furrow in confusion, you glance between Wanda and James, unsure which to follow. 

Wanda shakes her head as you take a step back from her. James’ shoulders slump with relief. “Don’t do this,” Wanda warns. “I won’t be able to come back here again. He’s growing stronger, you’ll be beyond anyone’s help soon-”

She's cut off as the light bulb above you explodes. You scream, moving instinctively towards your husband. His arms eagerly wrap around you, drawing you into his gentle hold. He runs a hand over your back and you almost miss the quiet apology he mutters into your hair. 

“Leave,” James doesn’t have to tell her again. She practically runs to the door, nearly forgetting her coat as she rushes out. You slump against him, somehow feeling defeated even after getting what you wanted. 

“Doll?” He peers down at you, pulling back slightly to get a better look. “Are you okay?”

You stare into eyes you know don’t belong to your husband and force yourself to nod. You let this stranger hold you close and ignore the sinking weight of guilt. He feels so much better than James ever did and you hate yourself for thinking that. 

Your husband is in there somewhere, being tormented by some malevolent spirit, and you’re letting him do what he wants to you. Playing house with him like everything’s normal. “Come on, let's go outside.”

You can’t do anything except listen to him. In the back of your mind, you think about how odd it is that he’s showing himself now. He usually waits until later in the day. 

How sick is it, you have a schedule for when your husband will be possessed?

He leads you to the back porch, to the rocking chairs that were there when you moved in. but he doesn’t let you sit in one. No, he guides you down onto his lap, keeping you close as you get yourself comfortable. 

James isn’t like this. He doesn’t let you love him like this. Your touch practically repulses him nowadays. But he can’t seem to get enough of you now. Holding onto you like he might not get to again. 

“Wanda said he was growing stronger,” you mutter absentmindly. He goes tense under you, but he doesn’t yell at you or get mad. He just squeezes your hand in his, idly tracing shapes over your palm. 

“I was thinking of planting some rosebushes,” he tells you, completely brushing over what you said. 

“I thought you wanted to rip the garden out and build a pool,” you tell him bitterly. The neighborhood has its own pool. You’ve been begging James to keep the old lady’s flowers in the back but he won’t have it. 

Now, miraculously, he’s giving in to your whims. You don’t know if you should be happy or disgusted. You’re sitting on the lap of something that isn’t your husband anymore. You don’t feel like you can trust your mind anymore. You struggle to differentiate between your dreams and reality. 

He laughs a little, brushing some hair out of your face and smiling at you. It’s not the smile you fell in love with, or the eyes you fell in love with, but you can feel yourself falling. Or, maybe, you’re just desperate for someone to be kind to you. For someone to love you the way a husband should love his wife. 

“I want you to be happy, Doll.” James doesn’t call you Doll.

“Maybe some gardenias too,” you lean back into his chest, letting yourself get more comfortable. 

You feel his smile against your skin, he turns his nose to nuzzle against your cheek, planting a kiss there. “I’ll buy the seeds tomorrow.” You nod absentmindedly, trying to settle the way your stomach flips. 

3 AM

“James!” You scream his name, leaping onto his side of the bed and holding onto him as tight as you can. He shoots up, grabbing you and turning you to face him. 

“What?” He demands, face pale with worry. 

You frown, glaring at him, “You didn’t hear that?” The bedroom door slams closed and you scream again, curling into his hold. 

“Holy shit!” He shouts, he tries to hold onto you but something grabs his leg. The same way you’d been dragged the first night, he’s pulled out of bed. You scream his name, the bedroom door flies open, and watch as he’s dragged into the hall. 

You leap over the bed, feet tangled in the sheets as you lunge towards the door. He’s screaming, primal sounds of nothing but pure terror ripping through the house. You pound on the locked door, tearing at the knob until you think you might rip it off. 

“James! Please!” You sob against the wood, slamming your shoulder into it until it cracks. Pain shoots down to your elbow and you flinch back, “Fuck,” the screams go quiet on the other side of the door and your eyes widen. 

“James!” You screech, your fists pound against the door until you feel the skin crack and blood dribble down your arms. Something cool brushes against your neck, like a breath. “Stop,” you plead, “stop it, give him back.”

The door swings outward, the wrong way, and you wonder how the hinges don’t break. The only light on is the linen closet. The same closest that you know has a scuttlehole. You don’t think, just run towards it. Your bare feet pound against the hardwood, shaking the whole house in your race for the door. 

You burst through, nearly stumbling facefirst into the ladder. You clench your eyes shut, nails digging into your palms as you look up to see the scuttle hole already open and beckoning you forward. 

Blood trails up the ladder and you could almost cry seeing it. You can’t waste time, can’t dawdle. You don’t know what happened to James but you know it’s not good that he’s quiet. You force yourself up the rickety ladder, pulling yourself into the attic and looking around for any signs of life. 

You didn’t realize how much junk the old lady had left behind in the house. But the attic is chock full of her past. Dusty and browned filing boxes litter old antique tables. Wardrobes, trunks of clothes from the fifties. A mannequin with an unfinished dress. There’s an entire life up here, one she seemed to have just willingly left behind. 

You frown down at something that really draws your eye, a box with a scrawled B.B. on the side. The light’s on, but it's dim and only illuminates the box. Still, you try and squint through the dark to find James. There’s no sign of him anywhere, you can’t help but wonder what the trail of blood on the ladder was. 

You lean down and pick up the box. “What’re you doing?”

You scream, your throat going sore from how much you seem to be doing that tonight. James is on the ladder behind you, a dazed look on his face as he waits for your answer. You tilt your head in confusion, trying to calm your heart from the adrenaline rush that was ten minutes earlier. 

These are different eyes. This isn’t him. Your gaze darts back to the box and you pass it to him. “Take that,” you demand. He doesn’t question you, if anything it seems to make him happy. He drops it down the ladder and holds his hand out to help you down. 

You take it, hissing at how cold his hands are. He only gives you another eerie smirk. Once you’re steady and on the ground, you back slowly out into the hallway. “What happened earlier?”

He shrugs, “I don’t know. I must have been sleepwalking.”

Your face drops and you scoff, “You were fucking dragged down the hall and I got locked in the bedroom. You weren’t sleepwaking, James.”

He wraps an arm around your shoulder and flips the lights off. You’re plunged into darkness, a slight whimper ripping its way out of your throat. You’re forced to rely on his guidance as he leads you down the hall. “You’re tired, Doll, we should just go to bed.”

You think back to the box, waiting for you in the closet. There’s no arguing with him, though. You’ll have to deal with it tomorrow morning. You can only pray that you’re not awoken so violently again. 

“Sweetheart,” you mumble tiredly, swatting blindly at the voice. There’s a low chuckle, and then the familiar press of lips against your forehead. “Wake up, I’ve gotta go soon.”

You’re slow to open your eyes, just barely making out James’ blurry shape. “James,” you mutter, narrowing your eyes to try and force them to focus on his form. “What’re you doing?” You asked, words slurring together. 

He places a tray down on the nightstand and the smells of coffee and pancakes break your dazed trance. You sit up straighter in bed, giving him a confused look. Two years of dating, and a few months of marriage, not once has he greeted you with breakfast in bed. 

“James?” you question, he only shakes his head, darting forward to kiss you. Your eyes flutter shut and you find yourself leaning into the touch. It doesn’t take long for it to grow heated, his chilled hands drifting under your shirt and tugging you towards him. 

