#like i wonder if the heat is making her restless? or the noise of the higher fan setting?

[orcelito]

Tally has been so bad lately about yelling at night. Like she generally always does it at least once a night before she settles in for the night, but she keeps yelling and yelling before finally coming up, then immediately going back down only to end up yelling again. Like make up your MIND girl what do you want!??!

[varpusvaras]

Beru found out about their new neighbour on a one pretty unremarkable day.

Owen was out that afternoon, gone to recycle some of the old machinery parts they had left after one of their perimeter sensors had finally been worn down by the increased storms. The desert was calm that day, thankfully, as Luke had started to become very restless from not getting to go outside in days.

Perhaps Beru should've realised that such restlessness was going to make Luke forget their usual rules, in his haste to get out of the house, as all of a sudden she noticed that the immediate area around the house was uncharacteristically quiet, and not full of noises made by little boy playing space battles.

She didn't, however, get too far in her searches, when there was a tall shadow casted onto the sand right next to hers.

"Excuse me-" The man didn't even get to finish what he was saying, when Beru had already reacher for the prybar in the toolbox and turned around, gripping it tightly and ready to strike.

The Suns were partially behind the man, obscuring his features momentarily from her. She was tall and broad-shouldered, standing straight with his head held high even in the heat of the day. On his arms he held Luke, who had his arms around the man's neck in a relaxed, loose grip.

That made her loosen up her grip from the prybar just a little. Luke had the gift of knowing when to trust people, even if sometimes that trust overextended itself a little. The man's hold of Luke was, however, also relaxed, which made him a bit more trustworthy to Beru.

The man bend down and placed Luke onto the ground, and by doing so, he gave his face enough shadow for Beru to see him better.

He looked young, if a bit weathered, with some lines already forming on his face, though Beru could tell that they were in places that usually got creased up when someone was constantly concerned about something. There was a long scar running down the side of his face, showing up starkly as the skin around it had tanned more recently. It was the thing that told Beru that the man had not spent too much time on the desert yet, despite his clothes having already been weathered as well, and his footing being even enough on the sand. His dark, curly hair looked like it had only now started to grow out of a very well-maintained shorter cut. Another sign of him being a newcomer.

Still, there was something familiar in him, something Beru couldn't quite place, and she wasn't quite sure if that should've made her relax more or be more suspicious of him.

The man looked at her. His dark eyes were just as weathered as the rest of him, but still kind.

Beru made her decision. She lowered the prybar, and let go of it with her other hand, grabbing at Luke instead.

The man's shoulders lowered a bit as well.

"Excuse me", he said. "I saw your nephew had gotten a bit far away from the house."

Beru looked down at Luke. He looked up at her, and gave her a bit of a sheepish smile.

"Yes", Beru said, and looked back up at the man. "Thank you."

The man nodded.

"No problem at all", he said to her, and then turned to speak to Luke. "Stay where you're supposed to. The desert is a dangerous place."

"But you were there by yourself as well", Luke piped up, not able to resist the urge to talk back just a little.

The man smiled at him. Beru though he had a rather nice smile, even if it was worn down as well. She wondered what kind of hardships he had gone through, out there in the Galaxy, to seem like he had been sanded down by a multiple of storms already.

"I've seen a lot of places that are worse than this, kid", the man said. "I'll be just fine."

He then nodded his head again at Beru, lifted the back of the dark blue cape he had draped over his shoulders over his head, turned around and walked into the desert without another word.

Beru watched him go, ever so slightly confused about the whole interaction. She only moved his eyes away when Luke tugged at her hand.

"Did you know him?" He asked. "I've never seen him before. Not here or in town."

Beru shook her head.

"No", she said. "Did he say anything to you?"

She had not had the mind to even ask the man his name. She looked back out in the desert. He had already disappeared somewhere beyond the dunes.

Luke shook his head.

"He did know you are my aunt", he said. "And not my mom."

True, Beru realised. He had called Luke her nephew, without any introductions.

She decided not to be too alarmed about that. There weren't a lot of people who lived in the area. Chances were that the man had just heard about them already, and remembered who lived in the house.

Still. Not a lot people lived in the area, and even less had any business around there either. On top of that, even though she was more than sure that she had never seen the man before, Beru thought he had looked awfully familiar in some way.

"He seemed nice", Luke said. "He felt nice."

"If you say so, my little sun", Beru said. "Your feelings are often very precise."

She decided not to tell Owen about the man that evening. He would've just gotten unnecessarily worried about it.

----

Beru saw a dark blue cape in the corner of her eye.

When she turned, it wasn't the man from the desert, even if she was sure it was the same cape, with the tattered edges and faded shoulders.

She did know the man wearing it, though. Ben seemed to feel her eyes on him, as he also turned to look at her, and very briefly nodded at her before he went back to dealing with a customer.

Beru thought about it as she went on her business, and she walked back by Ben's stall as she came back.

Ben was already packing up by then, and Beru saw that he had also made purchases, as he was tying some wares that Beru didn't believe he had brought all the way from his house to the town. At the top were a new bedroll, and a pair of boots that even from afar looked too big for Ben's feet.

Beru smiled, before turning away. It really seemed like Ben wasn't alone anymore. That was good.

[nihildenial]

The Ghoul Squeak by nihil-denial

Rating: Gen Audiences

Tags: Fluff and Crack, Soft Papa Emeritus IV, Nameless Ghouls Act Like Cats

Summary: The Nameless Ghouls are restless when not able to go outdoors to exercise and play. Copia wants to help them, but how can he when an expensive treadmill doesn't work for their needs? Copia will need his brother's help to solve it, though the answer might come from a smaller, cuter source...

WC: 3200ish

Copia smiled as he sipped his kid-temperature latte, relaxing in his patio chair. The sky was clear above him and the sun was out, making the October day a little less chilly. Today he had claimed a good rest day for the entire ministry to enjoy the outdoors before snow dominated the Massachusetts weather for the next few months.

All four Papa’s packs of Nameless Ghouls were out playing in the abbey’s massive acre plot. Their chatter, wrestling, and general frolicking were a wonderful white noise to the current anti-Pope. They sounded so happy.

Phantom, Aurora, and Sunshine, in their somewhat recently made carbon-based life forms, were currently discovering the wonders of the game of Tag. It was a tie over which ghoul was the better evader, as Phantom had the stride length advantage, Aurora was able to predict where each Ghoul was hiding, and Sunshine’s use of her element made her faster.

Phantom yelps as Aurora jumps to slap at his ankle that was accidentally hanging out of the tree in her line of sight.

“Tag! You’re it!” She jogs off towards the trees that surround Vengeance Lake.

The Quintessence Ghoul hops down and scans the shrubbery that leads into the abbey. All he sees is Copia in his lawn chair with a blanket over his lap, Omega and Secondo playing chess at a garden table nearby, and Terzo doing yoga in one of the sunbeams.

He remembers Sunshine went that way but the thought of getting revenge on Aurora was too tantalizing. He drops to his hands and knees and gallops towards the lake.

“Thanks, Papa,” Sunshine giggles and pops out of her hiding place under his chair. Her exposed Ghoul form meant she radiated extreme heat and she acted almost as a space heater while she used him as cover.

“Of course, my dear. Thank you for warming up these old bones.” He kisses her cheek before she trots off.

“Did they have this much energy with you two?” Copia asks out loud.

Secondo curses as Omega takes his rook. “Not really. Omega had them housetrained by the time we became a pack.”

The large Ghoul’s tail wags at the memory. “It was pretty calm until Mist and Pebble. Pebble is a somehow more reckless version of Phantom. I was never interested in running as a pastime.”

“They do it quite a lot…” Copia mumbles. “I feel awful when they’re stuck indoors. The treadmill has not been welcomed.”

He’s referring to the extremely expensive treadmill placed in the common area of the ghoul den for snowy/stormy days when even the Ghouls connected to the extreme elements didn’t want to go outside. On days like that, the restless energy builds until the demons are basically whining and bouncing-off-the-walls toddlers. The era IV ghouls are especially energetic and it’s getting to the point where they can’t go 24 hours without dropping glamour and going on long runs around the property.

Sister Imperator thought the treadmill was too expensive until a restless Swiss accidentally ran into her while running laps of the cloister. She had ordered it before Swiss had the chance to bring her a new cup of coffee.

Unfortunately, the device has not gone over well. It’s awkwardly placed by the kitchenette and partly blocks some of the den nest. Swiss took a liking to it, using it eagerly but the motor emitted a high frequency that gave poor Phantom and Aurora migraines.

Rain complained that the hard surface of the machine compared with the moving rubber track was too bouncy, causing his hips to ache.

Having it so close to the nest meant that those trying to sleep would be kept away by the sounds of exercise, and that Phantom and Aurora couldn’t be present when someone was using it. It was also too small of a footboard for Mountain to use.

Now it sits unused.

“I’m not sure what to do,” Copia finishes his thought lamely.

A squeak got his attention. Over in a little fenced away sat Zephyr and Rain playing with a few of Copia’s rats running around in plastic hamster balls. The rats were also excited to be outside, though there have been some sharp-eyed hawks circling above, so unfortunately Copia didn’t feel safe letting them free roam.

Zephyr laughs as Rigatoni rolls around them in the grass, the rat pausing to nibble at the dandelions that pop through the ball’s gaps. “They really love to run for such potato-shaped creatures.”

“You could say the same thing about Swiss,” Rain grins. “What if we just put Swiss in a giant hamster ball?”

“That would be a disaster. Giving Swiss an object to hurl himself around in? He’d turn it into a wrecking ball,” Omega moves another piece, effectively checkmating Secondo.

Secondo huffs and hands over a $50 bill. He stands and walks back into the abbey, cursing under his breath.

Omega stretches his arms over his head, a shit-eating grin on his handsome face. “Hey baby, I scored us money to go get gelato.”

Terzo’s mismatched eyes pop open. He scrambles to untangle his legs from his yoga pose and eagerly follow his loyal partner back to the abbey.

“I want some!” Copia calls after them. Terzo simply ignores him.

-

With his two elder brothers being of no help at all, Copia seeks out Primo. The Ghouls retire for dinner, the massive group heading into the dining hall for community spaghetti night. Copia makes sure to saddle up to Primo as they’re lining up for plates.

“Buon pomeriggio, Copia,” The eldest brother greets warmly. His Hawaiian shirt is dirty with soil and wet with hose water.

“Good evening, Primo. How is the garden doing?”

He sighs fondly. “We have a hearty amount of radishes left to harvest tomorrow, but other than that the main garden will be dormant from now until February. I left some beets in your room for your little friends.”

Copia blinks, “That’s so nice, thank you, I know they will enjoy them. Speaking off little friends…” He trails off as they look for a place to sit and talk. Once they find a table by some Brothers talking quietly, he continues, “I need help finding something to help the Ghouls exercise indoors.”

“Is the treadmill unfit?” Primo asks.

“Si, there are little issues that overall have made it unworkable for most of them except Swiss and Alpha. I’m a little lost because it was so expensive and I doubt cheaper ones will be any better.”

Primo eats his pasta with a pensive look on his face. “Perhaps you are thinking of the ghouls too literally. They have animal forms, yes?”

“I mean, they could transform to exercise, but from what Aether was telling me it expends the wrong kind of energy. They need to run off physical energy and not elemental.”

Primo eats another forkful, somehow graceful with the sauced noodles. “If only they were the size of your poccoli topi. When I looked after them during the Re-Impera tour, they were on that exercise wheel non-stop.”

Copia chews thoughtfully, “Do they make human-sized rat exercise wheels?”

“Perhaps. I know there’s one at the Science Museum. It would be a good solution; not a treadmill but still able to run them.”

He pulls out his phone and types into Google some search words. A ton of images of blow-up and plush ‘zorb’ing balls fill his screen. “Not many I can find that seem sturdy.”

“It could be a project for the Ghouls to make? Mountain and Omega love building forts and cabins out in the woods.”

Copia nods, “I’ll talk to them. Thank you for letting me ramble through all this.”

Primo smiles warmly at him. “It’s worth it to see how much you love them, and how they love you. I wish I had thought to have a connection with them all those years ago.”

-

It takes the entirety of October, November, and December for the crafty ghouls to create two oversized hamster wheels. Because of Mountain, Aether, and Alpha’s large frames, the wheels are actually twice the size of ones created for humans.

Copia took in the shining metal and wooden contraptions with pride in his soul. All of the ghouls had some hand in either the design or construction of them. “They are stunning! A true machine made for and by the best of infernals.”

Phantom vibrates in his place beside Copia, finally breaking loose and hopping on the slightly smaller wheel, using his four long limbs to gallop. A loud squeak fills the air as he runs.

Everyone covers their ears.

“Sheesh, we need to fix that one up,” Alpha groans.

Copia nods, “Nothing a little oil can’t help. My only issue is…where will they go? They cannot stay on the terrace, since we made them to be used inside.”

Mountain bites his lip and pulls out an extra-long tape measure. He goes around the two wheels and mumbles measurements to Zephyr.

“Yeah…that’s a full ten inches too tall to comfortably be used in the den. It would rub against the ceiling, not to mention too wide for the crypt staircase.”

“How did we forget to measure it?” Omega facepalms.

“I was so excited about the wood for the track…” Pebble admits. “I might’ve erased the measuring task off the whiteboard so we could go chop down the lumber faster.”

Copia sighs, “Pebble…That was very irresponsible. Is there anywhere else they would fit?”

Zephyr consults the architectural plan of the abbey. “The only other place I can think of right now is the main sanctuary, right behind the entrance doors. The balcony of the organ is more than tall enough to accommodate both sizes of the wheels. And, the spiral staircase wouldn’t be in the way. It could work.”

“Let’s try it; but we must be quiet, I need a way to somehow spin this into a good thing when Sister finds out where they’re going.”

-

By the time Mountain, Omega, Alpha, Chain, and Aether have carried the giant exercise machines to the cathedral’s nave, Copia has still not come up with a good reason to tell Sister Imperator. In any case, the two wheels fit perfectly on either side of the nave’s double doors and under the ornate balcony that held the Special Ghoul’s ancient pipe organ.

Sister Imperator’s first deal of business when she became Head Sister was to completely redesign the main sanctuary. Any slight decoration change, paint color, wood repair, or even altar flower arrangement had to be personally approved by her.

Copia allowing them to move these industrial wheels into her detailed aesthetic space was asking for a tongue-lashing.

To make sure they both work still, Copia watches as Alpha happily tests them out. It works perfectly. However, the smaller one stil has the horrid squeak. Aether applies more oil to the hinges and the group heads to dinner.

“Good evening, C and Ghouls,” Copia flinches as Sister Imperator is waiting for them at the doorway to the dining hall. Her gray pantsuit is traded for a pair of jeans and a black turtleneck. “May I ask where you have been tonight?”

Copia meets Aether’s gaze nervously, but all the Quintessence Ghoul does is shrug helplessly. “We were testing out the new Ghoul machines. We call them…uh, ‘Gwheels.’”

“That’s what made you late for dinner? You’re usually the first in line. Anyways, I am glad that the wheel project is finished. I’m sure they are wonderful machines.”

“Yes, they are.”

She nods, “So I assume since there are two machines, the treadmill will have to be moved for them to fit in the den, yes?”

“Er--yes, Sister.” A cold sweat breaks over his brow. Did she see them moving? Cumulus was their lookout and never reported the woman left her office while they were on the move.

“I was wondering if I could take the machine.”

Copia immediately takes an internal sigh of relief. She simply wanted the expensive treadmill and was not worried about the wheels after all. “Of course, Sister. It is a good item and you did technically purchase it.”

She nods, “Good. I’ll be down in the morning to have Special and Cowbell move it out and see these new Gwheels.”

-

Copia is a lucky bastard or he somehow received a special blessing from Lucifer because Sister Imperator gets engrossed in a meeting with Cardinal Tobias for most of the day. By the time she gets out, it’s time for Sunday Black Mass.

Copia sees it as a good thing because she would never lash out during her favorite activity, especially if Copia did well in his sermons. So, he and the Ghouls dress for the special mass and head to the sanctuary. They line up outside the nave’s double doors with the retired Papas behind the Ghouls.

Sister Imperator stands in front of Primo with Papa Nihil, her face still relaxed with the upcoming rites she loves so much.

Copia tries not to let his worry show.

The doors open and the ghouls begin singing Infestissumam’s choir as the processional begins. All of them find their seats, with the Ghouls looping around the pews back towards the entrance by their own rows of pews.

Copia passes Sister Imperator in the front row of the quire box and can literally see as her face twists in confusion at the wheels. She leans over to Nihil who just shrugs and closes his eyes to fall asleep like usual during the services.

Copia quickly begins the invocation of the four directions. It cuts her off and forces her to pay attention for a while, but he sees her turn and looks at the back of the nave several times.

Cirrus quietly gets on the big wheel when he gives her a subtle nod to try out the activity. It’s nearly silent with the heating on and Copia’s sermon. He gives her a wink and she begins to trot in earnest.

Satisfied that the invention works, the Ghouls take turns running on the contraption between hymns, then curling up together.

There are no major distractions for the first time in several weeks. Sister Imperator approaches Copia as soon as Nema leaves his mouth to end the ceremony, her hand turning off the microphone before he could.

“I do not appreciate Ghoul inventions in the chapel, C.”

He leads her to the back of the room as the Siblings filter out. “But wasn’t mass peaceful? The Ghouls are tuckered out from exercise and it barely made any noise.”

She purses her lips, taking in the sight of a content, sleepy piles of Ghouls in their designated nest corner. “I suppose so. However, the machines are unsightly.”

“We could build wooden walls to go around them?” Mountain suggests with a yawn.

“Please do,” She says and leaves without another word.

“Walls would only make them louder, right?” Cumulus pipes up.

“It won’t hurt to try it,” Omega shrugs. “Anything to keep these here. I liked being able to do something during the service that isn’t arts and crafts.”

After a few days of construction, Cumulus was correct. The ornate wooden walls to conceal the two hamster-Ghoul wheels amplified their noise despite soundproofing measures. They would simply have to stay as they were.

Sister Imperator caught on at next Sunday's mass, quickly tugging the stole around Copia’s neck before he could begin his invocation. “Why are those things not covered?”

He smooths out the stole over his chest. “The walls made them louder,” He says simply.

“They cannot just stay there!” She whispers.

“They’ll have to. They help the Ghouls stay calm and they are quiet by themselves back there. It is all fine, Sister.” He moves away nervously and begins his mass.

The Ministry had a blissful four weeks of Ghoul wheels taking the energy out of the hyper demons. Not only were they helpful during services, but there was almost always a Ghoul using them the rest of the time. Between twenty Ghouls, the machines quickly earned favor in the Ministry.

Sister Imperator’s distasteful looks towards the wheels had even calmed back to a neutral expression. The Ghouls were happy, exercised when not able to go outside, and were even more helpful because they weren’t trashing things in hyperactivity.

-

Copia is light on his feet as he approaches the well-worn wooden podium and opens his thick Unholy Bible to the day’s topic. His notes are spread amongst the sinful words. The Siblings in the pews before him are quietly chatting as they find seats and there’s an air of excitement for the first warm afternoon of Spring. He’ll get mass over with quickly so they can all go enjoy it.

