#okay this is really long so I’m putting this is main tag fuck you

[velaenam]

𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐦𝐲 𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡 𝐚𝐰𝐚𝐲

                                                                         ◦ ♡

𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐛 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 – non!mc. you are a successful aerospace engineer, a girlboss, with terrible luck in romance. let's hope this strangers website brings you out of that rut! 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬 / 𝐭𝐰 – NSFW topics! swearing/foul language, strangers, slow burn, talks of depression/mental health, guilt tripping, manipulation, tba notes – not proofread. remember to read tags if you do have triggers. i try my best to update tags regarding each chapters, xo. 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 - 5 of many ! previous chapter | next chapter

before we start. i started compiling a playlist for this story if you were interested lol. main song at the top, along with a bunch of music i listened to while writing this aka inspo LOL . music will be added as i go through the story. also THE TEXT MSGS ARE MAAAD RAUNCY BAYBEE LIKE GOOD GAWD.. U N CALEB ARE DOGGS... ;)

caleb gets up and leaves his phone on the couch. he grabs all the dishes and puts them in the sink. as he clangs around the kitchen she stirs from her sleep. she mumbles incoherencies as she fishes for her phone, her fingers gripping his. she turns it on and blinks at it. 

“whispr notification” she mumbles out, as her eyes squint at it, still needing to readjust her peripherals. she types calebs password with ease and her eyes glue to the notification. she hovers just before clicking it and waiting for the message to arrive.

space baby: you’re okay. not mad, just sad. id like to meet you. ive been thinking about you more than i thought and i think id like to see you if youre okay with that

her stomach drops and she stares at the messages, reading up as much as she possibly can before her lip quivers into some sickened jealousy. who is space baby and why is he talking to her? his wink emoji is reserved for me. why is he flirting with this woman he doesn’t know? a fire in her eyes ignite as she pathetically scrolls through the conversation, each talk lodging a jealous knife into her chest.  

as she goes through, shes hit with a chestful of pain. her lips tremble, is it from jealousy? from the fact her best friend couldn’t text her how he was feeling, and hes reaching out to someone else? as her feelings arise to the surface, caleb finishes cleaning the dishes, and rubs his neck, and walking over to the other side of the hallway. he rummages through the hallway closet, grabbing a towel, “hey pipsqueak, can i shower?” he calls out to her, and she gives him a loud ‘mhm’ before returning to sneak through the phone texts.

space baby: so we can ask anything we want since we’re two randoms right? captain apple: yep! no judgement here. space baby: favorite sex position? captain apple: hmm, i think it’d be cowgirl. i like when the woman is in control, missionary too– honestly as long as i can watch your face kind of thing. you get what i mean? space baby: no yeah i literally have the same mindset, i have a thing with power. dunno why. captain apple: ive got a thing for power too. 

she scowls, as this was unbearable to her. seeing this person speaking to caleb in such a dirty way, made her skin stand, her blood boil, her body temperature drop. 

captain apple: this is really weird, but do you use toys on yourself? i’m a guy obviously, but what do you think of men using toys? space baby: i have toys, but i don’t use them as frequent as i want. and yeah honestly, i don’t care if men use toys. kinda cute actually.  captain apple: cute? haha , space baby your vocab is limited. space baby: hey! it is! wtf lol

she wanted to vomit. caleb was so lewd-- so shameless, and with a random woman no less. this fucked with her as she continues, ignoring her senses

captain apple: do you believe in love? space baby: no i don’t. do you? captain apple: i do. maybe i can change your mind ;) space baby: you are…. so…so corny.. oh my god captain apple: but you didn’t say no!  space baby: fuck ok yes lol. can’t say no to you, you charming man. captain apple: well, maybe one day i can see your flushed face.  space baby: you can maybe see more than that.  captain apple: look who’s corny now! space baby: was it really? captain apple: no… that was.. space baby: ;)

that was enough for her. she throws the phone, and it shuffles onto the edge of the couch. she sits up from her seat, her chin on her knees. she contemplated, biting her bottom lip in debate as she waited for caleb to return. 

as he comes out of the shower he has a towel around his waist, and another towel in his hand rubbing his hair dry. he walks towards the living room where his friend sits balled up, and he goes to touch her head. she scrambles, pulling herself away from caleb.

“what’s the matter pips-” – “who is she?” her voice was low, almost trembling– not with fear, but laced with malice, “why are you texting her so much?” she reaches for his phone, dangling it in the air in front of him. caleb’s mouth goes dry, his face flash with guilt that he couldn’t hide fast enough, “it’s not– she’s just some random stranger that i met from the app. that’s all pips.” he attempts, but she shakes her head, “no- not from the conversations that i saw!” caleb stops in his track, a serious invasion of privacy. he tenses, but his demeanor doesn’t change, “what did you see, pipsqueak?”

she shakes her head again, turning his phone on, “i saw enough! caleb… i thought we were closer… i thought i’d be your #1.. it seems like someone else has your heart now….” she turns away her hurt evident from the things she had read. caleb was dumbfounded, lost, confused. he had never seen her act  so possessive of him, and he couldn’t understand why. whether she did this on purpose made his heart beat harder than he thought it could. 

“i’m sorry pipsqueak i-” caleb goes to defend himself, only to be cut off again by his pipsqueak, “you said we tell each other everything, you said we didn’t keep things!” – “i wasn’t hiding it..” he really wasn't. the man hadn't seen her in months.

“then why does this feel like betrayal?!” her eyes were glossed, but not from the tears. there was something wild behind them– hurt laced with protectiveness? “unadd her. block her, right now, caleb.” she huffs, holding the phone like it burned her, becking him to take it and oblige her. 

caleb looks at her stunned, heart pounding for reasons he wasn’t ready to say, “you don’t get to decide that.” he states dryly, eyes staring to darken as his hands move up to snatch the phone from her hands, “i do when it’s you.” she murmurs, looking off to the side, “because you’re mine , you’ve always been mine.” 

the silence that followed was suffocating— filled with everything he wanted to say and everything he could bring himself to. and somewhere between the space of loyalty and something messier— or rawer, caleb realizes they may be standing on the edge of a line they may not be able to recross one done so. 

he looks down at her piercing gaze, then back to his phone. he turns it on, putting his password in, and clicking whispr. he looks at it and begins to type, “caleb.” she pleads. his face snap to hers, and he could see how hurt she looked. at that moment he was faced with a choice. 

he hits backspace and clicks on the three dots above space baby’s name, 

“unmatch and unadd?”  click.

he slides next to her, and wraps his arm around her as she sobbed quietly. a mix of regret and pain in his eyes. pain that he felt that he had to make such a consequential choice. regret of the unknown. perhaps he lied to himself more than he wanted to? now he will never know who she was, and that was going to sting for a little bit

“im sorry… i didn’t know that was hurtful to you.. ill never do that again.” he brushes her hair as he leans his body towards her.

days turn into weeks and weeks turn into months. your maverick stunt was a side quest and your main one was getting neglected big time. skyhavens hangar hums quietly— save for the random bursts of the jet engines hydraulics or your footsteps. you move through active schematics, and glowing consoles, your sleeves rolled up, and your hair tied back. it’s been hours—- no days, since you’ve left the hangar. a cold cup of coffee and an inhaler of some sorts occupy your desk.

you adjust the thrust vectoring array on the new farspace fleet prototype. sleek, nimble, build for tunnel speed reactivity. your fingers move quickly and clinically, for distraction purposes.

there was a small hum from the console as a tech officer patches in while you were mid work, “you’re still here?” you respond without looking up, “this is where i work, and live apparently.” 

there was only a brief silence before the tech talks again, “you’ve run the thermal dispersal model 6 times now.” and without missing a beat, as if you were waiting for him to say something, “well it’s still not good enough. the tunnels don’t forgive errors.” 

once again you’re met by silence, assuming the tech unlinked the call, you sigh, before looking up at the model that returned your reflection, “at least you don’t vanish without a word.” 

caleb had a time after blocking space baby. he continued his regularly scheduled vacation to see her, and they spent more time texting. with her trying to text in the way space baby did, he felt appalled and quite honestly, icky. he didn’t have that weird connection that he did with her than he did with space baby, so with her trying to replace space baby it made him feel conflicted. on one hand it made him feel dejected, this kind of conversation is odd to have with someone he knew and no less, was attached to the hip. but on the other hand it makes him feel comfortable, and more domestic. 

he hadn’t seen you lately either. he’d ask about you and he’d hear multiple things in passing 

“probably busy with the new orders she got”

“she went to another country for work”

“they said she’s not in the building right now..” 

“she’s off and no i won’t disclose her whereabouts” caleb’d even gone to majors himself

when you were the topic there were excuses,  and he hates to admit but a part of him started to get even more sad. shifting three different attention into one person made life boring for him. you were suddenly so busy, and space baby no longer existed to him. he even tried to talk to whispr tech support about getting data and rematching and they’d give him the same answer.

he tried to find space baby again on whispr but by the end of the 2 weeks long process, he’s given up. space baby just didn’t exist in the system anymore and he had to come to terms with that. he relished it while it was fleeting. he enjoyed the life space baby gave the conversation, and sometimes took the reins. she didn’t do either. she was monotone, and would avert the conversation to her own accord. as much as he enjoyed getting that attention from her once more that he so much wanted weeks ago, he simply understood that life moves on, and part of moving one was meeting new people, or maybe it was to let things die down, and see where life took him.

you were okay for the most part. if you were lying to yourself of course. this whole situation made you feel even more iced out. your barrier got higher, and you worked and worked. you went out with your friends from time to time, but they definitely noticed the difference with you now.  it was temporary though– you’d promise. however,  you were just really bad with timing as usual. when you were going to take some time off the DAA called you into the office to have you start a highly classified program and you would work with multitudes of people from other departments. you’d be working with the DAA officially from here on out— or until you finished your project. so much for your planned vacation to another country. 

you finally finished, everything was going according to plan. you just had to finish the panel with the officials before you could take a temporary break. they knew they were straining you dry for having a one woman army tackle this, but there was nobody capable but you.

the room was stark and high tech, built for strategy and scrutiny. the prototype 3d model— sleek and formidable, rotators above the center table, and around the prototype a half circle of farspace fleet officials, commanders, engineers, and senior pilots sit stone faced and attentive.

you stand in front of the projector, a tablet in hand, and your shoulders squared. as they finish their conversations they turn to you, eyes locking with yours. you give them a half smile as you start your presentation. 

“good morning, I will be presenting the TG-X— the next generation tunnel rated aircraft designed for deep environment response“ and maneuverability, extended endurance in high-pressure zones, and rapid escape from collapse vectors.” 

you gesture and the ships hologram peels apart, revealing it’s system in layers, engines, shielding, navigation grid, etc. you clear your throat as the men and women look into each layers meticulously, “the TG-X runs on a twin-core propulsion system with independent stabilizer logic. that allows real time response with deepspace turbulence– down to .5 second input delay- give or take.” 

a fleet commander raises his fingers, his gruff voice ringing through the air, “twin-core setups overheat. you are risking a meltdown during boost.” your eyes dart to him, “not with our thermal regulators. each core is cooled by a fluid compression loop embedded in the outer hull struts– testing shows how heat dispersion exceeds prior models by 20-30 percent.” you flick your tablet, and the projection changes to a simulation. the TG-X navigating a collapsing tunnel scenario. field littered with debris, volatile currents, wanderers around. the ship dips, rolls, and escapes- cleanly.

the room is silent, the fleets people look amongst each other, clearly intrigued. the senior pilot leans in, her fingers trailing the wings, “and the wing design.. looks a little too light for heavy evasive thrusts, no?”  you tilt your head, clicking on the wing, and it opens the list of things it was comprised of, “flexible carbon titanium weave. reinforced at pivot points. it’s light because it has to be. if you’re using brute force in the tunnels well… you’re already dead.” 

that hangs in the air. a few of the officers glance at each other, before another one piped up, “you built this for survivability?” – “i build this so the people who fly it might actually come back.” it’s quiet once again. it settles like a weighted blanket. you stare off into the row of power, till you look back down on your tablet, the commander grunts, as if in a approving way, “we will authorize a full field evaluation. please prepare your men for the next proceeding.” 

you nod curtly, and they slowly file out of the room, until it was just you and your creation.  you don’t tremble. your hands don’t shake, even when they lower the lights and shut down the hologram. you stand, surrounded by silence and tech. no applause, and no words.  your design held up to the most powerful military government in the world, and they listened. this was your power. 

it was a cold evening, but you were even colder as you stood there, tight lipped, while your engineers yelled amongst each other. you tap your fingers on the table, as you look around the area of effect. whiteboard full of scribbles, schematics scattered everywhere, parts on the table, and the prototype sits pretty in the middle of everything. it was kinda relaxing, if hell relaxed you.

definitely beats watching reruns and being sad over a stupid captain apple. 

your thoughts are pried from you as one of the engineers slam their tablet down, “we can’t just run a single coolant loop through the avionics bay! if that line fails we lose guidance control and telemetry! do you not understand how difficult that’s going to be to deal with?” 

“we have a back up-”

“no we have a band aid. its redundant, and not to mention, wishful thinking!” in the corner like a wrestler another engineer raises his hand, “what if we triple the coolant lines. you wanna make it so dense back there no one can service it without disassembling the whole panel?”  finally you chuckle against their bickering, “if someone says serviceability i’ll kill everyone in here. this is a spacecraft, not a family sedan.”  

they all halt their bickering, as you continue, “you’re all right. avionics goes down– we lose everything. cant overload the architecture of the ‘craft. we need an active failover loop. independent routing, isolated power, isolated control logic.” 

you see them slump their shoulders in relief as they slink back into their seats, before you continue again, you start to point your fingers as you spoke to them, “you two rework the trunk layout and confirm thermal thresholds. you– build me a sim with both loop failures and see how long we can survive. and i- will be on redundancy logic. we need that switchover to be instant. autonomous.”  everybody grumbles, before nodding and dispersing for the night. 

they leave and you sit down, your finger rubbing circles on your temple. you were tired out of your mind. you couldn’t sleep though, you had damn near 4 cups of coffee and you were wired out of your mind. 

you grabbed your jacket as you closed the area down for the day. your heels click clack against the tarmac, and as you round the corner you spot a shadow a ways away, near a jet. your brows raise, as it was turning night, and no pilots that you knew of were supposed to be out doing night routines. 

you walk towards the shadow. you walking towards the shadow with absolutely no experience with combat, or a gun, you think to yourself, if this was a bad guy you were done for. but at the same time you were a mean track star back in college, so maybe you could outrun this figure. 

as you think of your possible early death you hear a donk, and followed by a “fuck!” and it snaps you out. it sounded like caleb. “pilot! what the hell are you doing out here this late?” you yell through the howling wind.

calebs body moves to the sound of your voice, and he drops his wrench. “oh shit– sorry. thought everybody was gone already.” your brows raise as he sits on the metal box, fiddling with the undercarriage. you sit down on the free metallic box and observe him. “i just got out of my meeting. you know there are workers for that right?” caleb chuckles as he moves out from the undercarriage, his smile accompanied with a grease line on his jaw. “its nice to be able to know how your companion works. i prefer to do things hands on.” he grabs the towel and rubs the grease off his face and arms, before tilting his head at you, “you know, i haven’t seen you in a while. how’ve you been?” 

“i’ve been better. exhausted honestly.” you put your hand in your face, groaning, “but i can’t sleep. 4th cup of coffee, and i think i have meetings back to back tomorrow, so i have to plan for that.” caleb nods sitting across from you. he grabs his squeeze bottle, taking a quick drink before he looks at you again, “you’re good with her. your plane.” he gives you a sheepish grin, before nodding, “i try to be.” 

“you’re not bad with people either.” you state, and his eyes linger on yours for a second longer, lips curving a bit. “i’ve got a good one in front of me right now. kind of hard to mess that up.” the words hang there, soft and honest. for a second your tired pacing mind stills. no simulations, no systems failing, no heat signatures or safety thresholds… just– him. caleb. 

and it feels nice.

..

..

“do you want to take a nap with me?” your eyes widen, what does that mean? “huh?” you reply dumbfoundedly, and he chuckles, “i mean i woke up from a nap, so i won’t be going to bed anytime soon. if you wanted i could wake you up so you could make it to your meeting on time?” 

you couldn’t help but feel warm from that statement. that was just– lovely. you’d be a fool to say– “no.” you mumbled softly, and caleb laughs awkwardly, “well, i figured i’d offer you.” you rise from the metallic box, and place your hand on his shoulder, “i appreciate your offer, caleb. but i think i’ll manage.” you go to ruffle his hair, and he grips your wrist gently. the two of you stare into each others eyes briefly before you let go so abruptly. you clear your throat, nodding at him, “good night caleb.” 

“good night” he says quietly as he watched you walk off into the building.

a couple weeks go by, your run ins with caleb became more prevalent. you’d be walking around the corner and crash into him. you’d see him walk into the lounge with his friends and they’d take turns ogling you like a piece of meat. you were fine with it, carnal desire was human. but the moment catcalling started hands would be thrown. but they knew better than that. they’d definitely get court martialed for less. 

he would try to get you involved in the stupid escapades the pilots and cadets were doing, only for it to fail miserably as you glare daggers and walked off, but he’d always catch that smile on your face as you rounded the corner. so to him it was worth the trouble.

you’d lock eyes with him as he got ready for flight, the hands on shoulders become more frequent, and your relationship with him gradually rises. the lingering stare became more of a thing when he’d pick up your food for you when you ordered something. he knew where your office was, and he’d make the trek across the runways just to bring it to you if needed. you'd stare at him, maybe share a meal if he had time. talk about your shared interest. shared interested that you may have already known from whispr.

you were a bit intrigued with his sudden pamper to you. you thought it would be because of the moment you two shared the other night, but you also figured that caleb was just a kind guy. a kind guy that was interested in you. not that you were against that– you were clearly interested in him as well. 

knock knock 

“come in” you say monotonously through the tempered glass. your eyes move to see who had come in, and it was caleb. he had a cup of coffee from the shop you had talked about, and your face turned to glee.

“i got you a brown shaken espresso. it’s new.” you thanked him and grabbed the cup, the hot content warming your cold fingers. oh yes, the richest government property in the country and their AC/heater was fucked. 

“thank you so much. how much do i owe you?” he shakes his head as he sits across your desk, “its nothing. honestly.” caleb chuckled, and you stare at him as your computer popped up an email. you read it as it comes in. it simply read;

“maverick is captain calebs. love dad.” you state to caleb. his eyes widen as he smiles in glee, “oh really? you sure you didn’t mess with the results?” you chuckle, shaking your head as you sipped the drink, “course not. but im not surprised. you performed exceptionally well compared to others. you blew them out of the water.” you chuckle at him as the two of you converse about what the next plan of topic was for the maverick. they would be swapping his current plane with the maverick, and they’d have his name on the side and everything. 

“caleb, what are you doing for the holidays?” 

he stills, and for a moment he looked like he was thinking. he did promise he was going to see his pipsqueak, but ever since the events that had happened when he last went, he was a bit drawn back. but he also promised her, and he’s never broke a promise to her.

“i’m probably going to go see pipsqueak..” – “is that like your pet?” – “n-no that’s my best friend in linkon..”-- “your best friends name is pipsqueak? like the radio nav?” he looked flustered, “y-yeah.. that..but no-- thats not her actual name” 

“well that’s cute.” you lie, your deadpan voice giving it away, he chuckles lowly, and puts his cup down, “what about you? anyone special you’re spending time with during the holidays?”  you place your palm on your jaw, and lean your elbow into the desk, a smirk flashing in your eyes, “oh, are you offering?” his face tints pink– and his ears! you giggle as you saw his face redden, and as embarrassing as it was for him, caleb felt at home. you were so warm, and your laugh was music to his ears. he feels as if he was falling, in a good way.

“i could be..” 

“well, i’ll hold you to that.. though, holidays aren’t in like another couple weeks.. but i do love to reserve ahead of time. you’ve got yourself a deal mr caleb.” you wink, and he smiles, before the intercom calls for ‘captain caleb to hangar 23’. he excuses himself as you nod at him, going back to your work. 

friday- he’s out with his friends, bar hopping, except he was designated driver. they were let go early due to the fleet having to come in and conduct their meeting. the fewer eyes the better for them as they say. so now his group of friends and him were currently at another bar to celebrate the early off into the weekend. 

he comes outside of the bar, taking a deep deep breath and closing his eyes. a semblance of peace was all he needed before he went crazy in there. he leans into the brick wall, steadying his breath as he continued to relax.

the neon sign hums, ‘OPEN’ with the E flickering here and there. music and muffled laughter spilling out everytime the door swings open. it was a pilot’s hangout– gritty and loud. the kind of place people go to forget the pressure of space and hardness of work. 

“-- well well, you look exhausted, captain.” his eyes snapshot open, catching your eyes. he straightens a little, turning his body to meet yours. “oh! you caught me off duty. don’t tell command…” he murmurs, and you laugh gently, shaking your head, “relax, i’m not a snitch. i also don’t care what DAA’s finest does on their off time. it’s been a tiring couple months for everybody.” 

a short silence settles between you two. not awkward, but not easy. he watched you stare at him, as he takes your outfit in. you wore it simple today. rings, earrings, v cut short sleeve, with high waisted pants, and white sneakers. when he noticed his prolonged stare he breaks contact, shifting his gaze through the window to watch his friends holler into a mic. he turns back to you, his eyes twinkling as it clashed with the neon colors, “what’re you doing here such a dingy area?” you join him, leaning on the brick wall yourself, and you shrug, “i love the bar food here. you?” – “i’m the guys designated driver for the night. not a big alcohol guy.” 

your eyes move to look at him, your impending curiosity beating harder. you wanted to know so bad. “responsible. how sweet. what do you do to relax and give yourself time?” you smiled at him, as the two of you watch the cars drive by. caleb hums a small chuckle, “well, i like watching planes take off.. i used to do it a lot when i was younger– with my best friend. i also read a lot of books on my free time. i’m a fan of dinosaurs and jurassic park, if you’ve heard?” 

you shake your head, “no i definitely have not, but it sounds cool. are you doing anything this weekend?” you go to reach your phone, and caleb shakes his head, “nope. how did your date with gideon go? he didn’t want to tell me.” 

you freeze up, and purse your lips, looking off to the side, looking a bit guilty. “i couldn’t do it. my mind was just preoccupied, and i don’t really date.” you lie, as you bump phones with caleb. he just gives you a nod and a ‘ah’ before you smile up at him again, “i apologize, but i’ve gotta get going. i bought pizza for tonight, and it’s ready for me. i hope to hear from you soon?” you tilt your head at him as you start for the door. caleb could only give you a nod.

you are home. tired, damn near defeated, but home. you place your pizza in the oven and set it to warm as you head to your room to change into something comfortable. you throw on your robe and your satin loungewear. you got a couple of drinks on the way home after your run in with caleb, and decided to settle down and catch up on island love. 

the pizza was sweltering, cheese ready to stretch as you pull a piece apart. it was like a cartoon pizza. it made your mouth water as you got yourself ready to pull an all nighter.

not 1 hour in you get a call. it was from caleb. you fumble your phone and hit answer as you lower the volume of the tv show, “hello?” he goes first, and you clear your throat, smiling through your words, “didn’t expect to hear from you so soon, caleb.” you could hear his laugh, his tone low and warm, “i just wanted to check and make sure you made it home..” it was a lie, and you both knew it, “you know… your delivery sucks…” you chuckle, and he does too after a second, “hm you know i’m kinda working on it.” 

there was a brief silence, before you ask the obvious, “why are you calling me this late?” another silence, followed by , “just dropped everybody off, and wanted to talk to you.” your heart skips a beat, and you swallow hard, fighting the smile creeping on your face, “hey caleb, do you want to come over? if you’re not tired. do you like chinese food?” 

“i’d be happy to. text me your address, and yes i do.”

“great. i’ll have majors pick you up.” 

-

caleb was lost for words. he was in the back of a sleek and kept car. assuming yours, with majors driving and on calebs lap, was a bag of chinese food that majors had picked up on his way to pick caleb up. you certainly had a lifestyle he was not known to. 

as majors gets out, he opens the door for caleb. he gets out, and he is met with a skyscraper in front of him. it was so very obvious you would have to have some sort of money to live in a place like this. he swore the foyer had real diamonds in there as he ogled. 

majors leads him to the elevator and they both get in. the silence kills them, as they stand apart, staring at the metallic door. 

ding! majors steps out first and followed by caleb. 

“be careful with her.” caleb looks to majors, who was just walking ahead, not a beat missed, “it’ll take a while for you to get used to her ways, but she’s a good woman.” he states, as he knocks on your apartment door. the sound of your shuffles break the quietness that meditated in the hallway, and shortly after your door opens. 

majors nods to you before heading out of sight, and you stand here with caleb. your face breaks out into a smile, and you step aside, urging him to come in. caleb comes in, staring in awe at how breathtaking your apartment was. there were faux models of black and white planes suspended on the sides, about the size of his forearms. he looked at the photos of what looked like was your father on maverick when he was still piloting it, grinning under his helmet. another wall was filled with your degrees, framed like trophies, centered around a photo of your graduation. you were certainly distinguished. he even looks at your dinner table– a blueprint heaven. tools, notebooks, a half-dissected engine schematic. you never stop working, it seems. “you ever turn your brain off?” he mumbles just loud enough for you to hear, and he hears your sweet chuckle float over his shoulder before you indulge him, “if i did that then i’d have no money, and you wouldn't have mav.”

on a nearby bookshelf, caleb spots a faded photo in a silver frame. a much younger version of you is perched on your dad’s shoulder, both of you wearing matching aviator sunglasses. theres  grease on his flight suit, and juice stains on your overalls. he chuckled, his heart warming at the sight of. he can really tell your love for planes. hell, it might even be more than his. 

he snaps out of his trance as he joins you on the couch. he looks down at the coffee table, a cute little metallic version of maverick on the middle, along with some magazines and a candle. he watches as you clear it out to the side and pat the table.

“hey. here’s the take out you wanted.”  he says as he places the takeout in front of you both. “i didn’t know what you wanted, so i ordered some other stuff.” you say, as you take everything out of the bag, placing them on the coffee table. he stares at you as you take everything out, before turning his attention to the tv in front of you both. “what are we watching?” he chuckles, as you take your place next to him. 

“island love. it’s juicy, it provides me drama in my life that i do not have.” you say pridefully, as you explain the premise of the show to caleb. he looked so into it, asking you questions as you restart the season just for him. he comments on the show just as much as you do, and this made your heart flutter, and the butterflies in your stomach come alive. 

“you’re not gonna eat that last dumpling are you?” caleb asks with a sly grin. your brows raise, “was gonna save it…” he leans over, splitting the dumpling in half with his chopstick, and drops a piece into your container. he smirks at you, “compromise” he says as he chews on his half.

there’s a lull. the screen flickers. the two of you are quiet but not uncomfortable. he leans back a little, finishing his drink, and you catch yourself watching him. he looks good here. settled. natural. too natural, maybe. you shake the thought, tucking your feet beneath you. ugh god he’s fine.

you two talk—about work, about families, about stupid stuff. it’s easy, and warm, and you realize somewhere between the second dumpling and your explanation of why jamie should’ve never picked chloe that you don’t want this night to end. 

“so hey, question.” you grab the remote and turn the volume down as you look at caleb. he looks at you, grabbing his drink, “gideon told me you use whispr? he told me about your silly challenge.” you laugh briskly, and he nods, joining in, “did he tell you that i had to take them out for dinner?” he chuckles again, placing his drink on the table. your eyes never leave his, as you open your mouth to speak:

“ captain apple, was it?” 

his eyes widen.

it takes him back to the time where he got busted by grandma. he was trying to sneak some food up the stairs, and was strictly forbidden to take food in his room. so when he got busted he looked like a deer in headlights. 

the tension between you and caleb shifts, subtle but unmistakable. you tilt your head, repeating your words to him. his eyes finally lock with yours, his awkward smile catching the gleam of the tv, “did he… uh tell you my silly nickname on there?” 

ah, he was playing stupid. you shake your head at him, “ha, for sure. i used it a little bit as well.. lets see.. what was my name on there” you fake ponder, before you continue to mess with him, "space baby i think?" he just stares at you, “oh..” he breathes. 

you always wanted to know who was that charmer in those messages that kept you late at night. the man who was always making you laugh and the one who indulged you. knowing it was caleb made your heart a little happier, but you still wanted to know why the fuck? 

“i can explain…” he starts and you just nod,

“go ahead because we have all night— weekend even.” 

his gaze flicker at you, then his hand, “it’s not what you think… i… when i went to go visit her, my childhood friend? the one i was telling you about that one day., she saw the text messages.” your cheeks flush, those were certainly some raunchy messages. you wondered which one, and a part of you wanted to laugh at her, but you nod at him, “she didn’t like… that i was getting too close to you. she suddenly got- possessive? i’ve never seen the side of her.” he mutters under his breath and you breathe a sigh through your nostril. 'sounds like somebody had a crush they didn't want to come to terms with', you think as you allow him to continue,

“she thought… well, that we were getting too close.. that i was getting…. involved..” caleb shifts uncomfortably, his hands clenching into a fist but quickly releasing, “so to appease her i unadded you.” 

the words sting more than you expected, even though you weren’t really expecting much, it still sucked to hear. unadded. like you were just someone to be removed. the weight of it presses down on you, though you try to smile through it— albeit a little bittersweet.

“so you let your best friend dictate who you can and can’t talk to?” you try to keep the humor in your voice but it comes off a bit cutting to him. that most definitely wasn’t your type of man. having this discussion was cutting it close for you as it is “it’s not like that…” his voice softens with an edge of guilt to it, “i didn’t want to but… it got complicated..” 

your heart flutters out of your chest, and your brows scrunch towards each other, “caleb, complicated was me rerunning tests 6 times in a row with random ass results. i don’t want to be rude but it just sounds like you have no backbone for this girl.” you pinch the bridge of your nose, sighing. he feared that you were right. you were speaking truth to existence and he couldn’t do a damn thing. if anything he enjoyed the truthfulness from you. “im going to state the obvious.  we were flirting back and fourth, like a lot. what are we supposed to do with this new found information?”

caleb looks up at you as he ponders himself, “to be honest. i was a bit more bold in the text messages because… i thought we’d never meet..” you chuckle at him, cheeks tinted in pink, “me too.” but you snap out of it. now was not the time to fall for his sexiness! OR do, either way works.

“im going to level with you. im not much for the three way couple stuff… so if you and i are gonna take whispr out of the internet then… you know.” you wag your finger at him, a playful but curious smile on your face now. caleb laughs, calming down, “yeah i… i know..”  you were not going to deal with this little girl who was his best friend, and you were going to make that very and painfully clear if you had to, and from how much caleb figured, you weren’t going to play about him. it made his heart flutter, amongst other things. you looked sexy when you were possessive.

“so, what do you want to do?” you ask after a minute of silence, caleb leans into his arm staring down at you, and you steel your nerves. those lips were calling your name, “let me ask you a better question. are you interested in me?” he smirks into the question, seeing you unravel in real time. “uhm… yes obviously.” you look away from him, your face turning red. caleb takes his opportunity to chuckle, his fingers hooking your chin and forcing you to stare at him. he leans down to get a better look at you. your eyes were locked on his as he continued, “then… we’ll carry off where we were in whispr, yeah?” 

you were just at a loss of words.

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[godmadeaterribleerror]

To Need Somebody

Main Masterlist - Dean Masterlist

Read on A03!

Tags: Dean Winchester/Female Reader, angst, very light fluff, pre-established relationship, no use of y/n

Summary/Warnings: After a hunt goes poorly, Dean retreats down a well-tread path of self-loathing. You've been here before, and you'll be here again, and you'll stay every time. Self-esteem warning, but that's it.

Author's Note: First Dean fic! A very good excuse to rewatch supernatural and say it's for my own edification as if he doesn't live in my head rent-free.

Title from Renegade by Big Red Machine ft Taylor Swift.

Word Count: 3.8k

The night doesn’t pass as quickly as you’d like it to. It’s long and slow, treelines and yellow grass moving in blur out the window as the stinging, stabbing pain in your leg keeps you awake.