You’re finding it easier and easier to simply give in to his whims. Your legs spread over his and you melt into his hold like you were made to fit against him. “Shit, Doll,” he huffs against your parted lips, pupils blown wide as he stares up at you. His lips are a pretty pink, swollen, and glistening from your kisses. You almost want to bite them. 

You hold back the urge, leaning back and giving him a small smile. It’s enough to make his whole face light up. “You know how badly I want to stay in bed with you today?” You almost invite him to, but the foggy cloud of an abrupt wake-up finally parts. 

You remember the box from last night, what you need to do today. So, you pull back from him, his arms releasing you reluctantly. It’s so peculiar, how his metal hand is warmer than the flesh one. “Going to work?”

He hums, eyes narrowing in on you suspiciously. You reach for the coffee and take a sip, exactly how you like it. It’s pathetic that your suspicion grows because you know your husband doesn’t know how you take your coffee. 

“I’ll miss you,” you tell him, and it’s the first time you haven’t had to force the words out to appease him. It almost feels genuine this time. He gives you a resigned smile, kissing your cheek and leaning back. 

He pets Alpine, stroking down her smooth white fur and smiling at her too. “I’ll see you both later,” he tells you, a promise. You bite your lip and nod. His footsteps echo down the stairs and you leap off the bed, the abrupt move scaring the life out of Alpine. She growls in discontent and stalks off. The door closes and you run to the window, watching the driveway to make sure he’s gone for sure. 

You race into the hall, throwing the closet door open and dragging the dusty box out. Mildew and mold cling to it, but you don’t have time to be concerned with germs. You need answers. You take it downstairs, toss it on the kitchen table, and forget all about your breakfast upstairs. 

It’s odd, how much cozier the house has become. Sunlight streams through the windows and warms your seats and couches. You no longer feel eyes in the shadows. A creak is just a creak. It’s like your fear has just been snatched from you. 

The thought is enough to unsettle you, but you ignore it for now. You’ll worry about that another day. You toss the lid of the file box inside and what greets you only further irritates you. Piles of unorganized papers and pictures, each of the more faded by time than the other. 

You pluck out the first one you see and nearly gasp. It’s James, but not James. A picture of a WWII soldier, in his uniform and posing in front of an army vehicle. He looks just like your husband, but his eyes crinkle a little more when he smiles, his happiness palpable through the picture. He’s even got a prosthetic arm. 

You flip the picture over, James ‘Bucky’ Barnes, is written out in pretty cursive. Directly under it is 1942. You drop the picture, taking a few steps back and shaking your head. “No, no, nope,” you shake your head, simply ignoring the truth that lay in front of you. 

Somewhere out there, there’s an alternative version of your husband who was a WWII veteran and apparently lived in this house. Same fucking name and everything. “Oh, fuck me, this is insane.” You glare at the box, not wanting to believe anything you’re seeing. 

How could your life have devolved into this shitfest, just because you moved into one fucking house? How could one crappy ad in the newspaper have completely turned your life upside down and thrown you into the twilight zone?

You throw yourself into a chair, slumping over the wooden table and taking in grounding breaths. You wanted the truth, you’re going to get it. Even if none of it makes any sense. The next few pictures you grab are all in the same sepia tint. One of him standing in front of the garden, another before a truck, even one in the goddamn armchair currently sitting in your living room. And in each one, he looks as happy as can be. But there’s something nearly artificial in his smile. 

You look at the pictures on your mantle and frown. You can’t exactly judge him. You’ve got the same smile in all your pictures too. Just slightly off, something about it slightly forced for the sake of the person beside you.

You find one of him with a very unhappy-looking woman. She’s pretty, even if she does look a little wicked, and she also looks remarkably like you. What bizzaro world is this? She’s nearly identical to you, but she looks goddamn miserable. A hulking blond man has his arm slung around Bucky, fingers just barely grazing the woman’s shoulder. 

You flip it over and find, Bette, Bucky & Steve at the new house, 1950. Bette, the woman who sold you the house. Who told you what nursing home her kids were sticking her in. You leap up from the table, running to grab your coat and racing out of the house. 

Bucky glances down at James' phone and grins. He pulls the car into the apartment complex and picks up the call, “Hello?”

“Where are you?” The woman on the other end demands sharply. 

Bucky sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose and fighting back the spirit surging within him. His left hand twitches without his permission and his eyes narrow in frustration. James was easy enough to subdue last night. He was caught off guard, terrified. 

Now, he’s pissed off and fighting. Bucky doesn’t appreciate the efforts to take control. “I just pulled in. I’ll be up in a minute.” He shuts the phone off and jerks the rearview mirror to face him. The eyes that stare back at him are not his own. 

“Don’t you fucking touch her,” James demands, spitting the words out like he has any sort of power over Bucky. 

Bucky grins, “Wasn’t planning on it.”

James’ face falls and his eyes widen with worry. “What does that mean?” Bucky flips the mirror back in place, glancing up to the third-story apartment where Martha waits for him. He turns the engine off, slowly exits the car, and makes his way up the stairs. 

He’s sure to take his time, enjoying how James grows more and more terrified. It only feeds him, makes him stronger, and grants him more control over him. He’s getting better at controlling him, finally had enough strength to fully take over last night. 

Before, he only had the energy to take over the body for a few hours, at most. But the longer he held influence over James, the further his influence spread. Soon, he could leave the house, without having to use James’ body as an anchor. He’s evolved past anchors and the brick walls that once contained him. He only had one last loose end before he could be with you fully. 

He knocked on the red door, waiting for Martha to answer. It didn’t take long. She threw the door open, face screwed up with rage. “Look who came back. I told you that little bitch of yours wouldn’t be good enough for you.”

Bucky kept the look on his face serene. He tried not to show the rage that raced through him at her grating tone. He wanted to rip her tongue out and choke her with it. He wished he could pluck out her eyeballs and serve them to her on a silver platter. A million different ways came to him as he stepped into her apartment. 

“Hello, Martha.”

“Thanks for seeing me, Bette.”

Bette kept her hands in her lap, picking at the wrinkles of her skin. “It’s grown so thin,” she looked at you, seeing straight through you. “I used to be like you, so pretty, so young.”

Your face screws up in discomfort and you nod dismissively. “You know why I want to talk.”

Bette sighs and clicks her tongue. “Oh, Bucky,” she says his name forlornly, playing the perfect mourning lover. But you know better, she doesn’t mean a damn bit of her grief. 

“Drop it,” you snap, looking around to make sure no nurses are watching. The white sterile walls of the nursing home loom over you. Bette’s eyes snap towards you, the thin film of dementia disappears and she slumps into her chair. 

“Fine. Dammit, what the hell do you want? You already took my house.”

“Yeah, and your damn ghost. I want some fucking answers, Bette.”

She chuckles, the noise bitter and her expression cruel. “You know, you remind me a lot of Bucky. Got that same kicked puppy look to you that makes me want to smack you around.” Despite your best intentions of remaining passive, you feel your heart twinge in sympathy for Bucky. 

Bette’s got the same bitter look in her eye that James used to. You don’t see much of it anymore. Strange how much your life has changed in just over two weeks. “I thought he’d see you and finally move on. He’d finally get his damn revenge on me, I mean you look just like me.”