The coming of spring means the coming of Ghoul heat and the reawakening of nature has the demons restless this morning. He encourages them to use the wheels and is glad that seems to take the energy out of the most virulent of them (i.e. Phantom, Aurora, and Sunny as the most ‘new’ Ghouls).

Aurora and Sunny take turns on the small wheel, while Phantom stretches from his form on the floor to step onto the bigger wheel. He drops to all fours and begins to warm up with a light walk.

“Papas, Clergy, and Siblings, thank you for coming out this afternoon. I promise to make this quick so we can all go enjoy the warmth of the grounds.”

Primo nods happily, the straps of his gardening apron sticking out of the top of his papal robes.

Copia smiles, “Today’s short mass is mostly a rededication of the Abbey’s grounds to our Dark Lord. Please open to page 69 and follow along. Aether, could you please light the incense?”

The Quintessence Ghoul’s hand explodes into the rich perfumed smoke, dipping the magic into Copia’s open thurible. He stands to the side, proud to serve.

Copia lifts the vessel and lets the smoke drift over the stone altar. “On the first day of Imbolc, we repledge the soil, beings, and air we breathe in a desecration of Earth to the Unholy Banished; we ask Lucifer, Satan, Prince of Darkness to hear our call--”

Creak~!

Copia stops at the noise, concentration broken. He looks around and sees that Phantom is frozen on the wheel and all the Ghouls are staring at him. When the siblings and Clergy turn, he flushes brightly. “Sorry, I went a little too fast I think.”

Copia waves him off fondly. “It’s alright. Where were we…yes, Prince of Darkness, hear our call of sin to protect this cathedral and its grounds from the inquisition of slave-minded religion. We--”

Squeak, creak, s-que~ak!

The painful sound of metal-on-metal permeates the cathedral as Phantom comes to an abrupt halt at the wheel’s noise. “Uh oh.”

“It probably just needs some oil,” Alpha laughs nervously and runs out to find his toolbox.

Oiling it does take away the noise for the next week. However, it comes back softer, and then stays that way. Permanently. With no amount of oiling, lubricating, sanding, does the big wheel stop making small creaks.

Eventually, it becomes known as the Ghoul ‘Squeak’ and becomes white noise to the ministry during services. Sister Imperator eventually drops complaining about it when Copia refuses to take away the wheels. It’s better than Ghouls quite literally running amuck in the nave, at least.

[ladyloveandjustice]

Hungry Kisses and No Regrets

Decided to channel my stress into finally writing the Kiki/Namari fic. This is post-series, and has slight references to unofficially translated post series material.

Namari stared into her tankard, watching the beer’s foam drop down the sides. The tavern was full of lively chatter, loud toasts, whooping and yelling…normally she would be right in the thick of it. But right now it was all distant, muffled, nothing but a meaningless buzzing.

  Then a smooth voice cut through that noise. “You’ve had that booze for a whole minute and the glass is still full. Something must be wrong”.

   Kiki was towering over her. Namari turned slowly, her eyes traveling up those long, shapely legs, from the perfect curve of her calves all the way up to her well toned thighs. Namari’s breath hitched and the back of her neck heated up. She focused instead on Kiki’s face, like she should have done from the beginning, but that only made her heart race more. Kiki had her hair down, a rarity, and it fell in beautiful black coils, slightly wavy at the ends. Kiki looked down at her with bright warm eyes and a mischievous smirk (she’d probably noticed Namari checking out her legs). As always, it melted all of Namari’s defenses.

“I’m just…lost in thought.”

Kiki sat across from her, resting her chin on steepled hands. “Want to talk about it?”

Weirdly, she did. When it was with Kiki, she could talk about anything.

“It’s…Falin.”

Kiki raised her eyebrows. “Did she get turned into a monster again?”

“No! It’s…well,I told you now that my father’s debt is almost paid off, I want to strike out and set up a blacksmithing business right?”

Kiki nodded.

Namari took a small sip of beer and sighed.

“Well, Falin’s recovery is taking…longer than expected. She’s having a little bit of trouble adjusting to her new body. She doesn’t have a lot of stamina and gets exhausted easily, Marcille says she’s been restless at night, growling and snarling and having weird dreams. Even Marcille has a hard time shaking her out of them. I know Falin was planning to travel, to get to know her new self and see new places, and it must be so frustrating…so I don’t think I can leave until she gets better.”

Kiki wrinkled her brow. “Why? It doesn’t sound life threatening. She has her brother and Marcille taking care of her, right? And Chilchuck and Senshi are sticking around a bit longer too. I’m sure she’ll get well soon."

“I know, but… it’s hard to see Falin like this. She’s usually so warm and full of life, you know? She could make anyone feel better just by being there. It’s easy to see why Marcille and Shuro fell for her…”

Kiki’s eyes narrowed. Was that…jealousy?

“Not that I ever had any feelings for her, I’m just saying she’s always been so strong and kind,” Namari amended hastily. “So it’s hard to see her so listless. …And I feel like I should…well, if she can’t travel right now, I shouldn’t get to go gallivanting off somewhere.”

“You’re acting like you’re responsible for her. Are you feeling guilty about leaving?”

Kiki sure cut to the quick. "I don’t regret my choice," Namari said forcefully. "I did what I had to do. But.. I wonder sometimes. If I had been there, would they have been able to get to the dragon before it digested her? Would it have saved her from going through all that hell? Seeing what happened to her, how she’s struggling now, it rattled me. I wonder if she resents me."

Namari lowered her eyes, drawing a circle in the condensation on the table with her index finger. She couldn't look st Kiki. The last thing she wanted to see was her pity.

            “From the brief time I met her—and from how you all describe her—it doesn’t seem like she’d resent you.” Kiki’s voice was the same as ever, a ripple in a calm lake. Namari looked at her and saw her expression wasn’t pitying or annoyed. She just looked like she was mulling it all over.

            “No…none of them seen to resent me, even Marcille. But still…Falin knows I abandoned her. She might understand and accept it, but I wonder if it hurts her, deep down…” She trailed off. She new she was being pathetic she was being pathetic,

            Kiki studied Namari's face, her eyes searching

“Remember when Kaka and I told you about how our clan abandoned us at an inn when we were children?”

Namari blinked at the sudden topic change, but said, “Yes, of course”

            “Kaka resents them for that. But I don’t. I’m honestly grateful.”   

            “Huh?”  As always, Namari couldn’t figure out if Kiki was joking or not.

            Kiki’s mouth quirked and she tilted her head. A bit of hair fell over her eye in a way that made Namari's heart flutter.

            “I remembered how they looked, their cheeks hollowed, their eyes sunken. They were starving, yet they always tried to give Kaka and me a good meal. So I was grateful that they left us. If they hadn’t, I would have had to watch them suffer, watch them die. I hated being a burden.” Kiki’s smiled disappeared, and Namari saw her hands shake ever so slightly against the table. She wanted so badly to reach out and hold that hand, to tell her it was all okay. But she knew Kiki wouldn’t appreciate being interrupted.

            Kiki breathed in deeply. “But by leaving us at the inn, they gave us a chance. A chance for something better. Because they did that, I had a chance to meet Grandma and Grandpa. And that’s what I’m the most grateful for.” Her expression softened, the warmth returning to her face.

            Namari smiled. She loved how Kiki looked at even the darkest moments with love and empathy. It made her want to let go of her cynicism.

`           ”So,” Kika said, tossing her hair. “If Falin’s really the person you say she is, I’m sure she feels the same way. She’s grateful that you didn’t drown in debt for her sake, she’s grateful she didn’t didn't have to see you suffer and lose everything for her. She doesn’t want to be your burden.”

Namari’s eyes burned. Falin had said something like that—“I’m so glad you were able to find such a great party to work for, Namari. You seem so happy! And you helped my brother and the rest a lot, from what I hear! Thank you!"But Namari had been sure she was just forcing her real feelings down. But hearing it from Kiki…for some reason, that made her believe it.

“And also…” Kiki leaned forward, her face so close to Namari’s that her hot breath tickled Namari’s nose. “I’m personally very grateful you left the party. Because that’s how I got to meet you. And I wouldn’t trade that for anything.”

Namari swallowed. She was sure her face was as red as a tomato. But she wasn’t going to let that stop her. It was time to say it.

“There’s actually another reason I’ve been procrastinating on leaving. It’s…because I don’t want to leave you behind.”

“Oh, don’t worry about that,” Kiki said casually. “I’ve decided to leave the family business and strike out on my own. And I’d love to travel with you.”

“You…what?’

“I’ve been thinking of it for a while and talking about it with the family. I told them all yesterday. I want to try new things, see what I can do on my own. Kaka’s going to stay with them, he’s never been interested leaving out grandparents. It’s going to be…really hard being separated from him. We’ve been together our whole lives. But I think that’s why I need to do this.I want to find out who I am without him. Take my own path. Grandpa and Grandma were very supportive. I’ll miss all of them, but it’s not like I can’t visit…”

All of this tumbled out of Kiki’s mouth in a rush, so it took a second for Namari to process it. But when she finally did, her heart burst with joy. Her face lit up with what she was sure was the dopiest smile, but she did her best to keep her voice even.

“Do you know what you want to do?”

“I did a short apprenticeship of a trading company when I was younger, and I loved meeting different people from all over, so maybe that. But one thing I really want to do is…be by your side at least a little bit longer.” She looked down nervously, eyelashes fluttering.

Namari reached out and took Kiki’s hand at last. It was soft and smooth, so much smaller than hers, but still strong. “I want that too,” Namari murmured. “And I also want to kiss you until you’re as dizzy as I am.”

At that invitation, Kiki threw herself across the table. She barely avoided knocking Namari’s beer over as she swung her legs around to sit on her lap. Namari put her arms around her, she bent down, and they kissed hungrily, ceaselessly, with bottomless desire. Kiki tugged at Namari's wrist and Namari gladly accepted the invitation, running her hand greedily up Kiki's thigh, feeling the strong muscle underneath, gripping it harder as their kiss deepened.

Whoops and cheers explored around them. When they finally separated, they saw several tavern patrons were watching them. And the table was a little wobbly. Oops.

“Let’s get out of here before we break something. We can do that in my bedroom instead.” Namari murmured.

“Sounds good. And if we stop by my house first, I can bring some leg pouches to put on in front of you,” Kiki teased.

“You really are the perfect woman,” Namari breathed, trembling with anticipation.

So they walked off arm and arm into the night, Namari leaving behind her worries and fears. There was no point in looking back anymore. She and Kiki had just started a new journey together.

[double-features]

BREAKFAST CLUB - PETER MAXIMOFF x READER

≽^• ˕ • ྀི≼ ------ peter maximoff x gn!reader

SUMMARY : reader is considered a bit of a basket case amongst her classmates, an enigma to most. during detention one day, the annoying kleptomaniac decides to bother reader! the two totally dont hit it off at first, but eventually learn to appreciate one another <3

WARNINGS : implied abuse ( never outright stated or described, not even really implied too heavily really ) , nothing else really!!

GENRE : fluff !

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Maryland, circa 1972. I had no reason to be in detention.

I just felt like it. Didn't want to go home, I supposed. As much as I disliked the idea of having to stay at school off the clock, the thought of going home was wayyy.. wayyy worse.

I wasn't popular in my year. People saw me as a bit of an outsider. Just some weird kid, a basket case to most around me. There was so much more to me than that stereotypical "oh they're so weird, they belong in an asylum" crap everyone spread around about me. But, I enjoyed the serenity of being alone.

Especially being a mutant.

I didn't have a mutation that altered my appearance, luckily enough, I was blessed with something not noticeable to the naked eye. Thermokinesis with a not so fun blend of pyromancy. Well, at least that's what I dubbed it. Fire, basically. I can heat myself up and create fires. Wooo!! Fun!! I'm basically just a walking campfire.

And my mutanthood is exactly why I hate people.

Well, that sounded misanthropic. I don't hate people, I'd just much rather be alone and unbothered. I'm already picked on enough being a quiet kid without the whole mutation thing, So, I decided I was just going to keep it a secret and keep on living the lonely life.

Anyways, back to the whole detention thing.

I sat in the back of the library, with my head plopped down on the desk. Honk mimimimi. I wasn't actually asleep, but I was pretending to be so the others wouldn't bother me. The 'others' being one other singular kid. I had him in a couple of my classes, always seemed like he was up to one thing or another. Had quite the reputation as a thief, always having run-ins with the police and shit..

Peter Maximoff, I believe his name was.

Wonder why he is in here now. Well, whatever it was, I didn't necessarily care enough to interrogate him on it. It's not like he was bothering m-

"Hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey.."

My peace was broken by a rapid tapping on my shoulder and the same word repeated over and over again. I didn't know he was behind me, last I saw, he was sitting at a desk while drumming his fingers against the table. I didn't hear footsteps or anything, a faint breeze hit my skin and boom. He was suddenly behind me, annoying as can be.

I squeaked out a noise and raised my head, in my peripheral I could see the boy swaying on his heels. He retracted his hands once he met my faux look of tiredness. "Hi y/n."

"Hello?" I treaded carefully, the two of us had never spoken a single day in our lives. Lazily propping my chin on my hand, I blinked up at Peter, who seemed restless. But then again, he always seemed restless. The reason? I never truly knew.

Without missing a beat, he hit me with the obvious question. "Why're you here?" The same question I am always asked whenever I popped up for detention. No matter who it was, it was always the same. Honestly, I had no reason to be here.

"Why're you here?" I retorted, unamused. I tried to make it clear that I didn't want to be bothered, that I just wanted to be alone, but I don't think poor ol' Maximoff caught onto that.

"Ah, well, pshh.. Y'know.. caught skipping class."

"You can get detention for that?"

Dot dot dot. He just stared at me as if I said the most stupid thing known to mankind. It wasn't even that dumb of a question! I didn't know that skipping was punishable by detention. I uncomfortably shifted in my seat when he didn't give me a proper response.

Until I heard his laughter. It made me flinch, just as I was about to put my head back down. "Well, duh, I'm in detention now for it, aren't I?"

In a flash, he sat down beside me. Now, I'm not exaggerating when I say he was perched in the chair in the span of a single millisecond. Holy crap. Before I could squish my face back against the table, Peter had left me in a state of shock, confusion.. security? He was just like me. Oh my god! He was like me!

"What?" His laughter died down once he caught my not so subtle staring.

"You aren't scared to.. y'know, show your curse?" I furrowed my eyebrows and took a minute to just think about it. Jesus, he probably thought I was judging him by the way I was glaring. Never did I ever think that I would meet someone like me. Especially not at someplace like a detention I don't technically need to be at.

"Curse? It's not a curse. Love my powers, dude!"

I chuckled nervously. I didn't want to make him think I was judging him, if only he knew that I was just like him. "You're not scared to like.. show it off though?"

"Nothing anyone would believe if you tried telling them.." He gave me a smug look while he raked a hand through his silver hair. Something I have always considered to be quite the fashion choice, but now that I knew he was a mutant, I was starting to question if it was dyed or if it was just a part of his.. well, mutation.

"You're a mutant." I bluntly commented on the obvious.

"No I'm not." He spoke quickly, just like how me moved quickly. Seriously, I was not getting over this anytime soon.

"Yeah you are."

"Nuh uh."

"Yuh huh!"

Peter chortled at my persistence, even in his stubborn denial of his true self, he kept the same shit eating grin plastered on his pretty face. I raised a dubious eyebrow towards him and he just responded with an innocent shrug.

"So what did you want anyways?" I spoke up after a bit of silence, since it was getting unbearable. I felt more comfortable around him knowing that he was a mutant like me, but that didn't mean I necessarily wanted to chat with him or hang out with him. "We're not even supposed to be talking."

"Nobody's around!! Hey, don't burst a blood vessel worrying about getting caught talking. I'll take the blame if anything happens." He dismissively waved his hand and swiftly sat up, and in that short period of time, he somehow acquired a decent sized pile of papers. "You're good at math, aren't you?"

"Not really?" I blankly stared down at what I assumed to be a bunch of math homework. Probably all missing. How the hell wasn't this boy failing?! He probably approached me because we're in the same math class.

Yeah, that made perfect sense.

"Shiiiiit!" he snapped and threw the papers behind us, and I just watched as they fluttered slowly down onto the dirty, carpeted floor of the library. "Well, nevermind then."

"Did you really only approach me to help you with homework?" I snickered.

"I mean.. we're in the same math class, and you just radiate nerd. Saw you in here, I was like, 'woah, it's that one rad girl in my math class.', then I was like 'it's that one rad girl in my math class!!!', you should feel honored that I picked you to be my tutor."

"Interesting story. I feel so special." I sarcastically snorted in an attempt to keep a straight face. It was hard to keep track of what he was saying, but he had a way of putting things into ways that, even when he is speaking fast, you can understand.

In response to my sarcasm, he gave a smug expression. "You should feel special. Anyways, even if you do suck at math, I just wanted to talk. You're a total enigma."

Silence.

I didn't really have too much to say to that. An enigma, huh? Peter truly thought I was such a mystery that he decided to intrude on my alone time in an unneeded detention. I perked an eyebrow at his persistence to hold a conversation with me, of all people.

"Why?" He suddenly asked. The question threw me for a loop, what was that even supposed to mean? Why what?

"Huh?"

"Why are you so aloof all the time? Everyone thinks you're a total nut job."

I could tell he didn't mean any harm by his words, so I didn't take them to heart. Instead, I rolled my eyes and shot back without even thinking. "It's not like your reputation is any better than mine, klepto. You know people think you're annoying, right? You.. are aware of that?"

Maybe I could have been a smidge bit nicer to him. That realization kicked in once he didn't respond to my snarkiness. Until..

"Do you think that?" Peter spoke in a voice barely above a whisper, as if unsure of what he was asking.

Do I tell him the truth or tell him a little white lie? I didn't want to hurt him any more than I may have already, but then again, we weren't friends, and I knew lying to make him feel better probably wasn't the way to go about this. Yet I still went with the latter. "Not at all. I know how it feels to be an outsider."

"I like to think I'm pretty cool. I never intend to annoy people."

Part of me felt a pang of sympathy for the silver haired ball of energy that picked me as his next buddy. He didn't want to annoy people. Peter seriously wasn't much different from me, we were both weird mutants just trying to live our lives in a widely disapproving world.

Unsure of how to express my true thoughts on Peter's 'always annoying people' dilemma, I give a very, very heartfelt response. "I.. Sorry..?"

Catch my sarcasm? Well, I immediately felt guilty afterwards, I wish I could have said more to cheer him up. Not that he needed it. It just seemed like he needed a friend at that moment.

"Why?"

"I'm a wallflower. I know how it feels to be seen as weird. Maybe not annoying, but I can sympathize with you, from mutant weirdo to anoth-"

Before I could realize my mistake and finish, I was cut off by a now starry eyed Maximoff in my face. He seemed excited, and I didn't realize why until he spoke up, "Duuude! No way!! You're a mutant?!"