You keep your face pressed to the glass, hidden in shadows and under your makeshift blanket—it’s just a jacket, but it’s Dean’s so it smells like him and might be better than a blanket—so that the light reflecting off your tired, tear-stained face doesn’t catch the attention of the rear-view mirror.

Doesn’t catch the attention of Dean.

He hasn’t spoken since the drive home began. He’d carried you to the car, then into the motel, then on the bed, holding you still while Sam cleaned and sewed up the gash in your thigh. Dean had muttered words of comfort and let you bite down on his shirt through the stitches. He’d told you that you’d done well, and that the kid was going to be fine.

The kid with you was going to be fine. You’d been faster than the demon—but not faster than its blade aimed at your leg—and the little girl who had attached to you was going to be traumatized, but had a lifetime ahead of her to heal from it.

The little boy that had been with Dean didn’t. He was ash scattered over the skyline and stuck to wet grass. And you knew Dean blamed himself, even though Sam had told you in hushed words at a gas station that it there was nothing anyone could have done. The kids eyes had started to go black, and he’d wandered to the window with an expression of wonder Dean had caught immediately, because he was a good hunter and better man.

And it wasn’t Dean’s fault the kid had punched through the window with inhuman strength. You’d all assumed that the crazy fucking ritual was more of an offering than a conversion. If your kid had punched through a window, you would have likely lost her as well.

But you hadn’t. Sam’s hadn’t lost his either. By pure, shit luck, Dean’s was the one that formed a stronger connection. That fell under faster, and died for it.

So now Dean wasn’t speaking to you or Sam. He’d helped you to the Impala, checked that you were comfortable, and set his jacket over your body, even after you told him you were okay. You’d reached a hand up to his face, told him you loved him, and gotten a grimacing smile in return.

You know he loves you. He’s not good at saying it, but you know. You know because he’s driving slower than usual, to avoid bumps. You know because the music is low, and it’s one of his better tapes. One of the one’s you’ve told him you like more than the others, and the one he always put it on when you’re in pain.

There isn’t a doubt in your mind that Dean loves you. And the silent acts of attention and service make the exact three times he has said it all the more meaningful.

The first time, when you’d tried to leave—reaching a breaking point of I can’t keep loving him like this, but I can’t get over him while I’m here—and he’d shot down your every fear with begging words and a confession he’d sounded afraid to make.

The second time, when you’d died. Really died, and Dean had tried to break up with you to protect you when you’d come back. You’d called an idiot, but your idiot, and simply refused to leave him. You’d told him to give you one good reason he wanted you to go, and he’d never see you again. He’d shouted, and you’d screamed, and you think you won. You’re still here, so you won. 

The third time, which you called the good time. Where he hadn’t said it in a shout or plea, or because he was in afraid of losing you in whatever form, but because he wanted to. Dean had really just wanted you to know that he loved you, and now you did. And you’d never doubt it again.

But this still hurts. The wall that forms over Dean—a form of protection from this silent burden and self-inflicted torture you know must be unbearable and heavier than the world, crushing on his shoulders and head and ribs—is like a stray dog that you just have to watch tear itself apart, and hope it will accept your outstretched hand. Offering comfort it doesn’t know it deserves.

You know Dean loves you, and you know he never takes your hand, and it still really fucking hurts. A fight would be better than this. Screaming would be a relief to the heavy silence that had started to form a weight in your lungs. Your head felt like iron, and you were beginning to wonder if your tongue with ever stop being a pointless muscle that was uncomfortable in your mouth. Stop just itching at your teeth and finally become useful. Find the right words that would make Dean do anything, anything at all. Literally anything that wasn’t sitting like a sentry and holding the wheel like—if he choked it and it spat out blood—something would fix itself.

It’s dawn when you hear the engine stop, and you can’t move. A little because you still can’t fully support any weight on your leg, but mostly because moving will be acknowledging that you’re awake. And being awake comes with choices. You either have to look at Dean and pretend you don’t see the way he’s ripping himself apart before smashing everything back together in a way that’s just a little less stable than before, or you have to not look at Dean.

He’ll notice. He notices everything, especially obvious things like you not looking at him. And it will hurt him—make this hole you think lives in his ribcage or spine bigger and more hollow—so no matter what pain it causes you, you need to look at Dean.

You push up your forearms with a groan, and he’s right there. Already watching you, so obviously in pain, and so obviously guarded from it that there’s not much for you to do right now. These are things Dean has to ask you for before you can give them. If you offer kind words, he’ll think they’re tainted with pity and spit venomous ones back. If you offer a body he’ll take it, but then the hole will grow larger as the guilt sets in for using you, even if you were the one that asked.

When it’s like this, all you can do is sit with him. Let him help you into the bunker, and—when he tries to put you in bed—insist he stays here, or you go where he goes.

You can make that about you, about not wanting to be abandoned in the midst of your physical turmoil, instead of Dean. He’ll let you follow him if it’s for you.

“You need to rest,” he grunts your name, and these are the first words he’s spoken in almost twelve hours. They’re almost inaudible, and a little angry, but they’re the most amazing sounds you’ve ever heard. “Been a long night. You’re hurt-“

“I can rest with you.” You whisper, and he looks like you shot him. “I don’t want to be alone, Dean. Please.”

There’s a long, horrible moment where you think he’ll say no. Where he’ll mutter that he’s never a productive in a bedroom setting for anything like resting, give you an empty smirk and a sleep well, Sweetheart before walking out the door and closing it behind him. If he does, you won’t be near him until he comes to bed in the dead of night, finally deeming himself worthy of undeserved luxuries like blankets and pillows.

In that awful moment, you consider crawling to him and dragging the entire bed set with you. Demanding that he gives you just proximity, because you both need it. He won’t have to touch you, or look at you, or speak to you, but he’ll be near you. At an acceptable distance, in case something in him escapes and you need to be there to catch it.

Dean doesn’t help you out of bed to follow him. But he does climb onto the mattress at your side, sitting up at the headboard and resting his hands in fists against his thighs, staring ahead with a practiced, unreadable expression.

You take it. Loving Dean is a lot of taking things. A lot of trying to give things back and having them be refused. It’s worth it, worth every screamed fight and strange, empty moment of only being near him, because most of the time it’s not like this. Most of the time it’s jokes and shared, sparring words. It’s almost all watching him be goofy and charming, and kissing a stubbled cheek when he gets in a mock fight with Sam and loses. Smiling and telling him you’ll get him next time, Buddy.

But these darker, emptier times are an unavoidable hazard of the trade. People who date in offices have to navigate HR, people who date in entertainment have to deal with the media and hunters who date have to deal with the fact that loss is inevitable, and you can’t afford to be attached to anything. On top of that, Winchesters who date have to grapple with their whole… everything.

But Dean is still with you. And that means he’s decided the joy of having you is worth the pain of losing you. It’s why when you slip your hand into his, he doesn’t pull it away. He squeezes it, and clings to it like a lifeline.

Sleep fades in and out in a haze, never long enough to dream or feel rested, but enough to register that Dean is crumbling. It starts with his body suddenly slouched down the mattress, then his legs are tangled in yours. Soon after your face is near his neck, and finally, he’s asleep at your side.

From there the day is traded sleep. You’re awake, and you shift the blanket to cover his body with yours. He’s awake, and suddenly your hair has been brushed from your face. You’re awake, your leg is hooked over his waist. He’s awake, you’re on top of him.

When you’re finally awake together, you just watch each other. You don’t speak first—Dean always to speaks first during these things—but you might have to stay here for a while until he does.

His eyes strained as if something is going to burst out of him, and he’s using every fiber and crevice of his will to keep it in. You don’t want to keep demanding more of Dean’s will. You don’t want to demand anything of him at all. So you just wait for him to fall a little further—keeping a soft, encouraging smile on your face the whole time—until he comes down entirely and speaks again. Light words coated in a pain that makes your head and heart ache, but words all the same.

“How’d you end up there, Sweetheart?”

You shrug, matching his tone but making your face more open. Wide and almost innocent, considering the position of resting over to your sex-god boyfriend, whose hands are wandering to hold you by your thigh. “Not sure.” You lean down, smiling at Dean like you have a secret as your voice drops to a whisper. “Between you and me, I think someone keeps putting me here. I go to sleep and wake up in the same place every time.”

He chuckles. “We should do something’ about that. Tie you to the bed so you can’t be moved.”

“I think,” you kiss his jaw, tangling your fingers in the soft, spiky hair at the nape of his neck. “That might just spur him on. He’d like the challenge.”

You start to kiss over his cheek—because it’s rare you get moment to just touch him without any need to go further, with neither of you asking for more, so you’re taking full advantage—and Dean’s head falling back with a low, long sigh, eyes closing as you continue your self-set task.

“He might.” Dean mutters. “But he also might not let you get to the sleepin’ stage.”

“He would.” You say against his skin, rising back up to watch his face, a strange combination of relaxed pain on his features that you knew too well. Where his brown was drawn but his breathing was slow and easy, and his mouth was parted but in a small frown. “Or he’d end up sleeping on me. The joke would be on him, though, because I love that too.”

“You seem to know this guy real well,” he says your name, dragging his eyes open to hold your gaze, and almost breaking your heart with how tired he looks. How he doesn’t seem to find peace in the truth of the words he’s saying. “He know you?”

“Better than anyone.” You whisper. “And I do know him. I’d like to think it’s better than most.”

“Do ya?”

“I do.” You drop your chin to prop on his chest, and Dean shift up to keep watching you as you speak. “He’s a bit of a goof, but very serious when he needs to be. He’s charming and handsome and a total cowboy, right down to the very odd chivalry and voice.”

“Odd chivalry?”

“He’ll hold my hair back when I’m sick and open every door, but he gets all bitchy when I ask for a fry, even when I offer a blowjob in return.”

“I always give you the fry, even when you just fucking ate all your own. And I don’t take the blowjob.” Dean grumbles, and your smile widens.

“Because you’re a very chivalrous guy, Winchester. Even if you keep moving me on top of you in the middle of the night.”

He frowns, scanning over your face. “I can stop that-“

“Don’t. I think I’ll find my way back here anyway.”

“Yeah? You like it here, huh.”

Dean’s words aren’t teasing like they might have been on another morning, but defeated. All you can do is hold your ground, and stay.

“I love it here.” You hum, playing with his hair under your hands in the way that always slows his breathing and eases the storm in his brain. “I love you.”

Dean sighs, and you know exactly what’s coming before he says it. “Look, Baby-“

“Don’t call me Baby, Dean.” You mutter, continuing your movements. “That’s either a sex name or an apology name, and we’re not about to have sex."

He says your name again, and it’s lower and deeper than before. Like he never wants to stop saying it, but can’t afford to anymore. “You gotta understand that I’m no good for you. Hell, no one’s good for you, but son of a bitch, I’m plain bad-“

You drop your head down to his chest, and take a long, laboring breath. This happens, in some form, every time. You don’t want his apologies or excuses or attempts to convince you to leave. If anything they just cement your place here, because you can be a little spiteful, and you’re not one to give up. As long as Dean keeps loving you, you’ll keep waiting out the darker nights at his side. 

But you’re also a little sick of it. How pointless this is, how it only wastes the finite time life has to offer to anyone, let alone two hunters. How it hurts Dean to say, and you to hear, and he seems to think he’s doing you some sort of favor by pushing you away. That this is saving you and not killing you. Slowly, slowly eating at you until you don’t leave—you won’t leave—but you do start to wonder if it’s you. If Dean just doesn’t trust you or like you all that much, and doesn’t want to hurt your feelings. It’s just as irrational as Dean’s own logic—if only because he’s hurt your feelings a lot before, and always torn himself apart for it after out of love and pain after, making it up to you tenfold—but it remains a little, nagging voice in your head. That people who want you don’t try to push you away. That he does love you, but maybe can’t see a life with you, and just wants you gone.

You try and offer yourself some grace for your doubt, because it’s really, truly, not about Dean. Despite what he seems to believe, you’re not perfect either. You don’t end up hunting because you’re incredibly emotionally stable and have a pristine, joyful past. It just all happened to fall into place that your breaks and cracks line up with Deans. That he can fill in divets and depressions that eat at you—not pretty enough, not likable, nothing anyone could really chose to stay around, always the backup, always the poet and the prophet but never with a name people will remember when you’re inevitably gone—and you can do the same for him.

You need to try to keep doing the same for him. There are parts of you Dean knows that soothing and healing will take time to do, and parts of Dean you’re worried to touch and make worse, but there are also breaking points. Where your words start to spill out in a desperate play to just make it a little better for you both.

This is one of them. And all he’ll have to do is listen.

“You don’t need to agree with me,” when you start your voice is soft but cracked, like a breath you have to fight to take. “And you can even tell me I’m wrong after. But please don’t leave.” 

He looks mostly confused at that, at the sudden shift in the air and spaces between it. Still heavy and clouded with sorrow, but also wired. Detriment. “I ain’t leaving you-“ He says your name, and you cut him off with a sigh. 

“Don’t leave the room. Don’t leave the bed. Just stay here and listen.” 

His frown deepens, but he nods. And now you have to talk. 

It’s not rehearsed or prepared, but it doesn’t need to be. You know what you need to say.

“I’m not going to tell you it wasn’t your fault, because I know you hate that. But I hate when you do this. When you blame yourself, or try to. It’s mean to me.” 

Dean’s hands tense on your body, and he looks like a wounded animal, but you keep going.

“I love you. A lot. And when you tell me I shouldn’t it’s, it hurts.” You sigh, trying to just keep your eyes fixed on a freckle near his nose as you start to choke on your own words and the salty taste they bring. “It doesn’t feel good. It’s like you think I don’t know what I’m doing. Like you’ve tricked me into loving you, when I want to be here. I really like being here, and I know it’s not about me, but I want it to be.” You chance a look at his eyes, and they’re glossy. No tears—you’ve never seen them before, and you likely won’t see them now—but the closest thing you ever get from him. A storm that stays green and trapped, instead of crashing out onto golden, soft skin for you to brush away.

You feel a little selfish, because this is really not about you.

And you can’t really bring yourself to care, or stop.

“I wish you’d let this be about me too.” You whisper, your voice almost inaudible over the lump and ache in your throat. “I wish you’d let me help. I let you help, Dean, and it’s not fair.”

“’S different, Baby.” Dean’s voice is hoarse, and a little unsteady as he shakes his head. “I don’t-“ 

“If you say need help, Winchester, you’re going to need to start rehearsing your speech to convince Chuck to send you back again.”

“You don’t know I was gonna to say that-“

“Yes, you were. And it’s not different. I want to help, Dean.” You’re almost pleasing, and it’s an effort not to crawl up his chest and outright beg. “Let me help, or stop telling me I should fucking leave you. I’m not going to, and I know you don’t really want me to, or we’d have been done two years ago.”

“You shoulda listened two years ago-“

“But I didn’t. And I won’t now.”

Dean shakes his head, huffing a dry laugh. “You’re real damn stubborn, anyone ever told you that?”

“You have.” You let a smile twitch at your lips, but you still don’t relent. “And I’ve told you that you’re no better. And it’s one of the many reasons why I don’t want anyone else.”

“You should-“ 

“No, I shouldn’t.” You give a full, close-lipped smile that’s mostly made of hope. You haven’t fixed anything, but you may have soothed it. Found a way to make his hated a little less consuming, because this is hurting you, and Dean hates hurting you. If he can’t start to change or listen to genuine reason, you can use his own twisted logic against him. “And I’m staying here. Because I love you, and I don’t want to hear about how I deserve better. I know what I deserve, and I know what I want.”

“Me.” 

Dean says his word like he hates it, and you say yours like it’s a prayer. “You.” 

He looks defeated, but not in pain. When his hand wanders up your back, tangling in your hair and tugging it just enough for you to know what he wants, you comply. Falling carefully forward and letting Dean’s lips find yours, allowing him to lead the kiss and decide where it ends. Long and soft and almost delicate, his free hand still rubbing and squeezing on your thigh, but nothing more.

It doesn’t need to be more. Because Dean pulls back slowly, staring at you with a slight awe as he clears his throat, and his voice come out slow, but not forced.

“I,” he swallows, shaking his head at mostly himself. “I love you. And I, uh, I’m glad you’re still here. Glad you’re stubborn.” 

Your smile makes your cheeks hurt, but it’s pain born of joy, so it’s not really pain at all. “I’m glad I’m stubborn too.” You rest back down against him, and know neither of you will move for a long while. “It means I get to stay here.” 

End Note: I'm pre-gaming something. Thank you so, so much for reading!

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@artemys-ackles

[mazzystar24]

I hope I can ask you this because I don't want to ask in the tags, I'm scared 🥹 but I've seen a lot of discourse about why tommy isn't good for buck, he's cold, the relationship is toxic etc and I was wondering why people think that? Is there anything specific that started it?

I fully believe eddie is buck's true love, endgame, whatever we want to call it and I'm sad we don't have that (yet) but I thought bucktommy was kinda fun in the meantime. I just want to understand 🫶🏻

Oh hey darling! you were so sweet and genuine in your response so please know I’m just answering what I’m asked and if you wanna enjoy and have fun with bt that is completely your prerogative but I’m just offering my perspective on it

And i am warning you this is gonna be long because I feel a constant need to go really in depth in my thoughts

Okay so idk how I’m gonna break this down but maybe I’ll do it in like main points?

Also if you’re new here whenever I use bullet points I’m just doing it cos I find it easier to chunk up my thoughts not cos I’m being curt or anything with you

1. The chimney and hen begins episodes

He wasnt just passive in the episodes and letting Gerard get away with his racist and misogynistic behaviour he ACTIVELY participated in it

This includes:

• Asking if they forgot to tip the delivery guy WHILE THEY WERE EATING CHINESE FOOD when chimney first comes up despite the fact that 1. Chimney had a big ass lafd bag 2. They were probably already told a probie would be coming 3. Probably would’ve seen the actual delivery guy 4. I would bet my absolute life that question would not have been asked if buck or bobby had walked up those stairs this wasn’t an innocent comment it WAS RACIST intentionally like the entire point of the episode was to show how bad they had it

• the New York bitchiness comment

• throwing his tools down along for hen to clean up

• going out of his way to treat them like outcasts and hating chimney before he even knew him despite chimneys efforts

• the way each of them had to “earn his respect” in some way before he acted like a normal coworker to them and this was never in the typical ‘oh it’s a new person’ type of way it always had to do with their race or in hen’s case her gender too

A defence I see a lot for this is “oh he was closeted” and honestly to me that is such bullshit because 1. Eli was perfectly capable of not participating in the racism and taking chimney under his wing without getting any shit for it and chimney is quite literally a Korean man (something he literally can’t hide) and he had just got his head above water with Gerard’s racism when hen came and he STILL was a friend to her 2. Again tommy wasn’t passive in it and just letting Gerrard be racist (which would’ve been one thing) no he actively participated in it to be part of the boys club 3. Let’s say that somehow not being a dick would’ve meant that that was a threat to the closet he was in- that is still in my opinion a fucked up sense of preservation if you spare yourself the possibility of bigotry (despite having inherent social capital by being a white man in that job) by inflicting others to bigotry

Now when Tommy was first reintroduced I was like keeping an open mind and saying okay it’s been a lot of time and maybe he has genuinely made amends because I do believe in redemption but imo they have made no attempt to show us that and had him honestly put more of the blame on Gerrard for his behaviour or the writers flat out avoiding mentioning it to retcon tommy a little and hope we forget

Another defence I see is “oh chimney and hen became friends with him so they must’ve forgave him”, hen went no contact the moment he left (something the writers went out of their way to include that line) and chimney didn’t even invite him to his wedding which was quite big after the Buckley parents got involved so it’s not like it was cos it was such a small and intimate wedding and he only called him as far as we know in those years when he needed a favor, which all means that most likely they had kinda just put it behind them and kept up a coworker relationship with him, but no actual friendship or actual forgiveness or redemption had taken place

Oh wow all that was just point one and I can probably talk more on it but I’ll just leave it with saying that Lou’s comments about it being teasing or how Tommy genuinely didn’t know hen or chimney were capable etc just makes for a worse case than saying it’s cos of being in the closet (and that is genuinely a large part of why idk much abt Lou but those comments are enough to make me hate him) and I’ll also say that poc (myself included in that) have these situations so often- situations even as specific as gay men being racist to them to fit in - and we understand the nuance and shit to it but we also understand on a deep level how it feels to be on the other side of that

And getting toxic bt fans try to come up with ways to downplay or minimise racism honestly pisses me off so much cos believe you me we have heard every excuse and downplay under the sun and I for one am sick and tired of it

2. Why he’s viewed as cold and his jokes

• literally from the small parts we saw of him and Eddie hanging out we have seen the man is in fact capable of joking and being light and having fun but around buck in particular he’s like 🧍‍♂️😐 and the occasional 🙂 like it just feels very stiff and just plain in a way

• his humour consistently falls flat and feels passive aggressive more than anything like blunt or sardonic humour DOES work like I personally love it but it’s not being written OR executed right

A. It’s always in response to genuine moments or questions such as buck talking abt the award or the daddy kink joke or henren questioning him

B. It’s the the majority of what we see from him, there is not enough balance for it

C. Lack of rapport, when friends or couples make jokes that can come off the wrong way if said to anyone else it’s cos of the rapport built already, this rapport is not established with the characters OR with the audience for these jokes to come off right

D. I gotta say this one too but the execution just isn’t right from writing to acting, it’s the same reason sardonic humour lines from Sandra oh as Cristina Yang or hugh Laurie as house still lets you like the characters and find them funny but Tommys lines come off as annoying to a lot of people

3. I think fandom discourse probably has something to do with it but not in the way you think

I’m not saying like oh ppl who ship buddie just hate him cos of the ship no I’m saying that like what takes him from an annoying disliked character to a hated character is most likely the fact that his role stirred so much drama and caused so much damage to how the fandom used to be that its turned the dial up

4. A lot of his development, lore or redeemable factors or cute things are just not canon

This may be blunt and I am sorry for that but I think his character has been blown up to such a degree that it’s genuinely shocking

Like I look at posts or get sent hate and I’m like where did any of this happen this is just not canon this is just not a show like at times I’m genuinely convinced it’s a social experiment where different ppl saw a different show like some spiderman multiverse situation

Listen I’m all for headcanons genuinely like if you wanna take extra number three and make a whole backstory and lore and cute stuff abt her I’m all for it but it’s when it’s said as if it’s fact or canon that I’m like hold up a second rewind

I think this is kinda a result of Lou’s cameos (which honestly deserves its own post but you asked why the tommy hate so imma stay on topic) and also this like need to defend the character but not having much material to work with

Like if we look at canon we can literally break down the entirety of Tommys appearances this far in the show and what we learn about him:

• chimney begins- he makes a racist comment and he tries to suck up to Gerard, there is a little hint abt his gayness with the gf comment, Eli says to chimney that’s just how they are and tries to reason it could be fear of losing friends but we see tommy having friends in the firehouse while eli says this, chimney tries to make friends with him and tommy makes no attempt to get to know him and says he’d hate him anyways, chimney saves Tommys life thus earning his respect

• hen begins- she’s met with the same racism chimney is but also met with misogyny (and homophobia but that’s not relevant to the tommy of it all), we find out chimney is still isolated from the rest despite having earnt that respect, chimney befriends hen and again tommy still doesn’t try anything like that until hen proves herself and earns his respect, ppl reported Gerard but it’s never actually stated tommy was one of those ppl so again that’s not canon that’s speculated

• bobby begins- chimney and hen both seem to be like coworker friends with tommy and Sal, Sal throws hissy fit bobby “fires” him tommy says it’s an overreaction bobby reveals it was a transfer, they all seem to make nice, tommy leaves to 217

• chimney calls tommy for help and tommy helps

• we see nothing from tommy,then cruise ship he helps the team but also in this we find out hen cut off all contact since he left

• buck takes tour of harbour, Eddie and tommy have a friendship and we find out some of Tommys interests and that he was in the army, basketball scene and the subsequent apology and kiss

• dinner date, Tommy explains how he was in the closet, Buck has his little awkward moment (which will be elaborated on in my next point) , Tommy says nothing abt it till the Uber arrives and he leaves buck

• buck reaches out and apologises and asks for a second chance inviting tommy to the madney wedding

• bachelor party and the issue of the lack of costume and not just taking the day off for neither wedding nor bachelor party (which you can reason is reasonable but also I feel like this deserves its point for the narrative choices)

• tommy shows up straight outta work they kiss buck has the soot coming out award ceremony - buck being happy abt the reward to which tommy sardonically says enjoy it while it lasts enter bigoted cunt gerard then chimney comes and insults gerard and they walk away

• we don’t see tommy again till the dinner date after Bobby nearly died and when buck tries to explain Bobbys significance to his life tommy throws the your dad is still alive which is just honestly one of his worst moments imo and I made a whole post abt it but can’t find it and then we all know the rest of that convo and I could make a bullet point for it but actually I made a whole post before so I’ll link it: here

AND THATS IT

Like all this comes down to what maybe like 30 mins screentime? If that?

5. The leaving buck on their first date

The defences people use for this are:

• buck was trying to shove him back in the closet

• buck was obviously not ready

• people angry abt this are just babying buck like he can find his own way home it’s not that big of a deal

• buck was at fault there and tommy would’ve been justified in being angry and not giving him a second chance

And honestly every last one of these are bullshit imo and lemme go point by point

• buck panicked, I don’t think that what buck was feeling in that moment can be properly described because unless you’re a queer person and you’ve experienced that like bone deep panic that like brain overload then you won’t get it

Like one it’s his first queer date

Two he doesn’t even understand his own sexuality atp

Three his closest friend just walked in in a situation that’s already putting him on edge

So he’s not only panicking he’s not understanding why he’s panicking he’s trying to make excuses eventhough part of him knows he doesn’t need one but also he doesn’t even understand this side of himself yet so he doesn’t want to have to potentially explain it

Like it’s a million things and a million emotions and no one can claim they would behave rationally or appropriately in that situation and if you say that you would you’re lying simple as that

Also then we find out that Eddie thought tommy was straight anyways

• the reason I love the buddie coming out scene is because of Eddie’s “and what do you think” line because it’s not up to tommy or anyone else whether a person is “ready” enough in their queerness to date. Full stop.

Also tommy knew it was Buck’s first date with a man and was still down so why is he using that as some sort of out

•it’s not about babying buck and it’s not about him finding his own way home it’s the fact that Tommy could’ve done it with much more grace and he could’ve been a lot nicer with it but he wasn’t, and this is again bucks first date with a man even if it doesn’t end with a second date it should at the very least not end up with him feeling like a screw up on the side of the road

• to the ppl who say that- kindly shut up cos again see the first point but also I wanna point out that somehow the ppl saying this are also the same ones saying that Tommy was justified to be RACIST for a prolonged period of time due to being in the closet yet Buck what? Panicking for a few seconds and being a little awkward? is somehow this giant inexcusable thing

5. The narrative choices with him have been reasonably clear and tbh if they had been made with a woman it would not be up for debate:

• tommy leaves buck on their first date then he comes back and gives buck a chance- we as a fandom have been unanimous in saying for years that Buck’s endgame would be the one that doesn’t leave him cos this pattern has been something we saw over and over with him

• tommy not dressing up- again you can rationalise it but it’s a narrative choice and it’s glaring when contrasted with Eddie suggesting the duo costume

And if we had this scene with Taylor so many ppl would be saying that it’s once again showing that her and Buck’s personalities don’t align

• him being on standby for the wedding and bachelor party- again you can say oh buck invited him last minute or oh he couldn’t taken the day off (which lbr he could’ve he’s not the only firefighter pilot in la) - but again narrative choice

If it was Taylor everyone would’ve been like SEE? Again they’re showing the audience that her work is this looming presence in their relationship

Anyway I’m gonna shut up now cos this is A LOT

I’m so sorry it took me so long to respond tho and sending flowers in apology💐💐💐💐💐💐

Love ya for being so genuine when asking and hope all this didn’t come off too strong and that it was idk helpful?🫶🫶

I realise my response is abt to have toxic bt fans scurry to my inbox like rats to send hate and to that I say go fuck yourselves I’m responding to a question here

[charmandabear]

Office Hours - Chapter Two

Summary:

You really want to get Astarion back for making you feel so flustered, but as a result you find yourself in a bit of an uncomfortable position.

Pairing: Astarion/F!Reader Rating: E Word Count: 3.7k Tags/Warnings: unprotected p in v sex, under-the-desk blowjobs, semi-public sex, vampire bites, modern au, college/university au, urban fantasy, enemies to lovers, poor gale doesn't deserve this

Oh shit she's writing? I had like six other things planned but I can't keep away from this world. Once again thank you @zipzoomzaria for the beautiful screenshots and also the inspo for Professor Astarion, and @aw11tht33tha for the beta!

You don't need to have read part 1 for this part to make sense, but it does help.

Read on AO3 ~ Masterlist

Ever since you slept with Astarion - or, perhaps more accurately, he fucked you mercilessly over his desk - you haven't been able to get him out of your head. It's been a little embarrassing, frankly. Every time you pass him in the hallway, a single glance over those round wire frames has you suppressing the moan that bubbles in your throat. One whiff of his fragrance and your pussy clenches in a Pavlovian response.

You're standing in front of your mailbox in the main office, reading some memo from the chair about season selection for next year. It's always a tedious process where no one can agree and you somehow all end up with shows you hate.

You smell him before you hear him, and you can feel your ears grow hot. He comes up behind you, standing closer than is probably necessary, and reaches above you to empty his own mailbox.

“Pardon,” he says politely, but you feel like he’s going out of his way to brush against you. A shiver runs down your spine as he very gently grazes the back of your neck while shuffling through the papers. 

He turns and starts chatting amicably with Grace. How can he stay so cool when you're practically in shambles? You pretend that you're still reading the short memo just to collect yourself. When he finally leaves the main office, you manage to turn around and imitate some semblance of a normal person. Grace catches your eye and frowns.

“Are you feeling okay? You're looking a little flushed,” she asks, genuine concern coloring her voice. You twist your face into a smile, hoping that it reads like gratitude rather than annoyance.

“Yeah, I'm fine, thank you. Probably just a little dehydrated,” you say, putting a little extra rasp in your voice to sell your story.

“I’m about to leave for lunch, I can grab you something from the student union, if you're thirsty.” She smiles sweetly, fully unaware of the double entendre.

“I'm good, I have some water back in my office. I appreciate the offer, though.” The smile is now plastered to your face as you move to leave the office. You bump into Karlach while trying to make a hasty exit.

“Gods, soldier, you okay? You look like you just got out of a sauna.” She claps you on the shoulder and your knees buckle. The technical director had spent 10 years in the army, so you can't really fault her for the nickname, or the smack to the shoulder, for that matter.

“Just a little thirsty, is all,” you reply, continuing to scoot your way out of the office. 

“Yeah ya are!” She points two finger guns at you and flashes a big suggestive smile. You freeze for a half second, then realize she’s making a generic lewd joke and not pointedly calling you out for your current condition. You awkwardly finger gun back as you finally slip through the doorway and book it to your office.

You sit down at your desk and grab your water bottle, taking a long sip. It's unbelievable how much of a hold he has on you. What you wouldn't give to be able to fluster him as much as he does you. Have him struggle for words. Make him look like an idiot in front of your colleagues.

You think back to your bathtub fantasy from a few days ago. You could not have predicted the dynamic more incorrectly. You really thought that you'd be the one in control, that you could have him coming undone for you. The image of him whimpering beneath you still sets your heart racing, though it can't be further from the truth. Your breath hitches slightly as the scenario plays out vividly in your mind, like your own personal erotica.

“It must be rather exciting, whatever's got your blood going that way.” His sultry voice interrupts your debaucherous thoughts and you yelp in surprise. You glare at him leaning in the doorframe, hands in his pockets and collar casually unbuttoned, looking like an absolute treat. He chuckles and saunters into your office, settling into one of the chairs across from your desk and crossing his lithe legs. Despite your newfound attraction, he's still an arrogant little shit.

“I thought you couldn't come in uninvited,” you scowl, keeping your voice low for fear of someone overhearing.

“I don't recall being invited last time, but you didn't seem to mind,” he says with a laugh, and you squirm under his piercing red gaze. “Regardless, the rule only applies to homes, not individual rooms within a public university.”