You can’t help but agree with her. You slip the picture out of your purse and put it on the table before you. “I saw,” you mutter, glancing down at the uncanny resemblance between you both. “I want to know what happened, Bette. I want to know why he’s stuck in my walls, why he’s stuck in my husband,” you add.

Her eyes widen and her jaw gapes. “He’s got your husband?” You nod and you’re caught off guard when she begins to cackle. “God, even dead he’s still the same pathetic, snivelling bastard he used to be.”

You can’t help but get angry, you almost want to defend him. Sure, he’s tormented you, but clearly, he had a reason to be bitter about having to look at your face all the damn time. You’d go crazy too if this was the bitch you were married to. 

“Bette,” you warn, voice low. 

She huffs and snatches the picture. “No harm in telling you, I suppose.” She gives you a wicked grin, “No one will believe you anyway.”

“I met Bucky when I was young, too young. We got married because he was getting shipped off to war. He wanted someone to write letters to, to come home to, and I figured he’d die before I ever saw him again. I could cash in on widow’s benefits. Then the son of a bitch had to go and get honorably discharged for getting his arm blown off.”

Your brows furrow in disgust. You’ve never seen such an evil old woman before. You pray you don’t turn into a wicked old hag like her when you get older. “Steve, his best friend, was discharged around the same time as him. Came to live with us for a while so he could get his life in order.”

Bette glares at you and tosses the picture back to you. You catch it before it slides off the table and she keeps going. “See, some women weren’t as loyal as I was. His lady moved on real fast, left him lonely and looking for a warm place to sleep at night. Bucky, well, he just wasn’t a man. He obeyed me like a little bitch and took every hit I gave him because he thought he deserved it. Steve never did that, always put me in my place. He was a man,” she hisses out the word and you have the sudden urge to slap her. 

“One thing led to another, we were in love and Bucky was in the way. We got rid of him, what else do you want me to say?”

You can’t even figure out where to begin. She’s fucking despicable. Not only did she not love him, he was utterly devoted to her and she fucked his best friend. Killed him to be with him. Despite this overload of information, only one question comes to you. 

“Where did you bury him?”

5 PM

You let out a loud grunt, sweat pouring down your back as you bring the sledgehammer into the brick wall. There’s a loud crack and you pause, taking a step back. A moment later a brick slips out of its place. It doesn’t take much longer for the others to follow. 

There’s a loud crash as it all comes tumbling down, decades of dust and debris float into the air. It drifts down your nose and creeps into your lungs. You drop the sledgehammer to the cement of the basement with a clatter. You kneel over, waving the dust away and trying to cough it out. 

Something rolls against the floor, something hollow that clatters against your shoe. You glance down, stunned into silence as a gaping skull stares back up at you. You stumble away from it, nearly kicking it back, and trip right into the warm chest of your husband. 

Bucky stares down at you, his face blank and devoid of anything you might be able to read. “You talked to Bette?”

You nod mutely, taking a step back from him. You wince as your heel comes down on something that cracks under your weight. You try to look down, to see what bone you’ve just broken, but he stops you. He grabs your chin, tilting your face towards him and forcing you to meet his eyes. “What are you going to do?” He demands, he tries to sound strong, but you can hear the fear that trembles under the cool tone. 

Rest In Peace

Husband, Brother, Friend

James Buchanan Barnes

“It’s a bit morbid isn’t it?” You peer up at him and shake your head. 

“No, he deserves a proper burial.” You place the flowers on top of the fresh grave and stand. You take a few steps back and Bucky pulls you into his chest. “You, I mean. I just feel like your memory deserves its rightful resting place.”

He lets out a heavy sigh and you squeeze his hand. “You think Steve’s in here somewhere?”

You scoff and feel yourself growing angry on his behalf. “He deserves to rot under a bridge somewhere, along with that bitch.”

Bucky laughs pulling back from you and giving you a wide smile. It’s genuine, the first genuine smile you’ve seen on his face in a long time. “Thank you,” he mutters. You shrug, leaning up and pressing a kiss to his cheek. 

“I’m your wife, I’m supposed to have your back.” You reach up, pushing a wave back behind his ear. He’s finally let his hair grow out again. He complains it gets in his eyes when he tries to garden, but you love how it looks on him so he keeps it. 

His face lights up, the same way it always does when you say you’re his wife. You interlace your fingers together, pulling him away from his grave and back towards the car. You’re supposed to meet Mrs. Barnes soon, you’re having Thanksgiving dinner at your house tomorrow so the whole family can finally see it. 

Since the discovery of Bucky’s bones and the literal skeleton in the house's closet, you’ve kept family members away from you both for a while. It was a long adjustment period, getting used to the truth and each other. Accepting the fact that James was gone for good wasn’t as hard a pill to swallow as it should have been.  

You have a theory that you both were meant to be with each other, either in the forties or today. Something got messed up in the universe’s timeline and instead, you got James and he got Bette. This paranormal experience must have just been fate’s way of cleaning up what it had ruined so horribly. 

You look up at Bucky, the way his eyes crinkle even when he’s not smiling, and feel something warm spreading through your chest. You don't mind the cold fingers and chilling touch at night when it’s him you’re sharing it with. 

You place the turkey down in front of Bucky and he sends you a blissful smile. You can’t help but lean over the back of his chair and plant a loud kiss on his cheek. Janey gags, tossing a roll at her older brother. “Quit it, would you, I’d like to have an appetite.”

You chuckle, taking your seat beside him. Bucky can’t help but want to cry. This is what he’s wanted for so long. His family back, the woman he loves to love him back. It’s what he begged for. The loss of it all had turned him into this bitter, malevolent spirit. 

As much as he’d like to say he regrets or feels guilt for what he did to Bette, Steve, Martha, and James, he can’t. He tormented Steve until he died of a terror-induced heart attack at fifty. He’d driven poor Bette into the nursing home where her children would let her rot for the rest of her miserable life. Martha won’t be heard from again. 

And James, poor James. He must have had the worst fate of them all. It’s been a while since he’s heard anything from James. He searches for him now, his tiny presence lingering somewhere in the back of his mind. 

Bucky takes your hand, looks at his sisters and mother, and smiles at them. He raises his glass for a toast, slapping at James until he’s forced out of his slumber. Look, he thinks, speaking of all he’s grateful for to you and the other women. They know, he feels James looking through his eyes. 

He sees the way his family smiles at Bucky, and how much happier they look with him. They know, he tells James, they know I’m not you. James pounds futilely against Bucky’s walls. He screams and sobs, begging for you to help him. 

They don’t want you, James. They know that the world is better without you. He lets James linger in his misery, he savors his despair, lets it energize him, and then tosses him back to the abyss. James goes quietly, he gave up fighting a while ago. 

It wouldn’t matter anyway. His brief period of rebellion has fed Bucky enough to keep him subdued for the rest of his life. You squeeze his hand, “I love you,” you whisper, passing him the sweet potatoes. 

He smiles back at you and repeats the same words he’s already said a hundred times to you. This is at it always should have been. Steve, Bette, and James were all stepping stones to get him to you. He wasn’t going to let you go now. 

end. — I do not own the characters or the comics/movies Marvel (Winter Soldier), but this writing is my own all rights reserved © not-neverland06 2024. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.

[sweetsaladpainterranch]

Challenges of Raising a 6 Month Old Demon

Rebel Without Pants

...