I paused. Well, the secret was out now! I did a pretty damn good job hiding it from a majority of the school population, yet it slipped out whilst talking to the infamous twinkie thief. Guess he was just that easy to talk to, even if I hated to admit it.

"Well.. Uh.. Yeah?"

"I could literally kiss you right now, why didn't you tell me before?! I thought I was like, the only mutant at this stupid school!" My face heated up drastically, from what? I don't know. It might have been his opening sentence, or it could have been the energy he had, or maybe the acceptance that I didn't feel as if I deserved.

"In my defense, we aren't friends.." I mumbled, nervously fiddling and shrugging.

"Well.. Can we be? Be friends?"

After hearing his question, I perked up a curious eyebrow and a chuckle escaped from the back of my throat. A completely unintentional smile tugged at my lips. Why was I actually starting to enjoy his company? I was supposed to hate everyone and everything..

But him? I didn't hate him anymore. He was starting to grow on me.

"That actually sounds really nice.."

With a fist pumped in the air, he was in the seat next to me in a matter of seconds, a goofy lopsided grin on his face. "..Sooo.. Wanna maybe.. like.. pshh.. y'know? Hangout after this?"

Shooting another gentle grin in his direction, I roll my eyes and snicker. "Fuck it. I'd like tha-"

"Awesome!"

He took that as my confirmation that he was allowed to talk my ear off for the rest of the detention we served together. Funny. Who knew an in school suspension could lead to a blossoming friendship between two nearly total opposites?

Not that I was complaining.

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≽^• ˕ • ྀི≼ ------ reblogs & likes are always appreciated, keeps me motivated to continue creating :)

A/N : mighr make a part two?? mayhaps??

[scoundrels-in-love]

I remember when your head caught flame, it kissed your scalp and caressed your brain

Migraine catches Wolfwood by surprise and Meryl is there to make sure he doesn't dissolve in the pain. Somehow, that hurts in a whole different way. | Stryfewood | Hurt & Comfort | Mentions of past abuse | Also on AO3 | Commission me! |

Wolfwood has no one but himself to blame for missing the signs of too-bright-loud-too-too-too world amping up in the last two days; a frustration that is well worn and familiar and does nothing to ease the pain of steel restraint three sizes too small wrapped around his brain, just beneath his skull which feels thin and tender, pulsating in rhythm of blood and pain pumping through him.

He wonders if he could rip his own head off, as simply he has torn other bodies apart. Like Legato had crunched Wolfwood’s form as if it was a discarded paper bag.

���Wolfwood?” Meryl's voice pierces through his fantasy, and he feels his jaw clench - a bad move.

He grunts an acknowledgement.

“Can you sit up? I booked the room, but I can't carry you inside.”

This makes him open eyes. Shortstack is hovering above him, leaning through the gap between front seats and the concern on her face is something he doesn't have capacity to process right now. Probably never.

Wolfwood had been vaguely aware they'd stopped, because the inclination to give up every bit of bile in his stomach had lessened a fraction. But he'd not thought much as to why, fleetingly assuming it was for a charging station.

“Whuh,” he says, eloquently. They're low on funds and the omnipresent, bright heat pressing into the van indicates it's not even close to nighttime yet. He's been trying to hide from it by laying down in the back seat, arm thrown over his face until the weight of it got too much. Plus, the smell of tobacco clinging to his sleeve had suddenly become an aggressor in the last day which, again, should've pointed him towards the signs.

“I can't get you inside on my own, can you walk?” Her voice is softer now, as if she'd caught him wincing at her volume before.

“Sure thing,” Wolfwood replies as he moves to sit up. If you can't walk, you're dead. He isn't yet, not yet not yet not yet.

Despite his insistence that he's fine, just peachy even, she's really making fuss for no reason, it takes more effort than he expects to get out of the car with his stiff, aching joints into the bright midday sun. The light hits like physical force and he hunches beneath it, staggers towards the sling on the back of the van where Punisher waits for him.

The familiar feeling of cloth and belts scorching his hands grounds Wolfwood and he manages to walk in the inn upright and brushing off Meryl who is fluttering around him like newly hatched wormling, restless and useless.

Even indoors, there are sparks in his vision, a blur on the edges, and the way his head spins do no favors to his stomach which has come to rest in his throat ever since he began moving. Meryl guides him to the room with urgency and if he had the capacity to be annoyed, he'd be telling her off. But now he just follows.

The room's curtains are drawn shut meticulously to not let even a strand of sunlight peek through, it looks safe and quiet as much as anything does on this cursed planet. He props Punisher against the wall next to the single bed and crumbles on the edge of the lumpy mattress, beyond drained and frustrated about it. His sunglasses clatter on the side table too loudly, their arms having felt like a pinch for the past hour.

“Take your jacket off,” Meryl tells him, suddenly kneeling in front of him. He must make some kind of noise, because she meets his gaze with a tight smile. 

“When I have a migraine, bending over is like a death sentence,” she explains, tugging off one of his shoes. He lifts his other foot to aid her efforts, wordlessly, because what is there to say? Thank you, you don't have to, you shouldn't , I don't deserve it, I must handle these things on my own or I might get used to idea that– 

“C'mon, off with that jacket, you never sleep in it unless it’s freezing,” Meryl tears apart his thought tangle, having set his shoes aside and standing in front of him with an expectant, outstretched hand. Wolfwood manages to shrug it off with minimal waves of nausea and lays down, closing eyes and listening to the gentle rustle of cloth as she must be placing it neatly on the chair. 

Next, she disappears into the bathroom and all he has left to focus on is each squeeze of metal around his brain, that tender blob of guilt and bad decisions that makes him him or some shit. 

He can't even lay still, with the aches in his hands and knees and hell, every other joint, too. But even a shift, even if he stretches his fingers to curl them slightly in a minute, feels like it resonates up his body, into his skull. It's absurd, but he supposes so is his existence.

The bathroom door creaks open and then is gently shut behind Meryl before her weight dips the very edge of the mattress. It's not a bed for two people which, actually - did they even have money for two rooms? 

“Can you lift your head slightly?” she whispers and Wolfwood cracks his eyes open to see her holding two wet towels. 

“I don't need-”

“That's not what I asked.”

He must preserve energy in case something happens, something where he needs to wield the Punisher and keep her from becoming another ghost haunting him (like Vash, like Livio -), so he capitulates this battle and gingerly lifts head so she can arrange the damp cloths around his head. It's an unpleasant, soggy sensation when he lays back down, but the coolness is almost instantly soothing.

She doesn't leave the bed immediately like Wolfwood expects as he tries to find words that aren't thank you, but would convey sentiment frighteningly similar to that. Instead, she scoots a little lower and gently takes his right hand in hers, smoothing fingers over his painful knuckles like trying to suffocate the ache with her tenderness.

“The vials wouldn't help?” Meryl asks as she repeats the motions and his whole body tenses up as a powerful wave of nausea roils through him at the memory of one time he'd tried. The wounds he'd left on himself trying to rend himself apart to end it had healed immediately without so much as a scar, but he will never forget the excruciating ways every blood vessel in his brain had pulsated with agony.

“Oh. I am sorry,” her voice cuts through the memory and  Wolfwood forces himself to relax again. Her hand feels so small in his - when had he clutched it so tightly, did he leave bruises?

“It's nothin’,” Wolfwood lies as he shakes her hold off, “stop coddling me and go to your room, I got this.”

“Well, tough luck then. I don't have anywhere to go, this was the last room they had.” 

He isn’t entirely surprised and it won’t be the first time they share a room or have pressed close to endure the cold of desert night. But it’s worse because all her attention is on him, his comfort and he feels flayed open by it just as much as the pain.

“We coulda kept moving,” Wolfwood grumbles, trying to regain some control over his thoughts.

“But we didn't. Money is already paid so we aren't moving until tomorrow morning.” There is finality to her voice and the last fight leaves his body. With a heaved sigh he allows his consciousness to loosen its grip.

His sleep is shallow, pain threading through it and pulling him close to wakefulness several times before he sinks back down. Wolfwood feels the cool cloth on his head being changed several times and Meryl smoothing his hair back from his damp forehead, but pretends to sleep through it. It's simpler that way. It's all for practicality, anyway. She needs him in good form and…

When Wolfwood wakes up, the pain has receded to a nuisance at the back of his skull and clamps on his temples. He pulls off the towel covering his forehead and eyes, blinks in the dim light, before setting it to the side and looking around to find Meryl.

She isn't far - curled in on herself and awkwardly propped against the wall and the headboard, one leg stretched out while the other is curled beneath her. Asleep, by the sound of her breath. He thinks about how she used to complain about sleeping in the car, shifting endlessly back and forth before settling down, but after Julai she's learned to sleep wherever and for what little time disasters might afford them. 

Reminiscing does him little good, but it's hard not to, looking at her face, brow scrunched a little even in sleep. It isn't the first time she has kept vigil over him and every time Wolfwood swears it will be the last one. But he and promises have never gotten on very well; several absences in his life are a clear proof of that.

Meryl shifts slightly and her head slides forward. Without thinking, he reaches out and stops her head slipping further, crashing into the headboard's edge. Her cheek is warm in his palm, the skin soft against his calluses so much that it makes him want to rub his thumb over it, but she's awake now, staring at him wide eyed and slightly disoriented.

“Couldn't let that big brain of yours get knocked around,” Wolfwood scoffs as explanation, withdrawing his hand. Something flashes across her face, eerily alike hurt, before she settles for mild annoyance.

“You must feel better if you're back to being an asshole,” she mutters, straightening up and then stretching. 

“Never stopped, sweetheart,” he waves at her, dismissive of her words and aches in his joints both, then sits up a little too carefully.

“That's true, the moment you genuinely do, I will be calling an ambulance.”

He points out that this is such a big city girl thing to say and they bicker back and forth some as he stands up and gets his cigarettes, meanders over to the window. Still barefoot because she'd been right – bending to put on shoes does feel like an execution even now and he's lived through a few.

The late evening sunlight still hits Wolfwood like daggers through his eyes, despite the sunglasses he had fetched from nightstand, but he grits his teeth and leans against windowsill, almost challenging the angled sun rays to chase him back into the shadows. He knows he belongs there. He knows.

“I'll be right back,” Meryl says over her shoulder, already halfway through the door and he mock-salutes her.

When she returns he's through with two cigarettes and her hands are full with a tray of food, pitcher of water with a couple glasses.

“Eat, you can empty your pack after,” Meryl gestures to the plate of empanadas as she places it on the rickety table near the window. He knows she remembers his throwaway comments, notices the things he enjoys, but every reminder still strikes a cracked bell in his heart, its sound too overwhelming.

Wolfwood speaks over it, as he always does: “Gonna spoon feed me while yer at it? I could've gotten something if I was hungry.”

“If I must,” she says, hands on her hips and mutters that sounds a lot like you prickly bastard .

He could argue, but he knows the food will do him good, even if he is still mildly nauseous. And in this year spent together, he's learned that the determination with which she'd broken Vash out of the tank prison is generously applied in many other aspects of her life. 

So, to not delay the inevitable, Wolfwood joins her for the meal. They talk about doing a few jobs around the town tomorrow to replenish the funds, bicker over the last fry which he eats on principle and also enjoy a spell of silence. 

It is good while it lasts and he has no one to blame but himself when it doesn't.

His head still feels tender, tendrils of worse pain slithering on the edge, and his body feels heavy. It's almost as if sleeping through a migraine is not very restful, he snaps at Meryl who comments he looks tired. 

“Then go to bed, Undertaker,” she scoffs, gathering things for a wash up. 

“Stop herding me, woman,” Wolfwood snaps and watches the corners of her mouth drop into an upset scowl.

“Suit yourself, I'm using up all the hot water for that.”

He watches her leave and wishes he had something stronger to wash down the bitterness in his mouth. It's better that way, better to be a nuisance that she won't care for, but sometimes it feels like it's too late, that all he can do is hurt her heart that is already attached. Again and again, from the day he’d led Vash to Julai and countless times after.

But even if that's true, there's no trust and no misplaced affection that he can't break. If not today, then soon she will see him for who he is and the disappointment will curdle into loathing.

They don't talk after that, she hardly looks at him once she comes out of the bathroom and by the time he's clean and ready for bed, Meryl has already made herself comfortable in the bed, facing away from him, arms drawn close to her chest. 

Wolfwood doesn't know if he's committing to being an asshole or just avoiding another argument when he settles on the other side of the bed. Probably the latter because he doesn't wrestle more of the blanket away from her. He is tired , far beyond the physical drain today has taken. Tired of being him, tired of the ghosts in his ribcage, tired of longing for a world where he could be the person Meryl and Vash thought he could be.

All that immaterial exhaustion and still he can't fall asleep.

Their backs are almost touching as he listens to her breath level out while his sleepless minutes twine into an hour. An excellent sense of time is yet another skill Chapel instilled in him by any means necessary. 

But he is losing this sharpness he's been given, his edges are growing dull, Wolfwood knows, can read it in the way he wants to say sorry and thank you, to fix the crack in their fragile peace he himself has carved. 

He can't afford to, not truly, but he can turn around without Chapel beating him for giving into his bodily urge to shift in the bunk beneath his teacher's. He can look at the gentle shape of Meryl's face in the darkness, his eyesight adjusted and changed for thriving in night, and -

Well, he shouldn't let the tender yearning take a breath and expand in his chest until his heart is engulfed in it, but he does anyway.

He will sharpen himself soon, with blood and death and hatred, with anything but her and the gilded memory of Vash, but tonight, tonight Wolfwood shifts to loosely wrap himself around her small form. Listens to her even breathing and presses his lips carefully to the crown of her head, mouths thank you there, inhaling the gentle floral and citrus scent of her shampoo, and lets it lull him into sleep.

[thedragonagelesbian]

28? Prompts, more prompts, forever prompts!

@creaking-skull the people have spoken!! yay thank you!!!

Touching Prompts

28. feeling for each other in the dark

Lace Harding didn't want to sleep. Even on her best nights, there was some reluctance, nostalgia for a time when shutting her eyes at the end of a hard day meant true, utter, peaceful silence. No memories to sift through or bizarre dreams to make meaning of or old griefs stirring up again. Just quiet.

But the last few weeks had been the worst of all. How quickly she had become used to sleeping in Cyrus Hawke's arms, only to blink and lose them.

And if she blinked now, snuggled tight to his chest and listening to the song the iron sang in his blood, would she lose him again?

Except it was precisely the fact that she had him back that made it so damn easy to nod off. Secure in the hollow of his body, and exhausted, besides, after weeks of worrying and then hours and hours of fucking, reaching as deep into him as she could as the most pleasurable proof of his aliveness-- except now she was sore all over and she was so safe here, surely she could afford to close her eyes for just a moment.

Surely he would still be there when she opened them again.

Except she woke up on the other side of the bed, alone. Groggy. Reaching. Touching along the plush bedding of his impossibly large mattress, feeling the warm crease of an absent body. "Cyrus?" Murmuring as her fingers stole away the lingering heat, seeking purchase. "Cyrus?"

Listening for a snore. A breath. A sign of his undeniable presence. Hearing only quiet.

She had to fight herself every inch of the way, limbs and head leaden, but she turned over. And saw only darkness swallowing up the room. "Cy--!"

Her knuckles knocked against his back.

There, a shape in the night, the curve of his spine and hips. He had curled himself up tight, knees drawn to his stomach, the softest parts of him shielded in his restless sleep. Lace watched his twitching silhouette and wondered which bad memories his mind was playing back for him this time, before reaching out again. Tracing the edge of him, then dipping down across his shoulders. She had decided that her favorite freckle of his was the one that kind of looked like a mabari's snout, tucked under his right shoulder blade, but she couldn't see it now. All she could do was feel his skin, a dappled pattern of worn scars she didn't yet know like this. By touch. But if they both lived through this, she'd have plenty of time to learn.

And then she'd never have to worry if she should doubt what her eyes told her they saw.

A spirit couldn't get this right, could it? Looks and voice, maybe, but but not tissue and texture.

Spirit or no, the form across from her gave a little cute noise of complaint and began to stir. "Lace?"

"Shit, sorry!" She drew her hand back. "You're not usually such a light sleeper..."

"Add it to the list of things to blame Solas for," Cyrus suggested, his dryness undercut by a gaping yawn. "Creators... Did you need something?"

"No," Lace said quickly, but Cyrus was already rolling over too. "No, it’s fine, I’m—" A shadow moved with heavy-lidded eyes. It found her shoulder first, then her collarbone, neck, caressing her behind the ear before its fingers finally found her cheek, and by the time they got there, Lace was snickering so hard she couldn't finish her deflection. She shook her head and covered his hand with her own. "You're ridiculous."

"Well you're re--" Lace could just glimpse the shape of his mouth as it shifted into a sleepy smile, impossibly soft like what a cloud felt like in dreams, "dorable."

"That's not a word or an insult."

"I could never insult you, Lace Harding." He stretched his fingers to graze her nose and mouth. "Tell me what's on your mind."

Lace hesitated. Her grip on him tightened until her hand hurt, and still it wasn't enough. Too loose, too easily broken. "I just keep wondering..." she scooted closer, slotting back into Cyrus' waiting arms and wrapping her own around him, locking them together, and still... "I need to hear you say it. That it's really you. That you're really here, because... I'm not sure how else I can ever be sure."

"I..." his body suddenly changed against hers, drawing taut as a bow. "To be perfectly honest with you, my love, I don't... know if I can. Say. That."

"Why not?"

"Well, I don't know if I am... Here. Real. My body could be nothing, sword and shield and pain. This could still be the Fade showing me what I want to see. You could be..." His breath snagged in his throat. Trailing off, he touched the necklace nestled against his collarbone-- Varric's necklace.

"Oh." Lace's heart spasmed. She grabbed his face, thumbs digging in under his eyes, the darkest and warmest things in the room, and she prayed that they were looking at her. "Oh, hey, no, I'm here. I'm real."

"A blood magic ghost would also say that, wouldn't she?"

"If I was a blood magic ghost, I wouldn't bother lying about not being one. I'd skip straight to telling you that you're imagining things. That you have nothing to worry about." Like "Varric" had done, when these same fears now bottled in her chest had nearly split Cyrus' mind in two. "I get it. I'm still scared that if I close my eyes, you're not going to be there when I open them again. But I promise, this is all real."

Unsure of what else she could do to prove it, Lace took his hand and pushed his fingers into her sternum, so he could feel her fluttering pulse.

"See? All flesh and blood. And some bones and guts and muscles, but, you know, all very physical." With her other hand, she felt along his neck for one of the hickeys she had left there. "How else could I have managed to do this?"

"You're very talented as a person, you could be equally talented as a ghost, but... mmm. The bruising is a fair point. Hard to argue with." His fingers slip sideways along the swell of her breast, pads feather-soft and teasing. "If we just keep doing this forever, maybe we never have to worry about whether we're real or not."

"If only." How easy that would be. How tempting, to forget the whole conversation and climb back on top of him and pretend that they could stay there for the rest of their lives. "But if I've learned anything this past year, it's that it's better to know, isn't it? No matter how complicated it makes everything?"