Your frown deepens, unsure if he's being condescending or not.

“Is there something I can help you with, or are you just here to frustrate me?” You lean back in your chair and cross your arms, trying to imitate his casual authority. You're not terribly successful.

“You seem to be doing that perfectly well yourself, the way I could hear your arteries pumping from down the hall.” His smile widens, flashing just a hint of fang, and your resolve weakens. He stands and stretches his arms above his head, his shirt raising just enough for you to see a sliver of porcelain skin. You’re positive he’s just doing this to annoy you.

“Well, when you have a free moment, stop by my office, I have something to show you,” he drawls, an almost bored lilt coloring his tone. “And do try to keep that pulse of yours under control, it’s distracting to the point of vulgarity.” He glances at you over his glasses one more time before retreating into the hall again.

You cross your legs, trying to ease the ache between your thighs. He's absolutely insufferable. And he’s so much worse now that he knows he has this power over you.

You gather your materials for Voice and Speech, plotting ways to enact your revenge.

***

Against your better judgment, you find yourself walking toward Ancunín’s office after class. You take a moment before knocking on the door, smoothing down the front of your dress and tousling your hair to give it a little more volume.

Suddenly the door opens and Mol comes barrelling out in a huff.

“D’you believe this berk? Gettin’ on my tail for ‘academic integrity.’ Ain't nobody more integrous than me!” she grumbles, adjusting her bag angrily. She turns her heated gaze to you.

“Can you talk to your boyfriend and tell him to leave me alone?” she spits and you splutter involuntarily.

“Mol, we’re not–”

“Come off it, miss. Everyone sees the way you look at ‘im. Just work your magic so I can get back to gettin’ a college education.” And without another word, she's off. You blink, trying to make sense of what just happened. Are the students talking about the two of you?

Shaking your head, you knock on the door frame as you walk into his office. It's just as cozy as last time, warm light emanating from lamps in every corner to compensate for the blackout curtains over the windows. Honestly, how does anyone not know he's a vampire? You can almost hear his excuse, something about how “direct sunlight is ruinous to one’s skin.”

“Destroying students' lives by keeping them academically honest?” you smirk as you gently close the door behind you with your foot. He takes off his glasses and pinches the bridge of his nose.

“I swear, that girl is too clever for her own good. I'd almost respect it if she didn't get on my last nerve,” he sighs, putting his glasses back on and glancing up at you. His expression softens for a second before quickly shifting to mischievous. You slide over to him, leaning against the edge of his desk as you face him.

Any animosity you may have held dissolves as he looks up at you, his hand absentmindedly stroking your thigh just under the hem of your skirt. You shiver as you try to keep your voice steady.

“You said you had something to show me, professor?” You emphasize the title with the gusto of a young porn star. He smirks and pulls you down until you're straddling his lap. You wrap your arms around his neck and grind your hips into him, feeling the beginnings of an erection. He lets out a little puff of air that can almost be mistaken for a moan. He buries his face into your tits, running his nose along the neckline of your dress and slides his hands under your skirt to cup your ass. You breathe in sharply, your breasts rising to meet his lips.

Then a knock at the door.

You both freeze and stare at one another. You hear a muffled voice on the other side.

“Dr. Ancunín, do you have a minute? I have something extremely important to tell you,” Dr. Dekarios from the School of the Weave shouts through the door.

Astarion instinctually replies, “Just a minute!” and the two of you share a wordless exchange.

-What the fuck are you doing?

-I don't know, I panicked!

-What am I supposed to do?

-Hide, perhaps?

Without thinking you slide off his lap and under the desk. Just in time, too, as Dr. Dekarios doesn't wait for Astarion’s permission to open the door and waltz right in.

“Dr. Ancunín, thank goodness, I hope I'm not interrupting anything.” You can hear the Arcana History professor rush in and eagerly sit down in the red velvet lounge chairs across from Astarion’s desk. You groan internally as you realize that you might be stuck here for an unbearably long time.

“Actually, Dr. Dekarios, I was on my way out,” Astarion says as he starts to stand before quickly reversing that decision. You realize with a smug sense of satisfaction that he’s still slightly aroused.

“Completely understand, I'll keep this brief, then. So, the other day, you and I spoke of the use of bardic magic and its position amongst playwrights in Renaissance England.”

“Yes, I recall,” Astarion responds through gritted teeth. He sinks back down in his chair,  resigned to sitting through this conversation.

“And how it was common practice at the time to use magic from the college of swords as decreed by Elizabeth? Ben Jonson, Marlowe, Beaumont and Fletcher, they all used college of swords magic.” Dr. Dekarios’ voice increases in pitch with his excitement. You suppress a sigh, preparing yourself for a long wait in this cramped space. It’s not particularly comfortable, especially with trying to keep out of the way of Astarion’s long legs.

Although…

You might not have to keep out of the way. Maybe if you just… brushed your hand along his leg…

Astarion coughs to hide the sudden intake of breath your touch causes. He crosses his legs and you smile knowing it's to give himself a little reprieve. A feeling you know all too well.

“Yes,” Astarion says, his voice frustratingly steady, “I recall your enthusiasm in telling me this.”

You're trying to read his response. Is he into this? Is this a game he wants to play? You test your luck again, dragging your fingers up his thigh more deliberately. His leg quivers and he shifts his posture as the Arcana professor continues.

“Well, I had a thought. Consider this: Shakespeare brought about a major shift in how we think of the Western theatrical canon as it pertains to bard magic, correct?”

You scooch forward and press your tits into his knees that are now pinched tightly together. You slide your hands up his inner thighs, prying them apart slightly. You lean into his legs further as your hands continue their journey upward, squeezing as they get to the top of his thigh.

He kicks suddenly, a soft thump into the back of the desk. Is he telling you to stop? You pull back and glance up at him, the top of the desk obscuring most of his face. He's stiffly nodding along to Dekarios’ rambling.

“And remind me, what other major storytelling convention did Shakespeare also shift during this time?” You honestly can't tell if he’s actually asking, or giving Astarion a mini exam in his own specialty.

You wait for a response from him. He lets his thighs fall open and gently nudges your hip with the side of his shoe. No, his foot.

This mother fucker is playing footsie with you?

Oh he is definitely into your little game.

You push his legs open again, this time sliding your hands all the way up to his cock, and you feel it twitch beneath the wool of his pants. You gently stroke him and his hips give a subtle twist into you.

“I'm not sure–” Astarion begins, but stops short when his voice cracks. You nuzzle his bulge,  running your lips across it as it hardens. You slip a hand under him and give his balls a gentle squeeze. You can hear his breath stutter, but it's unlikely Dekarios can as he quickly answers his own question.

“The humors, correct? My understanding of non-magic literature isn't fully up to snuff, but I am correct in remembering this, yes?”

You lick a fat stripe across the fabric and you hear a metallic click above your head, like his watch just made sudden contact with the surface of the desk. You can imagine the veins in his hands bulging as he clasps them together tightly.

“Hm, no, ah yes, you are correct. Most English Renaissance playwrights understood characters as a balance or imbalance of the four humors.” Astarion manages to keep his voice relatively even, and you know you need to up your game. You reach up to undo his belt buckle as quietly and efficiently as possible. Luckily, you’re able to hide the noise within Dekarios’ exclamation.

“Yes! That's exactly what I was thinking! So, hear me out. What if these two shifts were related? In moving away from college of swords magic, Shakespeare felt less constrained by the four humors. Or perhaps the other way around?”

You reach into his pants and free his cock, now fully hard, and tease your fingers along his shaft. His hips buck a little more forcefully, as though controlling his movement is growing more difficult. You grip his pelvis tightly, holding it in place, and relishing the fact that you have the control for once. You flick the tip of your tongue across his slit and his hips twitch again under your hands.

“Could be…” is all Astarion can manage to reply. Hopefully at this point Dekarios is in a full-on oration and he won't need to contribute much, if at all.

You pop the head of his cock into your mouth, working the underside of it with your tongue. You clamp your arms down on his thighs, pulling them closer to you and pushing them into your tits. Your inner thighs grow damp as your own arousal quickens. You squirm as a miniscule moan works its way into your mouth. Not loud enough for anyone to hear, you hope, but you're certain that Astarion can feel the vibration because his hips jerk again. His torso and face above, or at least what you can see of it, gives little away.

“And this could even,” Dekarios continues, showing no sign of awareness of anything else happening in the room, “signal the shift into realism, could it not? Beginning with Shakespeare and culminating with Chekhov and Ibsen in the nineteenth century?”

You take in more of him, relaxing your tongue and letting him fill your mouth, discovering his taste. He almost lifts off his chair in his attempt to thrust into you, and you use it as a way to take him in deeper. Your jaw is beginning to ache with how slow you're going, but it's worth it to feel Astarion’s frustrated discomfort.

You can hear him take a slow breath before speaking again.

“You know who would absolutely love this discovery of yours?” His voice is low, smooth, as you bob your mouth on his cock. “Tav, the classical theatre professor. Her office is right down the hall.”

You choke and he deftly covers the sound of your gag with a cough.

“Bless you,” Dekarios says after a fraction of hesitation. He continues as though there was no interruption at all.

“Then I shall share my findings with her! Down the hall, you say?”

“Room 208.”

“Excellent!” Dekarios stands and you wrap your hand around the base of Astarion's shaft, letting some saliva dribble out of your mouth to lubricate it. You can hear the wizard quickly make his way out the door.

“Gale!” Astarion yelps as you twist your hand and swirl your tongue in tandem. He clears his throat and corrects his decorum. “Dr. Dekarios, the door, please.”

“Oh, of course! Apologies,” he says with slight chagrin, and then you hear the latch on the door click. Astarion rolls his chair back and grabs your hair, pulling you out from under the desk.

“You saucy little minx,” he growls and you stumble forward and into his lap, your lips crashing into his. He easily tears through your leggings and underwear, exposing your dripping cunt to the open air.

This man is wracking up quite the clothing bill.

He slides two fingers into you, roughly stretching you out and you groan into his ear. 

“You didn't seem to mind,” you manage to squeak out, repeating his words from earlier with significantly less dignity. You grind onto his fingers with his cock trapped between you, and your clit slides against his shaft. Another shuddering breath rockets through you as your whole body clenches around him.

He yanks his hand out of you and you whimper at the sudden emptiness, but you don't need to wait long for him to grab your waist and sink you down onto his cock. You can feel the skin toward your perineum tear slightly but the stinging pain is nothing compared to the delicious stretch that comes with him bottoming out. He shoves his fingers in your mouth and you arch your back into him, the taste of your own juices flooding your tongue.

He keeps his other hand firm on your lower back as he thrusts up into you. You cling onto his neck, pulling his mouth toward your breasts as they rise and fall with your stuttering breaths. He takes his hand away from your mouth and slides the hem of your dress all the way up to your chin. His lips latch on to your nipple poking through the soft cotton of your bra.

“Gods, fuck,” you groan as you continue to roll your hips into his, and he flicks his tongue against your tit. You push down even further onto him and pull the cup down, pushing your now bare breast into his teeth. His eyes flicker upward, glasses sliding down his nose slightly. You bounce harder on his cock and grip the back of his neck tightly.

“Fuck, please, bite me,” you whine, aching to feel every part of him in you. He doesn't need to be told twice and he sinks his fangs into the sensitive flesh around your nipple. You cry out but try to stifle the noise by pressing your open mouth into his hair. You can smell that citrusy fragrance he wears and your fingers claw into him.

He sucks your blood out from around your tit, and with every swallow he laps his tongue against you, over and over. You're certain his devil tongue will be your demise.

Your pace increases and it becomes harder to suppress your moans. You clamp your mouth shut and bury your face into his ear. He releases your breast and roughly kisses you to keep you quiet, the taste of iron filling your mouth.

You come with an explosive cry that gets swallowed into his kiss. As you're still riding the wave of your orgasm you can feel his, his hips rutting as his dick throbs with the pulse of his semen.

The two of you finally slow, the sticky mess between you squelching lewdly. You listen intently past the sound of your heavy breathing to try to hear any indication that someone overheard. When you deem it safe, you let out a sigh of relief that dissolves into giggles. He drops his forehead into your shoulder as the hem of your dress gets overtaken by gravity and slides down your front

You disentangle yourself from him, wincing slightly at the feeling of him sliding out of your sore pussy. You get a better look at him, your blood still smeared on his lips and chin, his now-flaccid dick slumped above his waistband. You're certain you can't look much better, dress rucked up around your waist, hair mussed and sticking every which way. 

You methodically put yourselves back together, Astarion stuffing his wet dick back into his pants, you straightening your dress and hair. You catch his gaze again and somehow he still manages to make you blush, his crimson eyes peering over his frames. He reaches out to tuck a wayward lock behind your ear.

“Maybe next time we’ll have sex in your office,” he chuckles. You swat his chest playfully only to find yourself drawn into him, not wanting to pull your hand away. It's strangely romantic, and if you were able to think clearly, his hands snaking around your waist might bother you. But your head is still spinning and your cunt is still throbbing with the aftershocks of your orgasm, and little could upset you right now.

That is, until the doorknob turns and Dekarios pops his head back in.

“Looks like she’s not–” His voice dies off quickly when he realizes what he's walked in on. He coughs, mumbles an incoherent apology, and backs out quickly.

“I swear to the gods I'm getting a scroll of arcane lock for that damn door,” he growls under his breath, and you lean your forehead against his chest in deflated embarrassment.

[echoingbirdsofprey]

Delicate (Jake's Version)

22 - Share In Your Suffer (Is All I Can Do)

Pairing: Jake 'Hangman' Seresin x OFC Samantha Kazansky

Rating: Explicit (MDNI!)

Warnings: Fully fleshed out emotional trauma, Mentions of Dubious Consent, a certain R word, and Jake's capture/torture

A/N: I have no effing idea where this chapter came from but its damn heavy and it needed to be here. There's a shitload of trauma dumping here between Sam and Jake, with mentions of dubious consent (not by Jake, though he does say a certain word that begins with R) and he begins to unpack his capture. I know I've made Rooster the villain here, but I PROMISE he will get redemption at some point. Just not right now. Also I know I'm skipping a lot of time but the next thing coming up is going to be the Navy Ball and then the first chapter of the crossover so I had to. I will still be writing chapters for Delicate and Lightning concurrently with the 3rd part too so just be aware of that! As always, likes, comments, reblogs are the most appreciated. Thank y'all for showing this story as much love as you have.

This was wild to write but I loved every fucking second of it.

Tags: @djs8891 @mrsevans90 @gpsmississippihippie @barnesboo1967 @dizzybee03

Jake decided the best place to meet Maverick would be on base. It would be the first time he was stepping on base since the mission. He’d also decided that he needed to try to do this without Sam, so while he really wasn’t supposed to be driving, he promised he’d be careful, and went alone. He needed to do something by himself. It wasn’t that he didn’t want Sam to help him, but it was a matter of his own pride, his own ego, that needed a boost. Sam would wait with bubbling anxiety until he got home.

He pulled into the base parking lot and hopped out of his truck. It felt good to drive his own vehicle. He had begun his physical therapy, but he still had to wear the sling during the day. He’d felt much better about his body within the first appointment. He had been extremely sore the next day, but he appreciated the soreness. It meant he was getting better. 

As he walked toward the main building, he noticed Nat leaving. She smiled at him and approached.

“Hi, Jake. How are you feeling?” She asked, pulling him into a hug. He accepted warmly and hugged her back.

“I’m okay. Just trying to get better. I’m here to see Mav. I wanna talk with him about Rooster.” Jake said and Nat nodded.

“Sam told me what happened. Rooster is pretty broken up about it. He didn’t mean to scare her. He wanted to talk to you when he got back.” Nat explained and Jake tilted his head.

“Where’d he go?” He asked and Nat’s brows furrowed.

“You didn’t hear? He asked to go back to Virginia. He’s deployed on a short mission.” She said and Jake took a breath in disbelief. He pursed his lips and then smiled at Nat, patting her on the shoulder before returning his hands to his pockets.

“Good to see you, Nat.” He said as they parted ways. He continued into the building, and headed to Cyclone’s office first. He knocked on the door and heard Cyclone’s voice say ‘come in’. Jake entered and found Maverick and Warlock there as well.

“Lieutenant. Have a seat. Good to see you.” Cyclone said, and Jake did exactly that. He pulled a chair from across the room and sat diagonally to Maverick. He folded his arms across his lap. “You’re out of your sling?”

“Just for a few hours during the day and to sleep. I’m supposed to put it back on if my shoulder starts to hurt or feel fatigued, per the doctor. I don’t particularly want to put it back on at all, but Sam is keeping me honest, so we’re rotating how long it stays on.” Jake explained and all three of the other men smiled wide, knowing all too well that Jake was being a stubborn patient, and they weren't the least bit surprised by it either.

“So, you wanted to discuss Rooster? We were just talking about him coming back after his current deployment.” Maverick said, cutting right to the chase. 

“Yeah. I didn’t realize he’d requested another deployment so soon.” Jake said and Mav swallowed hard.

“He’s running away from his problems, as usual.” He said and Jake’s brows furrowed. Maverick continued. “He’s pretty fairly broken up about Samantha. He’s always been in love with her. They met when they were teenagers, just through Ice and I being friends and wingmen. Bradley was less bitter about his dad then too. And then his mom passed and I pulled his papers. That pissed him off and when he finally graduated, he tried to be as far away from me as he could so Oceana base was where he settled. A few years ago, Ice and I ended up needing to attend a funeral for a friend and fellow pilot down there, and Sam had come down to visit her dad from college in that same week. While Ice, our friends, and I were out reminiscing, Bradley was trying to romance Sam. It worked for about two days and then Sam headed back home and the next time she saw Bradley, it was like nothing had ever happened. You can imagine how much that pissed Bradley off.” Maverick explained and Jake stayed silent as he disgusted everything that he’d been told. Sam had told him some of this but not all of it. 

“Sam can be harsh, especially if a guy is being a jerk. It doesn’t come from a place of entitlement either. She wants respect. She demands it. But I think guys see all that she gets, and don’t get me wrong she’s worked her ass off to get where she is in her job, but I don’t know how many pilots have found out that she’s Ice’s daughter and they just try to make a play at her because of it. She’s developed an armor over her heart because of that. I’m surprised she let you in, honestly. But the bigger issue with Rooster is he tried, and succeeded in getting a night with her so now he thinks he’s entitled to it again. He sees you and knows you’re getting everything that he thinks he deserves. What he doesn’t see is what I assume is all the work you put in to get her. And the way in which you went about it.” Maverick’s analysis was spot on to what Jake was thinking. He knew that Rooster was jealous because he had Sam’s heart. And when looking in from the outside, it didn’t seem like Jake had done much to get it, but he had. All the texting, sweet talking, buying her breakfast, lunch and dinners, and it helped immensely that Rocco immediately liked Jake. 

“I want to try to iron things out with Rooster. I know it’s never going to be completely smooth sailing, but I’d like to coexist at the least without having to have Sam be stressed the fuck out every time he’s around. We’re all friends with the same pilots.” Jake said softly and Maverick reached over and squeezed his shoulder.

“Well, now you have some insight on Rooster. A lot of his problem is me and he and I are trying to work everything out, but it’s going to take time, like anything that needs fixing. You know that all too well. I can’t say fixing our relationship will fix everything between you and him and Sam, but I do think it’ll smooth some of the sharp edges that are there.” Maverick said and he smiled at Jake. “I’m sure when he comes back, he’ll have had enough time to think about things and he’ll come apologize. He always apologizes. He’s not all bad, he’s just in his head too much. But let him come to you. If you try to approach him, it’ll just make it worse.” 

“Noted. Thank you for telling me. I just feel like he’s trying to compete with me and with Sam it’s not a game. At least I don’t see it that way. I haven’t ever been interested in settling down, but with her, I have this overwhelming need to do anything and everything for her. I feel like that’s more a life purpose than a game. I’ve played the game long enough. I tap out.” Jake explained and all three of the other men chuckled and nodded in agreement.

“I can see why your fellow pilots said you’ve grown outside of work as well. It’s funny when you figure out that you can fly not only for yourself, but someone else as well.” Cyclone added and Jake smiled. There was a comfortable silence that fell over the room then, and suddenly Jake felt like he’d grown up. He wasn’t the little kid in his bedroom playing with model planes and pretending he was flying a jet in the back yard with his brother. He wasn’t the kid who thought he was invincible driving fast down route 57 in Arkansas, racing his brother. He wasn’t the young man flirting in the bar after his first air to air kill with every pretty girl that came along. He wasn’t the man who unknowingly fell for the Fleet Commander’s daughter at first sight. In that moment, in that room, he’d become a man whose purpose was now to build a family with the woman he loved. He had something more than himself to live for.

While Jake was at the base, Warlock elected to show him the office that they had prepared for Jake when he was ready to come back to work. He and Sam were planning to go down to Oklahoma for Christmas, immediately after the Navy Birthday Ball, which was in a few weeks time. Jake was doing everything he could to be out of his sling by then because he was absolutely not accepting his Navy Cross in a fucking sling. After setting foot in his office, which was small, just enough room for the desk and the shelves that were there, as well as a couple chairs, he glanced out the window, which overlooked the taxiway. It was a nice view. Jake thanked Warlock and when he left, he stood for a few moments in the front lobby. 

There was a memorial board of Iceman that people had tacked their favorite pictures on. There were old pictures of him and the pilots from his and Maverick’s squadron. There were pictures of him and pilots shaking his hand at their graduation from Top Gun and from the Naval Academy. And at the bottom, there was a picture that only one person could’ve put up. It was of Ice, Mav, Rooster, and Sam from that funeral. Just the four of them, but Jake’s brows furrowed at the way Rooster’s hand was wound tightly around Sam’s waist. Jake shook his head. He understood all too well why Rooster was so willing to help Sam when she needed it and to protect her when he thought she needed it. It wasn’t Sam’s fault for reciprocating the one time. Jake figured she’d thought it was okay to give him a chance, and she probably regretted it a hundred fold now, because it had backfired on her in such a spectacular way. She was probably kicking herself every now and again for letting Rooster in that one time. 

Jake walked out to his truck and stopped for a moment, taking a heavy breath before climbing in. He didn’t want to know at first but now he needed to. He needed to ask Sam what happened between her and Rooster, because he was getting the feeling that something wasn’t lining up the way it should. Something about the whole thing wasn’t right.

Arriving at home, he found Sam comfortably napping on the couch, the dogs all around her. Of course, they had come to greet him at the door, but they’d immediately went right back to laying in the vicinity of Sam. Javy and Maisy were out again and he shot Javy a quick text, asking when they’d be back. A couple of hours had been his response. Jake went to the kitchen and grabbed a glass of water and sat at the small island. He then heard the shaking of tags on collars and soft footsteps on the carpeted floor. Samantha appeared, yawning and stretching. She stepped behind Jake and wrapped her arms around his waist and placed her chin on his good shoulder, pressing her lips to his neck then.

“You came back in one piece.” She mused and he turned in his seat and pulled her between his legs. 

“”I did. Hey...listen...I wanna talk about something.” Jake said, averting his eyes for a moment. This was going to kill him to ask.

“Sure, is everything okay?” She asked, placing her hands on either side of his neck. That was good. He could keep her close in case she got emotional. He was banking on it.

“I don’t know, you tell me.” He said, his tone with an accusatory edge that made Sam pull back. “I know I said I didn’t want to know, but now I need to. Tell me what happened with you and Roos all those years back, please.” He demanded and Sam’s eyes drifted shut for a moment before she took a shaky breath.

“I told you. We had sex. It was shit. I wasn’t interested in going further than the one night with him and that pissed him off.” Sam said, her gaze drawn down to Jake’s chest. Her fingers lingered on his neck but they stilled and Jake could tell she wasn’t telling him everything.

“Run me through that night.” He said, his tone softening significantly, reaching up to cup her cheeks with his hands. Her face contorted into a painful grimace and she bit her lip.

“Only if you tell me what happened when you got captured.” Sam said, hoping that he would give something up too. His lips thinned and he glanced away for a moment before his thumbs rubbed along her cheekbones.

“Okay. But...it’s going to scare you, so remember that you asked.” He whispered, poking his nose toward her. She met it with her own and her fingers clawed at his shirt.

“My story is going to make you want to kill Rooster, so...I guess we’ll be equal in some aspect.” Her eyes fluttered shut and she pulled away slightly with a heavy sigh. She leaned against one of his thighs and the side of the counter before beginning her story. “So...we’d gone to a funeral that afternoon for a friend of my dad’s. Then we all went to dinner that night and some of his friends stayed at the restaurant and some of them wanted to head to a bar. Rooster was all sorts of mad at Maverick and I was trying to be a good friend and went to the bar with him. We had some drinks, we danced, had some more drinks, and then he got a little handsy which I remember at the time I wasn’t having. And of course as Rooster does, he apologized, telling me he was just mad and he really needed a friend right now. I told him maybe we should go back to my room or his.” 

Jake swallowed hard and his brows knitted. It was hard for him to hear, but it was because he loved Sam as much as he did. He couldn't stand the thought of another man having her, even though it had already happened, but as he understood Rooster more, he thought less of him as an enemy and he just felt plain sorry for him. Sam searched Jake’s face for a signal to continue then. She took the gentle caress of his fingers across her jawline as exactly that.

“Rooster and I went back to his apartment, which was just off base. It wasn’t terribly late and he asked if I wanted anything else to drink and I said sure. We were already pretty buzzed at that point so I remember him handing me a glass of tequila or whiskey, something like that, and saying what a terrible idea that was. We sat on his couch, drank, and listened to music. At some point he...decided that he wanted to kiss me. I...allowed it once...and then pushed him away. I told him he was being stupid. We sat there for a while and then he tried again, the same thing and I got kind of pissed at him because he just wasn’t getting it and obviously we were drunk so I was trying to give him the benefit of the doubt. I pushed him away and then he walked away. Of course I felt bad. I went looking for him and he’d gone into his room. I remember leaning against the door frame...and he stood up and I went to leave but he grabbed me. He kissed me and I tried to push him away...” Sam hadn’t realized that she had tears running down her cheeks and that was when Jake stopped her, his stare hard, his nostrils flared. 

“Did he force you...did he...?” Jake couldn’t bring himself to say it, but Sam knew what he was asking.

“I let my pity for him get the better of me. He...kept pulling me toward the bed and I tried to stop but he kept telling me he just needed a friend right now’ and that I was ‘being such a good friend’ and I just didn’t understand what exactly was going on. I felt bad for him...so I just let it happen. We were so drunk, Jake...I just...didn’t know what to do...and I wanted to help him because we’d been friends for so long. I think I felt obligated...” Sam explained and Jake’s hands steadied her at the sides of her head.

“You should never feel like you need to do that. Even for me. Sam...he coerced you to have sex with him. That’s not something a friend does. That’s borderline...rape.” Jake said, his lips tight. His jaw tensed and he searched Sam’s eyes then, seeing in them understanding for what he was saying. She knew the whole exchange hadn’t felt right but she believed that Rooster wasn’t intentionally trying to hurt her. His basal instincts took over and he wanted connection, which for him, the only way he knew to do that was through sex, and Sam being drunk, was all too willing to give in that night. Sam became bubbly and overly nice when she was drunk. She hated that part of herself.

“That’s not how I thought of it...at least not at the time. We’ve never talked about it...Roos and I...” Sam sounded apologetic and Jake’s brows furrowed and his tone became edged with anger.

“Don’t you do that. Don’t you be sorry for him acting like a shitty friend. Don’t you ever feel sorry for that.” Jake growled and Sam took in a sharp breath at his words. “And you have every right to be an asshole to him. I get that you were both drunk but even then he shouldn’t have been begging to fuck you. If he was a good friend he should’ve respected you. He can’t even respect you now. I just needed to know how deep the disrespect runs because it’ll inform my interactions with him from now on. You won’t be alone with him ever again. That’s on me.” 

“Are you mad?” She asked and Jake shook his head.

“No. I feel sorry for him. He’s so angry and conflicted inside because of his parents and Maverick.” Jake said. He pulled Sam into a hug and all he could do for Rooster was to forgive him. There was nothing that could be done. It wouldn’t help Sam for Jake to go and beat the shit out of Rooster. It wouldn’t help Jake to hang onto a grudge. Jake had his fair share of drunk hookups. Jake would probably want to hit Rooster the next time he saw him, but knowing that Sam was trusting Jake with an experience so raw softened that urge. 

“I left in the morning. I felt like that said enough. Rooster and I never spoke about it again. I’ve never told anyone else about it, not even Nat. At least not the truth.” Sam said.

“And that’s the whole truth? You swear?” Jake asked and Sam nodded.

“I wouldn’t lie to you about something like that, Jake.” Sam said and she realized just how mature Jake was in that moment. Most guys would run off and try to kill someone that did something like that to their girl in the past. Jake was cool and calculating, sagacious in a way that she wasn’t expecting. She didn’t know why though, because she’d come to know that Jake was consistently this way. He was observant and watchful, and everything he did was planned, even if it didn’t look like it was on the outside. He thought a million ways to one how to make things work. His hands dropped down to her waist and then his eyes became apprehensive. 

“I don’t know how much I can offer...but let me start with my nightmare the other night. You did so good telling me...so I want to give you something like you asked.” Jake said, tone unsteady. Sam leaned closer, her hips meeting his. He intertwined his fingers around her back and the sage of his eyes held distress as she watched his thoughts grow dark. There was a shroud that washed over him, his muscles tensing as he shared what he felt he could. “When I tell you the only goal they had in mind was to make me suffer, Samantha, I’m being serious. These men did not care whether I lived or died. I was starved. They withheld water as long as they could. They taunted me. And you know how I can’t help making a smartass remark, but there were things they said to me that made me stay quiet. I’ve never been so scared. The worst part was the pain. Not just from the broken bones, but my whole body ached from dehydration and starvation. And they had the ability to take that away, but they wouldn’t.” 

“Jake, you don’t have to tell me anymore, right now. I get the gist of it. And I know you’re probably never going to want to tell me all of it.” Sam said softly. Jake brushed his cheek against her cheek.

“That’s the thing, Sam. I do wanna tell you. But I’m still sorting it all out in my head. I need you to know it all, but I’m fucking terrified to tell you, not because of what you’ll think, but because it scares me how much my love for you and my need to get back to you made me shatter myself to pieces. I would destroy every part of me to love you.” Jake murmured. Sam didn’t know what to say, only that she couldn’t put anything quite that eloquently, so she wasn’t even going to try. She couldn’t even begin to. 

[lincolndjarin]

Oh Honey. ✩ Chapter 3

chapter three : we're all mad here

series masterlist ao3 kofi main masterlist

a/n : thank you to everyone who has waited patiently for this ily all. not much to say here other than that this chapter gets a lil buck wild so read the warnings. also this chapter is just a shitty whirlwind of things whoops

pairing : monster!joel miller x mortician!reader

rating : 18+ mdni - explicit content, read all warnings

word count : 11.9k

summary : bunny and joel are in a tough spot but hey couple fight, i'm sure everythings super chill and normal

warnings, etc. : angst, language, smut, dubcon (reader and joels relationship is relatively unhealthy and mostly just sex at this point. basically sex is reluctant or angry most of the time), oral m!receiving, crying after sex, toxic relationship, these two aren't doing well, readers mental health isn't in a great place, gaslighting, grave digging, typical oh honey description of corpses, general sense of dread, fear, feelings of despair, violence, gore, body horror, just in general a lot of bad shit happens in this chapter and i definitely missed tags so proceed with caution. this is a monster fucker fic - proceed accordingly

“It’s okay, it’s just me.”

Joel, Joel, Joel. 

The only thing that consumes your thoughts. 

The nightmare that’s still there after you wake up. 

Neither one of you moves, he just watches you as your chest heaves, your hands shaking as the dam finally breaks and you crumble entirely. The overwhelming fear that has plagued you for weeks now finally consumes you entirely. 

And you cry.

Not just a few stray tears, or some sniffling.

You cry. 

Big, salty tears and full body sobs because you are just so fucking afraid. 

Afraid of the woods, of the monster, and of Joel. 

And despite that fact, you let him hold you because you aren’t just afraid, you’re tired. You stop putting up a fight when he pulls you into his arms, and you let him soothe you because there is no one else.

You don’t have anyone here. 