It was 9 am in your suite at the Hazbin Hotel and you were currently watching your husband and daughter fling themselves and each other out of the small shadow pockets they continued to open in a weird game of cat and mouse wack-a-mole. You let loose a loud sigh of exasperation as Alastor once again caught the small fawn by her tiny hoof and begin threading the pair of cotton pants unto it, only for her to use her own spectral tendrils to yank his tail. He sounded a surprised bleat, while his child wiggled out of his grasp and tossed the clothing onto the ground with a giggle.

"Now see here, young lady!", the tall deer flung a pointed claw in the direction of the grinning diapered demon, "You WILL wear clothes! Or so help me, I will take away your-"

Your husband quickly looked around for something to make his threat credible, but smiled darkly when he eyed a certain container. "Or I will take away your yogurt covered eyes!", he continued to smirk triumphantly at Evangeline's low growl. She had been gifted those treats from her beloved Auntie Rosie from Cannibal Town and they were her favorite snack.

You knew this threat would not go over well with your daughter and could only watch as she tucked her ears back, hissed in static, and narrowed her eyes before darting into another shadow pit. The entire room was, then, painted in darkness as a wary Alastor stood firm in the middle. Waiting for the attack.

His tendrils stood flailing at the ready with different articles of clothing, when, suddenly, he was smacked on the back of his leg by a small, furry ragamuffin. He immediately went to grab his fleeing child before the feeling of weightlessness seized him. The shadows disappeared into the hole your fawn had created, and lured her father into, before you noticed Alastor falling past the tower windows and unto a confused Angel Dust outside. He must've not seen her trap hole with his own shadows covering the entirety of the room, you reasoned and looked down at the laughing spider holding your furious husband like a princess.

Turning around, Evangeline was under the bed trying to open the child proof clasp on her snack container. With a shriek of frustration when she was unable to overpower the magic lock, she threw it down at your feet in a silent request. Unfortunately for her, you were now running late for your meeting with Charlie so you fixed her with a hard stare. At that moment, your mate had made it back up to the tower window and began to coil his muscles and shake his growing antlers. (Many of which sported impaled baby shirts, socks, and pants)

Here we go again. You thought looking at your watch as the small fawn once again reared up at her father from the ground.

"Evangeline Hartfelt!", you spoke with intensity and at once commanded the attention in the room. You almost never raised your voice so the two deer immediately focused on your next words. "I have had enough of this foolishness." You walked forward to pick up the still locked, dented yogurt box and held it out to her. The small fawn's eyes widened with curiosity.

"If you be a good girl and dress properly, you may have your snack.", you fingered the latch open with a precise slowness, "if not, Mommy and Daddy will eat them all!"

The little deer hopped up quickly as you let out a forced evil laugh and brought an eye up to your lips. She allowed Alastor to properly dress her (he actually enjoyed picking out her outfits) with only a few whines when he groomed her fur covered head with his tongue. However, she nuzzled back into his cheek when he softly purred a bit and gently scratched at her tiny antlers.

You smiled and threw 2 of the yogurt eyes in their direction, which they happily caught with their teeth and followed you out the door to FINALLY begin the day.

...

Hey everyone 🙂 been a minute but I had this idea from the other day and wanted to write it really quick (inspired by my own tiny rebel who absolutely refuses to dress in anything but her diaper 😅)

I'm nearly done with the 4th chapter of The Rival and hope to have it out asap

-SSPR

[elikajinnie]

Note: In my red hair era now!! :3 (Totally did not dye it at 2am) Anyways! It didn’t take much convincing for me to post the draft of the dark Soobin piece I wrote for my writing course… so here it is! Just a little bit of self-indulgence.

Warnings: Manipulation, Obsession, Desperation

You weren’t supposed to be here.

You weren’t supposed to be here in this basement.

You were too early. You were too excited to see Soobin after days apart. You’d gotten ready faster than expected, and the thought struck you—why not go a bit earlier? After all, Soobin wouldn’t mind, right?

But when you arrived at his house, he wasn’t there. When you called out his name, the silence stretched. No answer. You didn’t think much of it at first; maybe he was running late. You were early, after all. He wasn’t expect you yet. He would come.

So, you dropped your bag on the couch and decided to grab some water from the kitchen. But that’s when you noticed it—the basement door. Just slightly ajar. A crack, just enough to make you pause.

You frowned. He always kept that door locked. He would always tell you, more than once, not to go down there. "It’s too messy," he’d said. "You don’t want to see it." You’d never pressed him about it. You trusted him.

But now, the door was open.

You should have closed it. You should have turned around. You should have forgotten about it, let it go. But curiosity—stupid, reckless curiosity—pushed you forward. It couldn’t be that bad, could it?

You took the steps down to the basement without a second thought, expecting just another dusty room filled with random boxes, maybe some old furniture, like any other basement.

What you found was far from ordinary.

The sight that greeted you was enough to freeze your blood. A person tied up, gagged, and beaten. Wounded. Bleeding. They barely seemed conscious.

Your heart pounded. Your mind raced. Soobin... What had he done?

You couldn’t believe what you were seeing. This—this wasn’t at all what you had imagined your day turning into. Everything felt like it was frozen, like the world around you had stopped, leaving you trapped in this surreal nightmare. Your breath caught in your throat. Your legs refused to move. You wanted to run, to escape, to erase the image burned into your mind, to forget everything about this basement and what you had just discovered.

But you couldn’t. You knew you couldn’t. Who could?

Everything had clicked into place.

You couldn’t believe it at first, but the pieces were falling together, one by one, in a horrifying clarity. The times Soobin would vanish for hours, leaving you wondering where he had gone. You had always brushed it off, chalked it up to his need for space. But now, as you stood in the basement, everything you’d ignored before was staring you in the face.

The metallic smell on him. You had noticed it on occasion, that strange, almost iron-like scent, but had never thought much of it. You thought it was maybe cologne, or something from his work, something that would explain the odd smell. But now, you realized it wasn’t that. It was blood.

And then there were the moments when he’d zone out, the way his eyes would go distant, his hand shaking slightly as he gripped the knife when cutting fruit or vegetables. You had always assumed it was just a passing moment of distraction, but now you understood. The knife. The way his fingers would twitch like he was holding something more than just a blade. Maybe, deep down, you had felt the tension in those moments, something dark, something wrong, but you never wanted to face it.

Now, it all made sense.

Soobin wasn’t just the man you thought you knew. Something inside him had shifted, something that you could never have ever imagined. And you were standing in the midst of it, a twisted reflection of everything he had been hiding from you.

How had you missed it? How had you been so blind?

Before you could even gather any coherent thought, the person in front of you started moving, desperately straining against their restraints. They were trying to speak through their gag, their eyes wide with panic, pleading for help, for something.

You knew what they wanted. You were supposed to be their savior in this moment. You were supposed to untie them, to take them away, to get them out of this basement.

But just as you moved to take that first step, you heard it. That voice. The one you knew so well. The one that always showered you with compliments, asking how your day had been, telling you they loved you, that they wanted you, that they wanted to be with you.

Soobin’s voice.

Your heart skipped a beat as you slowly turned toward the stairs.

There he was. Standing at the top of the stairs, staring right at you. His eyes locked onto yours, cold and unblinking.

You stood frozen, your mind scrambling for any kind of explanation, but nothing made sense. You stared at Soobin, your heart pounding in your chest. You couldn’t believe this was happening.