"...Right." Cyrus sighed, sounding ever bit his age with maybe a few more decades thrown on top just to maximize the fatigue, like he'd lived too much in too short a time. Growing pains could be perennials too. Then, he buried himself in the hollow of her throat, and she felt the rumble of his plea as much as she heard it: "...Say it again, please."

"Say what?"

"Your promise."

While he had been gone, Lace had picked out an arrow especially for Solas' forehead, and she thought about it now as she massaged his scalp. Lyrium worked into the tip. A hawk's feathers for the fletching. "I promise, this is all real."

"Including you?"

"Especially me."

"...Then I must be real too," he decided, "because your touch feels more real than anything. Than everything."

[thescarletgarden1990]

Ten First Line Game

Ten first lines game!

Rules: Share the first line of ten of your most recent fanfics and then tag ten people. Don't have ten? Not to worry, just share what you have (ignore if you’ve been tagged)

Tagged by @enygma0710 Thank you, darling!

1. Playground Love

Dany was seven when her family left Braavos.

2. Let us live at dawn

They hadn’t seen the sun for weeks.

3. The girl in my story has always been you (with @adecila)

One of the cart’s wheels made a squeaking noise as she pushed it amidst the stacks. Dany made a mental note to oil it later, wary of the irritated glances coming from the people that frequented the library. She tried to ignore them as she placed the books back onto the shelves, lining the spines carefully, but still froze in her steps when she saw his frown.

4. Enter You (with @tomakeitbeautifultolive)

They were right there. Just dangling on the tip of his tongue. He could feel them.

5. All Cops Are Bastards

The acrid stench of smoke rendered it impossible to breathe without experiencing fits of coughing, despite the handkerchiefs and balaclavas everyone was wearing. Shrieks and shouts, the noise of glass breaking loudly, and war-like chants in the distance. No time to think, no time to observe. Only the hand that brandished the truncheon, and the taste of bile in his mouth.

6. In the Midnight Hour

It felt incredible. The fear and terror subsided, leaving his mind free to be washed by a sensation of awe and wonder. The black scales were hot under his fingertips, and the big, intelligent eyes of the gigantic dragon seemed to connect with his very soul. He never felt that scared and happy and whole at the same time before, ever. Jon patted the dragon's scaly snout as he would do Ghost's, hand trembling with reverence. Suddenly, a deafening sound exploded in his ears, scaring the shit out of him. Was he about to become dragon supper?

7. If it’s the last thing I do (with @adecila)

The Red Keep was still at night, the halls and chambers barely seeming to belong to the same castle when illuminated only by the candlelight. Ned appreciated the quiet, the way this despicable place only seemed to become bearable when everyone else was sleeping. But even in the comforting silence of the night, punctuated only by the soft footsteps of some handmaiden, he couldn’t shake the mounting feeling of dread from his heart.

8. Little Winter Rose (with @tomakeitbeautifultolive)

Once upon a time, when stags and lions ruled the seven kingdoms, and the wolves hid the fire in the frozen North, there lived a man. Now this man was easily a hundred years old, if not a full twenty years more. He had been content to live his life in peace and put himself at the service of others, but now, old as he was, he couldn’t seem to feel joy anymore. Tragedy had befallen his dynasty, and now he was the last one standing of his name.

9. The Wrong Impression of the Right One (with @adecila and @tomakeitbeautifultolive)

The evening was like any other, shrouded in a muted darkness gentled only by a few flickering torches along the walls. All was still but for the shadow dancing at his feet, mimicking his every movement, and all quiet but for the faint echo of iron and his restless mind. Sweat beaded his brow, a soreness settling into his arms as he slashed at the dummy again and again, hoping the repetition might dull his thoughts like the sword’s edge.

10. Foreign Affairs (with @tomakeitbeautifultolive)

Meereen was hot as a furnace, the blistering heat making the air dance in waves just above the sandy ground. It was a warmth that Jon had never felt before in his life, a welcome change from the implacable cold of the Wall. Already during his long journey in Essos, he had had to forgo the heavy clothes that were necessary in the frigid North, but now, on his third day in the city, he had finally relented and switched his black tunics for the light-coloured linen ones that they sold at the local market. It’s not like his brothers could see him, anyway, and he would be more useful to the Night’s Watch if he didn’t die of a heatstroke far away from Castle Black.

I think a lot of people have been tagged already, but if someone wants to do this feel free to participare and tag me! 

[sevencfswcrds]

muninn tag dump 2

[brackenfur]

lionblaze is her first born.

when he came out of her, his golden fur shimmered in the sunlight in the way she remembers her mother describing to her when she was a kitten about firestar - "that's why bluestar named him firepaw. because of his fur; i knew at that moment he'd be a thorn in my side with that hype surrounding him." lionkit was gentle with his littermates, allowing them to pin him and bat at his ears despite always being the biggest of the litter.

now he faces her, teeth bared, amber eyes engulfed in so many emotions - rage, sadness, grief, betrayal.

hatred.

"i don't need your help," he tells her, shaking her off. "i'm an adult."

as he turns, she sees what she had feared so many moons before after seeing the warning signs in him (restless nights, sleepy eyes, unexplained gashes): she can swear that she sees a great, dark tabby looming over him, grinning at her.

"he's never been yours, has he? he belongs here, in the darkness between the stars."

-

hollyleaf is her second born.

she's always been much more observant than her brothers - lionblaze and jayfeather always let their impulsiveness drive them. while they got into heated arguments and chased each other around camp, hollyleaf was always watching, minding them. separating them when they got too rowdy. she wanted to be a medicine cat, deputy, leader. anything to help her clan, to prove what she could do.

now she faces her, deathberries glittering in the moonlight in front of her claws.

after everything - after hollyleaf killed ashfur, after she saw her kit's fur between his claws, knowing she had to do anything to protect her, after hollyleaf told the whole lake her blood parentage - she still is shocked to see her daughter standing there, posed to strike. like the adder that killed honeyfern. like how hollyleaf must've looked seconds before killing ashfur.

she can tolerate hollyleaf's anger. her hatred, even.

but in hollykit's - not hollyleaf, but her tiny, wide-eyed kitten from seasons before - voice, she hears:

"i want you to eat these, leafpool."

and she wonders how she managed to come so far, how she managed to have one of her children hate her so badly that she wanted to kill her.

-

jayfeather is her third born, the runt of the litter.

he was always the smallest, yet the one with the biggest personality. quiet when he wanted to be - so quiet, sometimes you barely could tell he was in the same room - and explosive other times, filling up the space with a few words. he traded his apprenticeship with hollypaw and stayed as medicine cat apprentice for seasons, excelling and becoming the medicine cat thunderclan always needed.

now he faces her, shame and rage etched across his features.

"is that why you named me jayfeather? after him?"

"i-"

"you lied to us, you gave us away," he says, turning his face in disgust. "you named me after a tom who couldn't care a mousetail about me. and now hollyleaf is dead."

leafpool makes a noise between a choke and a sob.

[provisionalsparkle]

The Boy Next Door

Reader x Bang Chan (Stray Kids)

[Genre] exes-to-lovers au, smut, angst.

[Word count] 6.7K

[Warnings] Smut. Angst. Unprotected sex, voyeurism, ample description of bodily fluids.

[Note] This is my contribution to @feliix ’s Summer 2 Lovers collab! Check it out!

Summer.

The season of fun and sun, careless joy, long days and warm nights…

For most people.

For you, this summer is about change. It’s about the little town you used to live in, the quaint house you grew up in, the smell of your mother’s cooking or the breeze from the yard, the sound of younger kids playing in the street. It’s about the big city you will go to live in, it’s purple and orange twilight skies, black silhouettes reaching toward the skies beginning to twinkle with golden lights, the noises of the traffic coming from evening bustle, the scent of the delis and restaurants that line the streets.

You were stuck between these two places, university having been a four year long limbo of boundless sex mislabeled as self-discovery, and now visit your home one last time, reminding yourself of the life you had there before moving on to another.

You think of the past with nostalgia, yet also with a restlessness that makes you want to run from everything. The stillness, the silence, the unchanging landscape in this little town is too unbearable, too unsettling. But it’s familiar, and it’s comfortable. The life you’ll soon live promises excitement, autonomy, it’s the adulthood you’ve fantasized about. It terrifies you too, and you have these horrible dreams about missing the payment of the most insignificant bill and having the entire world collapse on you because of it. You still don’t know how to do your taxes.

College is over, a new life awaits you in a big city after landing a rather ideal job, but it felt like you were leaving things behind. Funny how, after so many years of fantasizing about this grown-up life you suddenly felt like a lost child, scared to forgo the familiar.

It’s these sort of almost-quarter-life-crisis thoughts that fill your mind on a particularly warm afternoon. You’re indecently splayed out on a couch with as little clothing as possible, the door to the backyard is wide open, letting an occasional breeze waft in to disrupt the stifling stillness of the heat. The lights are off, and you were too unbothered to turn them on as the sun set, preferring to stare at a darkening ceiling as the evening sky turned purple.

There’s a familiar jingle of keys from the front door.

“Honey? You home?”

“I’m here, Mom.” You lazily answer back. She wanders from the hall to the living room, you can feel the judgemental look she gives you.

“Have you been laying like this all day?”, indignation lines her voice. Was it so surprising to find you like this?

“Yeah…”

“You can’t just lay here all day. Go out! Get some sun! Go play with those kids you used to hang out with from school!”

“I can’t Ma, I’d rather just plank here.”

“Oh goodness, Y/n. Give me one good reason you shouldn’t go hang out with them!”

“I’ll give you two: either they grew up to be total bitches or they had kids and became a bore.”

“I didn’t become a bore when I had you!” She exclaims, although it’s not too serious and some playfulness hides beneath the surface.

“Yeah, that’s because you’re a cool mom. They don’t make those anymore.”

“Hmm… well, I think you should make a bit of an effort.”

“Mom… it’s my last vacation you know -”

“You know what?!” She suddenly exclaims, her voice brightening like a lightbulb just radiated in her thoughts. “Mrs. Carson’s son is here with her for the summer too! I bet you haven’t seen him in ages, and he’s gotten so handsome.”

“Mrs. Carson?” You didn’t have any clue who that was.

“Well… you might remember her as Mrs. Bang, but Jane changed her name when she married Norbert a few years ago. She still lives next door and Christopher’s in town spending the summer with his mother.”

Bang…

Christopher…

You hadn’t heard that name in years. It surprised you a bit actually, and a hint of a smile came to your lips.

“Yeah, yeah, Mom… I’ll think about it.”

You wouldn’t admit… something did grab your attention. A curiosity of sorts.

You were fifteen years old when you had your first kiss. He was a short boy with a kind smile, a bit awkward really, but you had a fondness for him. It wasn’t about looks at all, all boys at that age were hideous and nothing would change your opinion on that, but you’d swoon whenever you saw him. It was mutual, an icky teenage infatuation that had your friends poking fun at both of you whenever you’d become giddy at the sight of one another. Hot faces, nervous glances, trembling innocent touches.

He sat next to you in chemistry and you’d hold hands under the lab table while the teacher gave class. His left hand always felt soft in your right one. Cute. It’s a bit silly but you’re glad you had that sort of adorable and silly romance. While it lasted, that is.

Christopher wasn’t a bad guy. He was stupid, like all boys that age.

When you saw him kissing another girl, of course you cried, but you knew it had to do with him being stupid more than anything. This simple looking girl that you had been friends with in elementary school, you can’t even remember her name.

You know why he did it, beyond his stupidity. Your mom had let it slip long before - you knew it was coming.

“Honey, would you believe? Mr. and Mrs. Bang are divorcing!” Probably just some hot gossip from one of her PTA yoga groups, no ill intention on your behalf. She didn’t know you were seeing Christopher - over your dead body. You were fifteen and a horrible student, you didn’t need to give your mother yet another element to ground you with.

“Oh no…” You acted as normally as you could, your first thoughts went out to Christopher first though. “Do you know why?”

“Well… I’m obviously not going to ask, duh! But I do know that Mr. Bang is taking the kid with him abroad.” What?! What did she just say? Chis is WHAT?!

“I - uh, what?” Act normal, act normal, act normal.

“Aww… sweetie, was he your friend?” Goodness, parents can be so oblivious, but it’s beneficial in this case. She doesn’t pick up on the depression of your mood.

“I guess.” A sniffle is about to threaten your composure so, in your teenage arrogance, you leave before your mother can see your teary eyes.

The subsequent days were strange. You expected Christopher to tell you the news, you expected to comfort him, you expected to live out the rest of your young romance as best as you could. And then… you saw him.

And he said nothing. He was cold, pushed you away. He must be going through a lot of pain, you thought. More days went by and he still said nothing, and his demeanor grew worse, no affection, no smiles. He must be having a hard time, you reasoned.

Sometimes you thought he was on the verge of saying something to you, like he was about to say something and the words threatened to come out but he’d suddenly pull away and swallow them. You didn’t question it really, it was so confusing but you just went with it.

You never held his hand in chemistry again.

Time made you realize that Christopher didn’t want to be with you anymore. You weren’t sure if it was because he stopped liking you, and that hurt a little, but you knew what he was going through, and you stood by him in case he ever chose to open up and cry on your shoulder. You’d be there for him.

When he kissed that girl, it didn’t really surprise you. Damn it, what was her name? You cried, you thought it was because you were ugly and your boobs were still pretty small - stupid reasons.

It took a few months for you to understand the real reason.

He left without saying goodbye. You never spoke to him after he kissed what’s-her-name. Maybe he tried to do so a couple of times, but you ran away or didn’t let him. Or maybe you remembered it that way to comfort you, just so you’d live with the thought that he tried to apologize, tired to make things right.

But the fact of the matter is he didn’t speak to you and he didn’t say goodbye. He didn’t want to.

He didn’t want to say goodbye because it hurt.

He was trying to ruin your relationship so you’d break up with him and he wouldn’t have to say goodbye, so that he could kill the feelings you had for him to spare you from the pain of his departure.

Or maybe you were just imagining it like that to make it a cuter memory and think about it fondly.

Maybe in the end, Christopher was just a horny teenage boy that cheated on you. Maybe.

Regardless, you giggle as you think back on the silliness of it all, and how serious and life altering it all felt in your childishness. It seemed so long ago, so distant, and you were so changed that it felt like it had all happened to a different person. You wondered about the man next door, and the entirely different boy who had once been next door. What kind of person had Christopher become?

University did you well. It was four solid years of irresponsible drinking and uninhibited sexual exploration paired with relatively easy academics. You don’t know how it happened, but it had been like a transformation from one day to the next.

You, sort of, kind of, absolutely plain and normal girl that no one would notice lest you stepped in their line of sight. One day, there you were - normal.

Two weeks in - boom. Confident. Your roommate was an okayish girl, another plain one. Then you started noticing how comfortable you were undressing in front of her, to change clothes or whatever, as if it was the most normal thing in the world - which it was. Wearing shorts and skirts became less of a worry, just something that felt better. Sometimes you’d be thrown icky glances from some boys, which you hated, but others were acceptably flirty and you loved those. The best ones were the boys that would get shy and who would quickly whip their heads the other way once you caught them staring.

That definitely flipped the switch. It made you feel strong, it made you feel damn good. You, who at the most had dipped a finger into the world of heavy makeouts during high school, now became a seasoned seductress of all kinds of men. So long as you could wrap them around your finger with your demeanor, so long as you could prowl over them and take the lead.

Ah… the good old days.

What was going to happen now, though? Four years later, no slightly inexperienced men left to be wowed. Everyone you knew was turning into a bland and bitter office worker. Was this the end of it?

To think that you’d be ending this glorious chapter of your life in this tiny town, lounging on the same stuffy couch in the same hot living room every day, having your routine philosophical melodrama where you’d stare at the ceiling in the afternoons until your mother came in inquiring if you were alive. It was a terrible fate.

A few days after the revelation of Christopher’s presence, which you would never admit had been circling your mind nonstop, your mother returns with another piece of information.

“You know, Jane and Norbert are having a get together of sorts next Saturday - just the usuals from the block.”

“Is that so?” You said with disinterest.

“In fact, I borrowed a baking pan from her last week… why don’t you go over and give it back to her for me? She might need it, and you probably haven’t left this house in days.” You didn’t reply, but you could feel her eyes on you, waiting for you to obey.

“Fine…”

The afternoon was enjoyably fresh, although your white t-shirt stuck to you like a second skin, the bikini top you wore underneath tracing its silhouette into the cotton. You lazily stomped your way to the house next door, admiring the tall window where you had snuck into Christopher’s room a couple of times during your short romance. A ladder was perched up against the exterior toward that window, they must have been fixing things up. The porch was full of cans of paint, tools, boxes. It was only when you rang on the doorbell, begrudgingly holding the large tray, that you realized that Jane might not be the one to open the door but instead it could be -

The door swings open and you gasp. Christopher.

Well… his face hadn’t changed much. But he was slightly taller than you remembered, far more masculine, oh, and he wasn’t wearing a shirt. Yeah, he was shirtless… jeans hanging low on his hips… shirtless… abs… fit waist… arms…

“Hi! Is Jane home?” Good… pretend you don’t remember him.

“I - Uh… no, my mom’s actually out right now.” He replied. His voice had grown deeper, and where did he get that accent? Wait - did he not remember you? Now, that just made you angry, but you wouldn’t let it show.

“Oh, well… my mother wanted me to return this.” You say handing him the tray, avoiding trailing your eyes downward.

“Yeah, sure. I’ll give it to her.” He says. He seems a little frozen, an expression between surprise and caution lingers on his face, but you don’t know if it’s good or bad.

There’s a moment of silence where you just stare at each other.

“Y/n…” He finally says. There’s hesitation in the way he says your name. He’s scared, not of you, but he’s scared about the fact that you’re on his doorstep.

You don’t say anything, calmly, almost coyly, waiting for him to continue. You’d gotten rather good at pretending you were calm, and the slightest tint of a smile painted your lips so you wouldn’t seem cold or ingenuine.

“Do you remember me?” He asks. You can’t help but huff, a tiny laughter really.

“Of course. You know, you haven’t grown much taller.”

With those slightly playful words, you turn to walk back to your home, and with each step your impression of the encounter with your childhood love became more bitter and less sweet.

It was strange how you thought about him, about it. The situation, that is. Seeing him, talking to him, both of you now being older. A few days of thinking now.

You don’t know why you thought about it so much, but you thought about it. You thought about it without knowing how you felt about it or what you thought about it. This man you had only gotten a glimpse of, too overwhelmed to take in his features properly, now walks around your mind freely. He wasn’t the boy you knew. He wasn’t the boy next door whose hand you’d once hold in chemistry, who you’d kiss before turning the corner towards both of your homes. The boy who left all those years ago.

No, it wasn’t that boy. It was that man, who kept perturbing you. What did you feel? Interest? Yes, there was something quite intriguing about all of this which sparked your curiosity. Lust? Of course, absolutely, the man next door looked divine. Suppose you could abstract the person from his body, so that you wouldn’t be so bothered by who he was and what he meant to you, and you’d easily bend over in front of him and invite him in.