(You don’t really have anyone anywhere else either.)

Except Joel. 

So you press your face into his chest and you let him lay down with you. 

You let him hold your ear against his sternum until your heartbeat matches his.

You let him kiss your forehead. 

And you let him rock you back and forth until you fall asleep once more. 

You don’t remember any more dreams that come your way but you know that you don’t sleep well after that, at least two more times you wake with a jolt. And you’re rocked back to sleep every time a fresh flood of tears threatens to rush from your eyes. 

“Can we talk about last night?” Your eyes are still shut when you feel the heat of the sunrise against your face, his chest rumbles against your cheek when he whispers. “I know you’re awake.” 

“I don’t wanna talk about it Joel.” You mumble, your eyebrows furrow, eyes still shut as he rubs your back. 

“Please?” He sits up on his elbows, holding you to his chest still, the blanket sliding down his stomach and you’re suddenly reminded of the lack of clothing between the two of you.

You sit up with a groan, stretching your arms above your head before holding your comforter up to cover yourself, as you stare at the scene before you. The morning light is seeping in through the windows, turning his dark curls almost copper. Your eyes trail across the sheets until they settle on the large rips exposing your mattress. 

“I said no.” You grumble.

“Bunny-”

You grab the blanket covering him, yanking it down as you yawn. You crawl between his legs letting your own blanket drop as you take his soft cock in your hand, watching him swell against your palm. He gasps at the suddenness of it all but when he doesn’t push you away you keep going.

“Sugar, I’m beggin’, let’s just take a second to talk.” He puts his hand over yours, trying to slow you but you just slide down onto your stomach, pulling him between your lips, wasting no time to drag your tongue along his tip. A long, unbroken groan falls from his lips. You take him deeper, savoring the way your eyes water and your jaw aches. It keeps you grounded. It keeps you here. 

“Mmm.” You moan around him, god, why can’t he just be a normal man? If he was just a man he wouldn’t feel like velvet in your mouth, and he wouldn’t taste like sweet coffee first thing in the morning. 

You know that now. 

He isn’t just a man. 

You don’t actually know what he is, but you have a few theories. A lot of theories that don’t work because the monster you saw in the woods wasn’t Joel. 

His hips involuntarily rock forward and you groan as he hits the back of your throat. You smooth your hands over his bare thighs to push him back down as you relax your throat. 

“Bunny- ah-” He stammers out as you work yourself back down his length, trying to ease him in at your own pace. “Slow down gorgeous, m’gonna come too fast if you keep this up.” He runs his knuckle across your jaw but you just hollow your cheeks and push on, pulling a strained groan from him. 

You swallow around him, it’s on the verge of painful as you struggle a bit to breathe but you have no desire to stop. No amount of fear is going to change the fact that he soothes you. With his cock in your mouth it’s easy to forget about everything that’s happened to you this past week. It’s easy to just drink him in, and taste the warm caramel of his skin. You let one of your hands slip between your own legs, your fingers drag through the slick there before focusing on your aching clit. 

You concentrate on syncing up the movements. Running your tongue along the underside of his cock as you swipe your fingers against your bud, practically humping your own hand after a few minutes. You keep it up for a bit until you feel his balls tensing and you pop yourself off of him. 

You pull yourself into his lap, straddling his thigh as you wrap your hand around his twitching prick, both of you panting as you grind yourself against him. He grabs you by the back of your neck and pulls your lips to his as you groan into his mouth, he grunts against you until you feel him pulsing against your palm, streaking his stomach with his cum. After another moment you feel yourself clenching around nothing, finishing against your other hand.

You collapse against him, resting your head on his shoulder as you catch your breath. You take a moment to briefly run your fingers through his spend before sucking them into your mouth. 

Just like frosting, a sweet vanilla taste coating your tongue. 

He watches you like he’s about to pick up where he left off before you distracted him but he shakes it off when you give him a desperate look. He pulls you into an embrace. 

“If you won’t let me talk about it, at least let me redress your wounds.” He murmurs before kissing the top of your head. You give him a small nod, too tired, and too afraid to object as he peels back the bloody gauze, carefully cleaning every cut before wrapping them once more. 

When he’s finished he goes through and gives each one a small kiss, as if that could erase the terror around their origins. 

“I gotta go to work, are you gonna be okay today?” He whispers as he leans forward to give you one last kiss on the cheek. 

“I’ll be fine.” You give him a weak smile, content to act as if everything really is fine for just a few more moments. 

“I’ll stop by for a few minutes after work, then I gotta go get Ellie.” He starts collecting his scattered clothing, dressing himself as you lay back down. “I’ll see you tonight.” He murmurs, giving you one one last sympathetic smile before he’s gone. Just like that.

And you’re alone with your thoughts.

What the fuck are you gonna do? 

There’s a monster loose in the woods and Joel is clearly going to be no help. And of course there’s the issue of not being able to break up with him, for several reasons, one of them being that you simply don’t want to. Anything that happened last night doesn’t matter because at the end of the day you really like Joel, but more importantly you don’t think you can break up with Joel. It doesn’t really seem like your body will let you, whatever the invisible, inexplicable force is that drives you two together might not allow such a separation to happen. 

So you’ll stay with him.  

And you’ll use him to your advantage, it’s clear he knows something about what you saw, why else would he have gotten so defensive about it? He can’t be perfect forever, eventually he’ll slip up. You just have to wait for it. 

You can wait. 

Turns out you’re not as okay as you thought you were. 

You spend the rest of your day cleaning up around the camper, just sort of taking care of things and everything seems fine. Joel texts you a few times, mostly just asking if you’re okay. And he comes to check on you after work, you’re just getting out of the shower when it happens, you had just stepped out of the bathroom in your robe, drying your hair with a towel.

His truck is old, he keeps it in good condition and he takes care of it but the engine is still pretty loud. 

That was all it took to send you under the table. 

Something about the roar of the engine just as it was turning off set you off. You closed your eyes, just for a moment and all you could see was the thing from the woods and you were curled up in on yourself, tucked away under the table with your hands over your ears. You didn’t hear Joel bust down the door and you screamed when he pulled you out from your hiding spot, thrashing and kicking at him. It took a while but eventually he calmed you down, sitting on the edge of your bed with you wrapped around him, trembling in absolute terror. 

When you finally calmed down enough to quiet down he continued to hold you close, humming a song softly as he rubbed your back until you decided to break the silence. 

“You have to go get Ellie.” Your voice was raw from screaming and he sighed. 

“I can stay.”

“Go get her, I’ll be fine.” It took a lot of insisting but eventually he relented, but not before making sure you ate the take out he had brought you. The two of you sat in silence until he couldn’t stall anymore and had to go. 

“Text me before you go to bed.” He mumbled, giving your hand a soft squeeze before he left. 

You did as you were told. 

That was when you became vaguely aware of just how bad things are right now. 

You thought you were up for this, monster hunting, mystery solving business. But you’re terribly afraid, almost to the point of being useless. You can’t just let innocent people die though, no one believes you, so you have to be the one to do this. The thought makes you sick but what else can you do? 

So you endure. 

You wake up from restless sleeps, haunted by monsters you cannot escape from even in your dreams, and you go to work. You let Joel pick you up each morning and you let him kiss your cheek and put his hand on your thigh as you drive. You work as if everything is normal, and you only work on bodies that have died of natural causes for the rest of the week. 

Night time is when things get tricky. 

Joel wants to talk.

He wants to ask if you’re okay and he wants to talk about what happened that night you saw the beast but you know that if you do that you’re going to fall apart all over again and you’re starting to worry that one of these times you aren’t going to be able to put yourself back together. 

So you do the one thing you know will distract him. 

You fuck him. 

He comes over after work each night, bringing food as if he knows you won’t eat unless he makes sure of it. He’ll ask you how work is and you’ll tell him the truth. That you’re busy and Maria’s busy with all the funerals. 

And every night he tries to talk about it, usually starting by reaching out to you and holding your face in his hands. But you know better than to let him get more than a sentence out, so once he starts you drag him to bed.

The first time you executed this plan you were a little worried about what was going to happen after the sex. You couldn’t fuck him again. (Actually you probably could, but that’s beside the point.) So you needed to formulate a plan for afterwards, but once you’d started you got a little lost in your efforts and by the time you were done you had nothing. 

It’s a good thing you solved your own problem when he pulled you against his chest and you suddenly burst into tears. 

So yeah, you aren’t really all that okay. 

You’ve developed a habit of crying after sex and you haven’t gotten any new information out of Joel. But at least you aren’t getting worse, at least it feels like you aren’t. For a week and a half the routine doesn’t change until finally on Wednesday he comes to pick you up after work. 

“Should we go to dinner?” He wraps an arm around your waist as he pulls you closer.

“Let’s just get takeout.” You rest your head against his shoulder as he walks the two of you out to the truck. 

“You don’t wanna go out?”

“I just wanna stay in tonight.” He hesitates for a moment, giving you a troubled look as he helps you into the passenger side. Once the engine hums to life you punch the number into your phone, ordering for the both of you, having it delivered to the camper. 

And you ride in silence.

For a brief moment you wonder if he’s mad at you. 

You can’t really find the will to care, it’s not like he isn’t gonna stay. He’s just as stuck as you are. You aren’t sure you can keep this up for much longer though, he knows what you’re doing at this point and he’s starting to use it against you. 

You want him to snap again. 

That’s sort of the goal right now.

To have him lift you as if it’s nothing. To tear something to shreds. You’ve been trying to make it happen all week, you’d think that with all the sex he’d lose control at some point. 

But he’s careful now. 

Somehow you always end up flat on your back and before you can gain any sort of semblance of control over the situation he’s got you coming your brains out. It’s clever really. Fighting sex with sex. 

You get him to stop talking by starting it and he keeps you from doing any real investigative work by playing you like a fiddle each and every time.

No one wins. And no one loses.  

You know you can’t do this forever but for now it works. 

Work, sex, cry, sleep. 

You decide you need to search his house, maybe find some evidence. You’re getting nowhere with your investigation and even though there haven’t been any mutilated bodies you know it’s only a matter of time. You need to take preventative measures. 

The only problem is you don’t know where it is, you’ve always stayed in the camper and you’re struggling to think of a way to invite yourself over without raising suspicion, after a few days it comes to you. 

“Can we talk?” You stammer out the moment you hear him pick up the phone, he doesn’t even bother hiding his sigh of relief.

“Of course we can, right now? Or should I just come over tonight?” 

“I was thinking maybe we could go to your house, I’m hoping a change of scenery might help me open up.” It’s a bullshit excuse but you know he’d do anything to have a conversation with you right now. 

“That’s more than fine, I’ll pick you up around six? We can have dinner and then we’ll talk.” He sounds so happy you almost wish this was real. That you could give him this thing he wants so desperately but you know that he won’t admit to anything he knows, so you just need to find proof, something he can’t brush off or ignore. 

“Sounds perfect, I’ll see you then.” You hang up before he can respond, staring at the wall in silence, barely noticing when the sun sets outside the window. You don’t snap out of it until headlights flood the interior of the camper and you stand, grabbing your bag before rushing out to meet him. He jogs around the front of the truck to wrap an arm around your waist and kiss your forehead before opening the passenger door.

“I hope you don’t mind, we’ve got a little company tonight.” He raises his eyebrows at you, closing the door before you can ask any questions, when he pulls himself up into the driver's seat you open your mouth to ask what he means but he speaks first, turning to stare into the backseat. “Do you know who this is, little monster?” He turns the cab light on and you see Ellie strapped into her car seat. She appraises you for a moment before all of her limbs straighten out as she yells.

“Girlfriend!” She shrieks and you can’t help but smile for the first time in a while as Joel gives you a lopsided grin. 

“We worked on that the whole way over, she was supposed to say your name but that’s close enough.” He gives her a mock look of disappointment that has her bursting into a fit of laughter as he turns the light off, pulling away from the camper and back onto the road. Joel turns up the radio, both of you sit quietly as Ellie sings along behind you, making up her own words to a pop song you vaguely recognize. “Hope you don’t mind.” He reaches over, taking your hand while the other stays on the wheel. “I haven’t been able to spend a lot of time with her recently.” He nods towards the back as you smile politely. 

“I don’t mind at all.” It’s more than true. You’re rather fond of Ellie. He gives your hand a small squeeze and when you look his dimple is prominently visible on his face. 

It’s about a ten minute drive to his house. 

It doesn’t even look like he has neighbors. He pulls into a driveway between the trees and tucked away is a small ranch style house. You don’t know what you were expecting. Maybe something a little more sinister? But this is quite lovely, lots of space in an outcropping in the trees, a pretty cream colored house with dark oak accents and a tire swing hanging from a nearby tree. 

Secluded. 

You step out, staring at the pretty little place as he unbuckles Ellie, who immediately breaks into a sprint when he sets her on the ground, running up onto the porch and jumping to grab at the door knob. 

“S’locked, honey.” He yells as he takes your hand, chuckling while he retrieves the key from his pocket. “She’s been excited since I told her we were gonna have you over, she loves showin’ people the house.” You both step up onto the porch as Ellie stares at him impatiently. 

“What a lovely house you have, miss Ellie.” You crouch down in front of her as she gives you a grin, she’s clearly much less reserved around her father. 

“Thank you.” She smiles proudly, when Joel opens the door she grabs your hand, pulling you inside as he flips on the lights. “We’re home!” She yells into the empty house. You give Joel a nervous look but he just laughs. 

“She does that everytime we walk through the door, it’s just us here tonight.” He whispers reassuringly as Ellie immediately drags you deeper into the room. 

It’s startlingly average. 

It’s simply a house. No claw marks or blood on the wall. Just a surprisingly well kept little place, a well lived in family home. The walls are lined with photos of Ellie and a girl you assume to be Sarah, the fridge is completely covered in drawings similar to the ones you’ve seen Ellie do before. It’s just a house, nothing more. 

Ellie pulls you into the living room before tugging your hand and pointing up at the wall until you scoop her up. Joel’s already working in the kitchen on dinner as you walk Ellie around the room. She’s more talkative then you’ve ever heard her be now that she’s got a clear line of sight to Joel, clearly more comfortable as she points out each framed photo, having a seemingly infinite number of things to say about each. 

She babbles on endlessly, you don’t understand her well, you can really only make out names in her mess of gibberish but it sounds like she’s telling jokes. She points at each photo, looking at you as she says something incoherent before pausing, when she speaks again it comes off like a punchline, a single short burst of words before a shriek of giggles. You feel truly happy for the first time since that night. You feel normal. 

You carry her over to where Joel seems to be putting toppings on a pizza. 

“I thought you didn’t know how to cook?” You set Ellie down on the counter.

“I don’t know if buying pre-made dough and putting things on top of it is cooking.” He chuckles, handing her a piece of pepperoni. You feel painfully normal. This feels normal. It feels good, holding Ellie, and sneaking her another piece of pepperoni. It feels good to listen to the music softly filling the kitchen from the radio in the corner as Joel puts the tray in the oven before turning to smile at the two of you. “Did you show her your room yet El’s?” He grins at you and Ellie urgently grabs the sleeve of your sweater. 

You pick her back up and she directs you towards the first door on the left once you turn down the hall. You set her down and she runs in, jumping up to turn the lights on as she scrambles to the toybox. 

“Oh wow…” You can’t hide your surprise as you look around. The walls and ceiling are painted a navy blue with constellations drawn onto them, each one is outlined and labeled. Her bedframe is a wildly detailed miniature spaceship, hollowed out to hold her mattress. You walk forward, running your hand along its outline. “You have a beautiful room Ellie.” She turns and looks between you and her bed. 

“Thanks, daddy did it.”

“Your father did all this?” You tilt your head as you carefully poke the solar system mobile hanging from the ceiling fan.

“Mhmm.” She’s still busy digging through her things until she produces a few plastic dinosaurs, seemingly forgetting your presence entirely as she begins smashing them together, growling and snarling. You watch her until Joel calls you back and she scrambles to her feet, running back out. You take a moment, looking at the other three doors in the hall. You can hear Joel talking to Ellie in the other room so you take the opportunity to look around. You try the door across from Ellies, pushing it open. It's a completely average bathroom, when you check the other two you find them both locked. 

You don’t get a chance to make any attempts to get into them before Joel is calling you. 

When you walk back into the kitchen they’re already sitting at the table, the seat next to Joel is pulled out and you take a seat. 

And you get to be normal for just a few more minutes. This is what you wish it was with Joel. You wish you didn’t have to shut him up with sex every time he came over. You want dinners with Ellie. You want to watch her scramble to pick out a movie and you want to relive the look of content on Joel's face when his daughter chooses to sit between you two instead of just beside him. You want to hear Joel laugh at shitty jokes in a Disney movie and you want to watch Ellie struggle to keep her head up, alternating between leaning against you and leaning against her father. 

But you can’t have this. 

At least not after tonight. 

Ellie yawns, her head slowly tilting to rest in the crook of Joel’s arm as she struggles to keep her eyes open. Joel taps you on the shoulder, nodding down at the sleeping toddler.

“I’m gonna put her to bed.” He mouths before scooping her up and carrying her down the hall. You sit by yourself for a moment, soaking in the quiet ambiance of the movie when you suddenly hear a tiny pair of footprints as Ellie runs up to you. She’s in her pajamas now, a pair of striped pants and what looks to be one of Joel's old shirts. You think for a moment that she might hug you as you give her a soft smile but she just pats your knee a few times.

 “Good night.” She mumbles before running back to her room. 

“Good night Ellie.” You call after her. After another moment you stand, curiosity getting the better of you as you walk down the hall as quietly as possible, leaning in the cracked open doorway. Ellie is in her bed with Joel sitting on the edge of it, he’s bent down to properly fit into the spaceship as he tucks her blankets in around her. 

“What can I get for you tonight, little monster, story or song?” He whispers as he hands her a stuffed dinosaur. 

“Song please.” She yawns, rubbing her eyes. 

“Comin’ right up.” He reaches outside of her bed, grabbing the guitar you hadn’t paid much attention to earlier, you had been enraptured by everything else at that point. He tunes it for a moment as she gets comfortable, pulling her blankets up to her chin as she stares at him, her eyes already struggling to stay open. “What song do you wanna hear tonight?”

“Hmm… the rabbit song?” 

“That’s a very good choice, Eleanor.” He nods as he slowly begins strumming a series of chords. 

Run rabbit, run rabbit, run run run.

Run rabbit, run rabbit, run run run.

Bang bang bang bang goes the farmer's gun.

Run rabbit, run rabbit, run run run.

Run rabbit, run rabbit, run run run.

You rest your head on the doorframe as he strums softly, looking up every once in a while to see if she’s sleeping yet, he repeats the song about two times until he finally looks up and her eyes are shut. You rush back to the couch when he stands. 

“Took her a while to calm down, sorry about that.” He rubs the back of his neck as he walks back into the room.

“Don’t worry about it, it’s more than fine.” He sits beside you, your thighs touching as he puts an arm around you.

“You’re really good with ‘er.” He whispers, turning to rest his forehead on your temple. 

“She makes it easy.” You run your hand along his thigh, trailing it up until he gently grabs your wrist. 

“We gotta talk first, bunny.” 

Absolutely not. You didn’t find anything so the next course of action is to fuck or leave. 

“Why don’t we go talk in your bedroom?” You roll yourself into his lap, straddling his waist and he frowns. 

“Let’s just talk for a few minutes.” You start trying to tug open his shirt as he sighs. You lean forward, kissing him but he doesn’t reciprocate, keeping his hands at his sides, when you pull back he’s scowling. 

“Come on…” You whine softly. 

“You can’t keep doin’ this.” His southern accent thickens as he starts becoming visibly upset. 

“Doing what?” You mumble. 

“Shuttin’ yerself away. Pushin’ me away. You can’t keep using sex to end conversations you don’t want to have.” You continue fumbling with the buttons on his shirt as he purses his lips, finally just grabbing your wrists, pinning them down. “Would’ja stop for one damn minute?” You can feel him glaring at you but you just keep staring at the buttons on his flannel, silent. 

“I don’t want to talk.” You exhale, pulling your wrists free. 

“Bullshit.” He grabs you by your jaw, no forcefulness behind the action but he makes you look at him. “I’m worried about you.” His tone softens immensely as he gives you a pleading look. 

“I’m fine.” You push his hand away but maintain eye contact.

“You aren’t. We haven’t had a conversation in weeks, and you cry everytime I see you, I don’t even know why you keep askin’ me to come around, at this point I’m allowed to be worried.”

“I don’t want to talk about this.” You start to get out of his lap but he grabs you by your waist and pulls you back down. 

“Well I do. I’m serious, somethin’ is wrong with you, this isn’t normal.” When you try to get up again he doesn’t stop you, just putting his head in his hands as he groans. “There’s something seriously wrong with you bunny, we need to get you help.”

“I don’t need ‘help,’ I’m fine, now drop it.” He can’t do this, he can’t just call you crazy when he’s the one who drove you to this point. 

“You aren’t fine, you’re the furthest thing from it. You’re a mess, you’ve become a mad woman.” You’re about to just grab your bag and leave when he leans back. “Does it run in the family or something?” He mutters into his hand and you freeze in place.

“Excuse me?” You don’t conceal the hurt or the venom in your tone. 

“I’m sorry I shouldn’t have-” He gets to his feet but you put a hand up when he takes a step forward.  

“Don’t.”

“Please bunny. I’m just so frustrated I didn’t mean it, please.” His expression is full of desperation but it’s too late, the damage is done. 

“Fine Joel, you know what, let’s talk. Let’s talk about how you think I’ve got whatever ‘Ditsy Darlene’ had.” You raise your eyebrows at him, taunting him as you sneer. “Let’s talk about what’s wrong with your batty little bunny.” You hiss the end of the sentence and his eyes grow sad. 

He stares at you, silence ringing through the living room for a moment before you finally just grab your bag and make a beeline for the door, unfortunately he beats you to it just as the angry tears start pooling in your eyes. 

“Where do you think you’re going?”

“I’m going home.”

“Like hell you are, it’s miles away, and it’s the middle of the night, I’ll give you a ride.” He grabs his coat but you just shake your head. 

“I’m not getting in the truck with you. Besides, Ellie's already asleep.” He pinches the bridge of his nose, muttering under his breath once more before reaching into his pocket, scrolling through his phone for a moment, you’re about to just push past him and leave when he brings it to his ear. 

“Can you come over? I need a favor.” He grumbles into the phone, you hear a rather irritated voice on the other end until Joel stops them. “You owe me.” There’s a beat of silence before he gets a response that has him nodding and hanging up, looking back at you. “Tommy’l be here in a few minutes, he’ll take you home.” He mumbles before leaning against the counter, you take the opportunity to sit at the table near the door. 

Neither one of you so much as moves until headlights illuminate the dim kitchen. When Tommy walks in he’s rather disheveled. His hair is pulled back but most of it still falls around his face, from the looks of it he’s only wearing sweatpants and a jacket. 

“This better be important, I haven’t seen Maria in days. So help me god if this is your way of getting back at me for-“ He immediately points an accusatory finger at Joel, sounding extremely irritated. 

“She needs a ride home.” Joel interrupts him quickly, nodding over to you before making his way over to Tommy rather quickly, grabbing him by the collar of his jacket and yanking him back out the door. “We need a second.” He yells back in your direction and before you can object he slams the front door leaving you alone. 

Almost immediately you watch the blinds shudder as something slams against the kitchen window. You don’t hesitate to stand, rushing over and pressing your ear up against the wall, you don’t even have time to feel bad about eavesdropping. You haven’t found anything damning yet and this might be your only chance. They’re a bit hushed but you can hear them pretty clearly. 

“She’s perfectly fine, unlike some people I can control myself.” 

Tommy. 

“Perfectly fine? She’s a fuckin’ mess Tom. You’d have my head if it had been Maria.”

Joel.

“Maria never woulda found herself in that situation because she knows better, maybe it’s time for you to take care of that.”

“You say that like it’s easy.” 

“It is. I told Maria on our second date, you know why? Because it doesn’t matter. There isn’t a damn thing you could tell that girl that would make her leave you, I know it, you know it, hell, she probably knows it.”

Does Tommy know what the thing that plagues you is? The thing that keeps you from staying away from Joel? 

“She doesn’t know anything and it’s gonna stay that way.”

“She knows enough. You’re doing more harm by keepin’ her in the dark. What happens when you finally lose that famous self control a’yours?” Another slam against the window has you jolting backwards but you quickly lean back in when you hear Joel snarl. 

“I would never do anything to hurt her.”

You want so badly to believe that. 

“We both know I’m a hundred times more calm than you and Maria doesn’t even let me stay in the house most days. She needs to know so she can protect herself. What’s gonna happen when you don’t get outta town fast enough one of these days? You’ve been getting dangerously close these last couple of times, you’re gonna break her if she doesn’t know.” There’s a moment of silence and you worry they’re about to come back inside when Tommy speaks again, softer now. “What happens when she goes back into those woods? If she’s in the wrong place at the wrong time?” Another beat of silence. “I’ve seen the two of you, you can barely keep your hands off of her as is, what happens when you catch a whiff of her in the forest and can’t help yourself?”

“I wouldn’t hurt her.”

“I didn’t say you’d hurt her. I said you’d break her. You can’t keep lying to her and telling her she’s crazy, if she finds out on her own she’ll lose it Joel. You want her to end up like our old man?” 

You already feel broken. 

“This is different.”

“I think it’s exactly the same.” There’s another beat of silence before Tommy speaks again, angrier than before. “If you don’t tell her I will.”

“You have no right-“

“Would’ja quit shovin’ me. She’s gonna come out here if you don’t stop. She has every right to know. I’ll give you a few more weeks but I won’t leave her in the dark forever.”

Maybe you should just ask Tommy to go get coffee or something. From the sounds of it he’ll sort it all out for you. 

“Fine.”

“Fine, I'm gonna have to deal with this?”

“Fine, I’ll deal with this.” You barely have enough time to run back to the table and sit before the door swings open again, only Joel comes back in, his expression goes from furious to apologetic when he looks at you. “Tom’s out in the truck, he’ll get you home safe.” The tone he speaks to his brother with is unrecognizable compared to the tone he uses with you. You nod before grabbing your bag keeping your head down as you rush out the door, he catches your arm as you cross the threshold. “What can I do to fix this?” His voice cracks on the word fix and you turn to stare into those brown eyes that threaten to swallow you whole. 

You take a moment just to fight the urge to forgive him all together, to act as if all of this is perfectly fine just so you can stay with him.

“You can stop lying.” You whisper before yanking your arm free and running to the passenger side of the truck. You strap yourself in swiftly, not so much as glancing at Tommy. 

“Ready to go?” He sounds chipper as ever as you nod, giving one last look to Joel, standing in the doorway watching you depart. 

A soft country love song plays on the radio as he heads back towards your camper, a part of you longs to ask him for answers, wondering if he’d actually give them to you. It sounded like he wanted to, a lot of that conversation left you more confused than ever but also rather worried.

You decide it’s better not to let him know you were listening. At least for now.

“You have fun with the little monster?” He breaks the silence, making you jump a bit. 

“Ellie? She’s a delight.” 

“She’s the cutest, I’m glad Joel has her. He was pretty broken up when Sarah went to college.”

“She still visits, right?” You do your best to not stare at the trees, focusing on the dashboard instead. 

“Oh yeah, on holidays and special occasions, she’s only a state away. But you know how it is when you’re in college. She loves her dad but she needed some space to find herself and Joel just got lonely.” He flips on his blinker, turning down your road. “Ellie’s good for him. She keeps him busy.”

“Do you and Maria get to watch her much?” You’re hoping to catch him in a lie.

“Quite a bit yeah.” Damnit. “Joel’s always busy doing Joel stuff and it’s good practice for us, we haven’t decided on kids yet so we settle on just watching Ellie.”

Well this is going nowhere.

You sit in a mostly comfortable silence for a moment. 

“She called me girlfriend today, Joel was trying to teach her my name.” You both laugh a bit until he speaks again. 

“I’ve been trying to get her to say ‘Uncle Tommy’ for months now, damn kids not sayin’ it just to spite me. She’ll say ‘Auntie Maria’ clear as day.”

You genuinely like Tommy. 

Outside of the fact that he wanted to tell you whatever truth everyone seems hellbent on keeping from you. 

He’s easy to be around.

“Then what does she call you?” You say with one last laugh as he pulls up towards the camper. 

“Most of the time she just calls me Tío.” He gives you a grin as your mouth goes dry, when he gives you a hug goodbye you’re acutely aware of the fact that he smells like cinnamon. 

You feel relatively sick the rest of the night. 

Tío.

You had almost laughed; it had shocked you so deeply. 

It had been Tommy in the woods that day. 

You’re sure of it now. It explains everything and fills in all the gaps. The Miller brothers are both haunting these woods. You’re left to stew with that the rest of the night.

You aren’t crazy. 

Joel isn’t just a man.

And according to your book that’s why you can’t get away from him. You’re mates. Something about finally knowing you’re right helps you sleep soundly for the first time in ages. You don’t even dream. 

You’ve got several notifications from Joel when you wake, a slew of apologies and missed calls which you ignore as you step into the shower. You manage to keep it together long enough to wash yourself, rinsing your hair out, tugging your fingers through the tangles. 

You pat yourself dry, wrapping a towel around yourself as you step out of the bathroom, pouring yourself a glass of water as you take a seat at the table, scrolling through your texts.

[ can i come over tomorrow night? ] 

[ i’m sorry, i didn’t mean it. ]

[ we can do whatever you wanna do. ] 

[ bunny please. ]

You’re already feeling your Joel withdrawal, you should text him, does your body somehow know you plan on depriving it of him? You’ve only been without him for a few hours and you’re exhausted after a full night's sleep. You sit with your head in your hands for a moment, massaging your temples as a headache settles there. After another moment you pinch the bridge of your nose, standing up abruptly. 

“Fuck! Ah-” You catch your foot on the uneven board under the table, slicing your heel open on an exposed nail. “Dammit…” You mutter under your breath as you lift your leg, examining the cut. It's small, barely even bleeding but it irritates you wildly, your mood growing more and more sour. You sit on the floor, turning on your phone flashlight as you examine the floor, hoping to fix whatever the problem is, you realize quickly that the entire board is loose. “What the hell?” You pull it back completely, staring confused at the cubby. There’s a small space under the table, when you reach in you find a tote bag in surprisingly good condition. When you free it from its confines your eyes go wide when you see a laptop case. 

Darlenes. 

Everything’s in the bag, case, laptop, and charger. You set everything on the table, covering the floorboard and making sure nothing sharp is still exposed before taking a seat. You plug the charger in quickly, giving it a moment before opening the laptop and turning it on. You’re delighted when the screen illuminates, a small startup chime playing. Hopefully learning a bit more about your aunt will help you take your mind off things. 

Shit.

Password. 

You think to yourself for a moment, pondering and trying to come up with a few guesses before you start typing. 

Honey

West Virginia

ABC

Darlene Wilson

Ditzy Darlene 

You try your own name and your birthday and nothing happens, you stare for a moment, seemingly there’s no limit on guesses so you just keep going. Eventually you just start typing whatever you see, it’s better than nothing. 

fridge

shower 

laptop 

You glance down at your phone. 

Joel 

Nothing. 

You sigh for a moment, running your fingers across your scalp. 

Fuck it. 

bunny 

Your eyes go wide as you stare at her desktop. 

Fucking, bunny. 

You don’t dwell on that too much, too captivated by the mess of folders in front of you, you start clicking through things, confused by everything you’re seeing until you finally realize what it all is. 

It’s everyone in town, and from the looks of it, every adjacent town. 

She was keeping profiles on the townsfolk. 

It takes a bit of searching but after a few more minutes you find a folder within a folder, within a folder labeled Millers. 

Five documents are inside. 

Joel M. 

Thomas M.

Maria M. 

Sarah M.

Eleanor M. 

You open Sarah and Ellies first, both are pretty scarce, mostly just schools and such, a few dates in Sarah’s file are highlighted. Maria’s is the same except for a small section noting the increase in unexplained deaths when she officially changed her residence to Honey. 

Tommy and Joel are where it gets complicated. 

Endless pages of information, enough to fill a book. Most of it seems to be mundane information, more a diary than anything else. Notes on things she found out through the internet, a lot about how they moved around a lot as kids and kept up with that lifestyle up until Sarah, there’s no information on her mother but from the looks of it, the Miller clan settled in Honey six months before Sarah was born. 