"So, what are you doing down here?" His voice was calm, almost casual, as he began walking down the stairs toward you.

You stumbled backward, instinctively stepping past the bound person, still struggling, as you slowly moved deeper into the darkness of the basement. Your mind raced, confusion turning into anger. “Soobin,” you whispered, trying to make sense of it all. "What is this? What the hell is going on?"

You were backing up further now, eyes locked on him, unable to stop yourself from trembling. "This... this is crazy," you spat, trying to put words to the madness before you. "Why—why is this person here? Why are they tied up like this?"

Soobin only smiled, a strange, unsettling glint in his eyes. His movements were slow, deliberate, as he approached you, like he was savoring every second of your confusion.

"You should be thankful," he said softly, his voice almost sweet. "I’m doing this for you."

You shook your head, your stomach turning in knots. "For me?" you repeated, your voice rising with the anger that was bubbling up inside you. "What the hell are you talking about?"

He smiled, his eyes never leaving yours. "This guy—" He gestured toward the person on the floor, who was still struggling helplessly. "He's a creep. He's been stalking you for weeks. Following you, watching you when you thought you were safe."

Your breath caught in your throat. Stalking? You hadn’t noticed anything. Had you missed something? Your mind reeled, trying to process his words, but none of it made sense.

"You don’t have to fear him anymore," Soobin continued, his tone smooth, almost coaxing. "I’m just keeping you safe. Protecting you."

The words hit you like a slap, the realization slowly creeping in. "Keeping me safe?" you asked, voice trembling with disbelief. "So you tied him up and brought him here?"

Soobin’s smile never faltered. "Of course. I couldn’t let him hurt you. I had to keep you safe, baby. You should be thanking me."

Your hands were shaking now, your anger building, the flood of questions choking you. "Thanking you?" you spat, the words bitter on your tongue. "For what, Soobin? For locking someone in your basement?"

He took another step forward, his expression softening, as though he was doing you a favor. "You’ll understand eventually. Just trust me. I’m the only one who truly cares about you."

You stumbled backward, horrified. How could he say that so calmly, as if this was normal? Your heart raced, the anger and fear crashing together in a storm. This wasn’t the Soobin you knew. This was... something else.

And in the back of your mind, the horrifying question lingered: How far was he willing to go to protect you?

Seemingly, Soobin answered the question you hadn’t even fully vocalized, as if he had somehow read your thoughts. “I’ll do anything for you,” he said, his gaze fixed on you with an intensity that made your heart race. “Anything to keep you happy, healthy, and safe.”

Your back hit the wall, and you felt the weight of his words suffocating you. His proximity made it impossible to escape, but you refused to let him close in any further. You couldn’t stay here—not like this.

With a burst of panic, you pushed off the wall and bolted toward the stairs, your mind screaming at your body to move faster. You had to get out. You had to get away.

"You are insane!" you shouted, but your voice was a mere whisper in the chaos of your racing heart.

You heard his footsteps behind you, gaining on you with each stride, his voice pleading in desperation. “Stop! Please, stop! You don’t understand—I'm not your enemy! I would never hurt you! I’m just showing you how much I love you!”

But you couldn’t listen to him. You couldn’t believe him. Not after what you had seen. Every word felt like a lie, and your instincts told you to keep running. Your thoughts screamed at you to keep going, to break free from this madness.

When you reached the front door, your hands fumbled in desperation, the lock clicking open just a fraction, just enough to give you a glimmer of hope. But before you could push it open fully, a force slammed against the door, stopping you in your tracks. Soobin’s hand gripped the door with terrifying strength, his other arm snaking around your waist, pulling you back.

“No,” he growled softly, his grip tightening painfully. “You’re not leaving.”

You struggled, kicking and screaming, trying to break free from his hold, but it was futile. He was too strong. Too determined.

With one swift motion, he slammed you against the wall, the air knocked out of your lungs. Your scream was muffled as his hand pressed firmly over your mouth, his breath hot against your ear. “Please,” he whispered, his voice breaking with a sickening tenderness. “Just trust me. I’m doing this because I love you.”

Tears blurred your vision as you fought against him, but nothing could stop the crushing grip he had on you. You were trapped. And Soobin’s words—his twisted, warped version of love—were the only thing that surrounded you now.

You shook your head violently, rejecting everything Soobin was saying, every word that came out of his mouth. It all sounded like a lie—like twisted manipulation. You couldn’t bring yourself to believe a single thing he said. He couldn’t love you.

But as your eyes locked onto his, something in his gaze made you pause. There was a painful desperation behind those eyes. His breath was shaky as he pleaded with you, willing to do anything just to make you listen. His entire posture screamed of a broken mind, trying to hold onto the only thing he had left: you.

When you glared at him, shaking your head more firmly, his face twisted in agony for just a moment. The rejection seemed to hit him harder than anything else could. You could see it—the way his shoulders sagged, the way his lips trembled as if your refusal had shattered something inside him.

But just as quickly, his desperation surged again. His expression hardened, and he leaned in closer, his voice breaking with the weight of his pleading. “Please,” he whispered, almost pleadingly. “Please, don’t you see? I’m doing this for you. You think I want to hurt you? I would never hurt you. I just need you to understand. We’re meant to be together.”

The words hung in the air, suffocating you. You felt the walls closing in, the air thick with his unrelenting presence. He wasn’t going to stop. You could feel it in your bones.

Before you could protest again, before you could say anything, Soobin’s hand was off your mouth. His lips crashed into yours, demanding, forceful. You tried to push him away, struggling with every ounce of your strength, but it felt like fighting against a storm. You shoved against him, but his grip on you tightened, pulling you deeper into him.

You couldn’t escape him. No matter how hard you tried to push him off, to break free, he only kissed you harder, more insistently. And eventually, the fight left your body. Your resistance waned under the weight of his desperation, the overpowering need to keep you close.

You stopped struggling. Instead, you just felt numb, caught in his grasp, the fight gone from you as you let him control the moment, helpless.

Soobin’s hand cupped your face gently, as if trying to reassure you that this was somehow right. His lips were soft, but his grip was tight, and with every second that passed, the reality of the situation weighed heavier on your chest. His touch, once comforting, now felt like a chain, pulling you deeper into his world—a world you no longer recognized.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, his breath ragged. His eyes searched yours like a man on the edge of losing everything. "I just need you to understand," he murmured, his voice raw. "This is the only way. I can’t let you go. I’ll never let you go."

You wanted to scream, to cry, to push him away again. But there was something in the way he looked at you that made your heart ache. He wasn’t trying to control you. He was broken, consumed by something far darker than anything you could have imagined.

"You’re scaring me, Soobin," you whispered, your voice barely audible, trembling with fear and heartbreak. "This... this isn’t love. This is wrong."

He flinched at your words, but his expression softened again. His thumb gently brushed away a tear that you hadn’t even realized had fallen. "I’m sorry," he whispered, but the apology seemed hollow, buried under the weight of everything that had come before.

You didn’t know what to say, what to do. The man you had once loved—the man who had once shown you kindness—was now a stranger. You felt lost, caught in a nightmare with no way out, no escape.

His voice broke the silence again, but this time, it was softer, almost pleading. "Please," he whispered, "don’t leave me. Don’t make me do something we’ll both regret."