You supposed a conversation was in place, though, because after all, he was still the Christopher. You couldn’t just go around fucking people like that anymore - unfortunately. That was something you got away with in college. It’s a shame college boys grow up to be boring men, sex gets more boring, they think they have all the authority… Maybe you should go back to school.

You’re sitting on the windowsill of your second floor bedroom, one leg hanging out and stepping onto the roof. Opposite to your window, beyond a neat shrub, is the window of the guest room of Mrs. Carson, formerly Bang, which seems unchanged from when you last saw it. You remember watching her from your room, also unchanged, using the TV in there to do some aerobics she followed along from a VHS… was it a VHS? No, that’s the machine. What were the things you used to put in the VHS? A cassette? No… regardless, eventually she must have started using DVD’s.

Damn it, it all seemed like thousands of years ago.

Damn it, you were still so melodramatic throwing around words like poetry over some Richard Simmons tape. Aha! It’s a tape!

Your crotch is being dug into by the window frame, and you let your weight rest on it, the slight grind tempting you to have a round of masturbation. But you’ll finish the cigarette you stole from your mother first. It tasted awful, it was another adult thing you couldn’t understand. Why did everyone at university smoke so much? It was just another thing their eager teenage selves did to emulate the adults in grown-up world, to feel a little more grown-up. Who the hell likes this stuff?

But you liked watching it burn, occasionally inhaling its airy and bitter smoke. It wasn’t your preferred type of smore. You preferred watching papers and matches burn, their sweet and rich smell, the warmth of the fire that would sting the edges of your fingers. Shame your mother only used a lighter, you didn’t like the smell of that fire either.

You just surrendered to watching the bright tip of the cigarette and the white streams that came from it.

“You know those are bad for you.”

“Jesus fucking Christ!” You exclaimed, your heart nearly jumping out from your chest. A man had sprung out from the window in the guest room of the Carson house, formerly Bang, and that man was Christopher Bang himself.

“Sorry I didn’t -”

“You almost gave me a fucking heart attack - what the hell?!”

“ - mean to startle you…”

“Damn it, Christopher!”

“Ah! So you do remember me?” He says with a bit of joy, but you just look at him, realizing that this is where the talk will come. His features grow a little more somber. He continues, “So… I guess I -”

“Where’d you get the accent?” You interrupt, genuinely curious. “You sound like the crocodile hunter.”

“Well… I was living in Australia with my dad.” He says it in a normal tone, but you make sure it doesn’t stay normal.

“Oh, so that’s where you went?” You both wince at what you just said. Yep, it’s finally time for that talk.

There’s a bit of silence, but you’ll let him be the one to fill it.

“I…” He sighs deeply. Uuhh… it’s quite a masculine sigh. “I didn’t know you’d be here. I didn’t think I’d ever see you again but I… there’s something I’ve always wanted to say.”

“I’m listening…” You say. It’s a flat tone, but it’s funny. You hope it’ll ease him.

“I wanted to say I’m sorry.” Some silence again, “I’m sorry for being an ass, I’m sorry for cheating on you -”

“Chris, we were like fifteen… you kissed a girl with braces, big deal.” You waved it off. Really, kissing that girl didn’t bother you so much, now almost ten years later.

“I left without saying anything.”

“Yeah, you did. Hard to not notice.”

“I was - I know it’s not an excuse, but I was going through a lot and I didn’t want to hurt you.”

“So you left without saying anything?”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s ok… we haven’t spoken in years. I practically forgot about it.” No you didn’t.

“Did you?” He says. Was he hopeful when you insinuated he hadn’t hurt you as much as he thought he had?

“No, not really. I mean, yeah, you kissing another girl was pretty insignificant, we were just kids. It did hurt that you left without… I don’t know… There wasn’t any closure. There wasn’t a goodbye. I felt confused for a while, I guess.”

“I’m so sorry about that. But my parents were splitting up, I was going to have to leave everything behind. You were the first girl I loved and I was going to have to say goodbye and I couldn’t handle it. I was too hurt and embarrassed to even tell my friends. I wish I had done it differently.”

“Yeah, I wish you had too. I wanted to be there for you, you know? I wanted to hug you, hold your hand, tell you it was going to be ok.

“I really messed up there…”

“It’s okay Chris, you were just a kid. We were just kids.” You offer your sympathy but he doesn’t soften.

“Mhmm. Doesn’t make me feel less guilty about it.”

“Can I ask you something?” He nods, “Did you do all that stuff… you know, treat me that way, for real or where you…?”

“I was hoping you’d break up with me, get over me. That way we wouldn’t have to say goodbye and we wouldn’t get hurt.”

“I got hurt.” You admit.

“I’m sorry.”

“Stop apologizing.” You insist. “It’s fine. We’re fine. We’re old and grown and fine. All of that’s in the past, I can’t blame you for acting like a kid. It’s okay.”

“Well I can agree with you there. We did grow up, not kids anymore.”

“You didn’t grow that much.” You laugh, he laughs too.

“You certainly did.” He’s being flirty. It could have been bad timing, but the mood felt right.

“Oh, you noticed?”

“Hard not to.” Goodness was he being direct. “You were really cute back in school, I had a crush on you for like, forever.”

“Really…Plain old me?”

“Really. And now here we are and I think I could have a crush on you all over again.”

“So you can go off and kiss another girl with braces and leave the continent?”

“No, I’m a one woman man.” He says while making himself comfortable on his own ledge. It’s getting comfortable overall, like you’re talking to someone you’ve known for the longest time, like a decade of separation didn’t do much harm.

“Well, well. And who is that lucky woman now?”

“There’s no one at the moment. I’m in the middle of some life changes.”

“Do tell.”

“I’m moving back. Well, not here, just in the country again. A big city, big job, kinda scary.”

“Seems we’re on the same boat. I just came back to say goodbye to this place forever and I’m ooout.”

“Did you finish school already?”

“Yeah… I wish I hadn’t though.” You think back on your experience with longing, lamenting it’s end.

“Wow, can’t relate. I couldn’t wait for it to end. What’d you miss about it?”

“Well, I didn’t have to work, grades were good and easy. And I guess, it was tons of fun.”

“How so?”

“Being on a campus full of horny and stupid guys - it was open game.” Chan hisses at your admission.

“I wouldn’t have taken you for that type.” He chuckles, “You would stutter for like the first two months we went out.”

“We were just kids.”

“I guess we were…”

Another comfortable silence as you stare off at the sky, your cigarette burnt through with only the spongy bud left to pinch.

“Chris?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m single too, you know.”

It might have been a bad idea, you said it on impulse after all, something quite instinctive having taken over you. Maybe you were just horny and Christopher was just hot, regardless, the conversation was over. Before he could even process what you said, and the implications to it, you had already slipped back into your darkened room and out of his sight.

Chan felt like a teenager again. Not in a good way.

Chan remembered your first kiss, holding your hand. He remembered your breasts being the first he had ever really noticed, your legs being the first he ever caressed. He remembers how you’d press your bodies together while you kissed, not really understanding what both of you felt, only understanding the urgency of it.

Now he can name those feelings, the ones that once belonged to an inexperienced boy, merely dipping his toes into the surface of that world. But now that he dove, and had dived into its waters several times, he knew how to swim in them.

Yet, seeing you made him feel like he didn’t. It made him feel like he couldn’t swim, like he couldn’t breathe. He felt like he was drowning.

The first moment he saw you on his doorstep he felt his stomach drop, a pang of guilt that had lingered on his mind during countless of sleepless nights hitting him with full force. He didn’t expect it. He thought he would never see you again.

And after taking another look, a longer look, it was like he was swimming in completely different waters. He felt submerged, and he didn’t know which way was up. He wanted to open his mouth and swallow it all up, let you drown him.

He hadn’t felt this raging feeling since he was a teenager. He certainly hadn’t had a specific woman make him feel like this until you.

It made him feel another kind of guilt. Shame even.

The following days he’d watch you, shamefully. His mother had him painting the house and when he stood on the rooftops he took his time to enjoy the view of you swimming in your pool, wearing tiny bikinis that stuck to your skin and showed the buds of your niples and the lines of your labia through the fabric. He would admit, shamefully, that he stopped watching from the roof because he needed to get closer to see these beautiful details.

He now watched you from over the fence in his backyard. Getting incredibly hard watching you swim, watching you oil your body down.

It was all horribly, horribly shameful.

But weren’t you the one that mentioned you were single? It had caught him off guard. He was being cheeky in that moment, but he didn’t know what waters he was testing then. Now he knew, and it was making him behave so, so shamefully.

Should he go over there, push you into a corner of the pool and pull your bottoms to the side? Should he kneel at your feet while your rubbing yourself with that golden oil, and beg you to let him fuck you?

It wasn’t just the thought of sex that drove him mad, it was you in general. How inferior he felt in front of you, like he had to prove himself. Every day he worked shirtless, hoping you’d get a glimpse of him, but you were just so unbothered by it all.

It was driving him fucking insane.

If only you knew.

Except - of course you did. Of course you did. This is what you craved, what you were best at. Driving boys, technically men but boys sounds tastier, to be absolute slaves to their desire for you. Christopher wasn’t doing a good job at hiding it. Did he really think that you would suddenly spend every day swimming in the tiniest bikinis after having not left your couch for over a week? They really are such stupid, fuckable animals.

And Chris was particularly fuckable.

Day four of his perverted project, he was hammering away at some boards in the back porch of his house. Your mother wouldn’t be home for hours, his parents were away for a couple of days.

Everything was perfect.

“Chris?!” You call loudly over the fence from your chaise lounge, carelessly flipping through a book. The hammering stopped, he had heard you. “Chris, it’s hot today. Don’t you think you should come over for a swim to cool down?”

Why on earth were you acting so damn unbothered and confident, he thought. Why on earth were you asking him over?

It’s only a matter of time before he circles his own house and slides in through the gate on your end. He’s still wearing jeans and a utility belt, gloves too. No shirt.

“You can’t really swim in those, take them off.” You hardly peered at him from over your sunglasses. He was just standing there, frozen. That’s usually a sign that you’re working your magic well. Good. “Come on Christopher, take them off.”

“I - uh, I’m actually not wearing trunks right now. Uhm… I’ll be right back.”

“Oh, you don’t have to go.” Insert unbothered page flip. “Why don’t you just undress and get in the pool so I can join you?”

“W-what?” He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He genuinely thought he had imagined it, maybe all of his hornyness was driving him insane.

“Christopher!” You whine. “You’re ruining the fun!” You slam the book shut and throw it over to the side, taking your sunglasses and hat off. “Chris, I think it’s obvious. Do you think I haven’t noticed you being a peeping tom for the past half week? Look! You’ve already got a tent in your pants and everything!”

“Fuck.” Shit, you were right.

“This is like, hmm, like an open invitation to fuck me.” You say with an eye roll, but your eyes roll toward his abs because they are absolutely distracting you.

“Are… are you serious?”

“Well… You want to, I want to. You’re nice, look like you’ve become quite a decent man - and I’m not just referring to your physique Chris. Maybe, just maybe, it would be an excellent idea if we finally fucked this tension away.”

“Just like that?”

“Just like that. You’re here for a few weeks, so am I. Why not enjoy each other while we can? After that we can just go our separate ways, just like before except we’ll end it on good terms.”

Too many points for him to argue with - you were right on all of them. He couldn’t disagree. In fact, he eagerly agreed. Little did he know you had this pitch rehearsed to perfection, to your benefit, because he seemed to be completely subdued by it.

“Fuck.” He mutters under his breath. Fumbling with his belt, zipper, exposing the line of his abdomen down to his hardening cock. A fat, heavy cock that swung between his muscular thighs. He was fully nude now, standing in front of you, his tan skin glistening in the sunlight. You’re quick to urge him over with a finger.

He pounces, but once he’s crawling over you on that narrow chair, he becomes slow.

“Hi.” You manage to whimper out, now feeling a bit small beneath him, feeling nervous even.

“Hey.” He’s just as nervous but there’s an energy that goes beyond either of your wills pulling you toward one another.

He kisses you. It’s a kiss you melt into, and he sinks his body against yours, with you spreading your legs so he can slot between them. His cock rests against your lower abdomen, his body pressing further into you.

You can’t help but slide your hand between your two bodies in an attempt to finger yourself, prepare yourself, but he stops you and pulls back.

“No.” He growls.

“No?” Is he going to leave you like this?!

“Let me.”

And you do. Chan lowers himself, adjusting you so he can easily bend over the chair while kneeling on the ground, and his hands shake as he dips the tip of his fingers into the hem of your bottoms, just slightly tugging at the material, playing with it before he starts to play with you. You’ve got the perfect view of him basically drooling over you.

He slides the bottoms to the side, but you pull at the strings at your hips, so they come undone and he pulls them away completely. Your lips and the juices coming from between them are just as glossy than your oiled skin.

He can’t help but dig in. Fucking you with his mouth, jamming his fingers in you. It’s an animalistic frenzy and it’s hot and slippery and sticky. You cum and your fluids spill over the impermeable cushion below, pooling under your ass. He can see every sparkling droplet fall from you.

It’s just a haze, he nearly jumps on you, bending your legs nearly over your head, bouncing his pelvis on your cunt like a trampoline, smacking with every thrust. You’re completely glued to one another. If he’s not abusing your mouth with his tongue then he’s biting on your shoulder or grunting, growling, into your ear. It’s filthy. You’re absolutely sure you’ve never been fucked like this.

He cums, several times, as do you. He pulls out each time, jerks himself off on your body, although a couple of times you urged him into your mouth and face. He pulls the triangles on your top to the sides, so your breasts are exposed. He made sure to cum on those too. Semen, sweat, squirt, oil, spit, everywhere there are droplets of your fluids shining on your body like jewels.

It ends with him lying on top of you, nearly sleeping from exhaustion, and your lips feel deliciously sore and sensitive, almost ticklish as he softens inside of you.

It happens again. Several times in fact. Many, many times. When his parents are away, when your mom is away, you fuck all the time. Just a little call of his name over the fence or from your window and he’d be running to you. You were too comfortable with one another to bother with formalities, it was like you’d never been separated. You’d wait for him on all fours, wet cunt on display for him to dive in, but he’d always greet you with a gentle kiss.

Fucking each others faces, drinking eachothers fluids. You even let him fuck you in the ass, multiple times, and he was the first guy to make you cum that way. You were just as hooked and as desperate as he was.

Things started to change though.

The welcoming kisses became longer, you’d talk between the rounds…

You’d fall asleep in his arms, or he in yours.

You’d fuck slowly, deeply, staring into each other’s eyes.

You’d talk to him, tell each other stories of all these years, asi if you had been together the entire time.

You’d smile as you made love, gently. You’d let him cum inside of you.

He’d hold your hand again. They were as soft and warm as you remembered.

You were holding his hand on one particular pink evening, your head resting on his heaving chest, teaching circles into his pecs and nipples. On your bed, in your quiet childhood room. It was a painful silence now. It had been weeks, weeks closer to your respective departure dates.

“I wish I had never left.” He eventually says. You don’t know what to say. “I wish we could have stayed like this for longer.”

“Maybe we would have broken up eventually, or left for college.” You ponder.

“Maybe I would have taken you to prom, or we would have had sex together for the first time…” He returns.

“On this bed? Hmm? With my cute school uniform?” You tease. “Yeah, maybe.”

“But I guess this is what was meant to be.” He sighs, as do you.

“I’m sorry.” Is all you can say.

“What for?”

“I don’t know, I just feel bad. I started this and now we have to go our separate ways again.” You feel something sting in your eye. You can’t cry now.

“Shh…” He coos as he hears you sniffle and feels you twitch. It makes his heart ache like it did all those years ago when he left.

“I - I…” You cry. “I don’t want you to go. I don’t want to go.”

He pulls you into his arms, crushing you in an embrace. Your eyes are closed but you feel the tears fall from his face, he’s crying too.

“I know… but what else can we do?”

There was nothing left to do, other than fuck the days away, crying, holding each other until it hurt. It was a horrible, horrible thing to have fallen in love with Christopher Bang this final summer.

You didn’t go with him to the airport. You didn’t want to say goodbye, you didn’t want to see where he was going.

But he did slip into your room that final night. You made love quietly, he kissed you as you cried.

He said it was the second time he loved you, and the second time he had to leave you.

It hurt much more this time around. Maybe you shouldn’t have done it, maybe you shouldn’t have gone next door.

Being in your house was unbearable once Chris wasn’t next door.

A week later, you’ve arrived at your new place. It had been a whirlwind and you stayed at a hotel the first couple of nights while your new furniture got brought in, most of your personal belongings only fitting in a couple of bags.

It’s kept you busy. That way you think about him a little less. Crying into pillows that have that certain ‘brand new’ smell isn’t quite as comforting as you’d expect. Everything seems unfamiliar, strange, artificial. Nothing here reminded you of him - it was for the best and you hated it.

The place is nice, bright. It’s on the third floor of a small apartment building, a couple of other doors beside yours in the hall. You go downstairs to grab a few packages that have arrived, carefully treading up the stairs in a kind of balancing act once they’re piled in your arms. It’s a choreography you can dance to with expertise, always denying any help from your neighbors.

However, you do fumble with the lock and handle once you’re at your door, holding the boxes up by pressing them against the door with your body as your hands blindly fumble with the keys, nothing but cardboard in your sight.

Nothing you can’t handle, until they start to slip.

“Woah, let me help you with that!” someone says behind you, and in your complicated state it’s a bit difficult to process what happens but the boxes are soon out of the way, said someone pulling them from you and freeing you.

And then you see him.

Him.

Your him.

He says your name and you’re too stunned to react. He’s in awe too. He drops your packages, and you’re certain some of them contain some makeup palettes but you don’t give a damn at the moment.

“What are you doing here?” You finally ask, frozen in place.

“I… live in 304.” He says.

“You live in 304?” He nods. “You? You’re serious?” He nods again, eyes still wide.

You both stand there, processing it all. This can’t be real.

“I live in 302.” you manage to say, after some time. Your voice is weak, all the air has left your lungs. You shake.

“You do?” He asks. Now you nod.

This can’t be.

But he cups your face, holds it like you’re precious and delicate, he kisses you. It is real. You kiss him back, harder. Eventually you’re both clinging to one another, gripping each other’s clothes desperately.

“You live here.” He says, little tears sparkling in the corner of his eyes. You nod, the same tears coming to you.

“I do. Mm-hmm.” The sniffles you let out seem so sweet to him, he swoons with how happy you are to see him. Knowing you feel the same joy he does - it makes him feel complete.

“I live here too!” He cries, laughing, smiling, beautifully.

One more kiss, just to make sure it’s real. You pull him in and kiss him one more time.

It’s real.

[watchmegetobsessed]

PAPER-THIN WALLS

a/n: i woke up totally in themood to write just straight up smut... and that's what i did lmao. there's not much plot in it, just a whole lot of fucking, so enjoy!

pairing: Bucky X Reader

warnings: sexual content, unprotected sex, oral, the good stuff

word count: 3.8k

masterlist

The Avengers compound was built almost perfectly with its luxurious suits, several entertainment rooms, fully equipped training areas and millions of hidden snack and drink bars all across the building. But the stress this time is on almost.