There’s just too much on them, even simple things like how Darlene saw them in the grocery store, detailed calendars of their whereabouts were being kept by your aunt. You try to skim through a lot of it but there doesn’t seem to be anything highlighted until the last page. 

Not to be overlooked. 

Did she fucking know? 

Darlene may have been ditzy in some ways but this was clearly not one of them. A second highlighted sentence underneath that one catches your eye.

To be investigated in case of my untimely passing. 

Your stomach drops.

There’s no way. 

You close the files, trying to push away the implications of what you’ve read. But you can’t seem to keep it down. 

You never asked anyone how she passed. 

Work after the laptop incident is uneventful at best. 

With no bodies there isn’t much for you to do. 

You clean and you take care of the occasional elderly person you get but that’s about it, you spend a lot of time with Maria, sitting in silence and doing paperwork. It’s as if she knows that you aren’t exactly doing great and just doesn’t want to stir the pot. 

You haven’t texted Joel back.

And you feel like shit. 

Just in general things haven’t been all that great since you and Joel fought. Being away from him makes you feel shitty and it’s made your mood shitty, you’re irritable and impatient and by the time Maria finally breaks the silence two weeks later you’re ready to explode. 

“Are you feeling okay? You seem a little down, you know you can talk to me whenever you want.” It sounds genuine enough but you know better by now than to trust any member of this family. 

“I’m fine.” You can’t find it in you to care if it comes off as rude.

“Are you sure?” She’s filing papers on her desk, freezing in place when you speak again. 

“Did you do my aunt's service?” You look up at Maria.

It’s a terrible question.

You probably shouldn’t even be asking it but you need to know. 

She sits in stunned silence for a moment before clearing her throat. 

“I did.” 

“How did she die?” 

Somehow an even worse question, this is a terrible example of mortician etiquette. 

“They told me it was old age.” 

“Who told you?”

She swallows loudly.

“The police.”

“Why did the police declare the cause of death? Isn’t that your job?” This might cost you yours but what have you got to lose at this point?

“The police found her.” 

“Why were the police even at her house?”

“Christ, I don’t know! You sound just like her, with the questions and the accusations!”

“Accusations? I wasn’t accusing you of anything, what did you think I was accusing you of?”

“I think you should go home, take the rest of the day off.”

“Why would I do that?”

“Because you’re acting crazy.”

You aren’t crazy. 

Fine. You’ll take the night off. You’ve got some things to take care of anyway. You can’t keep doing nothing, you owe it to Darlene. 

“I��ll see you on Monday.” You stand, hastily grabbing your things. 

She calls your name as you’re leaving.

“Take care of yourself, please.” 

You don’t respond, closing the door as you step into the misty afternoon air. 

You aren’t crazy.

And you’re pretty sure Darlene wasn’t either. Something about Maria’s story isn’t adding up, maybe you should have started by interrogating her, she isn’t as good at lying as Tommy and Joel are. Nonetheless, you need to do your own research now. 

That’s what you tell yourself to justify what you’re doing as you walk into the police station. It’s tiny, as expected, there’s no secretary so you just let yourself in, approaching a woman with a name plate reading Sheriff.

“Hi, I’m Darlene’s niece.” You don’t bother giving a last name, everyone knows everyone in this damn town. 

“Oh! I’ve been meanin’ to stop by and introduce m’self.” She gives you a toothy grin as you nod. “I knew yer aunt pretty well, we used ta joke that I should give er a punch card fer the station.” You thought Joel had a thick southern accent but this woman is on a whole different level. 

“She was here often?”

“Nearly twice a week. She would come in ‘ere, poor thing, spewin’ about monsters in the woods. But she was harmless, I didn’t have anything better to do so I’d listen, y’know, ‘take ‘er statement.’” She does air quotes with her fingers and you fight the urge to frown. “Hell of a storyteller that one.” 

“Could you help me out with some information regarding her passing?” No sense in being coy about it, seems like this woman will talk for hours if you don’t interrupt. “Maybe I could talk to the officer who found her…” You look around the room at the empty desks before looking back at her, she has a sympathetic look on her face now.

“That would be me. I was first on the scene after we got the call.”

“Call?”

“Well yeah, it was the Miller brothers that found ‘er.”

What the fuck. 

“Joel and Tommy?”

“You’ve met ‘em? Who am I kiddin’ of course you’ve met ‘em, they probably knew her better than anyone else, real saints those two.”

“Darlene? You probably know her better than I do.”

That’s what he had said. 

“I didn’t realize they spent so much time together.” How much has Joel lied to you about?

“Oh yeah, they were over there several times a week, Joel even named his daughter after her, Darlene’s middle name was Eleanor.” There’s a sour taste in your mouth as you let that sink in.

“So… Tommy and Joel found her?” 

“Unfortunately, they had come over like they normally did on Sundays to help her with any house work and they found her in her camper, said she went in ‘er sleep.”

“Wait, they said she went in her sleep? You never saw the body?”

“I- I couldn’t bring myself to look… I cared a lot for Darlene, I considered her a very good friend. Joel and Tommy wrapped her up for me, I escorted them to the home and Maria took care of the rest. Declared cause of death and all that.”

That’s all you need to hear. 

Now you have to check, it’ll eat you up inside until there’s nothing left if you don’t. You mumble a goodbye before making a hasty exit. 

Tonight you’re going to the cemetery.  

Dig or leave. 

You need to make up your mind, you can only stand in a graveyard with a shovel for so long before you’re arrested. It’s already ten at night and you need to start as early as possible. 

There’s just a lot going on here. 

Darlene Eleanor Wilson

More important than the Eleanor of it all is the fact that you’re faced with two tombstones, Darlene’s clearly being a lot fresher than the one beside it. 

Benita Isabella Wilson 

Both tombstones are labeled the same, beloved wife, and friend 

Wife. You’d been told she’d never married.

There was no indication in the camper of such a thing yet here it is, clear as day. From the looks of it Benita passed nearly eight years ago. When you look closer you can see how well kept her tombstones have been. You make a note to pick up where Darlene left off and come back to clean both. 

After you do what needs to be done. 

You take a deep breath before finally driving the shovel down into the dirt. There’s no time to be squeamish about this, you know better than anyone how long this is going to realistically take to get done so you need to work fast if you want to be out of here before the sun’s coming up. 

So you dig. 

And you sweat, and you ache but you don’t dare stop. 

You dig, and you dig, and you dig. 

Until finally the sun is coming up, the sky is dimly lit when you finally hit something other than dirt. You work as quickly as possible to unearth the top half of the coffin and just as daylight breaks you manage to do it. You’re actually a bit thankful for the sun's rising, because you have no time to hesitate, you have to do it and you have to do it now before someone finds you.

So you grit your teeth and open the coffin. 

And you meet Darlene. 

Your poor, poor aunt Darlene.

Aunt Darlene, who’s cause of death was deemed ‘multiple organ failure, natural causes.’

She’s only been in the ground a few months. A normal person might blame her state on that fact but this isn’t decomposition. Decomposition doesn’t tear half of a person's face off. 

When she died she was missing over half of her face, from the looks of it her nose was torn clean off before she got anywhere near a casket. 

You swallow your vomit, not wanting to further desecrate her grave. 

Your brain is moving at a million miles an hour yet you’re also struggling to form a single coherent thought as you take in the sight of her until finally something just snaps. 

Staring at the corpse makes something shift inside of you. As if you’ve been pulled taut for weeks and you’ve finally split in two. Something deep inside of you that you’d never felt before, you sort of wonder if this is how normal people feel when they see a corpse. 

You don’t even laugh. 

There isn’t fear, or anger, or hate, threatening to burst from you, forcing that all too familiar laugh from your chest.

There’s nothing.

Just you and a corpse. 

A mangled corpse, with no one to mourn her, and no one to realize something was horribly wrong until long after she was dead. 

You don’t remember much after that. You don’t remember closing the casket, or covering it with dirt, but you know you did. You don’t remember walking to the hardware store, open surprisingly early, you don’t remember making any purchases, and you don’t remember going home. 

Yet you’re there when you come to your senses. 

You feel terribly hollow and suddenly you’d give anything to fill the camper with one of your nervous laughs but it never comes. You shake your head a bit, trying to focus. 

You’re in the camper.

The sun is up.

And you’ve got two rather heavy plastic bags in front of you. You  pour the contents out onto the table before methodically grabbing each one, tucking them into your empty backpack, making yourself a mental list of everything while trying to remember why you bought them in the first place.  

Several armfuls of rope, and chain, several rolls of duct tape, a new first aid kit, more padlocks than you could ever possibly need, paper towels, bleach, and a rather gaudy souvenir mug, scribbled on the bottom is some print telling you that it’s microwave and dishwasher safe, and shatterproof, it’s obnoxious and absurdly heavy, a decal on the front says ‘Sweet as Honey, West Virginia!’ 

You stare at your now full bag, blurry memories of your train of thought coming into focus as you slowly but surely remember your intentions. 

You were going to visit Joel. 

And sort out this whole mess. 

Finally have that talk he’s been wanting to have so badly.

If everyone is gonna keep treating you like you’re gone mad then you’re going to act mad. 

You wait two days to go visit Joel.

You’ve started to track your cycle so you know exactly when to go see him. When the day comes you tuck yourself into the trees adjacent to the funeral home. Deep enough in the woods that no one can see you but not so deep that you’re filled with the familiar dread the woods typically give you. 

It is tempting though. 

The concept of getting to feel something again.

Ever since you saw that corpse you’ve just been empty, there isn’t anything left of you. 

Joel's truck pulls in as you tilt your head to the side. 

You watch as he lifts Ellie out of her car seat, letting her run the distance to the house where Maria waits for her. They talk for a bit before Joel kisses the top of Ellie’s head, making his way back to the truck. The moment he begins backing out of the driveway you begin your walk towards his home. 

It’s about a three hour walk but you don’t get bored. 

You’d have to be able to feel something to feel boredom. 

So you walk, because there’s nothing else for you to do. You walk until you see the tire swing swaying in the cool night air. You walk around the house to the sliding door in the back, and you peer inside through the blinds to find the living room and kitchen empty, when you push the door it gives way immediately. 

No reason to lock a door when you’re the scariest thing in the woods. 

When you step in you hear the faint sounds of the shower running and you quietly make your way across the room once the door is closed behind you. You take your bag off one arm so you can reach inside, retrieving the novelty mug before zipping it shut and putting it back on. 

You don’t even feel nervous. 

Your skin buzzes as if you’re anxious and you tap your foot but the wave of anxiety never comes. You fill the mug with water, sipping slowly until you hear the shower turn off and you dump out the contents, tucking yourself behind the fridge and holding your breath. 

He moves around for a bit, you hear him moving throughout the house until finally the sound of his footsteps travel down the hall and into the kitchen, when you peek around he’s leaning against the counter, staring into the living room while drying his hair with a towel, dressed in only flannel pajama bottoms.

It’s now or never. 

“Could’a swore I shut those…” He grumbles as he tosses the towel onto the back of a chair, you know he’s about to close the blinds so you step out before he can even get off the tile, standing directly behind him as you inhale sharply. 

“I’m sorry.” You whisper, shutting your eyes tight just as he turns around and you slam the ceramic mug against his temple. 

Please don’t be dead, please don’t be dead, please don’t be dead.

You pray silently to yourself as you finally kneel beside his crumpled form. After the initial strike you’d turned around with a small squeak, terrified of your own actions, hearing the sound of his body hitting the floor. It took you five whole minutes to finally turn and look. 

Still breathing.

That’s all that matters. 

You throw your backpack down on the counter before crouching down, rolling him onto his back. His chest rises and falls as if he were asleep but a small amount of blood is pooling from where you hit him, the skin split just below his hairline. You brush a curl away from his forehead to look closer, it’s a superficial wound, not too deep but still bleeding profusely. It could be worse, you tell yourself as you stand again, searching through your pack, eventually just grabbing it by the bottom and dumping the contents onto the counter. First things first you need to bandage his wound, this will all be easier if he isn’t bleeding everywhere. 

You grab the bandages you bought for this very purpose, along with the paper towels, dabbing up the blood now streaking through his hair.

This is fine.

Everything’s fine. 

It takes a bit of effort but once he’s all cleaned up you manage to get him into a chair and it’s easy from there. You know how strong he is so you’re rather generous in your use of each restraint. Using most of everything you’ve got securing him, rope, tape and chain. When you’re finished you take a step back. 

He won’t be able to get out of it. 

You’re certain. 

You aren’t sure what’s next honestly. There isn’t really anything for you to do until he wakes up so you find yourself just staring down the hallway. 

He was just in his room, it probably isn’t locked anymore. 

Curiosity gets the better of you as you make your way down the hall, Joel’s bedroom door beckoning you. You twist the knob, slowly pushing the door in as your hand fumbles with the wall beside it, trying to find the lightswitch. You stare into the darkness before finally finding it, flinching a bit as a single light fixture hanging in the center of the room flickers on. 

Huh.

This is what you were expecting to find the first time you came over. No wonder he always wants to sleep in the camper. 

It looks like a room you’d only see in a horror movie. The walls are mostly bare, the wallpaper is torn off in large chunks and against the far wall you can see a few polaroids taped up. The only furniture is a mattress on the floor in the center of the room. Your breath hitches as you walk to the closet, pulling open the door. It looks like he keeps all of his belongings in here, shoved into the small space, clothes, personal items, and boxes fill it entirely. You shut the door, you don’t have nearly enough time to go through all of it so you go to investigate the photos instead. 

Five polaroids are pinned up.

One is a photo of Joel holding a tiny baby with a shocking mess of brunette curls atop her head. Her big brown eyes are identical to Joels.

The second is a pretty recent photo of Ellie. A slightly blurry photo of the little girl holding the camera in front of a mirror, Joel is barely visible in the background, you can see his signature dimple as he holds her up. 

The third photo is of two people you don’t recognize. A man with a vacant stare sitting in a rocking chair with a woman perched beside him, kissing his cheek. Both look to be in their sixties, the man bares a striking resemblance to Tommy, the woman has the same frenzied curls as Sarah. 

The fourth was taken in front of the funeral home, Tommy and Maria are pictured standing underneath a ‘Grand Opening!’ banner.

The fifth, and clearly most recent photo is of you. You have no memory of it being taken, how could you, your eyes are shut. You look peaceful though. Happy. The morning light shimmers against your lashes, you’re tangled in the sheets with your arms wrapped tightly around his abdomen, from the angle he’s holding the camera at you can see his head turned down, giving you an infatuated look. 

You run a finger along the edge of the photo, lost in thought until you hear him coughing, you turn the light off, rushing back out into the kitchen, his eyes are glued to you immediately. 

“Bunny…” His tone is low and cautious. 

“Don’t do that, don’t talk to me like I’m crazy.” You make your way across the kitchen, pulling up a chair and sitting across from him. 

You know how this looks but that doesn’t give him an excuse to be condescending. 

“Of course you aren’t crazy, I know that, I just need you to let me go.” His voice goes soft, as if he were speaking to a cornered animal. 

“Stop it.” You frown at him. “I’m completely coherent right now.”

“Okay.” He nods slowly. “Look, I know things haven’t been easy for you recently, just let me go and we can forget any of this ever happened, okay? We can just go to bed and deal with it in the morning.” The funny part is that you know he’s telling the truth, if you untie him right now he’d carry you to bed as if nothing happened and he’d hold you until you forgot about the whole thing. “Please don’t do this.” He speaks softer now. “Think about Ellie. Don’t leave her without a father.”

“I’m not going to hurt you, I’m not a monster.” The offense is apparent in your tone. 

“Then what’s the plan here, bunny.”

“We’re going to wait.” You sit back in your chair, crossing your arms in front of your chest. “I should be getting my period tomorrow.” You tilt your head to the side a tiny bit as the color leaves his face. “We will wait here for forty eight hours, if nothing happens I’ll untie you.” 

His face suddenly turns to an expression of concentration, you’ve got plenty of time to grill him over the next forty eight hours, you decide to let him be for now. Neither one of you says so much as a word for well over an hour when suddenly his hand spasms. A nervous tick of sorts, his fingers flexing outward before his knuckles go white as his hand forms into a fist. 

“Let me go.” He whispers.

“In forty eight hours.”

“Now.”

You shake your head no.

Almost simultaneously you watch his jaw twitch in an almost inhuman way. 

“Then you need to get out of here.” His voice is strained now as he gives you a look of pure desperation.

“I’m staying right here.” You raise your eyebrows at him definitely but lose any of your bravado when he snarls, his muscles rippling briefly as you watch the tape tear, some of the ropes split in different places as he flexes. You tumble out of your own chair as you recoil.

“Iron?” He growls out, when he looks up at you now his eyes are bloodshot, you’re incapable of doing anything other than staring in horror as you hear the screech of metal as one of the chain links bursts. “Are these- are they iron?” His voice shifts down an octave halfway through the sentence and you shake your head frantically. 

How were you supposed to know they needed to be iron? You aren’t exactly experienced in holding eldritch horrors hostage. 

“You- fuck, you need to get out of here.” When he stares up at you there’s another groan from the strain against the metal but you can’t move. You’ve fallen flat on your ass as you stare at him with wide confused eyes, your legs splayed out uselessly in front of you while your arms prop you up just enough to watch the nightmare before you unfold. “Now.” You recognize the voice that speaks now as Joel’s, despite the fact that it isn’t his at all, it’s just a low bellowing sound now that shouldn’t be possible for a human to make. Your breath is starting to quicken as you tremble. 

You’re nearly hyperventilating when the chains all simultaneously break, the metal shrieking as it rips. But it isn’t anywhere near loud enough to cover up the horrific sound that echoes throughout the house. 

Bones, breaking. 

A sickening crunching and snapping as Joel's flesh ripples as if the ocean is just beneath his skin. Joel is big, he’s always been broad, sturdy, but this is something completely different. He isn’t just big, he’s hulking. His body twists and tears and it hurts to even look at but you can’t turn away. He’s falling apart, his flesh and bones tear and bleed as they reshape themselves into something beyond your comprehension. 

This isn’t what you came across in the woods. 

This looks like the kind of thing that eats what you came across in the woods. 

His body curls in on itself, crouching down onto all fours and he’s still taller than you. If he had been wearing a shirt you assume it would have torn when his spine realigned itself. Each vertebrae popping itself out, separating and lengthening until his body shudders, the skin pulled taut over his stretched out form. The entire process probably takes less than a minute but it feels like hours pass as you watch, your eyes wide. 

Until finally he stills, panting, staring at the ground before tilting his head up a bit. 

“Little… rabbit.” 

It speaks.

He looks at you like a meal and your breath hitches at the sight, there’s a burning in your abdomen as you stare into his eyes, he’s searching your gaze for something but he doesn’t find it. Almost as if you can read his mind a word comes to mind.

Repulsion. 

He’s searching for disgust, or loathing, but he won’t find it, after all this is what you wanted. You don’t hate him for this, you won’t look at him like he’s ugly because he isn’t, even if you’re afraid. There is something horrifyingly gorgeous about him, even if every one of your base instincts tell you to get as far away from him as you possibly can. 

He’s beautiful like this. 

The deep brown of his eyes takes over the whites as his eyelids pull back, his eyes must be the size of baseballs now. Enormous and dark, sparking with intrigue. The hook of his nose now stretches to fit his new face, halfway down it bends and breaks a bit. His hair looks a little longer, more appropriately framing his face now.

Does it hurt?

Is the question that comes to mind the more you take him in. Despite how large his maw is it still tears a bit at the cheeks, holes where it looks like the skin was pulled too tight, revealing the jagged teeth within.

A growl bubbles in his throat, pouring out and snapping you out of your assessment as he crawls forward a bit until he’s practically hovering above you, his head turns, shifting from side to side as he gives you several small sniffs, almost like a dog assessing a stranger in it’s home. 

It makes the hair on your arms stand straight. 

Run rabbit, run. 

“Bunny.” He rumbles out, almost as if he’s acknowledging recognition. 

And you fucking laugh.

With your entire chest. 

It’s the first time you’ve felt anything in days, it’s almost a relief. Everything comes bubbling to the surface as you burst into a fit of hysterical, nervous laughter. 

You have never been this afraid in your entire life. 

He exhales sharply, the force of it has your hair rustling a bit, your senses suddenly overwhelmed with the smell of peppermint. You don’t dare move, freezing in place when he leans down, only a few inches away from you now, his arms pinning you in. God, he smells so fucking good right now and you hate yourself for noticing. 

Curiosity killed the rabbit.

Is that a saying? It will be after tonight. 

You swallow loudly, and try to close your legs as subtly as possible but his gaze follows the movement immediately and you freeze once more. Fuck, fuck, fuck, your stomach burns so hot it’s painful as you stare up at him. 

His head tilts almost knowingly as he inhales deeply and his eyes darken.

Fuck.

Can he smell how turned on you are?

i no longer have a tag list !! if you want updates for this fic follow @lincolndjarinnotifs !!

a/n : have a love hate relationship with this chapter bc i hate that i love it. but like straight up lemmie know if this chapter was a bit scattered bc that's my big worry rn. i jumped around a lot but also these chapters are so long sometime i feel it's best to just expedite some scenes yknow? idk.

[the-blind-assassin-12]

Spring Cleaning Update:

Hey there, everyone! First and foremost, Happy Wednesday - I hope you’re doing well and taking care of yourselves the best way that you can.

Secondly, I figured that now o’clock seems like a good time to share some updates since it’s been a while and some things are changing.

Writing Things:

I’m going to be slowly but surely migrating to AO3 as my main fic posting place. A long ago version of me once thought that I’d keep up with posting to both places but I quickly learned that I’m a one trick pony (one site poster) and at the time, tumblr became the numero uno. But with all this talk of it not being around anymore, I’m jumping back over to the archive.

New chapters of ongoing wips will still be posted here until the wheels fall off. (until tumblr dies or the fic is finished) I’m going to start cross posting with shorter pieces/one shots, but the goal is to get it all on AO3. But until further notice, you’ll be able to find new chapters to ongoing series here as well as eventually there.

New stories will only be posted to AO3. I’ve already started this with The Contractor. I’ll still make announcement posts here when new chapters are up, again, until the wheels fall off, but new stuff will only be posted to AO3.

I’ll still be here in the meantime! My inbox is still always open, and so are my DMs. I’ll still be here to chat and gush about fictional characters and do tag games and support other writers and other members of the community and all that jazz!

But in case of fire, I’m also on discord. Same name over there, same dashes between the words. I’m not always the quickest to respond, but feel free to come say hi!

The March Fic Madness Mega Masterlist is live! Come and get your fic recs, folks! And if you’re still compiling your rec list, no worries! Send me a message or tag me whenever it’s complete and I’ll add you!

Bonus update: Currently working on Survivor Blues and The Contractor, so expect some Joel soon!

Putting the rest under the cut because it’s personal stuff and that’s probably not why you’re here.

Personal Things:

Mental health? Not good. Not going to mince words, I’ve been struggling a lot more than I ever really have before, for a longer period than I ever really have before. (I know that I’m in no way the only one going through this, especially right now with the world in the fucking toilet, and I’m so sorry to anyone else in this boat. It sucks so damn bad.) It’s been so long since I’ve actually felt like myself at this point that I’m worried that I’d walk right past her on the street. Being ground into the dirt for a prolonged time is just making it very hard to stand back up recently. I’m very lucky to have a great support system, so that does help a ton, though most days I still feel like my brain is in the dark and my lungs are shrink wrapped too tightly.

Physical health? Ha! Because of the aforementioned issues, I definitely physically feel like garbage most of the time, too. I haven’t slept a solid 6 hours in months at this point and I look it. I’ve also lost weight that I didn’t want/couldn’t really afford to lose, and I look it. Headaches and racing heartbeats have become a new normal that I absolutely hate. The very second that I have access to healthcare (unfortunately I’m uninsured at the moment) I will be seeking medical help for both the mental and the physical issues, but until then I’m doing what I can to keep on trucking.

Okay two bad things are enough, how about a good one? I’m starting to focus a little more of my attention and energy (when I can) on some original fiction! I’m challenging myself to submit pieces to writing contests as well as literary magazines, and I’m planning to partake in nanowrimo this November. My first deadline for a flash fiction (1k words or under) contest is in a few days, and it’s a spooky themed event!

Okay! I think we’re all good and caught up, now. (Bad and caught up, too.) If you have made it this far, please know that I’m sending you a hug through the internets. 🫂 💚

[wannab-urs]

The King Has Lost His Crown

Pairing: ex!Dieter Bravo x gn!Reader

Summary: Dieter shows up on your doorstep

Tags: dieter being a pathetic loser, drug mention, angst WC: 703

A/N: This is my entry for @freelancearsonist's ABBA Drabble Challenge. I could have gone smutty with this, but I went angsty instead. I may still write the smut version later idk.

Dieter Bravo Masterlist | Main Masterlist | AO3 | Kofi

You sit down on your couch with a glass of wine, settling in for a nice evening of watching mindless TV. Your phone starts buzzing – Dieter Bravo is calling you. You’ve removed his contact, but you couldn’t ever bring yourself to block the number you know by heart. You hit the red Fuck You button and toss your phone to the side. 

Throughout an entire episode of some shitty reality show, your phone lights up with texts. You finally pick it up to read them:

Please answer the phone

Its Dieter 

I miss u

Can u call me pls?

Baby

Baby

Baby

Baby ]:

Just as you’re about to tell him to fuck off, your doorbell rings. You check the ring camera and see that he’s standing on your fucking porch. You hope LA suddenly has a cold snap and he freezes to death out there. Okay, maybe that’s a little harsh. But he could stand to lose a toe or two. 

He rings the doorbell again – starts just continuously pressing the button until the sound drives you so crazy you have to open the door. And he’s standing there looking like an abandoned puppy in his brown fuzzy coat and a pair of basketball shorts that are too long. You used to find his disheveled appearance endearing, but now it just adds to how pathetic he seems. 

“You have 10 seconds to explain where you found the audacity to show up at my house, Bravo.”

He winces at your icy tone, brow furrowing over those pretty brown eyes. He tugs a few strands of his hair, making it stick up even more.

“Baby, just let me in and I’ll explain everything.”

“No. Explain here.”

Dieter sighs, world weary, long and drawn out. You go to close the door on him, but he shoves a croc covered foot into the crack before you can get it closed. 

“Wait!”

You open the door enough to see him, but not enough to let him push his way inside the house. 

“What happened with your new girl, Dieter?” 

“She wasn’t you.”

For a second you almost believe him. Almost. But liars never change. 

“Don’t give me that bullshit. What actually happened?”

“What do you think happened?” He mutters, rolling his eyes. 

“I think you couldn’t keep your dick in your pants, as usual, and she got fed up.” 

“Yeah? Well. Maybe you’re right,” his tone shifts to something like shame, his face turning red. “Are you gonna let me in?”

“Oh absolutely not. You really think you can show up here after getting dumped for cheating on the girl you cheated on me with? Do you think I’m stupid?” 

“No,” his brow furrows even deeper. “Of course not. I just thought–”

“It must be so hard for you. All the drugs and pretty people you could ever desire and all you ever do is fuck it up. You’re a disaster. A fucking disgrace. I bet your mamá is real fuckin proud of you. Get out of my face, Dieter. Get off my porch. Go fuck someone else’s life up.”

You slam the door in his face and start crying immediately. The tears come faster than you can wipe them from your face, leaving tracks down your cheeks. 

You loved him, you really did. Maybe you still do. But you can’t put yourself through that bullshit again.  

–-

Dieter slumps down on the doorstep, not quite ready to accept defeat. He thinks you’ll come out soon, offer him a cup of tea and a snack, maybe cuddle with him on the couch. 

His life is a mess, but the one good thing he’s ever had was you. He lost you and it was completely his fault. He doesn’t know if he’ll ever get over you. He needs to win you back, prove he can be a good person, a good partner. 

He leans back against the door, prepping for an uncomfortable night – sober and stuck outside. He falls asleep eventually and wakes with the sunrise. You never came out to get him. Didn’t even offer him a blanket. You are well and truly done with him, and he only has himself to blame.

[hedwig221b]

WIP Wednesday

It's Thursday already but who cares lol

Tagged by @dear-massacre hey queen ✨

I've been consumed by my Predators fic. I'm on the verge of writing the climax - the scene I've been twirling in my mind since like August. I'm vibrating. Anyway, here's some miscommunication angst.

💔

Derek wasn’t sleeping, not like Stiles hoped.

“Stiles…”

“No.” Stiles marched to the nightstand under Derek’s intense gaze, plopped on the table, and unzipped the first aid kit that he had brought with him.

“We need to talk.”

“Derek.” Stiles looked at him with pleading eyes. “It’s late. I had a shit day — I’ve been shot at for fuck’s sake. Can we please talk it out tomorrow? You can scream and scold me for as long as you like but… tomorrow, okay?”

“I wasn’t gonna scream at you.”

“Great.”

“I’m not going to.”

“Excellent.” Stiles ripped the new set of bandages out of the kit. “Give me your hands.”

“I cleaned them already.” Derek showed him the freshly bandaged hands.

Oh.

Stiles’ shoulders sagged, as he breathed out. “Okay.” He swallowed. “Is it bad?”

Derek’s gaze had yet to move from Stiles’ defeated figure. He looked just as tired as Stiles felt, if not even more.

“It’s fine.”

Stiles hesitated. “You did a number on him…” Did Derek disinfect his cuts? Did he break any bones? What if his skin was badly split? What if Derek got an infection — god, humans were so fragile!

“I’m okay, Stiles,” said Derek.

Shut the fuck up, you clingy weirdo, that’s what he meant.

Stiles couldn’t cry. That would be just another fucking humiliation on top of all others.

Instead, he nodded, zipped the kit, and put it behind himself on the table. Without meeting Derek’s gaze — if the man even cared to look at him — Stiles turned off the main light and went to his side of the bed.

“Stiles?”

“Mm?” He put his phone on the nightstand and turned off the light on his side.

“Come here.”

Stiles stopped with one knee on the bed and threw a confused glance at Derek.

He looked beautiful even with the dim light hiding his tired features; the tantalizing silhouette of his strong shoulders stood out sharply against the glow.

“You want to have sex?” Stiles asked, hesitating.

It seemed like he said something wrong because Derek’s face closed off immediately. Still, a wisp of some raw feeling managed to slip through.

“No,” he muttered, looking away.

Stiles should’ve expected a “no”, should’ve been prepared for it, yet hearing it right now hurt so fucking much, like someone was tearing his heart fiber by fiber.

No.

No need for his comfort or his offers of care. Derek didn’t even need his body anymore.

Stiles nodded and got under the covers with his back turned to Derek. He didn’t close his eyes, not until Derek moved. After a few minutes of dense silence, Derek turned off the light and lay down as well.

Stiles was surprised, however, when an arm slithered around his waist and settled on his stomach.

He didn’t understand. Why was Derek getting close? Did he really have to press his body to Stiles like that—

“You know you’re here not just for sex, right?”

No, Derek keeping him for sex would’ve been too easy. The problem wasn’t the sex, it was the lack of fucking consent.

What Derek probably didn’t understand was that Stiles would’ve stayed with him on any conditions — as a friend, a roommate, or a sex toy — if only they came from Derek himself.

“I know,” he said, closing his hand over Derek’s. “I understand. Let’s sleep.”

read full version

[chickensarentcheap]

@darknightfrombeyond

Here's Esme telling Tyler about her stint as a Homeland Security Agent lol

Also tagging: @bardic-tales @secretaryunpaid @youflickedtooharddamnit @watermeezer @creators-club

“I mean, I was married, remember? I’ve had boyfriends. And girlfriends, for that matter.”

“Since you left?”

“I’m talking about throughout my entire life. And did you honestly think I wouldn’t date? Or at least try to? That I would have just spent the last five years completely alone?”

“You know how you said you were okay with me going on with my life? Meeting someone else? Falling in love, getting married, all that shit?”

Esme nods.

“I’m not that gracious. Not by a long shot. I didn’t want you with anyone else.”

“For the rest of my life?”

“Well...yeah.”

“You’re being ridiculous.” She reaches for him. “Come to bed.”