You stared at him, torn between wanting to break free, and the overwhelming urge to somehow make him understand, to make him see that this wasn’t the way. But you knew, deep down, that he was beyond reasoning. There was no escape from him—not now.

And in that moment, you realized you were no longer fighting to escape. You were fighting to hold onto what was left of yourself.

Soobin’s eyes flickered, a glint of something darker passing over them when he noticed how you had stopped resisting fully, how your body had gone still. For a moment, you saw a brief flash of hope in his gaze—like he thought this was the moment you were finally giving in to him.

Without warning, he kissed you again, his lips crashing against yours with an intensity that felt suffocating. His hand moved from your face, sliding down to your hip, pulling you closer to him with a force that made your breath catch in your throat. His touch was possessive, as if he was marking you, making sure you knew that you belonged to him now.

You couldn’t stop yourself from flinching, from feeling the weight of his grip, but your body remained frozen against his. His movements were urgent, and as much as you wanted to push him away, you couldn’t find the strength to fight anymore. You were lost.

Soobin pulled back just enough to look at you, his breath hot against your skin. His eyes searched yours, his lips curling into that same twisted, desperate smile. "I knew you’d understand," he whispered, his voice full of a false tenderness that made your skin crawl. "I knew you’d come around."

You stared back at him, feeling a sickening weight in your chest. He wasn’t seeing you anymore. Not really. He was seeing a version of you—one that he could control, one that fit into the world he had created for the two of you. The reality of that hit you like a punch to the gut.

"I’m not… I’m not yours to control, Soobin," you whispered, the words barely audible.

But he didn’t seem to hear you. Or if he did, he didn’t care. His grip on your hip tightened, and he kissed you again, more forcefully this time, as though your words didn’t matter.

And you were left with nothing but the echo of your own helplessness, trapped in his grasp, as everything around you blurred into a nightmare that you couldn’t wake up from.

Note: So this is the piece that intially scared my instructor,, but ya know, its fineeeeeee! Its all for funsies!! :D

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[jaeyunluvbot]

midnight fiction

genre/tags 𝟅𝟈 coworkers to lovers, strangers to lovers, coworker!wonbin x fem!reader, fluff, tiny bit of angst

word count 𝟅𝟈

NOT PROOFREAD

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

You sit at your desk, fingers moving deftly across the keyboard as you try to make a dent in the long list of tasks piled up for the day. The to-do list pinned to your monitor catches your eye, each unchecked box causing a pang of stress.

“Y/N!” Your manager’s voice breaks your focus, and you turn to see him walking toward you, his usual “I need you to do something for me” smile plastered across his face.

“Got a second? The new hire’s here—can you give him the tour? Show him the ropes?”

You smile curtly and hold back a deep sigh. “Sure. I’d be happy to.”

“I knew I could count on you!” he says, flashing you a grin before heading off.

You push back from your desk, grabbing the folder he’d dropped on your desk, and mentally preparing yourself. Usually, you love helping people, but your workload is already overwhelming, and your manager adding random tasks constantly certainly doesn’t help.

As you make your way to the lobby, you spot him—Wonbin. He stands near reception, tall and a little stiff in his crisp shirt and tie. His eyes flit around the room, a mix of curiosity and nervousness on his face. Clearly a new hire.

“Wonbin, right?” you call, forcing a friendly smile as you approach.

He turns toward you, and his face lights up. “Yeah, that’s me. You must be Y/N.”

“That’s me,” you reply, extending a hand. “Welcome to the team. I’m here to give you the grand tour.”

“Thanks,” he says, shaking your hand firmly. “I really appreciate it. Sorry to take up your time.”

The sincerity in his voice catches you off guard, but you brush it aside. “No problem. Let’s get started.”

As you lead him through the office, you point out the essentials—the break room, the conference rooms, the kitchen. “We have free coffee here, and snacks, but if you value your life, don’t touch anyone’s lunch in the fridge,” you say with a smirk.

He chuckles, his nervous energy easing a bit. “Good to know. Anything else I should know?”

“Stick with me, and you’ll survive,” you joke, surprising yourself with how easily the words come.

“I’ll hold you to that,” he says, flashing a grin.

By the time the tour ends, you begrudgingly admit he’s not as bad as you’d expected. He’s polite, eager to learn, and genuinely seems to care about getting things right. Still, you’re trapped under a mountain of work, and the extra time you’re spending with him feels like another item on your already endless to-do list.

“Alright,” you say as you stop near his desk. “That should cover the basics. Let me know if you have any questions. I’m just over there.”

“Thanks, Y/N. I’ll try not to bother you too much,” he says with an earnest smile.

You give him a strained smile before heading back to your desk, already trying to refocus on your workload. But something about his tone lingers in your mind—a small, not unpleasant, but still unwelcome distraction.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

Weeks later, the two of you have settled into an unspoken rhythm. Wonbin often comes to you for help, and while it cuts into your work time, you can’t bring yourself to turn him away. He’s quick to pick things up and always grateful, which softens your frustration even on the busiest days.

“Alright, for this system,” you say one afternoon, sitting beside him at his desk, “you need to make sure the codes match these formats. If not, you’ll get an error that’ll make you want to quit on the spot.”

He leans closer to your monitor, his face contorted in concentration. “Got it. Match the formats or die.”

“Exactly,” you reply with a chuckle. “Here, give it a try.”

He takes the keyboard, carefully navigating the program. “Like this?”

“Perfect. Just double-check the—”

“Y/N!” Your manager’s voice interrupts again, sharp and expectant.

You swivel in your chair, already bracing yourself for another request. “Yes?”

“The scheduling software is acting up again. Can you fix it? And after that, HR needs help with the training program revisions.”

You plaster on a polite smile, even as irritation prickles beneath your skin. “Sure thing.”

“Great. Thanks!”

As he walks away, you stare blankly at Wonbin’s monitor, overwhelmed by everything you still need to do, plus these new tasks.

“Wow,” Wonbin says softly, breaking the silence.

“What?” you ask, turning back to him.

“Do they always dump this much on you?” he asks, disbelief clear in his voice.

You give him a tired smile. “Pretty much. I’ve got a knack for being reliable, I guess.”

“That’s not fair,” he says, frowning.

“It’s just how it is,” you reply with a shrug, masking your frustration. “Anyway, let’s finish this up so I can deal with that mess.”

Wonbin watches you for a moment, his expression pensive, before nodding and turning back to the screen. As you work together, you try to push your stress aside, but you can’t help but notice the way he looks at you—like he sees right through you.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

The buzz of conversation and clinking glasses filled the air as your team settled into a lively bar for the evening. It wasn’t your first choice for how to spend a Friday night, but you’d gone along with it—mostly out of guilt for turning down every other optional team event.

Wonbin, obviously, had found his way to your side the moment you arrived. “First office outing,” he said, holding up his drink with a sheepish smile. “Don’t let me embarrass myself too much.”

“I’ll try,” you said, grinning despite yourself.

The evening kicked off with lighthearted conversations and drinks, but it didn’t take long before someone spotted the karaoke machine in the corner. A cheer rose from the group as a few coworkers rushed to sign up for songs, dragging the less enthusiastic along with them.

“No way I’m singing,” you said, taking another sip of your drink.

“Oh, come on,” Wonbin teased, leaning closer. “You can’t let them have all the fun. Besides, it’s a team thing—bonding, right?”