Bucky was never sure if the walls were originally built to keep less noise than in any other buildings, or if it was just his super hearing that allowed him to catch conversations and noises that weren’t meant for his ears. He would often hear gossiping agents as he walked down the hallways, or Vision and Wanda talk about recipes and TV shows in her room and there was this one time he heard Nat and Bruce have a discussion that was surely not meant to be heard by anyone but the two of them. He is still trying to get rid of the words he heard.

Having a room next to yours, he often sat on his bed, hearing you shuffling around, humming to yourself. As the latest addition to the Avengers, you felt a little out of place at the compound, like you were a stranger to the team even though they never gave you a reason to think so. This feeling of not belonging is what brought you closer to the century old super soldier on the other side of the wall, who despite being free from the claws of Hydra finally, still felt like an outsider in the superhero filled complex. Bucky always thought he was hard to make friends with, but he had to realize that it was all about who he was trying to make friends with. Because with you, it was an instant, like he had known you his whole life, you’ve definitely become one of the closest people to his heart in a very short time.

With this friendship came some undeniable feelings and tension from Bucky’s part. He couldn’t help but fall for you, how couldn’t he? He would have been surprised if it didn’t happen, after spending so much time with you. He found himself craving your presence, to be with you, talk to you and listen to you at the same time. He was a sucker for your lame jokes that he would laugh at even if they weren’t that funny. He loved your enthusiasm whenever you brought a new book and basically told him the whole plot, spoiling the story, but he never minded, because the way you rambled in excitement made up for everything.

And of course, he has been attracted to you since day one. Even when you weren’t that close, he couldn’t deny how much it affected him when he saw you spar with Steve at the gym in just some tight shorts and a sports bra, or when you linger around in the kitchen early in the morning wearing only an oversized shirt and your underwear hidden under the long fabric. It stirred his fantasies that’ve been sleeping for decades and late at night, when he was lying in his bed restless, his vibranium hand firmly curling around his erection, he thought about you. How you’d taste and feel, what it would be like to have your body pressed against his, his name falling from your lips in a whimper as he pleases you all over and over again. Sometimes he felt dirty after an elaborate fantasy, barely able to look into your eyes, but he just couldn’t help it. You had him in the palm of your hand.

What he doesn’t know is that he is not the only one with fantasies and desires. Because on the other side of the wall, you’ve often found yourself craving the mixture of warm and cold touch from flesh and metal hands, toned muscles flexing under your palms, pink lips whispering into your ears as you arch against his body… Bucky has been living in your mind rent free and you’ve been having a hard time containing your desire for the super soldier.

Having sex dreams is not at all a new thing for you. It happens every once in a while, waking from a heated scene only to find yourself alone in the comfort of your room, a thin layer of sweat coating your skin as you try to bring yourself back to reality. It was never an inconvenience, but in the past few days it’s been getting worse. You’ve had a wet dream for three days in a row, jolting awake right when you were about to climax, a wave of disappointment washing over your body as you fisted the sheets in your sweaty palms. And the worst part? All of them have been about Bucky.

It’s another sleepless night for Bucky, nothing new. He has tried to chase himself into sleep with everything already, TV, ready, music, even counting sheep, but nothing seems to be working, so he is left with lying in his bed, staring at the blank ceiling, the soft bed sheet throw across his naked upper body, only wearing a pair of boxer briefs, because it’s been hot these past week, but he is not a fan of using the air-condition. The dogtags are lying messily on his naked chest, his vibranium finger playing with the wrinkles of the sheets mindlessly.

His eyes slowly flutter closed, a promise of some rest finally nearing the corner, but right just then, he hears some muffled noise coming from the other side of the wall. His eyes snap open as he sits up, trying to make out what it is, but he catches no words, just… grunts and some shallow panting, as if someone was struggling.

What if you’re sick and something is wrong? You’ve been a little worn off the past days, maybe something was lingering in you.

Kicking the sheets off of himself, he pads his way to the door, his bare feet tapping on the hardwood floor as he walks out of his room, heading to yours, stopping at the door. Pressing his flesh hand to the door he takes a moment to listen to the voices so he can make out what’s happening, but it really feels like you’re in a struggle, but he has no idea why. Knocking lightly on the door he hopes to get an answer, but nothing of sort comes and he stays still, debating whether he should go in or just leave. Right when he is about to retreat he hears you gasping, as if you’re at a short of breath and it pushes him to check in on you.

Opening the door he pops his head inside, the darkness fully taking up the room, your king sized bed in the middle, a few strikes of moonlight sneaking through the curtains that are not entirely drawn.

“Y/N?” he calls out softly, not wanting to startle you, but no answer comes once again, however he can see your figure tossing and turning under the sheets, another gasp slipping through your lips.

He walks closer, stopping at your bedside, seeing how your eyebrows are pulled together tensely, chest heaving as you keep moving around. Bucky feels like an intruder, you’re definitely asleep, probably having a nightmare, but he is not sure if he should be in here. Should he wake you? Or just leave? Would you be mad if you found him here upon waking up? After some hesitation he decides it’s better if he leaves, but right as he turns around, taking just one step towards the door, he finally hears a word from you.

“Bucky,” you whine, his name coming out a little slurred, but still clear to him. “Bucky, please!” you continue, his eyes widening as his head snaps around, eyes returning to you. You’re still asleep, but he notices your hand moving down your chest and then disappearing under the sheets, between your legs. That’s when he realizes that it’s not a nightmare. You’re having a sex dream about him.

Clearly trying to chase your release, your lips part as you moan, the voice instantly making Bucky’s cock twitch while hardening. His hands curl into fists as he is fighting himself whether he should do something or leave, but when his name slips through your lips again, he goes feral. He would be damned if he lets you get stuck in your dream when he can please you in real life.

He finds himself striding back to your bed faster like ever, like an elegant lion, hungry for his prey as one of his knees sink into the mattress between your open legs, keeping his weight up on one arm while the other finds your waist. The shirt you always sleep in has ridden up to just below your breasts, the exposed skin watering Bucky’s mouth as he squeezes your waist gently but firmly enough to wake you from your fever dream.

Your eyes snap open and you stare up at him slack-mouthed, your brain barely able to process the sudden change between the Bucky in your dream and the one holding himself up above you in real life.

“Bucky? I—“ you breathe out, the cloud of confusion on your head making it hard to even form a sentence. He leans down, his face just inches away from yours and even though it’s quite dark, his blue eyes are basically piercing. His dogtags fall to your chest, right above your wildly racing heart and you wonder if he can hear the pounding in your ribcage.

“Shh, I’m gonna take care of you,” he whispers and without a warning, his lips crash down onto yours.

It’s so hard and passionate, filled with hunger and longing, the air gets knocked right out of your chest as you eagerly kiss him back while he slowly moves himself until he is fully between your legs, his hips coming down to meet yours and you moan when you feel his erection pressing against your already soaking wet core. Your hands find their way up into his hair, grabbing a fistful of it and he can’t stop himself from growling at your action, grinding himself against your hips, both of you desperate to take it further.

Pushing himself up into a kneeling position, he grabs your panties and tugs them down your bare legs, throwing them across the room before he rids you from your shirt as well, so now you’re lying completely naked in front of his lustful eyes. He could devour you with just his icy blue eyes, he looks glorious, towering above you with his broad, muscular shoulders and toned chest, you’ve never been more desperate for a man before.

Your desire takes action, pushing yourself up your lips meet his chest, kissing the hot skin, your tongue sloppily pressing against him as you make your way up on his body. His vibranium fingers tangle into your hair as he holds the back of your head, pulling you up to kiss you again, both of you in a kneeling position while your hand reaches into his underwear, palming his hard cock, feeling up his size before you push the fabric down and he kicks it off easily, his erection now pressed between the two of you teasing and tempting you, making you buck your hips forward just for the slightest friction.

“Were you dreaming of me, doll? Huh?” he questions, his lips nibbling on your lower lip as he takes it between his teeth and gently tugs on it.

“Yeah,” you breathe out, hands grabbing onto his hips before they move down to his bare ass, pulling him closer to you, earning a moan from him.

“And what was I doing in your dream?” He kisses down your neck, stopping at a soft spot before he starts sucking and biting on it, marking you as his, something he’s been aching to do since the moment he laid eyes on you for the first time. Your brain almost shuts down, one of his hands is on your jaw, keeping your head in place, while the other one is gripping your waist harshly, his fingers digging into your muscles. You fail to answer his question as just a whimper leaves your lips at the sensation.

“Words, sweetheart. Use your words for me, will you?”

“I, uhh—You used your f-fingers,” you croak out, a satisfied grin tugging on Bucky’s lips at your words.

He pushes you back on the bed, making you lie on your back as he gets on top of you once again, but this time he doesn’t stay like that long, after a hard kiss he climbs down until his face aligns with your core, his hands parting your legs widely, baring you to him fully.

“Tell me, where did I use my fingers?” he hums, face so close to your center that you can feel his hot breath on you. He teases you, running his hands up and down your spread thighs, his fingers just grazing your folds before moving away every time.

“Bucky, please!” you cry out, grinding your hips up, but you only reach his chin before he leans back with a pleased grin on his face.

“Just tell me and I’ll do it. Where did I use my fingers?” he repeats.

“On my pussy! You fingered me!” you groan, your cheeks heating up from the blunt comment you just made, but it’s exactly what Bucky wanted to hear.

Two of his fingers find your clit easily, starting off with slowly drawing circles on it, stimulating your nerves and it’s nothing like in your dream. You curse under your breath when his fingers move to your hole and he pushes both of them inside, his lips taking their place on your clit.

“Oh fuck!” you groan in pleasure, your hands immediately snapping to his head, fingers lacing into his chocolate locks as you shamelessly grind against his face.

Bucky is not a man of many words, but god damn, he can use his mouth like a fucking master. It feels like your whole body is on fire, you’re sweating and shaking, his fingers curl inside you every time he thrusts into you and he is stroking that one heavenly spot inside you that makes your eyes roll back into your head. His tongue is slick and sloppy against your wet pussy, but he is drinking it all up as if you were his last meal before death.

“Shit, I’m gonna cum! Bucky!” you gasp as your back arches at the sensation, your orgasm building up rapidly.

“Cum on my tongue and fingers, let me make your dream come true,” he growls against your heat, picking up the pace of his fingers which completely throws you over the edge.

You come with chanting his name over and over again as you ride your high, thighs shaking and tightening on either side of his head until you’re finally able to catch your breath.

Bucky pushes himself up, his lips glistening from your juices and you watch him wipe his mouth with his fingers, licking them afterwards like he just finished eating a chocolate cake, a satisfied grin on his ridiculously handsome face. He crawls up on you until his lips can finally reach yours again, kissing you in a slower pace, but still with a lot of passion to offer.

“Tonight wasn’t my first sex dream about you,” you slyly admit, lips brushing against his as you speak.

“Oh, yeah?”

“Mhm, so there’s more to act out.” His still hard cock twitches again and you’re fast to reach down and palm him again, wrapping a hand around him as you give his cock a few lazy stokes, but it surely has an effect on him.

You’re quick to turn him over, pushing him to lie on his back as you straddle him, steading yourself with holding onto his waist, his eyes bore into yours intently and your mouth hangs open when you grind against him, his hard cock sliding between your wet folds.

“The other day, I dreamed about riding you, your cock filled me up so good, but right when I was about to cum I woke up,” you tell him, not sure how this sudden confidence came from, but you just can’t help yourself. Bucky growls at your words as his fingers dig into your thighs.

“Then let’s make up for that, love,” he breathes out and you nod eagerly, lifting yourself up just enough to position him to your hole and then you sink down as far as you can, his dick filling you up inch by inch and your breath hitches when you finally settle, his length fully buried inside you.

“Oh, fuck!” you whine before you start moving yourself up and down his cock, grinding back and forth, the feeling of him inside you so intoxicating, you think for a moment that this might still be your dream. If it is, you hope you don’t wake up this time.

Though your training has strengthened your legs so you are able to ride him in this position longer, it still tires you out. Bucky notices when your movements slow down, his hands running up your torso, kneading your breasts before they end up on the back of your neck, pulling you down so you lie on top of him, his strong arms wrapping around you. His lips kiss the side of your head before he starts thrusting up into you, doing the work for you this time. You can’t stop yourself from moaning and whimpering as your second orgasm is starting to build up, your senses are on the edge.

“Fuck, Y/N, I’m so close,” he gasps, his thrusts becoming a little uncoordinated and you feel the same way, only moments away from your climax.

You push yourself up, pulling him with you, wanting to take back control before you both reach your relief, you get into a sitting position that allows you to grind in his lap, moving your hips back and forth as fast as you can. Bucky’s lips find yours again, kissing your sloppily before they travel down your neck and he licks at your collarbone as you hold onto his broad shoulders.

“You feel so fucking good, oh God!” he whines, his head falling backwards as you keep moving, both of you sweating, but neither of you really cares, you’re just relentlessly chasing your high again.

“I want to feel you cum. Please, Bucky!” you beg him, squeezing your walls around him, the action completely maddening the man as he holds you to his chest and flips you over with ease, his body weighing down on you as he starts fucking into you fast and hard. You could throw a fuss about how he took control again, but you don’t mind it, not at all. Because the way he pounds into you, his cock disappearing to the last inch inside you with each thrust, your whole body starts shaking as your orgasm finally reaches you.

Your squeeze your walls again around him and the moment he hears his name fall from your trembling lips he cums inside of you, filling you up entirely, marking you with his pleasure.

He rides his high with a few more sloppy thrusts until he stops, his forehead falling against yours as you both try to catch your breath. He captures your lips in a soft and slow kiss, so different from the ones you shared before. Then he finally rolls off of you and you let out a displeased grunt when you feel him slide out of you.

For a while it’s just the silence in the room mixed with your soft panting, but he is the first one to break it as his head rolls to the side, looking at you with those fucked-out eyes of his.

“How long have you been having these dreams?” he asks, turning to his side so his hand can spread out on your naked stomach, fingers drawing tiny circles on your sweaty skin.

“A while,” you admit.

“I wish I heard you earlier through the wall,” he chuckles, but your eyes widen.

“Wait, what? You heard me through the wall?”

“Yeah. Thought something was wrong so I came over to check on you.”

“God, I must have been really loud,” you laugh, covering your face with your hands, but he is quick to peel them off and leaning closer he kisses your lips gently.

“Don’t blame yourself, these walls are like paper. And besides…” A sly smirk tugs on his lips as his hand comes up to cup your jaw, his thumb running along the line of your bottom lip. “I fucking love it when you’re loud.”

“I wasn’t even screaming yet,” you tease back, your comment definitely catching him off-guard, but he likes it.

“We’ll get there next time.”

You and Bucky walk into the kitchen in the morning, completely oblivious to the rest of the world, still in the bliss of last night. Nat, Tony and Steve are sitting at the kitchen island, sipping on their morning coffee when you emerge from your room, all eyes immediately glued to the pair of you.

“Well, good morning, everyone,” you chuckle a little nervously, not sure what the stares mean.

“Morning,” Nat smirks, shaking her head before she turns back to the newspaper unfolded in front of her.

“Nice of you to make an appearance, I have some news to share with you all,” Tony announces as you pour some coffee for yourself while Bucky grabs everything he needs to make breakfast for the two of you. Nodding you signal to Tony that you’re listening. “I decided to do some remodeling on the compound.”

“Oh, what are you getting done?” you ask, wondering what could possibly need work on the building.

“Nothing major, I’m just gonna make the walls soundproof, so we don’t have to listen to you guys fucking all night long.”

You almost choke on your coffee at Tony’s blunt comment, cheeks heating up right away, you were not expecting that. Though he is looking at you and Bucky, who is now standing behind you with a hand on your waist, with a stern expression, you can see the small smile hiding in his eyes. He finds the situation rather amusing instead of annoying.

“Yeah, next time maybe keep it down a little,” Steve suggests as he stands from his seat, grabbing his mug. Walking past the two of you, he pats Bucky’s shoulder however. “But I’m glad you guys are finally getting it on,” he comments before walking out, Nat and Tony following him right after, leaving just you and Bucky in the kitchen.

You glance up at him with concern in your eyes, teeth sinking into your bottom lip, but he doesn’t seem to be ashamed at all. Instead, he leans down, pecks your lips shortly and then whispers:

“I told you. Paper-thin walls.”

Thank you for reading, please like and reblog if you enjoyed it!

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Of something beautiful, but annihilating🚬5/end

Warnings: nonconsensual touching, fingering, deceptive behaviour, allusions to abuse, blood, violence/death, fucking.

This is dark!fic and explicit. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Note: Another finale! Hahahhaa, hope you like it!

Thank you. Love you guys!

As always, if you can, please leave some feedback, like and reblog <3

You went to bed with shame burning in your cheeks but the heat quickly travelled to your loins as you thought of the scene at the drive-in. When you closed your eyes, you felt Arvin’s weight on you and his hand between your legs. You rolled onto one side, then the other, tossing and turning as you couldn’t escape the memory or the lingering sensation of his touch.

He was already downstairs when you woke up, a lazy Saturday morning as the garage was closed for the weekends. He was at the counter, boiling water for the coffee as you came down in a plain peach dress and flats. He looked over his shoulder and smiled at you, urging you to sit.

“I’m gonna make you breakfast, honey,” he announced as he filled the coffee press, “you know, my ma was a waitress. Worked down at this greasy diner when she met my dad. Before she died…” he stopped and his throat bobbed, “I dunno, I just remember the smell of her cookin’.”

“I’m sorry, Arvin,” you said as you took a seat at the table, “about your mother.”

“Why? It was so long ago, I hardly remember,” he shrugged as he searched the cupboards and pulled out the cast iron pan, “you know, I can barely even see my pa in my mind. Even when I really think. I feel like I’ve lived a dozen lifetimes already.” He put the metal to the burner, “but I think I found the one I want.”

You ran your fingertips along your throat nervously as you leaned your elbows on the table. You felt the void left by your missing wedding ring. You clapped your hands together and lowered them to the wood.

You watched him work in the kitchen. When you tried once to get up and help, he bid you back down tersely and you obliged. You felt restless sitting there as someone else did everything. He put a cup of coffee before you and sipped from his own between flipping the eggs.

Finally, he presented you with a plate of hash, egg, toast, and bacon. You thanked him as he sat and you picked up your fork and knife. You weren’t very hungry, the anxiety squeezed your stomach as you watched his hand. He buttered a slice and you recalled the tingle as his fingers sank into you.

You dropped your fork and apologised for the loud clang. You picked it back up and pushed the potato around. You were trying to think of what to say. Of how to say it. Arvin wasn’t volatile like Roy but he showed glimmers of anger that troubled you nonetheless.

“Last night…” you began.

“You liked it?” he perked up and swallowed, “I can’t stop thinking about it.”

“Arvin,” you uttered.