“So was this guy the real deal? Someone you could have moved on with? Gotten your ‘always and forever, happily ever after’ with? Totally forget about me and…”

“Tyler, I was never going to forget about you. I carried your child inside of me. Gave birth to her. She looks just like you. Kinda hard to forget you when I’m looking at your clone every damn day. Add the fact that I was still in love with you and always would be into the mix…”

“Would you have moved on with him? Gotten married, had more kids? All of that?”

“All of that was what I wanted with you. ONLY you. So no, none of that would have ever happened. I didn’t want that life with anyone else. Just you. And if that meant I never got any of that, oh well. Now…” She pats the empty spot beside her. “...come to bed. Please? I’ll answer whatever questions you have, but just come to bed. Because you standing there like that? It’s making me incredibly anxious.”

He relents. Laying on his side with her back pressed against his front and forearm draped across her collarbone. And he presses a kiss to the back of her head before resting his cheek against hers. “What was his name?”

“Don. His name was Don. And he was a detective. Homicide.”

“How the hell did you ever meet him?”

“I worked a small job for Nik. Nothing serious. I had to find my way into the main evidence locker at One Police Plaza and steal some papers related to an old case.”

“What the fuck….?”

“Someone hired Nik because an old money laundering and embezzlement case they were involved in was going to be reopened. And if that happened, it was going to cause a big old shitstorm; he had some big-name contacts and clients of his own that would be exposed. Some really well-known people, too. Politicians, lawyers, judges. And if all that got out…”

“Heads would roll. Most likely literally.”

“Exactly. So Nik and Yaz created an entire persona for me. I had the credentials; photo identification, passport, fake driver’s licence.”

“Who were you supposed to be?”

“An agent with Homeland Security.”

“Jesus Christ. And you don’t consider THAT serious?”

“You know, for such a huge police department with apparently the best security in the country, they were sure easy to fool. It was like taking candy from a baby. I was in and out of there in ten minutes. Not even.”

“I don’t know whether to be impressed or pissed off. That you even put yourself in a situation like that. Especially with Millie in the picture. If you’d gotten caught…”

“But I didn’t. Well, not until about six months later. But that comes further in the story.”

“So the cop…”

“We met in the elevator. I was running to catch it and he held the door open for me.”

Tyler scoffs. “What a gentleman.”

She scowls over her shoulder. “I thought you promised you wouldn’t get prickly.”

“I’m not getting prickly. I just…”

“YOU asked,” she reminds him. “You wanted to know these things, right? You have questions. I’m just answering them. Do you REALLY want to hear this stuff? Or do you just want to be angry about something?”

“I’m not prickly. Or angry. I’m jealous.”

“Of what?”

“Of anyone that even looks at you the wrong way.”

“Oh for God’s sake…”

“I was never like this before. I never used to give a shit about this kind of thing. I didn’t care how many people my ex dated or fucked before me. Because I was always so far up my own ass that I knew I was better than anyone that came before me. Sometimes I miss that guy.”

“The guy you were before me.”

“I was a drunk and a drug addict before you. So, no.”

“You weren’t ALWAYS that way. You didn’t always have those issues.”

“But I was a prick in other ways.”

“I liked the guy you were when we met. Yeah, you were messy and you had your issues, but so did I. I wasn’t a picnic, either. We were both fucked up. But it didn’t stop me from falling in love with you. And staying that way.”

“And now?”

“Now I like you even more. I’m glad you’re not totally up your own ass, as you put it. I like that you’re not afraid to talk about the hard things. That you’re able to admit you’re self-conscious or…”

“I never admitted to that.”

“Or you’re feeling spiteful or hateful or jealous. I mean, as weird as it sounds, everyone should want their man to be that way. Just completely honest. Because it doesn’t do anyone a lick of good if they keep that all bottled up.”

“So what you’re saying is that it’s okay to be a prickly asshole.”

“Don’t push your luck, Tyler.”

Grinning, he presses a kiss to her temple. “So, this guy…”

“What more is there to know? You asked how I met him. I told you. What more do you need?”

“You just chatted in an elevator and hooked up with him, or…?”

“He asked me out for an Irish coffee. I said yes. It was as simple as that.”

“Irish coffee, huh? So that’s what the kids are calling it these days.”

[godmadeaterribleerror]

Chapter 6 - It Rises Fast

Series Masterlist - Main Masterlist

Author's Note: Me not include pop culture references in my writing: impossible. I'm channeling my inner Marvel studios writer. Enjoy!

Chapter Title from Labyrinth by Taylor Swift

Word Count: 11.9k

Chapter Summary/Warnings: A few steps forward. Contains usual tags.

Tags: Bucky Barnes/Female Reader, enemies to friends to lovers, canon divergence, slow burn, smut, angst, fluff

Chapter 5 - Chapter 7

Read on A03!

“Take off your shoes.”

Bucky frowns at you from the doorway. “What.”

“Shoes.” You raise your brows at him, not bothering to hide the smile tugging at your lips. “They’re these things you put on your feet, for walking around outside-“

“I know what shoes are,” he grumbles your name, his grip on the strap of his bag tightening until the cloth is scrunched. “I’m not taking mine off.”

“Then you’re not coming inside.”

“That’s ridiculous-“

“Maybe,” you shrug. “Doesn’t matter though. My apartment. No shoes.”

Bucky’s scowl deepens. “Why.”

“Because I said so.”

“That’s not an answer, sweetheart-“

“Isn’t it?” You wrinkle your nose at him, remaining planted in his path, and you’re going to win this stare off.

You haven’t won anything in a while, but you’re going to win this. Bucky isn’t setting a damn foot in your apartment with his muddied boots, because you’ll have to clean it up, and you’re not good at cleaning things up, and if the Boy eats the dirt that will be a whole thing for you to deal with.

There is not enough time to deal with more things.

And you really need this small, pointless victory against Bucky. Where he just takes off his shoes and comes inside, because he’s won everything else in the past week, and he doesn’t need this like you do. 

The victory. You need the victory.

Not his company. 

You don’t need Bucky’s company. It might no longer be crawling over your skin to speak to him, it might even be an odd relief to be around him, but you don’t need his company.

You may be starting to trust him more than most other people, enough that you’re allowing him into your apartment, but that doesn’t mean you need him. In any way. At all. 

You’ve worked very, very fucking hard not to need anyone but yourself. You’ve bled and remodeled everything in your body so you can power yourself wherever you could, and Bucky does not get to ruin that. He doesn’t get to take care of you once—it’s his job, he did it because it’s his job, not because it’s you—and just burrow his way right into your life.

He can still see right through you, and that’s dangerous, not good.

You never have to swallow your thoughts or chose your words around him—like you’re choosing a weapon—but that’s just because it would be a waste of energy. No point in putting on the Show when no one’s watching. When you try to tell him I can do this, and he’s looking right into you and know that’s a lie.

It hadn’t been a fluke, at the theatre. You hadn’t been okay. You’d been crumbling and fraying apart into nothing, and you couldn’t have stayed there, or you would’ve passed out. You had still be able to taste your own bile on your tongue, still been able to hear his voice scraping in your ears.

“I- You have to come home.” You’d whispered into the phone, your dress scrunched at your feet.

Bucky wouldn’t burst back into the bathroom. You were pretty sure he wouldn’t. There was no reason for him to.

You kept an eye on the door anyway. Just in case.

“I don’t need to do anything, honey-“

“Please. I- It’s getting bad, and I don’t know how much longer it’ll hold on-“

“Just do the damn future thing-“

“It won’t work-” 

“Course it’ll work, babe, I’m giving you permission-“

“No- It’s-“ You’d let out a long, slow breath, and your brain felt fogged. Heavy. Better, but not enough. “You need to come home. Please. I- I’ll do anything you want, but I can’t make it another week, Miles, I- I really don’t feel well-“

“You never feel well.” He’d snapped into the phone. You’d been able to hear the distain in his voice, and you deserved it, but you couldn’t keep going.

The time between episodes was shorter. The pain was longer, and worse, and you’d almost passed out two or three times in the theatre box. You’d had to keep looking back to check that Bucky was still there, because—and the asshole never gets to know this—it had been reassuring. If you passed out, he’d get you out safe. He was good at his job, and he always caught you on the subway, and Hydra hadn’t gotten to you yet, so you’d be fine. 

As long as Bucky was around, nothing was going to get to you. 

Which was incredibly annoying.

You hated it when Sam was right. 

“I need you home,” you’d mumbled, clutching your stomach as it growled with hunger, then twisted with pain. Or at the idea of Miles being home.

Maybe both.

But the bond was breaking. This was a place that you didn’t have the luxury of choice. 

So you begged.

“Please, I- We can do whatever you want while you’re back, go anywhere, I just- I can’t keep this up, it hurts-“

“Fine.” Miles had snapped, and your stomach has twisted again. “I’ll be back on Monday.”

He’d hung up, and you’d let out a long, weak noise of pain, like some kind of dying animal. Bucky hadn’t burst through the door.

Some very hollow, lonely part of you—one that was even more wasteful than the rest of you—had wanted him to. But he hadn’t.

It was good he hadn’t. He would’ve asked questions about what the hell was wrong with you, and why you were still just curled up on the floor, and when you tried to say I’m okay, just catching my breath, he would’ve seen right fucking through it.

And everything was falling apart around you, but you could deal with it. You’ve always dealt with it, alone, so you did not need Bucky.

“If I take my shoes off,” he mutters, watching you carefully from the door. “That’s it. I’m allowed inside.”

“Yep.”

He narrows his eyes, scanning over your best, completely casual face, and you’re not sure what he’s looking for. If this is a trick, if there’s a little hidden caveat about your words where he’ll end up banished into the hall, if you’re just making fun of him, or hiding glass on the floor to hurt him.

You wouldn’t do that. You just don’t want shoes in your apartment. And you think he knows that, because Bucky grunts and drops his bag in the doorway, kneeling down to remove his boots.

It gives you time to glance over your shoulder, and do one last quick sweep of your handiwork.

You’d cleaned, before he arrived. Not because it was Bucky that was arriving, but because you didn’t need him to see more of you than he already could. Bucky doesn’t need to notice the pile of dishes in the sink—nobody would eat off them but you anyways, and you could survive a dirty plate—or all the laundry on the floor from when you’d been too tired to bother putting it in the basket.

He’d just see that you didn’t care enough to clean for yourself.

You don’t need that.

And he especially doesn’t need to see the Hydra papers, resting on the kitchen counter only an hour ago and covered in your handwriting and pointless attempts to crack the code. You’d hidden them in your bedroom, with the sweater he’d given you at the diner.

You were trying not to think about that part. How you wanted to keep Bucky’s sweater, and there was no good reason for it. It was a nice sweater, but you had nice sweaters. It smelled good, too, but that didn’t matter. It was warmer than all your other sweaters, but the heat would fade the longer Bucky was away from it. 

You didn’t need Bucky’s sweater. It was weird to keep it. 

But you’d still picked it up as you cleaned, looked at it for a long moment, and thrown it into the back closet without a second thought.

If Bucky asks for it, you’ll go grab it. You’d only hid it from Miles.

He wouldn’t like you having a men’s sweater that wasn’t his. And you’d needed to clean overall, for when he got back. He won’t be kind about mess you’d declined into, all on your own, and it was a leverage you couldn’t offer him. He already had one noose around your neck. Seeing how pathetic you were on your own would only offer him another rope to try and drag you away from the only good, useful parts of you. Of your life. 

You couldn’t be dragged away. You were only still moving because of those pieces of your life. The parts that weren’t for you, that you’d tricked other people into needing you for. 

If Miles got the final say and made you leave, you’d be stripped raw, left alone.

No more Sam, no more work, no more-

Bucky doesn’t get to be on that list.

He is. You’re less lonely when you’re around him—there’s something comforting about know he’s going to be there, all the fucking time—but Bucky doesn’t get to know that.

He doesn’t get to know why you caved for the security. That you’d been sick and tired and cold, and Miles had texted that he bought his tickets home, and you didn’t want to be alone. Even if Bucky never looked at the cameras, at least you’d know you weren’t completely, totally alone. 

You don’t think he’ll ask why you changed your mind. He hadn’t at the diner.

You don’t have a good, convincing lie if he does.

You’ll figure it out, if you have to. You’ll talk in circles around him until he drops it, throw his every question back in his face with spitting words, and try not to let it eat you that he doesn’t even flinch.

He never flinches. You’re a crude, worthless little animal, but Bucky never fucking flinches.

Even now he pushes back to his feet with a neutral expression, scanning silently over your apartment, and sets his boots neatly off to the side.

“This is your apartment.”

You hum, nodding. “It’s not clean. Sorry.”

Bucky doesn’t need to know that this is clean. 

The way his lips twitch slightly make you this that he already does.

“You want to show me around?”

“Do I have to?”

“If you want the cameras in, yeah.”

You frown at him. “Don’t you have the blueprints?”

“I do.” He shrugs, still not moving from his place in the doorway. “It’s rude to just walk around someone’s house, kid. Don’t know if anyone’s told you that yet.”

“What are you, a vampire?”

“Why, you keepin’ garlic and a cross ready for me?”

Bucky holds your gaze, that fucking smile pulling at his lips, and he won, but this doesn’t feel like you lost. He’s joking with you. Relaxed.

Grinning.

If you stay in this second too long, it feels like you’ll be trapped in it. Like everything will still and slow until it’s just a picture.

You’d felt that at the diner. This odd, delicate sensation like mist through your blood, born from Bucky grinning at you.

You scoff, breaking the spell, and time keeps moving like nothing happened at all.

“Shut up.” You side-step, opening his path inside. “C’mon.”

It’s a quick tour. Bedrooms. Bathrooms. Living room and kitchen, office, roof.

“Close the door when you’re up here.” You mutter, rubbing your arms as the wind bites at your skin. “I don’t want the Boy falling off the roof.”

Bucky blinks at you. “The boy?”

“My cat. He’s an idiot.”

“Your cat is named boy-“

“No. Follow me.”

Bucky rolls his eyes, but trails after you, back down the stairs.

And he closes the door behind him.

“Why didn’t I know you had a cat?”

You shrug, glancing at him over your shoulder. He’s frowning, like this is, somehow, an actual problem. “You never asked.”

“You talk all the damn time, would’ve thought you’d mention a cat by now-“

“I talk all the time because it’s my job, not to share everything about my life.”

Bucky scoffs behind you. “You do share everything about your life.”

“No, I-“

“You didn’t go to college. You have siblings, but your parents are dead, and you used to date around a lot before the Blip.” Bucky talks right over you, and it’s enough to make you stumble. 

He catches you, with an arm on your wrist, before you can fall down the stair.

And he just keeps talking.

“You met Sam when you were pretty young, you like a lot of stupid things, but you won’t apologize for it, and you can’t speak Mandarin.”

You manage to roll your eyes at the last one, even as Bucky keeps staring into you. All the way into you.

Right down to your rolling, wrecked and glinting core, without ever flinching or wavering away.

“That last one doesn’t count.” You grumble. “You could’ve guessed it.”

“But I didn’t.” He shrugs. “You tell me everything, do- Butterfly, and you didn’t ever mention you had a cat.”

You blink at him. “Butterfly?”

Bucky frowns at you, every line of his face deepening, and for a second you think he didn’t hear himself. 

Then he glances down at your wrist, releases it, and shakes his head to himself.

“Yeah.” He shoots you a challenging glare. “You got a problem with it?”

You do. It’s not one you can articulate, but it makes something like molten iron settle over your skin, and you don’t like how normal it feels to be there. To hear him. To look at Bucky and not turn away.

“Shut up.” You mutter, and start back down the stairs. ‘You’ve got camera to install, James. Focus.”

He does focus. Bucky sets up a little camp of metal and wires and other, black and gray camera parts, and gets to work on what he’s actually here for.

But he doesn’t drop the cat thing, either.

“What his real name?”

You frown up from your laptop, and Bucky hasn’t even look away from his work. “What?”

“Your cat.” He grunts. “What’s his real name.”

“Don’t worry about it.” 

He shoots you a glare. “I’m not worried. I want to know your cat’s name.”

You shake your head. “You have to earn the Boy’s name. He has to like you.”

“Then where is he.”

“Hiding.” You shrug. “You’re being loud, Bucky. He doesn’t like it.”

Bucky’s facing away from you, but you can still hear his scowl. “How the hell am I supposed to get him to like me if he won’t come out.”

You can’t stop your snort. “You like cats, Bucky?”

“Yes. They’re good animals.”

You hum, fidgeting with your hair as he continues to work on the camera. “What constitutes a bad animal?”

Bucky pauses for a second, and he seems to be actually thinking about his answer before he grunts, “I don’t know. But cats are good.”

“I mean, yeah.” You hum, leaning back in your chair. “Have you ever had a cat?”

“No. I was poor, and then I didn’t get to have anything.”

“Wow, that’s a bummer.” 

Bucky lets out a long, heavy breath, and you make sure your grin is a little softer when he glares at you again.

“There’s no good response for me to have there, James.” You hum, raising your brows at him. “How would you feel if you asked me something and I gave that answer-“

“You do that all the time.” He snaps, and you frown at him.

“No, I don’t-“

“Yes, you do.” His tone is the same smug one, from only minutes ago on the stairs, and when Bucky turns back to his work, and you could swear there was a smirk on his face before it moved from your view. “All the time.”

“No-“

“How do you think I knew all that stuff about you, kid? One time I asked you why you were walking around like a zombie, and you said cause you slept on the bathroom floor.”

You don’t remember saying that. But it does happen often enough, and you have developed a dangerous habit of just telling Bucky things.

And Bucky doesn’t lie about that stuff. You think he doesn’t see the point in it.

“Oh. I’m-“

“I do it too.” Bucky shrugs, cutting off your apology before it can leave your mouth. “My therapist says it’s me tryin’ to push people away.”

“You have a therapist-“

“Court-mandated.”

You blink at his back. “Huh.”

“Yeah.”

“So you didn’t have a pet?”

He snorts, climbing back down his ladder. “No, I didn’t. But Steve used to make be feed ducks and rats with him. One of the ducks would follow me around, too.”

You hum, watching him grab more of his weird little scraps and twirling your hair between your fingers.

His voice really is nice, when it’s just talking. It’s smooth. Like a river, or soft air.

You’d like to hear it a little more.

“You name your duck?”

He raises his brows at you. “You name your cat?”

“Shut up.” You mutter. “Are these cameras up to code?”

Bucky gives you an odd look. “Do you care?”

“No.”

He smirks. “Thought so.”

“I said shut up-“

“Follow your own advice first, butterfly.”

That seems to be sticking. It’s sinking into your skin, along with the deeper, smoother part of his voice, and it’s dangerous. 

“Did you name your duck?”

Bucky sighs, scanning over you with a frown, and you give him your most trustworthy, sweet and innocent look. His eyes flash, and you know he sees right through it. 

It doesn’t seem to really matter.

“Named it Glinda.” He mutters, frowning at the parts in his hand, and you chew on your lip as his words click together in your head.

“Like-“

“From the Wizard of Oz book. Loved that book.” Bucky pauses, and the look he gives you isn’t as cautious as before. It’s not open, but it’s not guarded either. Like he’s offering you something, and you’re really not sure what. “She had pink feet.”

You shrug, giving him a small smile. “Many ducks do.”

Bucky’s  mouth twitches, but it’s all you get. “What about your cat, you gonna-“

“I told you, Bucky, you gotta earn it.“

“Well, tell me what he looks like, then.” Bucky turns around, heading back to his ladder. “So I can keep an eye out.”

“He’s black.”

“Ah. That makes sense.”

You frown at his back. “What’s that supposed to mean-“

“You seem like a black cat person, butterfly.”

He needs to stop calling you that. It’s doing soothing things to the rope around your throat, strangling you more and more as the hours pass by.

The close Miles gets to coming home.

“I’m not insulting you.” He adds, before you can insist that he elaborate on the exact meaning black cat person. “So don’t throw anything at me.”

You scoff. “I wasn’t going to throw anything at you-“

Bucky only hums. “Whatever you say, sweetheart.”

He’s relenting really fast. 

You still scowl at his back.

And the apartment falls into silence for a long, moment, and you don’t hate it—it’s not a silence that’s scratching at your ears, demanding you try to do more than just sit here and watch Bucky—and that’s worse than starting to like Bucky’s voice.

“So you liked the Wizard of Oz?”

He sighs. “Yes.”

You hum, hiking one knee up to your chest. “You should read Wicked.”

“I don’t know what that is,” Bucky drawls your name, and you roll your eyes.

“It’s a book-“

“I coulda gotten that myself-“

“Based on the Wizard of Oz.” You snap. “It’s following the Wicked Witch. There’s a musical, too-“

“Stop trying to make me like musicals.”

“I’m not trying to make you do anything, James, I think you’d really like the Wicked book, and also some other, completely unrelated musicals-“

“If you suggest Mamma Mia one more time.” Bucky turns back around, pointing whatever pointy tool is in his hand at you with a glower. “I’m not finishing these stupid cameras.”

You give him a dry, amused look. “We both know that’s not true.”

Nostril flare. You win. “Yeah, well, I’m still not watching it-“

“And that’s a you mistake to make,” you shrug. “But, I wasn’t going to recommend Mamma Mia. I was going to recommend the Lion King.”

Bucky’s jaw twitches. “The what.”

“Lion King-“

“What is that.”

“It’s like Hamlet, but cats.”

He rolls his eyes, returning to the camera. “That sounds… strange.”

“Most things are.” You hum, glancing back down to your computer. 

You haven’t written an email in an hour. You’re not behind, but you’re not ahead, either, and you need to be ahead because when Miles comes back, you’ll have to take the whole week, so you’ll fall behind, and you’re not useful if you fall behind-

“I think you’re a black cat person because you’re smart.”

“What?” Your attention rips away from your computer, and Bucky just shrugs.

He took off his jacket, to work. 

You can see all the muscles in his back, flexing with the movement.

“People don’t like black cats cause of all those superstitions. You’re too smart to fall for that shit. They’re just cats.”

Your grin splits over your face before you can stop it, and there’s an odd, soft warmth to the feeling. “You think I’m smart-“

“You think you’re smart, butterfly.” Bucky’s tone is dry. You really wish you could see his face. “I’ve heard you call yourself a genius.”

“I was joking, though. You think I’m smart.”

“Yeah, I do. Because I’m not blind and deaf. Throw me the pliers, kid.”

“Wha-“

“The pliers.” Bucky twists on the ladder, nodding to his tool set. “I need them. Toss them up.”

You roll your eyes, but push out of your seat all the same, grabbing Bucky’s pliers and walking over to the ladder to pass them over.

Bucky frowns at you as he takes them. “I could’ve caught them. ‘S why I said to throw them.”

“I couldn’t throw them.” You snap. “I have shit aim, Barnes.”

“Well, you seem to manage to hit me just fine. Dead in the face.”

“And I’m aiming for your chest.”

That pulls a short, deep laugh from his chest, and it almost echoes through the apartment. Through your skull. Through your bones.

It’s a strong laugh. And it’s real. It’s not a show to make you think you’re entertaining, to try and warp you into whatever pliant thing he needs. It’s a laugh you trust, that you like, that you want to hear again.

Shit.

“If you could have a pet.” You stand at the base of the ladder, and it feels like roots are growing over your legs. Keeping you near Bucky. “What would you want?”

He grunts. “I don’t need a pet right now-“

“I’m not offering a pet right now, I’m just asking a question. Any animal, which one?”

Bucky pauses, looking down at you with a frown. “Any animal?”

“Yep.”

“Cat.”

You give him a flat look. “Really, Bucky.”

“Yeah, am I supposed to say ostrich or something?”

“No.” You shrug. “I’m just getting worried you’re going to steal my cat.”

“I’m not gonna steal your cat,” He drawls your name, and he’s gotten really good at saying it. It’s making you lean a little further into the ladder, even though he told you earlier you didn’t need to steady it. “I don’t think it’s real.”

“My cat is real-“

“He doesn’t have a name, sweetheart.”

“He has a name-“

Bucky shakes his head. “I think you lied, couldn’t think of anything but Boy in the moment, and now you’re tryin’ to come up with something better.”

“That’s a stupid thing to lie about-“

He laughs again. Your grip on the ladder tightens. “You’ve lied about stupider.”

“Yeah, but I was joking.” You grumble, glaring up at him, “I have a cat, James.”

“Sure, kid.”

You scowl at him. He sounds bored, and passive, and you can hear his stupid smirk, and he’s saying and doing all the right things to light up your every nerve, to make all the boiling, bursting, loud and demanding pieces of you push to the surface. 

“Stop doing that.”

“I’m not doing anything. Well,” he pauses, grinning down at you. Grinning. That’s a grin. “I’m installing the cameras, like you asked, but that’s it.”

He knows what he’s doing. You hold his gaze, and he’s looking right into you, just like always, and he knows what he’s fucking doing. 

“My cat is real.”

“Sure.”

“I told you, Barnes, he just doesn’t like loud things-“

“That makes two of us.”

You frown up at him. “What-“

“Done.” Bucky starts to climb back down the ladder, looking around the rest of your living area with a drawn brow. “What next.”

“I was going to get us food. What do you mean, loud things-“

Bucky cuts you off with a shake of his head. “You don’t need to cook for me. I’m not that hungry, anyway-“

“I’m not cooking for you,” you stick your tongue out at him, whacking his chest before you can stop yourself.

Bucky doesn’t flinch. Or look away.

But, for a second, you could swear his jaw clenches, and his ears turned a little red.

“Then what are you-“

“We’re ordering.” You shrug. “I told you, we’re diversifying you palette. No more war rations.”

“Oatmeal is not war rations.”

“Yeah, but I’ll shoot myself before I eat it.” You pull out your phone, and Bucky rolls his eyes.

“That’s a little dramatic, sweetheart.”

You ignore him, scanning over the open restaurants on the screen. “How do you feel about spice, Sargent Barnes?”

He doesn’t answer, and when you look back up at him, his arms are crossed back over his chest, and his whole body is braced. He’s staring again. Unblinking, right into you, making that unwavering heat settle right back over your skin. 

“Buck-“

“I can handle spice.” He grunts, marching past you, back to his tools.

His shoulder brushes yours on the way past. 

It feels like it seeps him into your skin, and leaves a tattoo. 

Not a brand. A brand would hurt, and sear, and you’d be scratching to try and remove it.

With this, with Bucky, you just stare at him, sorting through his tools with a scowl.

His arms look strong, too.

“You, uh,” you clear your throat, and it feels like something is being evaporated in your gut. “You sure?”

“I lived in Wakanda.” He grunts. “I’m a super-solider. Spice is fine.”

You nod, and Bucky better not notice how you’re suddenly dead quiet, trying to grab the soft, colorful mist that’s moving up your spine and shove it back down wherever it came from. 

You don’t have a damn clue. 

But it’s making you stare at him longer than you should, and you’re only dragged out of it by Bucky looking back to you. By lighting rushing over your body at the attention, and making you swallow, all your words rushing out without control.

“I, uh, I’ll order then go down to get it, you can keep working on the cameras, and I can read you the menu or make the choice for you, but it’ll take a while to get here, so if you want a drink or something I can try and head to the corner store-“

“You want a drink?”

You shake your head a little weakly. You don’t know what the fuck he’s doing to you, but it needs to stop now.

“Then I’m good. Only drink socially.” Bucky grabs another, half broken camera, and moves on to his next target. “Take a breath, butterfly.”

You’re going to punch him. It won’t hurt him, but it would be cathartic, and it would wipe that casual, easy grin off his stupid, handsome face.

He really does have a nice face, now that you’re looking at him and not trying to pick apart his next move or strategy to break you further down. His features are sharp, firm, almost carved. If you saw him on the subway, you would’ve stared. Would’ve wondered why his eyes looked so heavy, and if—when he smiled—every other part of him would light up as well.

They would. 

When Bucky smiled, you were learning, it would start in his eyes and move out, but only if it was a real smile. The one that had been off-putting at first, and was quickly blooming through with the rest of him. A real smile or laugh, when it was from Bucky, would start in his eyes and move somewhere deep and shimmering in your body.

Only when it was real. Not a part of any show or mask or game, just a teasing comment you made while ordering the food, and a chuckle that rolled through your whole body once more.

And it goes back and forth like that, for a while. Too natural conversation, where you’ve both given up on biting each other in a way that will scar, and now you’re waiting for him to look at you more. For those brief moments while he works and you wait for the food—he let your order for him, and that feels important, but you don’t know how to say why—where he’ll really grin, and laugh, and look at you, and he can see you but it’s making him relax. Making him laugh.

You’re starting to wonder if he’s not seeing as deep as you both seem to think. If there’s one last veil or illusion that you’re putting up, because if he could see the you you—the feral, needy, screaming one—there’s no way he’d be so comfortable. He’d go back to sneering and mocking you, because Bucky knows what evil, twisted liars look like, and that’s what you are. He knows how to put down big, wrong things. He should know how to recognize them, too.

And you’re worse, because nobody made you into what you are. What you struggle and parade around to hide.

But if Bucky can see that, he’s not mentioning it. He’s acting like it’s not there at all.

You can’t bring yourself to point it out to him. Not when you need him- 

To finish the cameras. And stick around so you don’t have to start over on this with some stranger you can’t trust.

You can trust Bucky.

This is getting away from you too fast. Bucky’s grinning at you and you don’t know how to deflect it, because no grin as ever been that strong and moved that fast into your body, as if it’s reinforced and designed to go right into the cavity of that soft, previously untouched part of your body. 

Leaving you vulnerable.

Yet you still trust him. 

When the food arrives, it a relief. You get to wander out and get it, giving you a second where you don’t have to stare at Bucky and think about his smile.

But then it’s silence. And there had been moments of silence in your apartment, but they didn’t hurt, and the silence of the elevator and lobby hurts, and you want to go back to Bucky-

You need to get a grip. You don’t need Bucky.

But he grins at you again, when you return to the apartment. 

And it makes you feel soft. 

That’s going to be a problem.

“What’d you get?” Bucky leans against the counter as you unpack the food, and you pretended you can’t feel his attention all over your skin. 

“Indian. This is yours.” You slide the box across the table. “Wash your hands, James.”

He glances between you, his hands, and the food, and shuffles over to your sink.

“You got a lot of books, butterfly.”

You glance up at him from your stool. “I like to read.”

He shrugs, and the muscles in his back flex again.

You need to stop noticing that. It’s not helpful.

“Most of them look like they’re covered in dust.”

“I don’t have a lot of time.” You mutter, poking at your food as you speak. “If you want to borrow one, you can.”

Bucky shakes his head. “You’re not tricking me into reading, kid.”

“I’m not trying to trick you into reading. And you said you like reading-“

“Yeah, and I’ve read everything I like-“

You snort. “You sound so old.”

He gives you a flat look. “We’ve had this conversation, I am old-“

“Yeah, but you also have to adapt, Bucky. You can’t just stick to the same five books for your whole life.” You wrinkle your nose at your food. “That sounds so boring.”

There’s a pause, and when you look up, Bucky’s giving you an odd look again. 

“It’s more than five.” He grumbles. “And what should I read?”

You open your mouth, then close it, eyeing him carefully. It doesn’t seem like a trap. Bucky doesn’t really trap you with these questions. He doesn’t ever ask things unless he wants to know.

You still need to be careful.

“You really want to know? My opinions?”

Bucky shrugs. “You got opinions, don’t you?”

He doesn’t say that the way most people do. Like it’s a problem. 

So you nod. “Yeah.”

“What are they?”

“I-“ He wants to know. You’re not being too much if he actually asked to know. “You like the Wizard of Oz?”

Bucky nods. “And the Hobbit. Sam mentioned they made more of those books?”

“Yeah, three more. And movies. But you’d hate the Hobbit movie.”

“I hate most movies.”

“You wouldn’t hate Mamma Mia.”

You give Bucky your best winning smile, and there’s his grin again. Real. Starting in his eyes.

“You’ve got a mouth on you, butterfly. Anyone ever tell you that?”

That should’ve struck something wired and spiked in your body. Should’ve made you gnash and claw at him.

Instead, your smile just widens. “Yeah. You.”

He laughs again. There’s the echo, and you don’t think it’s the apartment.

It’s just over that cavity of your chest, before sinking and floating everywhere, until it’s left a depression on something in you. The soft thing.