You gave him a skeptical look. “You’re way too eager for someone who’s been here for like five minutes.”

He laughed. “I’m just trying to fit in. Plus, karaoke’s fun. You should try it.”

You laugh and shake your head furiously, “Singing really isn’t my thing, so no thanks.”

He drops it there and you appreciate him not pressuring you to venture too far outside of your comfort zone.

It didn’t take long for the microphone to find its way to you. Someone had signed you up—likely as a joke—and before you could protest, your coworkers were chanting your name.

“You’ve got this,” Wonbin said, nudging you toward the stage with an encouraging grin.

Reluctantly, you chug the rest of your drink, and made you way to the stage, picking the first familiar song you see, deciding it was better to just get it over with. The music started, and as you sang, you felt your nerves ease. By the end of the song, you were smiling, met with loud applause and cheers from the team.

“Not bad!” Wonbin called out as you returned to your seat, cheeks flushed from the attention.

“Don’t get used to it,” you muttered, though you couldn’t help laughing.

When it was his turn, Wonbin took the stage with the same amount of energy he had at work, a lot. He picked a fast-paced, upbeat song and leaned fully into the performance, complete with exaggerated dance moves that had the entire room doubling over with laughter.

You couldn’t stop smiling as you watched him. He looked so carefree, so genuinely happy, and it was contagious.

You’d never noticed how attractive he actually was, usually too distracted with your work and general disdain for the office environment. You brush the thought off as quickly as it had entered your mind, not needing to add a crush, however small, to your already hectic life.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

The outing ended with you and Wonbin leaving together, walking side by side toward the bus station. The streets were quieter now, the buzz of the bar replaced by the soft hum of passing cars and the occasional whooshing of the wind.

“That was… surprisingly fun,” you admitted, glancing at him.

“See? Told you karaoke’s not so bad,” he said, smirking.

You chuckled, shoving your hands into your pockets. “Alright, fine. You win this one. But seriously, you were… something else up there. That dance routine?”

“I aim to entertain,” he said with mock pretentiousness, making you laugh again.

As the laughter faded, you found yourself relaxing in his presence in a way you hadn’t expected. The conversation turned quieter, more genuine, as you opened up about the stress you’d been feeling at work. He listened intently, nodding occasionally, his expression softening.

“You do way too much for that place,” he said finally. “They don’t deserve you.”

His words caught you off guard, and for a moment, you didn’t know how to respond. “It’s just… part of the job,” you said lamely.

“Doesn’t mean it’s fair,” he said, his tone firm. “You deserve a break, Y/N. Or at least someone to help take some of the load off.”

You gave him a small smile, touched by his sincerity and care. “Thanks, Wonbin.”

He shrugged, but his eyes stayed on you, warm and steady. “Anytime.”

You turn away from him, your shoulder gently shoving against his as you resume walking towards the bust stop. Your face feels suddenly a bit warm, but you elect to blame it on the biting wind.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

Your surprising new after-work routine had started as a coincidence. One evening after work, you found yourself walking toward the bus station at the same time as Wonbin. The conversation was light, filled with random musings about the day and jokes about a particularly obnoxious coworker who always seemed to have something urgent five minutes before clocking out.

The next day, it happened again. Then the day after that. Before long, it became a routine.

“Okay, so tell me if I’m crazy,” Wonbin said one evening as you both trudged along the quiet sidewalk. His breath puffed in the cold air. “But does Mr. Lee always call for a meeting just to hear himself talk?”

You snorted. “Absolutely. The man loves the sound of his own voice. Did you notice he always asks questions, then interrupts when you answer?”

Wonbin’s laugh rang out, warm and genuine. “Right? It’s like, ‘Why even ask, man?’”

You shook your head, still grinning. “It’s honestly a skill. He could teach a class on how not to communicate.”

“Sign me up,” Wonbin said, mock-serious. “I need to be prepared.”

The conversation flowed effortlessly, the stress of the workday melting away as you teased each other and bonded over shared grievances. It was strange, but comforting—having someone who just got you.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

A few weeks into your routine, the weather took a sharp turn. That day, you’d rushed out the door, forgetting your jacket in your scramble to make it on time. By the time you and Wonbin started your walk to the bus station, the cold had sunk its teeth into you.

“Are you seriously not wearing a jacket?” Wonbin asked, glancing at you as you shivered beside him.

“Forgot it at home,” you admitted, hugging yourself for warmth. “It’s fine. I’ll survive, we’re almost at the bus stop anyways.”

He frowned, stopping in his tracks. Before you could ask why, he shrugged off his own jacket and draped it over your shoulders.

“Wonbin—no, you’ll freeze!” you protested, trying to hand it back.

“Relax,” he said, waving you off. “You’ve helped me so much with work—even though you’re swamped. It’s the least I can do.”

You hesitated, looking at him. “Are you sure?”

“Positive,” he said with a small smile. “I’ll be fine. My bus is quicker, anyway.”

The jacket was warm, carrying the faint scent of his cologne. You pulled it tighter around yourself, your face heating despite the chill. “Thanks,” you mumbled.

He grinned. “Anytime. Just don’t forget it again, or I might start charging you.”

You rolled your eyes, but your heart felt lighter. The walk continued, the silence between you now companionable. You glanced at him, his hands shoved in his pockets against the cold, and a thought you hadn’t dared to entertain before crept into your mind: maybe, just maybe, there was something more here.

It didn’t take long for your routine walks to the bus station to evolve into hanging out outside of work. At first, it was casual—a quick coffee after a long day, or splitting fries at the diner near the office. But soon, those quick moments turned into hours of talking, laughing, and getting to know each other beyond the walls of cubicles and meeting rooms.

One evening, after an especially frustrating day, the two of you sat on a bench at a small park near the bus stop. The air was crisp, and Wonbin had insisted on grabbing hot chocolate, claiming it was the ultimate stress relief. You had to admit, despite the chill, it was helping.

“So,” Wonbin said, leaning back on the bench and licking his cone thoughtfully. “Any progress on that scheduling software you were cursing under your breath all day?”

You groaned. “Don’t remind me. I feel like I aged ten years trying to fix that. Honestly, it’s just one more thing making me wonder if I should stick around here.”

Wonbin turned to you, his brows knitting in confusion. “What do you mean?”

You hesitated, not sure why you felt nervous admitting it. But with him, it was easy to be honest. “I’ve been looking at other jobs,” you said finally. “I don’t know if I want to stay at the company. It’s just… a lot. And I feel like I’m always being forced to work on something way above my paygrade, you know?”

Wonbin stayed quiet for a moment, staring down at his half-melted cone. “Yeah, I get that,” he said softly. “But, selfishly, I think you should stay.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Oh, really? Why’s that?”

He grinned, but there was something in his tone that felt unusually sincere. “Because I’d miss you too much if you left.”

The words hung in the air, catching you off guard. He said it casually, almost like a joke, but the way his eyes lingered on yours told a different story.

You laughed nervously, trying to ease the tension you suddenly felt. “Well, that’s sweet, but I don’t think ‘keeping Wonbin company’ is a valid reason to stay in a job I hate.”

“Hey, it could be a selling point,” he said with a playful smirk. “Think about it: ‘Excellent coworker morale boost included.’”

You rolled your eyes, but the smile tugging at your lips was impossible to hide. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Maybe,” he said, shrugging. “But I mean it. You’ve made this whole thing so much easier for me. I don’t know how I’d survive without you.”