“I just… you’re so wonderful and warm, I never known a woman like you,” he ranted, “and I… I never been with a woman, you know? I hope I didn’t leave you wanting--”

“Arvin,” you said more firmly, “I’m married.”

His face fell and he leaned back in his chair. He looked down as he scooped up some egg and hash and shoved it in his mouth. He chewed tight-lipped. His steely silence was worse than any punch. You shoved some yolk in your mouth and chewed.

“I…” you began, “I’m not meaning to upset you but we can’t just pretend--”

A deafening bang sounded and shook the house. Your breath caught as you looked at Arvin with wide eyes and he cleared his throat as he stood.

“Where is ya, boy?” Roy hollered as another blast came and you heard the door jolt. You rose and looked down the hall as slivers decorated the floor below the holes peppered in the wood. “I heard about you and my wife…” footsteps clamoured up the steps of the porch, “you think you can pull a gun on me? Well, I got a bigger one, boy!”

“Shit,” Arvin pulled you back as another gunshot blew out the handle, “go, hide.”

He shoved you away and turned back to the table. He tossed the butter knife and hurried to the counter. He pulled out a drawer and took out a steak knife. He shook his head and glanced over at you again.

“Go on,” he snarled.

“No, you,” you ran to him and touched his arm, “go, I’ll talk to him--”

“He’ll kill you,” he whispered.

“No, he won’t,” you assured, “he woulda done it years ago, Arvin, go.”

You pointed him to the back door and he shook his head. You met his eyes as he glanced back at you and you nodded. 

“It’ll be fine, I’ll get him gone and come find you when he goes,” you promised, “Arvin, I can’t see you die because of me.”

His eyes searched your face and he touched your cheek. “Alright, honey,” he breathed, “you know I’ll do anything for you, don’t you?”

“Go,” you insisted as the door flew inward with a heavy kick.

Arvin scrambled away and the back door creaked in his stead as you turned to near the doorway and peer past the staircase. Roy kept the double barrel level as he pointed it at you. You quivered but tried not to show your terror.

“Roy,” you greeted through your tight throat.

“You whore,” he cocked the gun and you flinched, “I oughta shoot your fuckin’ head off too, but I just want the boy. Where is he?”

“I… I dunno, he just went out front, I thought you woulda seen him,” you lied as you filled the doorframe with your body, realising the table set for two would give away your deception.

“Don’t you be hidin’ him from me, you’re still my wife,” Roy snarled as you came closer, trying to keep him from the kitchen, “and I’m gonna put down that punk and remind you who I am. Who you are.”

“I am your wife, Roy,” you said evenly, “I can never forget that, now please, lower the gun, I’ll help you find him.”

“I ain’t believe you, you let him beat me--”

“What was I supposed to do?” you touched the metal muzzle, “he been keepin’ me here. He has a gun too, you know that.” You slid past the barrel and hesitantly reached to touch his chest, “I been so scared without you here, you’re my husband, Roy, and I love--”

He sputtered and flinched suddenly. The gun sagged and fired into the floorboards beside your shoes. The metal slid from his grasp and fell down smoking as a red splotch stained the dingy fabric of his shirt. The cascade spread as he staggered and you saw the wooden handle of the steak knife stick out from his side.

Arvin pulled the blade out as you tripped over the gun and toppled to the floor. Roy slumped to his knees as the younger man brought the knife down over his shoulder and sank it into his heart. Your lungs puffed with panic at the sickly crunch as the blade twisted between his ribs.

Your eyes widened and blurred with tears as bitterness filled your stomach. You opened your mouth and screamed as Roy fell onto his stomach and gasped out his last breaths. You felt a slickness on your cheek as a hand touched you and an arm wrapped around you. You blinked and Arvin came clear as he held the knife against your face and pulled you into his lap to cradle you.

“Wh--wh--wh--” you babbled as your eyes found your husband, completely still across the floorboards.

“He can’t hurt you no more,” Arvin cooed as he rocked you, “I heard him, he said he was gon’ shoot you. I told you, honey, I’ll do anything for you. Anything to keep you safe.”

🚬

The porcelain was cold against your body as you sat in the tub, the hot water slowly rose around you. Arvin shoved your bloody clothes in a bag and took off his own. He tied up the sack, his hands still tinged scarlet. He put the bundle in the sink and neared the wall of the footed tub.

You watched him step over the side, his stomach tightly muscles, his figure much more slender than Roy’s, though his arms were thick and his shoulders wide. He lowered himself across from you as he sat with his back to the flowing faucet. The water deepened and scalded your skin.

He took a cloth and scrubbed your face, your neck, your chest above the surface of the water. You were numb as you felt itchy, as if bugs crawled over every inch of flesh. He stood you up and finished washing you. He was gentle but firm, lingering around your curves as his brown eyes drank you in.

He took a new cloth for himself and after wiping off the droplets across his face and rinsing his body, he scratched the red from around his nails. You shivered as he helped you out of the tub and hugged you in a towel. He led you to the bed and laid you down under the quilt.

“Gonna drive out and find a ditch,” he said as he dressed. “Finish cleaning when I get back. Probably need another bath then.”

You said nothing as you stared at the ceiling, a searing white.

“Honey,” he neared and pressed his hand to your forehead, “I know you’re shook. He tried to kill ya. We both heard him say it.”

You looked at him and your eyes dampened. He bent and pecked your lips and retracted his hand reluctantly.

“I’ll try not to be too long,” he promised and pulled on his denim jacket.

He left you and you listened to his footsteps fade. You closed your eyes and saw Roy’s blood spilling forth like a tainted river. You could hear the scraping as he was dragged across the wood, Arvin’s grunts as you watched him struggle to roll your husband’s large body in a sheet.

Your lashes flicked open but the picture is painted vivid in your mind. You hear the car and the engine fades into the soft sway of trees and the noise of critters in the grass. You don’t have the strength to do more than lay there. Time passes by your stagnant eyes and the shadows set in from the corner of the room. The windows darkened and deepened your gloom.

Arvin startled you as he appeared at the door. You didn’t hear the approach of his car or his footsteps on the stairs. He neared and kissed you again. He pulled the chain on the lamp and it cast a yellow haze over you.

“You’re awake,” he said as he stood straight, “I needa wash up again.” You hummed and stayed as you were, “you want tea?”

You shook your head and he watched you. He clamped his thin lips together and backed away.

“Found his truck, just down the way,” he pulled his grey tee over his head, “looks like he drove out to the river, walked up here. Make sure it was seen so he can’t be traced up here. Smarter than he looked.” Arvin bent to untie his boots. “I left it in the water, put it into gear and let it drift off.”

You rolled onto your side and pulled the blanket to your ear. He quieted as you listened to the rustle of his clothing as he stripped it away.

“Anyhow, they won’t find him,” he said, “likely he told whoever, if anyone even cared, that he was goin’ fishin’.”

He waited for an answer but didn’t get it. He went into the bathroom and you heard the pipes rattle as he twisted on the faucet. You felt the dampness cross the hallway and seep into the room. When he returned, he gave a sigh and tossed his towel over the old chair sat by your vanity.

He folded the blanket back and you closed your eyes at his nudity. He slid in next to you and tugged the blanket over his shoulders. He circled his arm around you and brought your body against his. Suddenly, you felt everything as you were set alight by the heat of his flesh.

“Honey,” he said softly as he framed your face with his hand, “I’m here. You’re safe with me.”

You quivered and pushed your hands to his chest. You’d never been naked with another man, never seen another man naked. In the tub, you hardly figured what was happening but then, it was all too real as you felt his cock twitch against your thigh.

“Didn’t I save you? He would killed both of us,” he rasped, “honey, I know, I’ve met so many men like him…” he rubbed his nose against yours, “and killed every one of them.”

You winced and your fingers curled into his shoulders. He smothered you with a kiss as his hand trailed down and he cupped your chest. He groaned as he fondled you, tilting his hips to rub his dick against you. He rolled your nipple under his thumb as he dragged his lips down your cheek and chin.

His hand crept around your side as he slipped lower to nibble your breasts. Roy never touched you like that. Early on he was clumsy but impatient, and after a while, he was thankless and cruel. Arvin was gentle, doting and diligent. He suckled at your bud and the tugging plucked at your core.

“Mmm,” he left a path of spit down your stomach as he nudged you onto your back, “honey, you’re so beautiful,” he disappeared beneath the blanket and pushed your legs apart as he nuzzled your pelvis, his hot breath tickling your patch of hair.

He purred as nosed your cunt and his tongue dipped between your folds. You murmured and reached down to grasp his damp hair. You brought your thighs against his head and arched your back as he tended to you, slow and scintillating as he filled you with a yearning you’d never known before.

You didn’t think as you tangled your fingers in his locks and tilted your pelvis against his lapping. You shouldn’t feel this way, should feel so good. Your husband was dead and there was another man in your bed. You were a whore, just as he said. But it felt good and he wasn’t there to tell you again.

Arvin moaned as he devoured you, his hands hungrily groped your ass as he lifted you slightly from the bed. He pushed a finger against your entrance and eased into you. You gasped and he dipped another inside of you. He moved his hand in time with his mouth, his groans rumbling through you.

You hooked your legs under his arm and cried out as you came. Your body spasmed and jerked and you rode out the shattering ascent. You shook as you stilled and kissed your thighs with his wet lips, smearing your juices across your flesh. 

You panted as he pushed himself up and the blanket fell down his back, leaving both your bodies bare to the soft glow of the lamp. His hands roved over your body and he bent again, kissing every inch his fingertips danced over first. He brought his lips back to yours and you tasted the sweetness as he forced his tongue into your mouth.

He pushed his thighs to yours so your legs bent around them, wide and welcoming. He parted and stared down at you, his deep brown eyes swallowing you up.

“The moment I saw you, I knew,” he said as he caressed your cheek, “and I haven’t stopped thinking of this ever since that moment.”

“Arvin,” you sighed and touched his wrist.

“I’ll take care of you, honey,” he reached down between your bodies as he planted and elbow into the pillow. He ran his tip along your wet folds and his jaw clenched. “I’ll keep you safe, I’ll keep you…” he pressed against you until his tip was inside you, “forever.”

“Arvin,” you gulped and gripped his muscled arms, “I…”

“He’s gone,” he sank further into you and kissed you again, “and you’re mine.”

You moaned and he bottomed out with a gasp. His body tensed and he shuddered as he wiggled his hips.

“God, you’re so perfect,” he groaned, “so warm, so… sweet. Oh, honey.”

“Please…” you croaked as your eyes watered.

You didn’t know if it was the bloodiness of the day or that you’d never felt anything so pleasant, so gentle, so caring. You didn’t know why you were crying or why your body buzzed like cicadas under the moon. You pushed your head into the pillow as he pressed his fingers to your clit and rubbed in time with his steady thrusts.

“Honey,” he droned and kissed your wet cheek between each stroke, “oh, you’re so nice.”

He tilted into you over and over. You brought your legs around him and hooked your arms under his as you clawed at his back. Your body contorted with his as your eyes rolled back and you succumbed to the stolid heat coursing through your veins. You cried out and let your hands fall down as you groped his ass, begging for more.

The bed quaked as he grew more fervent in his appetite, the pain was dulled by the sheer bliss and you sang out your delight. There was nothing but his body and that radiating pulse in your core. You came again and again as you whined ravenously and dug your nails into his flesh.

He jerked into you with a fluttery breath. His hips stuttered and he fell limp over you. His head hung over your shoulder as he huffed. His cum coated your walls in a salacious heat and you ran your hands up his back. He turned his head to kiss your temples, tears still rolling down to your lobes.

As your nerves stilled and the afterglow dimmed, reality shrouded you once more. The body over yours felt heavier as you were paralysed against the bed. Arvin drew you with him as he rolled onto his side and held you. It was nice but tinged with the horror wrought by his hands.

You didn’t miss Roy but you didn’t feel free either.

🚬

Arvin rolled out the rug over the bloodstain in the hall, the whole covered over  with a thin board of scrap. You watched and clutched your purse then checked the clock. He stood and neared to fetch his jacket from the small square corner table. He pulled it over the button-up that once belonged to your dad and the tie that was Roy’s.

His hair was combed back tidily and he wore a carefree smile. His eyes twinkled as he offered his hand and gestured to the door. The frame was curtained with a sheet as the shredded wood was removed and another would be ordered from Tim’s Hardware. He clung to your hand as he followed you out into the Sunday sunlight.

“We don’t have to go,” you said as he swung your hand and led you to the Chevrolet, “I know you don’t like it.”

“Nah, we should go to church,” he smiled and spun you to kiss you. He held your face between your hands as his lips lingered overly long. “Let the lord and all the other holy people see me and my girl.”

“Arvin,” you shied away.

He reached past you and opened the door. You sat and he gripped the metal as he looked down at you.

“I will keep my hands to myself before the lord,” he avowed, “I only ask his blessing for what I know to be his work.”

You considered him and wrung the short strap of your purse, “I thought you didn’t believe in God.”

“I didn’t, not before,” he said with a smile, “not ‘til I met you. His most precious angel.”

You chewed your lip and turned your face down. He chuckled and closed the door. He got in the driver’s side and the engine rolled over. His hand wandered over to your lap as he steered with one hand. You looked out the window and stared up at the pale blue sky.

You didn’t believe in God. You couldn’t. Just like your father said, a benevolent lord would not gift such suffering to his creation. There was no all-knowing being sitting in the clouds, no glorious purpose for you or any other. There were only devilish men and their dark deeds.

[vidalinav]

@imasconfusedasyouare 1) your writing is amazing and I love your blog! 2)For the prompts: Nesta is having a bad day with her mental health and during dinner or something the IC make certain comments about how she’s behaving that makes Cassian go into possessive-mate mode and snaps at them… pretty please 🥺

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 1) Thank you!

2) I took a bit of liberty with this prompt. The gist of it is the same, but I couldn’t have Cassian outright tell the IC off when I feel he is wrong himself. So I made a fic where Nesta has a bad mental health day, they do see the others and they do say things, and Cassian is selfish but ultimately they get through it because love is not.

So… here goes nothing.

~

Cassian knows Nesta doesn’t feel good. Maybe he knows her well enough by now to sense her tells or some intrinsic part of his soul sings to him of concern. That when she huddles in their bed, grasping the pillow instead of his chest, she reaches for something he can’t offer her and he knows.

Even so, he lays a palm on her forehead searching for heat and when she shrugs him off, he doesn’t let the feeling make a home in his lungs. He will not yell or chastise or run away with stupid words.

Nesta doesn’t feel good.

Be patient, the voice in his head tells him. Be slow.

Nesta eats less that morning, eats slower, and she stares into space as if she’s asking it questions. He rambles on and she doesn’t listen. She’s waiting for the space to answer, he tells himself.

They go to training. Cassian thinks maybe the routine will keep her grounded, will remind her that she’s capable. That she’s carried more weight than a sword. He asks her if she’s ready and Nesta merely lifts her hands. Fists hit but they don’t hurt. Fists hit but they don’t rage. Fists hit and Cassian thinks something must be terribly wrong. Fists hit and Cassian only wants to hold her close.

He asks Gwyn and Emerie if they notice something off, and they shrug as if they know but don’t want to tell him. Perhaps they know and they just can’t explain. Cassian doesn’t think he could understand if they did.

You can understand, that little voice speaks. You just have to wait.

So Cassian waits. Cassian sits. Cassian listens, and Nesta walks around the house, trailing room to empty room. Nesta doesn’t even turn on the symphonia. He keeps waiting for music, but the egg shaped disk stays closed and Nesta shuts her eyes. Maybe she hears music that he doesn’t.

You offered her time, the voice reminds him. A lifetime of time. What is a few hours? A few days?

But Cassian doesn’t want to wait. Cassian doesn’t want Nesta to feel anything like this–where she looks out the window with that blank expression and she keeps to herself and she sneaks up so quietly she might as well be ghost. Cassian doesn’t want a ghost for a mate.

He can’t wait any longer. Cassian has to do something now, before time slips between his fingers and the floor drops from right under their feet. So, he moves. He makes plans.

Nesta doesn’t argue when he drags her to the city. Nesta doesn’t argue when they go to the streets thrumming with sound. Fill her with noise and laughter, he thinks. Fill her with something I can’t.

But the voice in his head only chastises him. You need to wait.

Cassian can’t wait. Cassian is running out of time.

So he takes her to the only place that will make a difference.

He knows they’re having dinner, and he knows they’ll be together and perhaps they can fill her with the life he can’t.

He takes her to his family. To her family.

But they’re not really her family are they?

Feyre is and so she’s happily surprised to see them, but when she tries to give Nesta a hug, she lays as still as a statue. Feyre notices. Cassian notices. Rhysand notices. Still, they go the dining room where the rest are waiting. Waiting less patiently than him.

That’s when he hears that voice.

Are they really her family?

Cassian wants to think yes, but they laugh with each other and Nesta gets handed a plate. Nesta spoons little handfuls of green beans and mash potatoes and Mor laughs at an inside joke that Cassian knows well and Amren wants to discuss a meeting that Nesta doesn’t attend. Nesta doesn’t know anything about any of the topics they want to discuss. Nesta sits in a tower on a normal Tuesday and gazes wistfully out the window, and sitting here at the table reminds him of that stare.

It reminds him of that stare years ago. On a snowy night in December.

“You’re quiet,” Feyre says after a while. Nesta doesn’t even notice she’s being talked to until Cassian elbows her lightly.

“I’m always quiet,” she says at last, looking to her plate. Cassian watches as a noodle forms a question mark and all he can think about it why, why, why.

“You’re not usually so…”

She looks up at her sister with that blank expression, blinking slow.

“Are you okay?” Feyre asks, concern in her voice.

Nesta doesn’t even think as she says, “I’m fine.”

But he can already see it. The distasteful looks that they hide with a snort. That awkward, you are ruining something look. That you didn’t bring enough smiles for this house. And Cassian knows that they will go home tonight, and something will have gone backwards. That they’ll remember what Nesta’s done, but the Nesta they see will be the first Nesta they think about, and their memory will not be filled with heroic deeds like nighttime fairytales. It won’t even be of a courageous young female who only yearns for her sister to live. They will see this Nesta.

This perfectly good Nesta.

This perfectly, acceptable Nesta. Quiet somber songs or not.

Cassian feels himself moving before he realizes what he’s doing. He can feel himself reaching for her and Nesta looks up as if his movement surprises her. It surprises him, too, but it’s the right choice he knows.

“Let’s go home,” he breathes.

Cassian tries not to let the guilt sink in his chest at her look of relief. The way she sets the fork down as if it’s a great, heavy sword. Cassian won’t let it pierce his heart. His heart is her, and Nesta is going to be okay tomorrow.

But today…

Today, she will watch the sky and listen to nothing and pace back and forth and she’ll feel that restlessness settle in her chest until it settles down quietly. He will protect her ability to grieve. For whatever she grieves. That layer of herself she peels off like paper.

“You’re going home already?” Mor asks, a look of astonishment on her face.