This is so strange. And really fucking dangerous. You get more vulnerable, more visible, every time Bucky laughs.

You still don’t pull away.

“You really would like Mamma Mia,” you hum, pushing on before Bucky can cut you off. “But for books, you should try Percy Jackson.”

“What’s that.” Bucky mutters, but it’s not hostile. It’s relaxed. Almost curious.

“Children’s book series.”

“I’m not a child-“

“So? Children’s media is often better than adults- Oh, that’s another thing you’d like.” You spin your fork in your hands, and Bucky still doesn’t cut you off. “Avatar.”

Bucky frowns. “Sam showed me that already. With all those dumb-looking blue people.”

“No- I mean, yes, but that’s not the Avatar I’m talking about. Mine animated.”

Bucky nods, his words slow. “And it’s a children’s show.”

“Yep.” You lean forward, holding Bucky’s gaze. “I’m serious, Bucky. You’d like it. If you like fantasy, these are good, and you should avoid things like Game of Thrones.”

“Hm.” Bucky gives you another odd look, brows knitting together. You know this one, now. It means he’s thinking. “Sam said the same thing. Said it was violent. I told him I could handle violence.”

“Yeah, I’m not worried about the violence.”

“Then what are you worried about, butterfly?”

His attention is drilling into you. It’s going to leave a mark.

You still don’t pull away.

“I think you could use things with happy endings.”

Bucky blinks. Nostril flare. 

You surprised him.

“Really.”

“Yep.” You twirl your fingers back between your hair, holding his searing gaze. “Try Star Wars, too.”

Bucky grunts, his attention dropping back down to the plate in front on him, and before he can grumble something about your recommendations and not needing them—even though he asked—the Boy jumps up on the table with a squeak.

He moves right over to you, giving Bucky a distrusting look, and Bucky looks like someone shot him. 

“I told you.” You hum, holding out your hand for the Boy to bump against, and Bucky doesn’t even respond.

It’s almost adorable, the open, nervous look on his face. How he’s gone so still, as he watches the Boy parade around the tabletop. As if he’s afraid that one wrong move will send the Boy scampering off, and that would be the worst thing in the world. 

Then the Boy sits, staring at Bucky with a blank expression, and it’s the funniest thing you’ve ever seen.

Bucky’s in a staring contest with a cat.

The cat is winning. 

Neither of them notice when you sneak out your phone, and take a quick photo. For blackmail.

It doesn’t matter that you’ve never seen Bucky look so relaxed, even as he remains as still as a statue. There’s no tension in his shoulder. No lines on his face. His lips are slightly parted, and he has really nice lips-

Not the point.

“Let him smell you.”

Bucky gives you an almost alarmed look, his voice a hushed whisper. “What?”

“Show him your hand, dummy.” You lean over the table, grabbing Bucky’s flesh hand and pulling it up from the table. 

He doesn’t fight you. There’s a brief second where Bucky’s eyes flick down to where you’re touching him, and you worried you went too far—assumed Bucky would be okay with you touching him when he isn’t, because nobody would want you touching them, not casually when it’s easy, not when they’re Bucky—but then he looks back to the Boy, and lets you hold him forward, right in the Boy’s line of vision.

The Boy sniffs Bucky for half a second, then dips his head down and butts Bucky’s hand without hesitation.

It’s not worth fighting your smile at the look of pure joy on Bucky’s face, as the Boy leans into his touch, demanding more and more attention with every second.

Your cat is a whore. And a traitor. 

And Bucky looks at you with a soft light in his eyes, and you could swear time slows down, just a little, to let your memorize how happy looks on Bucky’s face.

That can’t be good.

Bucky looks back to the Boy—starting to purr and pace over the sit right in front of Bucky’s food—and lowers his voice to a murmur.

“You like me?” He looks back to you, smug glee all of over his stupidly handsome features. “I think he likes me, sweetheart.”

“Congratulations.” Your voice isn’t nearly as dry or flat as you were trying to make it sound. “Am I invited to the wedding?”

“No.” Bucky doesn’t miss a beat, raising his brow expectantly. “What’s his name?”

“Boy.”

“You said you’d tell me,” he drawls your name, still scratching the Boy’s ears. “C’mon. What’s his name.”

You hum, forcing your attention back down to your food. “I’ll tell you next week.”

“That’s not fair-“

“It’s my cat, James.” You give him a sweet smile, rising your brows. “You want my cat’s name? Come back next week to find out.”

Bucky rolls his eyes. “Why next week.”

The air in your apartment feels lighter, and you’re not rotting in the dark, and you’re not alone and it’s in a way that doesn’t hurt. And you don’t have friends, but you do have Bucky-

You can’t say that. It’s insane, and stupid, and everything you’re trying to avoid.

“I’m going to give you some books.” You shrug, poking at some lingering chicken on your plate. “I’ll need them back, with proof you read them.”

“Proof-“

“You’ve been taking college courses.” You give him a pointed look. “Write a book report.”

Bucky gives you a long, assessing look, then mutters, “You’re joking.”

“Yep. I’ll ask you like two questions and then I’ll tell you the Boy’s name.”

Bucky’s brows draw back together, but he seems to physically shake whatever was passing through his head away, and his gaze moves back to the Boy.

“Are you going to tell me your name, buddy?”

You bite on this inside of your cheek, forcing your voice into a drawl. “He can’t talk, Bucky.”

“I’ll get it out of him. I’m a master interrogator, case you forgot.”

That gets a giggle, and it’s just like this for a while. The Boy moves into Bucky’s laps, and you keep talking, and you’re saying everything you think but Bucky’s not cutting you off. He’s jumping in more and more, and bouncing off of you like he’s been doing it a million years, and it’s good.

You’re really, truly, not lonely. The sun has long set, and the pain is still wracking through your body without thought, but sitting in it across from Bucky, trying to convince him to try watching a boring, normal comedy movie when he gets home—although it’s late, and the cameras are long installed, and he’s making any attempts to get up—is a lot better than trying to sit in it alone. 

You’d like to stay here, for a while. And you will. It’s your apartment. But later it will be emptier. 

There will be an equal amount of people, but it will still be emptier. 

You’ll be emptier. And Bucky takes up a lot of space in places you can’t really see. Odd shimmering spaces between the air where everything blurs, and you can feel something running and rolling up your spine to try and grab it, and touch it, and have it, and keep it-

Your phone buzzes on the table, while Bucky’s muttering about how movies haven’t gotten really stupid looking. 

Miles

landing in a hour

see you at baggage

i’m driving back

You frown at the message. Not at the contents of it—you’d known it was coming—but his contact name.

He still has a little heart next to his name. It’s purple, because he says that’s your favorite color. 

It’s not. 

He doesn’t really care. And you’re not allow to remove the heart.

And you have to pick him up. There’s not really a choice. 

There never is. 

So Bucky has to leave.

“What wrong with you.”

You blink up at Bucky, and he’s staring at you again. 

It’s making you boil again, but it’s over your gut. Like sickness.

“I, um-“ You swallow, taking a slow breath. “I- I need to go see someone.“

Bucky raises his brows. “Someone.”

“Yeah.”

“Sam?”

“No.”

“Then-“

“I’ll tell you on Tuesday.”

That makes the lines appear, and Bucky blinks at you with a low, firm voice. 

The commanding voice. 

You’re going to throw up.

“Tuesday.”

You nod, forcing yourself to hold his gaze. “I- You’re getting Monday off.”

“You can’t give me days off, butterfly-“

“I’m visiting someone.” You mumble. “Please. I’ll do the check-ins, I just- I need a day.”

You’re trying to find the way the tell Bucky that it’s not him. That this was alright, and you don’t want him to leave, and if he could actually just snap that his job is guarding you, so he’d not taking the day off because Hydra doesn’t take the day off, you’d really appreciate it.

But he just nods. And stands up. 

There’s no reason for you to tell him. Telling Bucky would be dangerous, and a big part of driving him off in the first place was to prevent him knowing about your situation. 

But you still asked him to install the cameras. 

And his job is to save you from Hydra. Not yourself, or your own choices. 

He hasn’t even saved you from Hydra. No one’s given you any updates, and there’s been no further contact, so really, Bucky’s just followed you around and grumbled and invaded your life like a parasite-

That’s not fair. He’s not a parasite. He didn’t even want you to make him food.

But he’s not your friend, either. You don’t do friends, and Sam and Happy don’t count. You haven’t tricked him, and you like talking to him, and you feel alive without being consumed by it when he’s around, but Bucky’s not your friend.

The rule had been not friends, so no comments on your life or choices, and he’s respecting that. 

Getting his tools and putting on his boots and petting the Boy goodbye, and you’re going to be alone-

You need to get it together. No weakness where it’s visible. Fall apart in the dark. 

Miles is coming home, so you’ll just have to fall apart in the dark.

“I won’t be at work.” You mumble, walking Bucky to the door. “We can meet at the Subway.”

Bucky gives you a blank, unreadable expression. “At the Subway.”

“Yeah, I- The apartment is- Just, the subway is crowded, and it will be-“ You cut yourself off with a frown, scanning over Bucky carefully as things start to draw themselves together in your head.

He’s still just staring at you. 

The subway is crowded. 

Crowded means noise.

And-

“You hate the subway.”

Bucky grunts, pulling his gloves back on. “I hate most things, kid-“

“No, you don’t.” You dismiss him with a hand, because that’s not true. You just spent two hours talking about things Bucky likes, and you’re not stupid. You’ve seen him looking at the art on museum tours. “But you hate the Subway.”

Bucky pauses, giving you an odd look—completely blank, you still don’t know what that one means—and sighs. “I don’t love it. But I’m fine.”

“You said you hate loud things-“

“I do.”

“The subway is loud.” You cross your arms, raising your chin at him. “Why do you hate loud things, James.”

Bucky’s jaw twitches, and the breath he lets out is slow. Controlled. “’S too much. Stressful. The, uh- Shell shock. Doesn’t like it.”

Your stomach clenches, and turn, and you’re a piece of shit. You took it too far. You always fucking take it too far, and if you could look past your fucking self, you would’ve put that together, and never crossed that line, and you’re a blinded, selfish, vile piece of shit.

“We’ll meet at my car.”

Bucky blinks at you. “Wha-“

“We’re driving. On Tuesday.”

“You-“

“Don’t argue with me.” You glance at the clock on the stove. Not enough time.

Miles never likes it when you’re late.

“Yes, ma’am.”

You twist back to glare at Bucky, but that was… sincere. Nothing mocking on his face, or in his tone, and he’s saying that like it’s what you deserve. 

It’s not. Bucky can see you. He should know that.

And at the same time, Bucky calling you ma’am doesn’t set off anything sharp and toothy in your throat. He says it smooth. With a slight accent, and it’s nice to hear, and you feel a little dazed under his attention again.

“See you Tuesday.” Bucky grunts, then looks over your shoulder, directly addressing the Boy. “And you next week.”

Your eyes widen. “The books-“

“Text them to me. That’ll be your morning check-in.” Bucky winks. It’s not hateful, or crude, and you’re dizzy. Just like on the pole in the Subway, but now it’s only Bucky, and you’re dizzy. “I’ll hand in my reports, and you’ll tell me your cat’s fucking name.”

You can’t stop your smile. You have to go.

“Good night, Bucky.” You whisper, and he nods, slinging his bag back over his shoulder.

“Night, Butterfly.”

This is… very confusing. You want him to come back. You don’t need him, but you want him to come back.

But you have other things to worry about.

Other, bigger, deeper graves you’ve dug for yourself, that nobody—no matter how many careful games or tricks you pull—is going to be able to save you from. 

——————

Bucky wasn’t following Her.

He wasn’t.

It was his day off, so he’d moved therapy up. Easier not to cram it in on a video call around midnight. Good reason to break out his motorcycle, and take the long way around the city to get there.

So wasn’t following Her. 

He was passing by Her apartment, and through her neighborhood, for a quick sweep, because it was his job. And She may have given him the day off, but She wasn’t his boss.

She’d texted that She was alive, this morning, but Bucky didn’t trust it. The Moon had been bursting like fireworks in Her eyes, when She’d told him to leave. She’d tensed looking at Her phone, not looking at Bucky. She’d been chewing and turning over Her words before they were spoken, and She’d been reserved, and Bucky was very good at knowing when he wasn’t wanted somewhere.

He’d been wanted there. 

Or, at least, tolerated there. Before the counter had buzzed, he’d been at least tolerated there.

Wanted was generous. 

Most people didn’t want Bucky anywhere.

But most people didn’t talk to Bucky, either. Didn’t listen to him if he wasn’t talking about strategy or Hydra or the Soldat. Even Sam had heard that duck story, a few times, but he’d never asked if Bucky named his duck. 

She asked a lot of stupid questions. Asked them almost as much as She rambled. 

Bucky liked answering Her stupid questions. And Her rambling was nice to listen to. Gave him a good excuse to look at Her.

He’d gotten really bad at not looking at Her.

But he was not following Her.

She just happened to be on the street that Bucky was driving down. That happened. People walked in New York—that’s what sidewalks were for—and She was not an exception from that. Bucky had even picked up that She liked walking. It was a part of the fact that She was never static, and seemed to think that She’d drop dead if she stopped moving. 

She wouldn’t. She’d stopped moving, when Bucky had been at Her apartment. She’d been smiling at him across the counter, and Her fork had been spinning in Her fingers, but Her leg hadn’t even been bouncing. She’d been still, with Bucky, and it hadn’t been about fear or worry or getting that little pout on Her face that meant She was overthinking.

Right up until the end, She’d been relaxed.

But in the quick two or three moment Bucky had seen Her on the street—he’d looped around the block, once or twice, just to check, and it didn’t matter that he’d be late to therapy, because Raynor could goddamn wait—all that ease had been gone from Her body. 

She’d been bouncing on Her feet, and fidgeting with the cuffs of Her fancy jacket, and constantly looking around as if she was afraid of an attack. 

But She wasn’t even alone.

There had been a man, with his arm around Her shoulders, moving her through the crowded sidewalk.

Bucky hadn’t gotten a good look at the man’s face. He’d been wearing sunglasses and a baseball cap, but they were in quality condition. He hadn’t had any dirt on his clothing, either, and if Bucky had to guess the value of his watch—based off only a glimpse—he’d round it to stupid expensive.

The man looked like he ran in Her circle. The one of her office, with all the suits and pressed slacks and upturned noses. Like they were always smelling something bad.

She didn’t do that, though. Bucky had noticed it a little while ago. She’d raise Her chin, but not Her nose. As if She was a commanding officer back in the army, giving or defying an order. 

It was part of that authority aura She had, whenever She moved through the world. And the more Bucky watched it, the less it reminded him of Stark, and the more it seemed like Steve. Authority not by inheritance, but earned. Shoved upon. A higher tension in the shoulders, because Bucky had long learned that people who were born with authority never felt like they needed to hold it. It just was.

People who hadn’t—like Steve—remained tight long after whatever change occurred. It had been damn near eighty years, when Bucky met Steve again, but he’d carried himself the exact same way as in the army. 

And She carried herself the same way.

But She hadn’t in Her apartment, eating some fairly good Indian food and smiling at Bucky.

She didn’t carry it on the street, either. 

She’d been wearing sunglasses, same as the man around Her, but Her lips had been in a thin line, and Her step had been small. Careful. Delicate.

Like prey. Not the predator Bucky was used to.

Less than a doe. Smaller. More nervous in Her steps.

A bunny.

It didn’t suit Her.

The man around Her didn’t really seem to suit Her, either. And that wasn’t any of Bucky’s goddamn business, because today was his day off, and that wasn’t his job anyway.

But he was still thinking about it, in the waiting room of the office. He needed to stop. 

He just couldn’t goddamn work out how. She’d looked so strange, and Bucky had met everyone in Her life by now. The list was short—Sam, Her assistant, Her cat, and that Hogan guy from Stark’s circle—and She would’ve mentioned anyone else by now. 

Especially a man, who put his arm around Her shoulders.

And Bucky would need to know who it was. For Her security. He’d gotten the cameras in Her apartment, asking for one more name of people to monitor shouldn’t be crossing a line.

But there had to be a reason She hadn’t told Bucky about this guy. Bucky couldn’t work out what the reason was, but there had to be one. If the man was important to Her, She’d want Bucky to protect them too. 

Bucky would not protect that man. It wasn’t his job. She was. 

If She asked, he might end up doing it—because She asked, and She always got what She damn wanted—but it wasn’t like he was going to volunteer.

It wasn’t his business. None of this was. He’d installed the cameras, but he wouldn’t check them. She’d kill him, and start trembling again, and Bucky would have to deal with how that made him feel sick. He wouldn’t check them. No matter how much a little voice at the back of his skull was hissing to check them, work out who the hell that guy was, name and profile and history and what he meant to Her-

It didn’t matter what the man meant to Her. It shouldn’t matter. 

Bucky couldn’t stop goddamn thinking about how close they’d been standing together. Really close. And the man had been almost shoving Her through the crowd, which was damn rude, and no way to treat a beautiful woman-

Not his job. 

Not his business. 

Day off. This was Bucky’s day off. He was sitting on this couch, with Steve’s notebook in his pocket, thinking about anything but Her because this was therapy, on his day off.

Raynor’s plant was dying. The leaves were starting to yellow, and wilt.

Bucky kept his gaze trained on that, just to think about anything but Her.

“I hear you have a new job, James.” Raynor raised her brows at Bucky, and he felt his whole body tense. 

Goddamnit.

“Who told you that.” 

“Nobody told me.” Raynor shrugged. “Sam had to file a lot of paperwork for you to move most of your sessions to Zoom.”

“So Sam told you.”

“No, the papers told me.”

Bucky rolled his eyes. “Sam filed the damn papers.”

“James.” Raynor sighed. “We are not here to point fingers, or get into petty arguments about what Sam did or didn’t tell me-“

“So he did tell you-“

“Why don’t you tell me.”

Bucky shrugged. “Nothing to tell. I’m doing Sam a favor. That’s  it.”

“Have you been working on your amends?”

“It’s a full-time gig, doc, and this is part of my amends-“

“How so?”

Bucky paused. It was, technically, classified. And he didn’t love Raynor, but she wasn’t Hydra. He was pretty sure. It was hard to tell, and Bucky didn’t have a perfect track record with being the right amount of paranoid about who and who wasn’t trustworthy-

“I am aware that the job is in relation to your pardon.” Raynor added, and Bucky’s stare must have been going on a creepy amount of time. “And that you will not be able to share specific details.”

“Then why’d you ask how it’s part of my-“

“As I’m sure Sam has told you, amends are not only cleaning up your messes. I am curious as to how this job is affecting you, James. As a person.”

Bucky scowled. This is what he was trying, really fucking hard, not to think about. “It’s not. It’s a job.”

“What is the job?”

“You said you knew, ’s not my problem to explain it-“

“It is in therapy.”

“Just look in the fuckin’ papers Sam sent- C’mon.” Bucky scowled, and Raynor was reaching for the notebook. “This isn’t that big a deal-“

Raynor gave him a flat look. “It is in therapy.”

“Do you know how to say anything else-“

“Yes. Tell me about the job.”

Bucky leaned his head back, squeezing his eyes shut, and a little voice that sounded suspiciously like Her’s was humming in his ears as he tried to find the words.

Tell Raynor how annoying and pretty I am. Tell her that I’m making you feel alive. Oh, tell her about the oatmeal. Does she know you’ve only been eating oatmeal for months? That you only eat real, people food when Sam makes you? She probably doesn’t. You should tell her, or, because it would be really funny, tell her about the duck. See if she asks the name. She won’t, only I have, but that could be a good test to see if it’s actually that big a deal that I asked the name-

“James.”

Bucky blinked, and he’d gotten lost. In the thought of Her.

That wasn’t good.

“It’s a job.” He grunted. The faster this was over, the more he could ward off further thoughts of Her. “Sam’s friend needed a bodyguard, and-“

“Sam’s friend?” Raynor raised her brows. “Had you met them before?”

“No, she doesn’t seem to get out much.”

Raynor hummed, and made a note. Bucky needed to figure out how to read something based off only the moment of the pencil. “Do you get along with her?”

“After she stopped trying to kill me, yeah.”

“Kill you-“

“Metaphorically. She didn’t want a bodyguard. Tried to drive me off.”

Raynor nodded slowly. “Did it work?”

“Still have the job, don’t I?”

“And how does she feel-“ Raynor paused, tilting her head at Bucky. “What’s her name?”

Bucky muttered it—he was getting too good at saying it, and it was straying too far from a codename and into something soft and sweet on his tongue—and Raynor’s eyes widened.

“I recognize that name, what does she-“

“She was in Stark’s circle.” Bucky muttered. “Still runs his charity. CEO.”

Raynor leaned forward. “And how is that for you?”

“It’s nothing.”

“James, Tony Stark tried to kill you. I wasn’t even aware Sam had friends in his circle, that is… odd given Sam’s own history-“

“She and Sam go way back, apparently.” Bucky let out a long, slow breath, and he hoped Raynor didn’t ask how far back. He didn’t know. “And she met Stark during the Blip.”

“How did she-“

“I don’t know her whole life story,” Bucky snapped, and he didn’t, but it also felt wrong to share what She’d told him with Raynor. She wasn’t the one stuck on the couch, and She’d told Bucky all that shit about meeting Stark at the party. Not Raynor. He was trying to keep lines, keep Her trust. He wouldn’t tell Raynor what he didn’t have to. “She worked for Stark. That’s it.”

“And you and she are on… amicable terms?”

He’d call it more than amicable. She smiled and light and warmth flared in his chest, and She’d been smiling a lot in the past few days. 

She hadn’t been smiling, when he’d seen Her on the street. 

Not thinking about that wasn’t working really well right now.

“Yes.”

Raynor hummed, watching Bucky with a careful expression he didn’t love. “Tell me about her.”

Bucky scowled. “Why.”

“She’s a new person in your life. Like I said, amends are not only about moving past the Winter Soldier. It’s about moving forward, as James Barnes, a civilian-“

“I am not a civilian.” Bucky muttered, and Raynor gave him a flat look.

“You understand what I am saying, don’t be pedantic. Tell me about her.”

Raynor said Her name, as if Bucky needed clarification, and he sighed. There was no getting around this. He was too tired to try anyway.

“She’s fine.”

Raynor glared at him, and that obviously wasn’t enough.

He needed to be careful. If he said too much aloud, it would be real.

“She’s…“ Bucky tipped his head back again, running a hand over his face and trying to ignore that voice like Her’s in his ear.

I’m beautiful. I’m funnier than you thought I’d be. I’m kind and it’s not an act. I’m smart. I talk a lot, but you like it, and you like my laugh, and you like how I walk, and you like me, a lot more than you should-

Fuck.

He’d have to get back to that thought later.

“She’s sweet.” He muttered, and he could almost hear Her snort. She was not sweet. She was fiery, and loud, and Bucky liked that a lot more than sweet, but this was not something Raynor needed to know. “Smart.”

Raynor raised her brows. “Did she come around to you working for her?”

“I don’t work for her. I work for Sam.” 

“Well-“

“And she came around.” Bucky shrugged. There was nothing else to say. 

Not that he wanted to share with Raynor.

“How do you feel about her?”

Shit.

“I told you-“

“You said she’s sweet and smart.” Raynor gave him a pointed look. “Those are characteristics. Not your personal feelings.”

Bucky’s hands fisted in his lap. “It’s a job-“

“It’s your first relationship built in isolation of Sam.” Raynor drawled, and Bucky rolled his eyes.

“I only know her cause of Sam-“

“And is that influencing your treatment of each other?”

No. It wasn’t. There had been moments where Bucky forgot She knew Sam, since he’d ruled out Hydra. And when he had remembered, it had become more of an afterthought to Her.

Raynor must have read Bucky’s answer in his silence, because she sounded way too satisfied when she continued. “What do you think of this woman, James. Honesty, please.”

“There- She’s a lady.” He needed to get a grip. She was a lady, maybe the most lady lady he ever meant, but there was more to say. Bucky just didn’t have a damn clue how to say it, or a desire to try. Trying felt like it would break a very dangerous dam in his body.

Raynor wasn’t satisfied.

“Is there any attraction?”

Bucky sat up straight, a little too fast.

Raynor’s eyes widened. 

She’d noticed.

“What’d you mean-“

“I mean physical or emotional desire for closeness.” Raynor said, her words way too damn slow and careful. “If this is the woman I’m thinking of, I’ve seen pictures. I am not trying to make any assumptions-“

“So stop talking.” Bucky grunted. 

He didn’t want to talk about it.

Of course there was goddamn physical attraction. Bucky wasn’t an idiot. He had eyes, and She was inhumanly beautiful. He might not be able to help looking at Her, but he had control of it. Of himself. 

Bucky was in complete fucking control of himself, and Her being pretty was not going to break that.

More than pretty. Her voice hummed, starting somewhere near his heart and traveling up to the base of his skull. The most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen. Mean and delicate. Too easy to like, easier to the job for, and control is overrated anyway-

Control was not overrated. Bucky had it. He needed it. He would not let go of it for one beautiful lady.

“How about we do the exercise.” Raynor’s voice was soft, and she must have put together that Bucky really wasn’t going to entertain this. “Start with your name.”

Bucky let out a long, slow breath. The exercise meant this was almost over, and he’d be able to go back to his empty, lonely apartment. 

“My name is James Buchanan Barnes,” he muttered, holding Raynor’s gaze and keeping his voice bored. “It’s Monday. Your plant is dying.”

Raynor frowned, but Bucky just kept going.

“I like that I got to ride my bike here today, because I haven’t in a while. I don’t like that you didn’t just ask me about my new job over the Zoom calls, because I know you were trying to damn trap me.”

Bucky narrowed his eyes at Raynor, and she just shrugged for him to keep going.

“I need to check my phone.”

“Why?”

Because She should’ve texted with a check-in, but Bucky’s phone hadn’t even buzzed.

“Because I’m expecting a work update.”

Raynor sighed, and if she didn’t believe him, she didn’t push it. “And what you want?”

He wanted to know Her cat’s name. He didn’t know why it was such a big secret. Why he needed to earn it. 

He wanted to earn it.

Fuck.

“I want to go to the library.”

Raynor blinked at that, and Bucky continued before she could cut him off.

“I’m trying to get into reading again.” He muttered, and Raynor nodded slowly.

“That’s good. Personal interests are important to getting better. How about we make your homework getting two books and reading through one of them, and I’ll see you next week.”

“Over Zoom.”

Raynor nodded. “Until you get another day off, over Zoom.”

Bucky grunted, pushed up off the couch, and before he could get out of the office, away from Raynor and her dying plant, Raynor cleared her throat.

“Remember, James.” Raynor gave him one last, firm look. “Feeling things means you are making large steps forward. Try not to fight it.”

He wasn’t fighting it. 

Bucky wasn’t fighting anything.

He knew what Raynor was implying. He wasn’t an idiot. And Her voice had been implying the same thing.

You like me. A lot more than you should.

A crush. That was what the warmth over his skin meant. What it had meant, back in the 40s, before Hydra took simple, useless things like crushes away from him.

He did not have a crush on Her. Physical attraction did not need to mean a crush. He wasn’t even flirting. 

Bucky knew how to flirt. He was good at it. He’d flirt with women in bars on easier nights—he hadn’t done that since he met Her, but that wasn’t important, he’d just been too busy—and he’d flirt with Sarah to get a rise out of Sam. Being able to do that again was just part of the better.

And She was not.

She was just more beautiful than anyone had any right to be, and talking to Her was easier than talking to most anyone, and Her voice sounded like Bucky imagined stars sounded like, and the Moon was locked in her eyes, but that didn’t mean he had a crush. 

That was insane. Irrational. It didn’t fall anywhere into place, so it wasn’t. He didn’t.

She kept washing that bright and warm feeling over his spine, and it was spreading fast through the rest of his body, but that didn’t mean he had a crush. 

He needed to know who the hell She’d been out with, who She’d given Bucky the day off for—following Her around was supposed to be his job—but that was for Her safety.

Not because the idea of Her shaking and feral made his chest and hands strain. Not because seeing Her with the man had set off that twisting gut feeling.

Not because he liked Her.

And Bucky did. Like Her. But that was normal. They spent time together. She was funny, and kind, and somehow drove off all the heavier, darker thoughts from Bucky’s head by being so consuming he couldn’t think about anything but Her, as long as he was in her presence.

And a little while after, too.

Goddamnit.

He needed to find something to do with the rest of his day that wasn’t thinking about Her. About why, when his phone finally buzzed with Her check-in, it was like lighting through his blood.

Sorry. 

I’m alive

See you tmr.

Tmr meant tomorrow. Sam had taught him that one already.

But the message felt too short. Too rushed. And Bucky couldn’t stop picturing the man with Her, and wondering who he was, and trying to stamp it down wasn’t working, and he didn’t have a crush but goddamnit he couldn’t stop fucking thinking about Her-

Control.

He was in control of this. Things were getting better in weird, too-quick ways where She was burrowing into Bucky’s head against his will, but he was still in control.

He didn’t have anything to do for the rest of the day.

Her smile seemed to be imprinted, a little behind his vision. 

Bucky really did want to know the name of Her cat, and he’d gotten two of the books on his drive back, but is brain was too wired to think about something that wasn’t cut and dry and simple. Strategy was simple. It would or wouldn’t work. He used to like reading because it wasn’t like that—there were many possible answers, so Bucky couldn’t be wrong about his—but Raynor had set him on edge, and the thoughts of Her were starting to make him warm again.

She’d said Bucky could use things with happy endings. She’d given him all those recommendations with such fucking certainty, like there was no possible world where She was wrong, and Bucky didn’t like them.

If She was wrong, maybe that would shake Her off Bucky’s thoughts and skin. She would just remain beautiful. Remain a shifting, impossible presence, and not whatever strange animal was capable of invading him like this. In a way he needed to be bothered by, but couldn’t manage to. 

He hoped these movies were shit. Bucky needed them to pass the time and day, and be it. Kill it—thoughts of Her, and Her voice, and the man holding Her closer than Bucky was allowed to be—with apathy and boredom.

That’s why he was doing it. Not because some small, long dead part of him was starting to sing and thaw, and he wanted to test if it could bloom.

She was not the reason Bucky did anything. He would not become just another person who looked at Her and feel for Her grace and beauty and life. 

You could be more. I look at you more, James, don’t I. I smile more. And that weight on my shoulders looked lighter, when you were in my apartment-

Bucky dropped on the couch with a scowl.

This wasn’t for Her. It was for him. To get back in complete, total control.

So for the first time, Bucky sat on his couch, and turned on the TV.

End Note: We're moving to Saturday updates going forwards, just for my own scheduling reasons. This one has been a little slower starting than all my other stories, so I thank you for sticking through the slight plot lull for the relationship development.

Thank you so much for reading!! If you like this story, please reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3

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[charmandabear]

Office Hours: I want this like a cigarette (3/16)

Pairing: Astarion/Named F!Tav Rating: Explicit Word Count: 4.9k Tags/Warnings: semi-public sex, under the desk blowjob, vampire biting/blood, chair sex, wildly unprofessional behavior (full list on ao3)

Summary:

Ancunín makes Rosalind feel so gods damned flustered, there simply has to be a way to get her revenge.

Okay, I know I goobered it and released this chapter a week late, but I'm hoping to make up for it with the fact that a) the Masterlist will be out momentarily, and 2) you're getting chapters 3 and 4 at the same time. And chapter 4 is almost entirely new stuff! But that's for the next post.

Next chapter ~ Read it on AO3 ~ Masterlist Office Hours playlist on Spotify

Ever since Rosalind slept with Ancunín — or, perhaps more accurately, he fucked her mercilessly over his desk — she hasn’t been able to get him out of her head. It's a little embarrassing, frankly. Every time she passes him in the hallway, a single glance over those round wire frames has her suppressing the moan that bubbles in her throat. One whiff of his fragrance and her pussy clenches in a Pavlovian response.

Standing in front of her mailbox in the main office, she reads a thrilling update from Volo about season selection. The next meeting is going to be even more brainstorming. Lovely.

Rosalind can smell him before she hears him, and the heat creeps up the back of her neck. He comes up behind her, standing closer than is probably necessary, and reaches above her head to empty his own mailbox.