Your heart fluttered, and you quickly looked away, focusing on the streetlights flickering in the distance. “Well, I haven’t decided anything yet,” you said, your voice quieter.

“Good,” he said, nudging your shoulder gently. “Because the office wouldn’t be the same without you. And neither would my life.”

The conversation drifted to other topics, but his words stayed with you long after you’d said goodbye for the night.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

This day had been nothing short of brutal. Deadlines were looming, the to-do list on your desk seemed to grow longer instead of shorter, and your manager had barely acknowledged all the extra work you’d been handling. By the time five o’clock rolled around, you were drained and on the verge of breaking down in tears.

As you packed up your things, Wonbin appeared by your desk, his usual bright smile in place. “Hey,” he said, tilting his head to study your expression. “You okay?”

You forced a tired smile. “Just a long day.”

He frowned, clearly unconvinced. “Come on, we’re leaving. You need a break.”

You blinked, surprised. “What?”

“Arcade,” he said, grabbing your bag off the back of your chair and slinging it over his shoulder. “Let’s go.”

“Wonbin, I’m not exactly in the mood—”

“Exactly why we’re going,” he interrupted, a teasing grin lighting up his face. “Trust me. It’ll help.”

Reluctantly, you followed him, not having the energy to argue with him after the day you’d had.

He practically drags you out of the office, grabbing your hand to guide you, and surprisingly, he doesn’t let it go until you reach your destination.

The arcade was brightly lit and buzzing with energy, packed with kids and teens shouting excitedly over games. As you stepped inside, you couldn’t help but laugh. “Wonbin, we’re the only adults here.”

“So?” he said, unfazed, already scanning the room for a claw machine. “We’re twenty-something. That’s basically still kids, right?”

You shook your head, the stress of the day momentarily lifting. “Debatable.”

But it didn’t take long for you to get swept up in the fun. The two of you battled it out at a racing game, shot hoops side by side, and groaned dramatically when the claw machine refused to let go of the stuffed animal Wonbin had been trying to win for you.

By the time you were done, your cheeks hurt from smiling and your bad mood was a distant memory. Wonbin had even won you a cute plush from a claw machine, and when you’d tried to pay him back for the cost of how many tries it took him to win, he brushes you off, claiming it’s a way for him to thank you for helping him when he was still a new employee.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

You can’t help but feel a touch of sadness at the ending of your little outing, selfishly wanting to spend more time with Wonbin, even though you knew you could use some rest too, probably more than he could.

The two of you walk side by side to the bus stop, occasionally exchanging hushed words, but mainly enjoying the quiet of the city at night.

The bus stop was quiet, the streetlights casting soft swaths of light over the sidewalk. You stood side by side, the energy of the arcade still lingering in the air between you.

“Feeling better?” Wonbin asked, his tone more gentle, almost loving now.

“Much,” you admitted. “Thanks for dragging me out. I needed that.”

He smiled, shoving his hands into his pockets. For a moment, he seemed to hesitate, his usual easygoing demeanor replaced by something more serious.

“Y/N,” he started, his voice unusually quiet.

You turned to him, tilting your head. “Yeah?”

He took a deep breath, meeting your eyes. “I like you. I mean, really like you. And I know it’s probably bad timing with everything going on, but… I want to take you out. On a real date.”

Your heart skipped a beat, warmth blooming in your chest at his words. But just as quickly, reality set in.

“Wonbin,” you said softly, your voice tinged with regret. “You know how strict the company is about coworkers dating. I can’t… I don’t want to risk either of our jobs.”

His face fell slightly, but he nodded, his understanding clear. “Yeah, I figured you’d say that. I just… I wanted you to know how I feel.”

You offered a small, sad smile. “I’m really glad you told me. And if things were different…”

He smiled faintly, his usual brightness dimmed but still there. “It’s okay. I get it.”

The bus arrived, and you both climbed on, sitting in your usual seats together. The ride was quiet but comfortable, his confession lingering in the air between you.

Though you hadn’t said it out loud, you couldn’t shake the realization that you liked him too. And now, you weren’t sure how to handle the growing feelings that had been set in motion.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

The past few weeks had been a blur. Work piled higher than ever, and the looming deadline for the big project had consumed almost every waking moment. You’d barely had time to think, let alone spend any quality time with Wonbin. Your evenings were spent in exhaustion, collapsing into bed before you could even reply to his last message.

Despite the distance, he never complained. He still texted you every day—little updates about his life, random memes, or just simple “Don’t forget to eat!” reminders. You tried to keep up, but it wasn’t the same as seeing him in person.

You missed him. And it seemed like he missed you too.

The stress at work finally hit a breaking point one late night as you stared at your computer screen, the relentless grind taking its toll. With a deep breath, you decided enough was enough. On a whim, you updated your resume and applied to a few jobs, not really expecting much.

But to your surprise, an offer came in—one that promised better hours, a higher paycheck, and the kind of work-life balance you hadn’t experienced in years. The decision wasn’t easy, but deep down, you knew it was the right one.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

Two weeks later, your resignation letter had been submitted, you were on your very last day, and your going-away party was in full swing.

The office was buzzing with energy, laughter echoing through the room as your coworkers gathered to celebrate your time at the company. For the first time in ages, you felt like you could breathe again. The weight of work stress had finally lifted, and for the first time in a long while, you felt genuinely happy.

Wonbin was there, of course, standing off to the side with his usual warm smile, watching you with an expression you couldn’t quite place.

“You look happy,” he said softly when you crossed paths during the party.

“I feel happy,” you admitted. “It’s like I can finally move on from… everything.”

His smile grew a little wistful. “It suits you.”

As the party wound down and the others began to leave, you found yourself volunteering to stay behind and clean up. Wonbin joined without hesitation, the two of you working in comfortable silence as you packed away decorations and collected stray plates and cups.

The quiet was soothing, a stark contrast to the chaos of the last few months.

“So,” you said suddenly, breaking the silence. “About that date?”

Wonbin froze mid-step, blinking at you as if he hadn’t heard correctly. “What?”

You turned to him, a small, teasing smile playing on your lips. “You said you wanted to take me out, but I don’t date coworkers, remember?”

His brows furrowed in confusion, and then realization dawned. His eyes widened. “Wait… you’re not my coworker anymore.”

“Exactly,” you said, your grin widening.

The joy on his face was instant, a brilliant smile spreading across his features as he closed the distance between you in a heartbeat. Without hesitation, he leaned down and kissed you—soft and sweet, filled with all the feelings you’d both been holding back for months.

When he pulled back, his expression was full of wonder. “You’re serious about this?”

“Very,” you said, your cheeks warm. “I thought you’d be sad to see me go though. Something about missing me too much?”

He laughed, his voice soft and full of affection. “I’ll miss you, sure. But now I can do this…” He kissed you again, slower this time, his hand gently resting on your cheek.

When he pulled away, he grinned. “So yeah, it’s a win in my book.”

You laughed, your heart lighter than it had been in months. Maybe leaving the job was the right move after all—especially if it meant stepping into something new with him.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

AUTHOR'S NOTE 𝟅𝟈 this one was requested by my best friend so kenz if ur reading this, ur welcome pookie! i lowkey love this one, so pls make sure to leave a like and comment if u also enjoyed it.

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