“Nesta doesn’t feel good,” he says. Some part of him wants to say that it was a mistake bringing her here, but he can’t do that. That only makes Cassian a hypocrite and he’s already selfish. He knows who they are. They’re not Nesta’s family…

And this is his fault, not theirs. Not only because it’s the last place Nesta wants to be, but because if he has a hard time understanding her, they don’t even have a chance and Cassian won’t let them make Nesta feel ashamed.

Cassian doesn’t want to make Nesta feel ashamed.

All day he has. When they go to the market, when they walk through the city, when they stop by restaurants and booths and people. When they go to this house and eat with his family, he wants to shame the bad day out of her.

Nothing about Nesta is shameful.

Nothing about Nesta can make him feel ashamed.

“Home?” He repeats and Nesta grabs his outstretched hand. She says a goodbye to Feyre who raises her hand with a small tainted, tilt of her lip. They’re there for a mere thirty minutes before they’re gone.

And when they get home, she goes to the library. Nesta huddles up on the sofa with her favorite book, and sometimes she stares out the window in between pages.

Cassian sets a blanket on her shoulders, careful not to touch her unless she asks. He wants to hold her, but it isn’t about what he wants. So he covers her in I’m here cotton, keeps her warm in I love you wool. He will set his I’m thinking of you tea beside her table, and he will wait and wait and wait. Wait until the night grows dim and he does.

And at some point in the night, he falls asleep on the large chair across from her. At some point in the night he feels her climb in, her body huddled close. Nesta takes the blanket with her and she covers them both. He only needs her, Cassian thinks. He only wants her, but the blanket lays on top of them like a shield. It’ll protect them both in its embrace.

Nesta tucks her head in his neck, he can feel her cold nose on his skin, and she burrows into him, her hands rummaging beneath his shirt. The touch sings as much as it burns, but he falls asleep to the sweet smell of lavender and the soft sound of her breathing.

It’s the most wonderful music he’s ever heard.

In the morning, Cassian wakes up to the symphonia playing and Nesta’s smile is the sun.

~

Fin

~

Tagged: @my-fan-side, @sophilightwood, @nestaarcher0n, @duskandstarlight, @soitsgorgeous, @ekaterinakostrova @swankii-art-teacher, @lordof-bloodshed, @arinbelle, @thewhelk, @daisy-in-danger @highqueenevankhell, @lovelynesta, @sirendeepity, @champanheandluxxury, @ladynestaarcheron, @moodymelanist, @teagoddess99, @spoilersteph, @drielecarla,  @angelicvoice19, @bo0kmaster69, @generalnesta

~

Don’t know where these fics keep coming from, but doubt it will last so I’m enjoying the ride.

[cursed-domain]

curiosity

Mahito x female reader (kind of)

WC: ~1.3k

Mahito’s first sexual fantasy is about a sorcerer who is - not fond of him, to say the least

{ Written for the Firsts Collab hosted by @anime-nymph - thank you for giving me an excuse to go a lil outside my comfort zone and get some of my many Mahito thoughts into words :)) }

Content: NSFW, DC - description of a dubcon/non-con fantasy, descriptions of oral sex and unprotected sex, masturbation, cum-eating

{xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx}

Mahito is lying on his back, thinking about you in a way he doesn’t quite understand.

The main thing he has realized so far is that doesn’t want you dead, which surprises him. Usually he wants to get rid of people who have recently tried to kill him. They’re inconvenient, and too task-oriented to be any fun at all.

Instead, he wishes he’d been smart enough to capture you. But he’d been clumsy, the last time he saw you. You’d both escaped with no victory, and no clue of where the other might go next.

If he had managed it…

He smiles as he pictures it. If he’d only fought a little better, he could have had the pleasure of watching you run towards the light at the end of the gutter, already knowing that you’d never make it. Sprinting past you and blocking your path, snaring the neckline of your shirt and dragging you back into the recesses of his home, cackling over the sounds of your protests and your feet screeching along the uneven ground. In his head, your eyes widen when he laughs, your mouth already falling open, and he turns your face so he can see it.

There have been few faces and few bodies that have made him feel how he does now. The first time it happened, he thought that it was a sort of jealousy, annoyance that someone had lucked into a form more perfect than what he’d painstakingly created for himself.

But he is starting to understand. Because he has realized, also, that he does not want to look like you, or anyone else. He wants to look at you, not in the midst of a fight, but after you’ve already lost. He wants to see you when you are vulnerable, when you have no more anger and no more tricks of defiance up your sleeve. He wants to see you surrender.

He is not sure, but he thinks it is because you make him angry. Angry at the amount of influence you have over the body he used to think was his alone. How dare you drag the heat from his fingertips into his face and his core - how dare you make him writhe, how dare you make him remember the part of his creation he’d nearly forgotten, so mundane and useless had it seemed at the time it formed.

It is rigid and swollen, now, so different from how it usually appears. And it frustrates him to realize that he cannot escape this, that every thought of your face bowed beneath him only increases the power you have, spreading it to his hands and making them restless.

He lies naked when he is alone, because he likes watching his own chest rise and fall. He has all but forgotten that the breaths he takes are unnecessary. He watches now, watches the hand in front of his face - his hand - wrap around his cock, curious and unpracticed.

I would want her to deal with it, he decides, if she were here. His cock twitches as he rubs it in his fist, and your strange type of sorcery spreads to his mouth, forcing out an involuntary sigh.

It does feel better now, somehow more intense but at the very least under his control. I’d make her do this instead. His eyes flutter shut as he imagines it. He thinks you’d probably glare up at as you did it, your cheeks burning red, and he feels no shame about enjoying the sight. I’d let her go after. After…

After what? There is an end to this, he senses. An end that builds up slowly and then comes all at once. But it is too slow, and he wants it soon, wants to grasp at it before it has a chance to disappear.

How dare you make him so desperate? You’ll have to make up for it, and you’ll do it naked, just like he is. You’re no better than him, and you’ll realize it then, and you will try to avoid his gaze because you used to think you were. He lingers on this thought, imagining every detail of your body as it would appear, knelt on the ground before him, underneath him. All his to explore.

He’s thought about touching other bodies before. The thoughts had popped into his head, unbidden, and he’d called it curiosity. But it is more than that, he realizes. Another feeling entirely. Your body is different than his, and those differences are compelling. He wants to feel you, wants you to try to turn your head away as he does it, wants you flushed and shivering all at once. His cock twitches in his palm as he imagines making you sigh despite yourself, taking back the power you’ve stolen from him, squeezing your breasts and your hips and the softest parts of your thighs until you are panting just like him, not from the need for air but from another need entirely, chasing after a release that is far too slow in coming. Until you are even more helpless than he is right now.

Helpless. He cannot stop his hand from moving. Ripping it away now would be foolish, disastrous. He is barely thinking now, just enough to decide that he’ll punish you just as you try to apologize. He’ll stop you mid-sentence, push this thing into your stupid gaping mouth and make you taste what you’ve done to him. He can see it so wonderfully clearly, now. Slamming you down so far it hurts, make you choke until your hands are scrabbling against his thighs, silently begging for a relief that won’t come until he’s satisfied, drooling and gagging and crying -

Even that is not enough. You have something else, he knows, something made to fit him. Your mouth is a poor substitute, not enough to really make it feel better. So he’ll pin you to the floor. He’ll bare his teeth, grinning down at you, finally wrapping his hand not around himself but around your delicate throat, squeezing as you squirm helplessly underneath him. Will he have to force your legs open, he wonders, or are you as excited as he is, desperate enough to spread them yourself?

He can’t decide which one he’d prefer. Either way, in his head, you are warm and slick and tight, your stomach all folded up while your tits bounce, your hair spread wildly on the ground around you. And you can’t help but clench around him, you can’t help but let your mouth fall open and your eyes go fuzzy, your expression and the movement of your thighs and the wetness of your cunt coaxing him, pulling at him until he finally gets to feel what you’ve been teasing him with all this time. A trickle of drool spills from your lips, chased by the most perfect noise he’s ever heard -

He feels the end coming a second before it does. A strange tightening, a sudden swelling that gives way to a burst of warmth, uncoiling in his abdomen before spreading out across his body, surging underneath his skin and then forcing its way to the surface in viscous streaks, leaving only a pool on his stomach and faint glow behind his eyes. He lets his head fall back to the floor, clearing his hair from his face and letting it splay out behind him. He closes his eyes, folding his hands behind his head, staying perfectly still, a smile lingering on his face as even the afterglow fades away.

Only then does he look down at himself, cocking his head as he looks closer at the mess clinging to his stomach. He drags the tip of his index finger through the unfamiliar substance, sweeping some of it up. He raises up his hand, holding it not an inch from his face, grinning curiously as he watches it drip slowly from his nail. Without hesitating, he catches the droplet with his tongue, narrowing his eyes at the taste but swallowing it anyways, wondering if, had you been there, you might have used your tongue instead.

[someoneoffthestreet]

13 and 11 combined for your ship of choice!!

Intimacy prompts: 11. "sharing secrets" and 13. "cuddles". Dean/Lisa, 2037 words

Ao3

-

Outside the night was wild, the threatening storm whipping through the mountains like a poltergeist. But inside the cabin was quiet, warmth just this side of smothering still lingering from the glowing embers of the fireplace. Dean knew how quickly the cold could move in, all-too-familiar with how it crept into any spaces it could find and sap everything, even the bone marrow, if given the chance. That’s why he relished his place in the bed, the warm line of Lisa’s body against his front, the slightly damp puff of her breath on his collarbone, how the heavy quilts cocooned their entwined bodies from the encroaching chill.

He pulled Lisa a little tighter to him and wondered what else out there in the night could come creeping in, seeking respite from the storm.

“Usually…” Lisa’s lips moved against his skin. “…people would tell ghost stories on a night like this.”

Her voice was hushed, but it still seemed intrusive in the quiet. Dean shifted his hand up to the back of her neck and began curling her hair through his fingers, causing her to shiver.

“I thought you were asleep,” he murmured into her hairline. The smell of her shampoo mixed with the lingering smoke and he sighed with it, unable to resist nuzzling at her hair.

“Not really,” she admitted. She shifted a little in his grasp, fingers curling loosely in his shirt. “Guess I’m feeling a little- restless.”

Air whistled through the chimney. The trees creaked and groaned outside and through all of it Dean kept his ears pricked for any noise from Ben’s room. An old instinct, well-practiced and at home in this new world he was still navigating; a thought that still sat oddly in his chest.

“Anyway-” Lisa poked at his stomach, payback for tickling her neck. “-how about that ghost story?”

Dean snorted, smiling in spite of himself. “Oh, sure. Any requests? ‘Cause I have tons to choose from.”

Lisa hummed, thinking to herself, and the hand between them drifted to Dean’s ribs, scratching lightly. “On second thought, maybe not; your stories are way too grisly.”

“That’s what makes them good,” Dean teased into her ear, and she swatted him playfully. It was clear they weren’t falling asleep any time soon.

Huffing a little, Lisa began shifting out of Dean’s arms, and he whined unhappily at the loss of her heat as she shifted away. She didn’t go very far, though, simply shifting up the bed so they were eye-to-eye on the pillows. Their fingers twined together in the meantime, and Dean hooked his ankle around hers, his knee nudging between her legs.

“So, if we’re nixing Scary Stories to Tell in the Dark,” said Dean, thumb rubbing the back of her hand, “what else do you suggest we do?”

From the faint light filtering through the window curtains, Dean could see the outline of her face, the soft impression of her features, half-lit. He caught the movement of her bottom lip between her teeth, tentatively mischievous.

“Truth or Dare always works,” she replied, voice low and scratchy.

Dean narrowed his eyes, skeptically. “Is this a slumber party now?”

“Yes. It’s mine. And I wanna play Truth or Dare- minus the dare.”

“You can’t minus the dare, the dare is the whole point.”

“Fine. I dare you to tell the truth.”

“You haven’t even asked me anything!”

Lisa shushed him through stifled giggles, and he kicked lightly at her calf. Wind blustered at the roof and the windowpane, and they settled again, listening.

“Maybe Truth or Dare isn’t exactly right,” Lisa whispered eventually.

“You’re having trouble picking games tonight.”

“I don’t hear you making suggestions.” He wasn’t sure if she could see his expression in the dark, but after a brief pause, she added, flatly, “No, not that.”

“Fine, Chris Parker,” Dean grumbled, only partly disgruntled. “So- what did you have in mind?”

“Well,” Lisa replied, elongating the ell as she shuffled a little closer. “A night like this is always good for a secret or two.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean-” and her words were quiet, purposeful in the dark- “I tell you something I’ve never told anybody, and you tell me something you’ve never told anybody. Just between us.”

The window rattled, and Dean considered, something twisting uncomfortably in his stomach. It wasn’t as though he were secretive with Lisa, more just- there were a lot of things he didn’t say and a lot of things she didn’t ask. He felt her skin pressed against his, sensed the soft muscle of her body where she laid beside him and thought there wasn’t much that he wouldn’t give to her; but that was easier said than done when he often felt like a rock being flipped over to reveal something pale, wet, and wriggling that was never meant to see daylight in the first place.

Then again- it wasn’t exactly daylight in here, was it?

He must have been quiet too long, because her voice came again, forcing nonchalance, “Or we don’t have to. We can let it go and think of something else. Or go to sleep.”

Dean pressed forward to touch their foreheads together, noses brushing. “It’s alright,” he said softly before pulling back, and felt her relax. Exhaling, he asked, “So- who’s first?”

He watched her think a little; finally, she answered, “Me. I’ll go first.”

“Rookie mistake,” Dean murmured, but he settled a little closer, waiting.

Beneath the covers, Dean felt Lisa’s fingers tighten around his, betraying nervousness. Maybe he shouldn’t think it, but it was oddly reassuring, the knowledge that there were spaces in their relationship that even she was hesitant about. He rubbed her knuckles reassuringly, receiving a gentle squeeze back. Even so, he heard her start and stop, breath caught, before she spoke.

“I was engaged once.”

Dean’s eyebrows shot up. “Really.”

“Once,” she repeated. “Briefly. Like, a million years ago.”

“Before Ben?”

A sharp inhale. Dean shifted, waiting.

“…About two weeks after I found out,” she admitted, voice small beneath the storm outside.

He wondered how serious the relationship was. None of Lisa’s family ever said anything about someone long-term; they’d all seemed to think that she had been too preoccupied with raising Ben to focus on a boyfriend. Lisa had certainly never said anything to him- not until now, at least.

“I think he panicked,” Lisa continued, and even in the dark he could tell she wasn’t looking at him, the shine of her eyes angled away and down. “I panicked, too. I wasn’t even sure I was gonna-”

She cut herself off; only one secret allowed tonight.

“Anyway,” she continued with forced nonchalance. “I was young, and scared; and he was nice and good-looking, with a steady job. And I liked him. And I thought- stability, y’know? Better than doing it alone. Maybe that could’ve been enough for us.”

Enough, Dean thought. A path lay behind that word, dark and turbulent like the night around them. He shook it away, pushing it back with all the other things he hid in the back of his mind, left to brood and fester until a darker, lonelier night came along.

Instead, he said, “So, what changed?”

She shrugged. “After a week, I realized it wouldn’t work. I had this- premonition? I guess? Like I could just see how that would all go, how miserable we’d all be. And when I started thinking that it would be better if I did it alone, I realized I really could. So, I called it off, and we didn’t keep in contact after.”

And that was true. That was more like the Lisa he knew: self-assured and emotionally astute. Sometimes he felt that, so long as she had Ben, Lisa could weather anything: a lighthouse sat atop a stern cliff face, beckoning home even as it bid farewell.

“Do you…” His voice wasn’t steady enough, and he cleared his throat, trying again. “Do you regret it? Not marrying him?”

“No,” she said, calm and certain. Then her forehead was pressed to his again, her breath warm and soft against his cheek. “And I don’t regret anything since, either.”

Dean closed his eyes, something settling uneasily into place. It wasn’t that he didn’t believe her, exactly; just that some wounded animal inside his chest, flinching from affection still, couldn’t be persuaded yet. So, he met the press of her head with his own and slotted his mouth to her cheek, just behind the corner of her mouth, not quite a kiss.

“…So,” Lisa said, not quite a question, her lips catching on his stubble.

“Guess it’s my turn,” said Dean, voice muffled.

“You don’t have-” She stopped; there was a puff of air against his cheek. “I mean- maybe this got a little too serious.”

An out, then. Dean breathed in her shampoo again and felt the scent of her lotion tickle the back of his throat, and realized he didn’t want it. No sense in only one of them digging up old ghosts tonight, after all. Dean pulled back from her and found her silhouette again, a faint impression of nonchalance on her face. He wondered if, in a better light, would she look as exposed as he thought she did right now.

“I want my turn,” he said, infusing the words with a little petulance. He was rewarded with the tease of her smile, her head ducking. “Don’t steal my turn.”

“Fine, fine.” She shifted a little, readjusting her position. She didn’t say anything else, but just looked at him, expectant and waiting.

He squeezed at her fingers as the roof above them rattled.

“I, uh…” he started, but his voice unexpectedly gave out, and he swallowed. Lisa’s expression was curious, and the shine of her eyes caught him, settling him even as they made his nerves climb up the back of his throat. Suddenly, he felt ridiculous.

“I tried out for a part in a school play.”

He let the quiet sit between them for a moment, wind clawing at the windows again. When he glanced at Lisa’s face, he could just see her starting to grin, wicked and delighted.

“You did not,” she whispered, gleeful.

He laughed, a little embarrassed, and said, “I did.”

“I didn’t think you guys ever settled anywhere long enough to even think of doing that!”

“We didn’t.” Dean hesitated. “I- spent two months at a boys’ home. Got pretty invested in school, looked into extra-curriculars, and thought- hey, why not, y’know? Ended up leaving before I found out if I even got the part.”

As he spoke, Lisa’s expression shifted into something he couldn’t quite read. Honestly, he was a little grateful for it, unable to bear either her tenderness or her teasing, not about this.

“For the best, probably,” he said, looking away again. “Don’t think the world’s ready for the Dean Winchester One-Man Show.”

“I’d pay to see that.”

“Oh, would you.” He huffed, but it turned into a sigh. “Nah. Probably would’ve wound up where I am now either way.”

“But what if you didn’t?” she asked. “What if you- I don’t know. Maybe you wouldn’t have made Broadway or anything, but-”

“It was one play,” Dean said, sharper than he’d intended. Lisa went quiet, and he shuffled a little closer to her again, kissing her forehead in apology. “Sorry.”

“It’s alright,” she said softly. “I don’t mean to push.”

Dean shook his head. “You weren’t. I’m just- I’m fine with how I am now, alright? I don’t need to go chasing what-ifs, I’m good right here.”

Lisa freed her hand from Dean’s, and he felt her knuckles at his throat, her thumb against his chin. He dipped his head and kissed the pad of it. Tree branches rapped at the side of the cabin and Lisa shivered.

“Rough night out there,” Dean murmured against her hand. “Never know what might try and get in.”

“I’d protect you,” Lisa said. Her eyes were dark and glittering from the faint light of the window, and that, Dean knew, was a secret too, just for them.

They didn’t say anything more. Eventually they fell asleep, foreheads pushed together and limbs entangled; outside, the wind carried on.