“Pardon,” he says politely, but she feels like he’s going out of his way to brush against her. A shiver runs down her spine as he very gently grazes the back of her neck while shuffling through the papers.

He turns and starts chatting amicably with Hope. How can he stay so cool when Rosalind is practically in shambles? She pretends that she’s still reading the short memo just to collect herself. When he finally leaves the main office, she manages to turn around and imitate some semblance of a normal person. Hope catches her eye and frowns.

“Is everything alright with you? You're looking a little flushed,” she asks, genuine concern coloring her voice. Rosalind twists her face into a smile, hoping that it reads as gratitude rather than annoyance.

“Yeah, I'm fine, thank you. Probably just a little dehydrated,” she says, putting a little extra rasp in her voice to help sell the story.

“I’m about to leave for lunch, I could grab you something from the student union, if you're thirsty.” She smiles sweetly, fully unaware of the double entendre.

“I'm good, I have some water back in my office. I appreciate the offer, though.” The smile is now plastered to Rosalind’s face as she moves to leave the office. She bumps into Karlach while trying to make a hasty exit.

“Gods, soldier, you okay? You look like you just got out of a sauna.” She claps Rosalind on the shoulder and her knees buckle. The technical director had spent 10 years in the army, so Rosalind couldn’t fault her for the nickname, or the smack to the shoulder, for that matter.

“Just a little thirsty, is all,” she replies, continuing to scoot her way out of the office.

“Yeah ya are!” Karlach points two finger guns at her and flashes a big suggestive smile. Rosalind freezes for a half second, then realizes that Karlach is making a generic lewd joke and not pointedly calling her out for her current condition. Rosalind awkwardly finger guns back as she finally slips through the doorway and books it to her office.

She sits down at her desk and grabs her water bottle, taking a long sip. It's unbelievable how much of a hold he has on her. She thinks back to her bathtub fantasy from a few days ago. She could not have predicted the dynamic more incorrectly. She really thought that she would be the one in control, that she would have him coming undone for her.

That’s one of the few positive memories of her relationship with Aradin. He was a condescending ass — frankly, not too dissimilar to Ancunín. But when she got him into the bedroom, it didn’t take much to turn him into a pathetic whimpering mess. Her favorite thing was to ride his face, finally getting him to shut the fuck up. She shakes her head to clear it of the memory.

Instead, she lets the image of Ancunín pounding into her while pushing her face into his desk flood her mind, setting her heart racing. Her breath hitches slightly as the memory plays out vividly, like her own personal erotica.

“It must be rather exciting, whatever's got your blood going that way.” His sultry voice interrupts her debaucherous thoughts and she yelps in surprise. She glares at him leaning in the doorframe, hands in his pockets with his unbuttoned collar poking out from beneath a charcoal sweater. Looking like an absolute gods damned treat. He chuckles and saunters into her office, settling into one of the chairs across from her desk and crossing his lithe legs. Rosalind grumbles; despite her newfound attraction, he's still an arrogant little shit.

“I thought you couldn't come in uninvited,” she scowls, keeping her voice low for fear of someone overhearing.

“I don't recall being invited to come last time, but you didn't seem to mind,” he says with that little giggle of his, and Rosalind crosses her arms with a petulant pout. “Regardless, the rule only applies to homes, not individual rooms within a public university.”

Her frown deepens, unsure if he's being patronizing or not. “Is there something I can help you with, or are you just here to frustrate me?” She leans forward on her desk, trying to imitate his casual authority. She isn’t terribly successful.

“You seem to be doing that perfectly well yourself, the way I could hear your arteries pumping from down the hall.” His smile widens, flashing just a hint of fang, and her resolve weakens. He stands and stretches his arms above his head, his sweater raising just enough to show off a sliver of porcelain skin. Okay, now I’m positive he’s just doing this to annoy me.

“When you have a free moment, stop by my office, I have something to show you,” he drawls, an almost bored lilt coloring his tone. “And do try to keep that heart of yours under control, it’s distracting to the point of vulgarity.” He glances at her over his glasses one more time before retreating into the hall again.

Rosalind crosses her legs, trying to ease the ache between her thighs. He's absolutely insufferable. And he’s so much worse now that he knows he has this power. Well fine, if he has something to show me, he can walk it over his damn self. I’m staying right here. She wrenches open her laptop in an attempt to distract herself with work.

***

It’s a few days later when Rosalind finds herself in the student union, waiting for a coffee to help fight off the bitter cold. Out of the corner of her eye she spots the fight choreographer for the play currently in rehearsals. The PhD candidate studying githyanki history has an assistantship with the theatre department as fight choreographer for at least one play per semester.

“Lae’zel!” she calls, waving at the grad student. She spots Rosalind and walks over, expressionless.

“Greetings,” she says in a tone that Rosalind would attribute to anyone else as cold. But she’s grown accustomed to the gith’s less animated manner of speech.

“Hey, how are rehearsals for Rosencrantz and Guildenstern going?” Rosalind asks conversationally, and Lae’zel scowls.

“Not as well as I’d hoped. These students of yours have absolutely zero combat training, save Varrl, of course,” she says flatly, the disappointment all too evident in her voice.

“That makes sense, I’m sure he’ll make for an excellent Lead Player,” Rosalind replies as the barista calls her name. She turns to grab her coffee and when she turns back around, Ancunín is strolling up behind Lae’zel, snowflakes dotted across his black peacoat. Rosalind’s stomach clenches when she sees him, and she’s almost grateful for his dark round sunglasses that hide those piercing red eyes of his.

“Tut tut, Professor, don’t you know all that caffeine is bad for your heart?” he coos with a vicious smile as he shakes the snow from his hair. Rosalind can already feel her cheeks flushing, but she’s determined to keep her cool.

“Dr. Ancunín, I didn’t realize you were so concerned for my heart,” she retorts with the most aloof energy she can muster.

Lae’zel shifts her eyes between the two of them briefly before apparently deciding to ignore whatever tension she can sense. “I’m glad you are both here, for I have a query regarding the character of Hamlet. He is in this play very little, and I cannot glean his fighting style from the minimal source material.”

“Did you read Hamlet as a part of your prep?” Rosalind gives her a quizzical look, and Lae’zel stares at her matter-of-factly.

“No, why would I bother wasting my time with that?” she asks earnestly. Rosalind opens her mouth to respond and then closes it, realizing that she can’t argue otherwise.

“Hamlet would have impeccable sword fighting technique as the son of a king,” Ancunín answers Lae’zel’s initial question, but keeps his eyes fixed on Rosalind. “He’d be well-trained. Disciplined.”

She’s furious at how quickly he can make her heart pound in her ears. The corner of his lips twitch upward and she knows he can hear it, too. But she’s determined to maintain the upper hand.

“He’s also a bit of a show off, and extremely arrogant.” She holds Ancunín’s gaze for a moment longer before looking at Lae’zel. “This is for the fight on the pirate ship at the end, correct?” Lae’zel nods, so Rosalind continues, “Yeah, I would imagine he’s fairly careless, completely self-absorbed, and ultimately a coward when it becomes too much for him to handle.” Ancunín’s smile grows wickedly as Lae’zel contemplates Rosalind’s analysis.

“Yes, that does make sense to his character, particularly given his escape and the end of the scene,” she says with a nod, and then looks back at them pointedly. “And professors, if fornication is required to maintain a healthy working relationship, please, do not include me in your foreplay. It’s rather unprofessional, and rather sloppy.”

Mortified, Rosalind splutters, “We are not sleeping together!” in the exact same moment that Ancunín smirks, “Last I checked, she likes it sloppy.”

Rosalind whirls around on him, wishing that she knew any magic at all that could cause him psychic damage. Lae’zel simply rolls her eyes with a quiet, “Ch’k,” before stalking off, leaving them to simmer in their awkward moment.

“You can’t say that shit in front of my colleagues!” she hisses at him, and his smile turns downright impish.

“Oh don’t give me that, like you weren’t having fun,” he sneers, and she clamps her mouth shut. The problem is that she was having fun, before he took it too far.

“Ass,” she grumbles and takes a swig of her coffee as she stomps out the student union, his giggle ringing in her ears like a bell.

***

Back in her office she seethes at her desk, rapping her fingertips rhythmically against its surface. She needs to find a way to get her revenge, to somehow make him feel as flustered and uncomfortable as he does to her. A small, reasonable voice in the back of her head reminds her that escalating this power struggle will not end well, but her stubborn pride quashes the thought down.

Without having a fully formed plan, Rosalind finds herself walking towards Ancunín’s office. She takes a moment before knocking on the door, smoothing down the front of her dress and tousling her hair to give it a little more volume.

Suddenly the door opens and her student Mol comes barrelling out in a huff.

“D’you believe this berk? Gettin’ on my tail for ‘academic integrity.’ Ain't nobody more integrous than me!” she grumbles, adjusting her bag angrily. She turns her heated gaze to Rosalind. “Can you talk to your boyfriend and tell him to leave me alone?” she spits and Rosalind splutters involuntarily.

“Mol, we’re not—”

“Come off it, miss. Everyone sees the way you look at ‘im. Just work your magic so I can get back to gettin’ a college education.” And without another word, she's off. It’s been less than a tenday, the students couldn’t possibly be gossiping already, could they?

She shakes her head and steps into his office. It's just as cozy as last time, warm light emanating from lamps in every corner to compensate for the blackout curtains over the windows. She strides up to his desk and slams her hands down on it.

“Please tell me you’re not so stupid to tell the students about what happened,” she scowls, and he glares at her.

“Gods no, I’m a vampire, not a monster,” he hisses back before taking off his glasses and pinching the bridge of his nose with a sigh. “No, that girl is just too clever for her own good. I’d almost respect it if she didn’t get on my last nerve.”

She crosses around to the other side of his desk and leans against the edge, letting her skirt ride up ever so slightly. She catches his gaze flicking down to her thigh before he puts his glasses back on and looks up at her from his chair. “Speaking of vampire,” she says, hoping she’s not too obvious in the way that she shakes her hair clear of her neck. “How do you get around campus without burning up in the sun?”

“Darling, I didn’t realize you were so concerned for my skin,” he flashes a self-assured smile, clearly pleased that he’s able to use her flirty banter against her. He casually rests his hand just above her knee, but Rosalind doesn’t miss the way his eyes narrow with a mild suspicion.

“Maybe I’m just curious,” she says, nonchalantly examining her nails. “Maybe I’m invested.” She trails her fingers down his wrist and plays with the buttons of his cuff.

“Just a concerned citizen?” He visibly relaxes as his hand absentmindedly begins to slide up her leg, stopping just under the hem of her skirt. “If you must know, it’s only the direct sunlight that causes harm. If I’m sufficiently covered up, and the cloud cover is thick enough, then I’m safe.” He squeezes her thigh on the word “thick” and her breath catches in her throat.

“Didn’t you say you had something to show me?” she asks in a raspy voice. She wants to kick herself; she was determined to not give him the satisfaction by bringing it up.

“Hmm, now that was several days ago, what makes you so certain I still have it?” he asks in an overly performative sing-song voice.

“Well if you don’t have it, then I guess I’ll head out—” Rosalind turns to leave but he catches her wrist and pulls her down until she’s straddling his lap. Before her logical mind has time to protest, she’s wrapping her arms around his neck and rolling her hips into him, pleased that she can feel the beginnings of an erection. He lets out a little puff of air that can almost be mistaken for a moan. She takes a deep breath and arches her back, letting her ample tits graze along his lips. He runs his nose along the neckline of her dress and slides his hand underneath her skirt to cup her ass. Her mouth drops open silently as she grinds into him harder, aching for any bit of friction.

Then a knock at the door.

They both freeze and stare at one another. There’s a muffled voice on the other side.

“Dr. Ancunín, do you have a minute? I have something extremely important to tell you,” Dr. Dekarios from the School of the Weave shouts through the door.

Rosalind has no idea what possesses him to instinctually reply, “Just a minute!” and the two of them share a silently mouthed exchange.

-What the fuck are you doing?

-I don't know, I panicked!

-What am I supposed to do?

-Hide, perhaps?

Without thinking she slides off his lap and hides under the desk. Just in time, too, as Dr. Dekarios doesn't wait for permission to open the door and waltz right in.

“Dr. Ancunín, thank goodness, I hope I'm not interrupting anything.” Rosalind can hear the arcana history professor rush in and eagerly sit down in one of the red velvet lounge chairs across from Astarion’s desk. She groans internally with the realization that she might be stuck here for an unbearably long time.

“Actually, Dr. Dekarios, I was on my way out,” Astarion says as he starts to stand before quickly reversing that decision. Rosalind realizes with a smug sense of satisfaction that he’s still slightly aroused.

“Completely understand, I'll keep this brief, then. So, the other day, you and I spoke of the use of bardic magic and its position amongst playwrights in Renaissance England.”

“Yes, I recall,” Astarion responds through gritted teeth. He sinks back down in his chair, resigned to sitting through this conversation.

“And how it was common practice at the time to use magic from the College of Swords as decreed by Elizabeth? Ben Jonson, Marlowe, Beaumont and Fletcher, they all used College of Swords magic.” Dr. Dekarios’ voice increases in pitch with his excitement. Rosalind suppresses a sigh, preparing herself for a long wait in this cramped space. It would be uncomfortable for a thin person to fit, nevermind her, especially while trying to keep out of the way of Astarion’s long legs.

Although…

What if she didn’t keep out of the way? What if she just… brushed her hand along his thigh…

Astarion coughs to hide the sudden intake of breath her touch causes. He crosses his legs and she smiles knowing it's to give himself a little reprieve. A feeling I know all too well.

“Yes,” Astarion says, his voice frustratingly even, “I recall your enthusiasm in telling me this.”

Rosalind assesses his body language, trying to read his response. Is he into this? Is this a game he wants to play? She decides to test her luck again, dragging her fingers up his thigh more deliberately. His leg quivers and he shifts his posture as the arcana professor continues.

“Well, I had a thought. Consider this: Shakespeare brought about a major shift in how we think of the Western theatrical canon as it pertains to bard magic, correct?”

She shifts forward and squishes her tits into his knees that are now pinched tightly together. She slides her hands up his inner thighs, prying them apart slightly. She leans into his legs further as her hands continue their journey upward, squeezing as they get to the top of his thigh.

He kicks suddenly, a soft thump into the back of the desk. Is it a warning, telling her to stop? She pulls back and glances up at him, but the top of the desk obscures most of his face. All she can tell is that he continues to stiffly nod while Dekarios rambles.

“And remind me, what other major storytelling convention did Shakespeare also shift during this time?” Rosalind makes a face, and she honestly can't tell if he’s actually asking, or giving Astarion a mini exam in his own specialty.

She waits for some sort of response from him. After a moment, he lets his thighs fall open and gently nudges her hip with the side of his shoe. No, his foot.

This motherfucker is playing footsie.

Oh he is definitely into her little game.

She pushes his legs open again, this time sliding her hands all the way up to his cock, and she can feel it twitch beneath the wool of his pants. She gently strokes him and his hips give a subtle twist into her.

“I'm not sure—” Astarion begins, but stops short when his voice cracks. She nuzzles his bulge, running her lips across it as it hardens. She slips a hand under him and gives his balls a gentle squeeze. She can hear his breath stutter, but it's unlikely that Dekarios can as he quickly answers his own question.

“The humors, correct? My understanding of non-magic literature isn't fully up to snuff, but I am correct in remembering this, yes?”

Rosalind licks a fat stripe across the fabric and she hears a metallic click above her head, like his watch just made sudden contact with the surface of the desk. She can imagine the veins in his hands bulging as he clasps them together tightly.

“Hm, no, ah yes, you are correct. Most English Renaissance playwrights understood characters as a balance or imbalance of the four humors.” Astarion manages to keep his voice relatively steady despite the slight stammering, and Rosalind is determined to up her game. She reaches up to undo his belt buckle as quietly and efficiently as possible. Luckily, she’s able to hide the noise within Dekarios’ exclamation.

“Yes! That's exactly what I was thinking! So, hear me out. What if these two gradual changes were related? In moving away from College of Swords magic, Shakespeare felt less constrained by the four humors. Or perhaps the other way around?”

She reaches into his pants to free his cock, now fully hard, and teases her fingers along his shaft. His hips buck a little more forcefully, as though controlling his movement is growing more difficult. She grips his pelvis tightly, holding it in place, and relishing having the upper hand for once. She didn’t expect it would be quite like this, but she’s not complaining. She flicks the tip of her tongue across his slit and his hips twitch again under her hands.

“Could be…” is all Astarion can manage to reply. Hopefully at this point Dekarios is in a full-on oration and he won't need to contribute much, if at all.

She pops the head of his cock into her mouth, working the underside of it with her tongue. She clamps her forearms down on either side of his lap, pulling him closer and letting her tits brush his inner thighs. She squirms, the slick feeling between her legs and the heady lust making her dizzy until a miniscule moan works its way into her mouth. Not loud enough for anyone to hear, she can only hope, but she’s certain that Astarion can feel the vibration by the way his hips jerk again. His face above, or at least what she can see of it, gives little away.

“And this could even,” Dekarios continues, showing no sign of awareness of anything else happening in the room, “signal the shift into realism, could it not? Beginning with Shakespeare and culminating with Chekhov and Ibsen in the nineteenth century?”

She takes in more of him, relaxing her tongue and letting him fill her mouth, discovering his taste. He almost lifts off his chair in his attempt to thrust into her, and she uses it as a way to take him in deeper. Her jaw is beginning to ache with how slow she’s going, but it's worth it to feel Astarion’s frustrated discomfort.

He takes a slow breath before speaking again.

“You know who would absolutely love this discovery of yours?” His voice is low, smooth, as she bobs her mouth on his cock. “Professor Tavlin of the theatre department. Her office is right down the hall.”

She chokes and he deftly covers the sound of her gag with a cough.

“Bless you,” Dekarios says after a fraction of hesitation. Then he continues as though there was no interruption at all.

“Then I shall share my findings with her! Down the hall, you say?”

“Room 208.”

“Excellent!” Dekarios stands and Rosalind wraps her hand around the base of Astarion's shaft, letting some saliva dribble out of her mouth to lubricate it. She can hear the wizard quickly make his way out the door.

“Gale!” Astarion yelps as she twists her hand and swirls her tongue in tandem. He clears his throat and corrects his decorum. “Dr. Dekarios, the door, please.”

“Oh, of course! Apologies,” he says with slight chagrin, and the door latches with a dry click. Astarion rolls his chair back and grabs Rosalind’s hair, pulling her out from under the desk.

“You saucy little minx,” he growls and she stumbles forward, their lips crashing together. He breaks the kiss by yanking her hair back, and his eyes sparkle wildly over the wire frames. He roughly turns her around and pulls her into his lap, his shaft pressing into the cleft of her ass. “Having fun with your little games?” he hisses in her ear as he pulls her dress up with one hand, the other sliding down below the waistband of her leggings.

“You certainly seemed to be,” she says with a breathless giggle that gets cut off by a gasp as his fingers slide easily through her folds before finding her clit. The hand on her dress slides over her breast, pinching her nipple into hardness as she arches against him.

She reaches her arm behind his neck, twisting her fingers into his silver curls to keep herself braced against him. He makes quick little circles around her clit with his ring and middle fingers while continuing to grope her breast with his other hand. Her head falls back onto his shoulder while she breathes heavily, writhing beneath his touch. He presses sloppy kisses to her shoulder, licking and nipping without sinking his fangs into her.

“Fuck, please, bite me,” she whines, clutching onto his hair and pushing him against the crook of her neck. She can feel his lips stretch into a smile before he bites down, and she slaps a hand over her mouth to keep from crying out in bliss. The sensation is such an overwhelming mix of pain and pleasure, the initial ice cold shard that melts into a lightheadedness bordering on sublime. The fingers on her clit slow and his grip slackens as he loses himself in her blood, and she whimpers needily, rutting her hips into his hand.

Just as Rosalind’s vision starts to darken, Astarion unlatches and roughly pushes her off his lap, spinning her around by the waist and easily tearing through her leggings and underwear.

This man is wracking up quite the clothing bill.

He pulls her back into his lap, barely taking the time to line himself up before sinking her down onto his cock. He shoves his fingers into her mouth and she moans around them, the taste of her own juices flooding her tongue. He keeps his other hand firm on her lower back as he thrusts up into her.

“Gods, fuck,” she groans, words muffled by his fingers as she continues to roll her hips into his, pushing her cleavage into his mouth. He pulls the neckline of her dress down to expose her breast, taking her nipple into his mouth and sucking lightly. She breathes heavily and tries to stifle the noise of her moans by pressing her open mouth into his hair. She can smell that citrusy fragrance he wears and her fingers claw into him.

“Please, I’m— Astarion,” she whimpers before clamping her mouth shut and burying her face into his ear.

“Fuck— look at me,” he growls, and her eyes lock onto his as his glasses slide down his nose. He pulls her into a rough kiss to keep her quiet, and he tastes faintly of iron.

He fucks into her harder as she bounces on his cock, her needy whimpers growing louder against his lips. The piercing pain of his nails digging into her ass and the grunting deep in his throat as he approaches his release send her rocketing to her climax. She comes with an explosive cry that gets swallowed into his kiss. She continues to ride out the waves of her orgasm as she feels his, his hips thrusting upward as his dick throbs with the pulse of his semen.

They finally slow, the sticky mess between them squelching loudly. They listen intently past the sound of their heavy breathing to try to detect any indication that someone overheard. When they deem it safe, Rosalind lets out a sigh of relief before the two of them dissolve into giggles. He drops his forehead onto her shoulder as she rests her cheek on his sweaty mass of curls.

They disentangle themselves from one another and she winces slightly at the feeling of him sliding out of her pussy. She gets a better look at him, her blood still smeared on his lips and chin, his now flaccid dick slumped above his waistband. She’s certain she can't look much better, dress rucked up around her waist, one tit hanging out over the neckline.

They methodically put themselves back together, Astarion stuffing his wet dick back into his pants, Rosalind straightening her dress and hair. She catches his gaze again and somehow he still manages to make her blush, but this time bringing a feeling of warmth and giddiness rather than frustration and embarrassment. He reaches out to tuck a wayward lock behind her ear.

“Next time, can we please have sex in your office?” he says with a teasing chuckle. She swats his chest playfully only to find herself drawn into him, not wanting to pull her hand away. It's strangely romantic, and if she were able to think clearly, his hands snaking around her waist might bother her. But her head is still spinning and her cunt is still throbbing with the aftershocks of her orgasm, and little could upset her right now.

That is, until the doorknob turns and Dekarios pops his head back in.

“Looks like she’s not—” His voice dies off quickly when he realizes what he's walked in on. He coughs, mumbles an incoherent apology, and backs out quickly.

“I swear to the gods I'm getting a scroll of arcane lock for that damn door,” he growls under his breath, and she leans her forehead against his chest with an exhausted sigh.

[andydrysdalerogers]

Cross-Checked ~ Chapter Seven

Andy Barber x OFC Leighton "Leia" Andrews

Summary:

Andy Barber is having the best year of his life. His game is on point. It’s gets to play with his best friend and his fiancé just... dumped him?!. 

Reeling from a sudden change in status, Andy decides it’s time to just focus on hockey. Until his best friend's sister comes out with news that rock the entire organizations world., 

Andy has always carried a torch for the untouchable Leighton but in her hour of need, is now the time to shoot and score or risk getting cross - checked again? 

Warnings: Cheating (but not by the MCs); slow burn; friends to lovers eventually; SMUT!; pregnancy; jealousy; handsome goalies, evil exes...

A/N: The tag list is open!

I do NOT give permission for my work to be translated or reposted on here or any other site, even if you give me credit. DO NOT REPOST MY FICS. Reblogs, comments, likes, and feedback ALWAYS appreciated

Dividers by @firefly-graphics

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Previous: Chapter Six - A Swift Kick In The Pants - Andy

Series Masterlist // Main Masterlist

Chapter Seven - A Little Boston Magic - Andy/Leia

Andy 

I’m trying really hard to not say anything.  

It’s physically painful to not say anything.  

But here I am, watching the girl of my dreams getting ready for a date. With another man.  And not just another man. One of my team mates.  

Jeremy Swayman.  

If I didn’t think it would end with me getting my ass beat by Ullmark or my defensemen or my forwards, fuck, basically the whole team, I would have sabotage this date and put Swayman in a ditch.  

Why do I say that? 

Because Jeremy Swayman is the worst when it comes to women.  He has puck bunnies climbing him left and right. The problem is, most women say he was sweet, and they understood that it was just a hook-up. No one talks about how degrading he could be. The things I have heard in the locker room; its like he is an overgrown frat bro.  

And my girl is going out with him.  

Fuck my life.  

I’ve stayed in my room tonight as she got ready.  I know that I cannot keep the scowl from my face if I try. Then I would have to explain why and you couldn’t pay me enough to let that information out. I’m reading in my room when I hear a knock.  “Yeah?” 

“Andy, can you help me with my zipper please?” Leia peaks around the door in a robe. “I can’t reach it.”  

Just kill me. Strike me down.  I don’t want see her in her dress. I don’t want to know what she looks like for a first date that isn’t with me.  “Sure Princess.”  I get up slowly and have her spin.  She lowers the robe for me to see the two flaps of her black dress. I reach for the zipper and accidentally run my knuckle down her spine. I think I hear a quiet moan escape her mouth and I work on holding back my own moan. Her skin is like silk, soft and warm and oh fuck, I have to fight the urge to kiss the exposed skin.  I pull the zipper up and step back. “All done.”  

“Uh, yeah, thank you.” She closes the robe and steps back. She takes a good look at my face and I know she can see something there.  “Are you ok?” 

“I’m fine. Just tired.” I give her a weak smile. I don’t want to do this right now.  I just want her to go because it fucking hurts to see how beautiful she is and its not for me. “Some of the guys asked about grabbing a beer so i might do that but get to bed early.”  

“Oh, okay.  Well I just need to finish up and I’ll get out of your way.”  

“It’s not a problem Princess.  Be safe and have fun.” I kiss the top of her head and she leaves.  Fifteen minutes later, I heard the doorbell and Leia climbing down the steps. I headed to my window. I watched as Jeremy opened the door for Leia, made sure she was in and went to the driver’s side and got in.  

I waited a few minutes before calling a car service. I can’t stay here tonight. I just need to drown my sorrows, but I can’t call Luke. I headed to a bar across town.  Hopefully, I can drink in peace.  

Leia 

I am nervous. I hadn’t been on a date in a long time. Bret barely took me out unless it was to impress someone. His clout was that I was the sister of an NHL player.  Whatever, he’s out of my life now, regardless of child in my belly.  

My child.  

This is such a fucked up situation but Andy was right.  No point in worrying about telling anyone unless it was going to be a thing.  This is not a thing yet with Jeremy. At least, I don’t think. I just like the attention.  

As Jeremy drives us to the restaurant, my mind can’t help but think of the way Andy looked as he was zipping my dress. He’s eyes were dark, almost lustful, as he ran his knuckle across my skin.  It was rough but it felt so good. It’s confusing. I mentally give myself a shake and focus on Jeremy.  

“I made a reservation at Grill 23.” Jeremy smile falters.  “Shit, I forgot to ask if you eat meat.” He swallows and looks back at the road.  

I giggle.  “It’s ok, I do eat meat. I’ve never been to Grill 23.” I smile at him.  “So, how was practice?” 

“It was good. Had some good stretches in butterfly. My hip was bothering me so the trainers updated my stretching routine.”  

“Butterfly?” 

“Oh, when we are down on our knees and our legs as splayed out, like wings.”  

I couldn’t help but giggle again. Goalies are so flexible. “Well, I’m glad you are taking care of yourself. Need you to help get the cup.”  

“That’s my plan, sweetheart.” Jeremy took my hand and drove with one hand. Its incredible sexy. “How’s the business going?” 

“It’s good, still building my client list. Got a couple of baseball players that Andy and Luke know to come on board, Adler and Storm.  And I have a meeting with the Patriots social media as well.” I was excited for the Patriots meeting. While the Bruins were the top in the NHL, everyone knew the Patriots. Even if I would never get to work with Tom Brady.  

“I know you’re gonna do great.”  Jeremy lifted my hand and he kissed my knuckles.  Ok, swoon.  

We pulled up to the restaurant and the valet opens my door. Jeremy takes my arm and we walk in. “Reservation for Swayman,” he told the hostess.   

She gave him a big smile, which made me dim a bit. “Mr. Swayman, welcome. Please, follow me.” Was it necessary for her sway her hips like that as she walked? Jeremy changes his hold on me, now linking our hands and intertwining out fingers. “Here you go Mr. Swayman.”  

Jeremy moves to pull my chair. “Here you go sweetheart.” I smile and sit before he takes the seat next to me instead of across. The hostess looks like she’s eaten a lemon now.  She hands over the menus and walks away. “Wow,” Jeremy said. “She must be jealous because I have the most beautiful girl in Boston having dinner with me.”  

I blush at his words. “Jeremy, stop.” He laughs and we move on with our date. He’s a perfect gentleman the entire time. He didn’t question when I said I just wanted water instead of a drink or when I passed on the oysters. That’s the down side of pregnancy. No alcohol or raw seafood.  

“Would you like to go and grab a drink, a coffee?” Jeremy is walking me out the door.  “There is a lounge around the corner. Listen to some music?” He’s face is hopeful. And then he smiles and I’m gone.  

“Sure, we can do that.” His smile grows and he holds my hand a little tighter.  

The lounge is dark, save the candlelight all around and the spotlight on the band.  Its a 40s band, playing old school tunes. We snag a table a he orders both of us a water.  “If you want to have a drink, its fine.”  

“Nah, have a game tomorrow and I don’t want to get bloated.  Besides, I don’t want to drink when you’re not. Is there a reason?” 

Fuck. Ok, just have to breathe through this question. “Umm, I had a bad experience with alcohol so I just don’t anymore.” I smile. “Lesson learned when I was underage.”  

“Ah,” Jeremy says. “Well, healthy body and all that.”  

The band starts up a slow song.  Jeremy stands up and turns to me.  “Could I have this dance, sweetheart?” 

Did I create this man with magic? It takes everything in me not to swoon. He’s perfect. I take his hand and he leads me to the dance floor. We dance slowly, my body is pressed close to his, hands on my waist. When he looks at me, I’m lost in his eyes. He raises a hand and caresses my cheek. “Beautiful,” he whispers.  

His lips are soft when they are pressed against mine.  

Andy 

I’ve been sitting at Red Line for a good two hours and Mike keeps me topped off. First thing he asked when he saw my face was whether I was driving or not.  He’s a good guy.  I mentioned taking a cab, he poured the first drink.  

How did my life come to this? I mean, I think I’m a catch. Women have no problem telling me how handsome I am.  I have more money than I know what to do with. I have friends and yet I have never felt lonelier. Maybe I earned Fiona finding someone else. I had been so focused on the captaincy that I lost focus on her. But I was doing it for our future. The future. When did it change to wanting to raise Leia’s baby with her and have my family? I guess it was always there. I knew what i wanted a long time ago.  

All I want is the one person I can’t have.  

I think I am on my third or fourth bourbon when i feel someone sit next to me. I ignore whoever it is because really, I am not good company right now.  

“Andy?” 

My head looks up to see Leia’s best friend Stella seated next to me. “Hey Stel.”  

“What are you doing here?” She has genuine concern on her face.  

“Leia’s out and I didn’t want to be alone in the house. I mean, I’m alone in life, so I guess should get used to it but not tonight.” I threw the drink back and waved down Matt for another.  

“Don’t you have a game tomorrow?” As Matt put down my refill, Stella picked it up and downed it.  

“Hey, that was mine!” I looked at her. “What do you want, Stella?” 

“I’ve been watching you and I got worried. The last time i saw you like this was...” she hesitates.  

“You can say it. Fiona.  The last time i was like this was Fiona.” Mike put a glass of water in front of me.  I looked at him questioningly.  

“Drink it and I’ll give you another,” he said. I sighed, flipped him off and downed the water. It felt good going down.  I looked at Mike and he poured another, which I kept from Stella this time.  I took a sip and looked back at Stella.  

“Talk to me, Andy.”  

“I can’t watch her date. I can’t watch her find happiness without me. Especially with him. He’s not a good guy but I can’t say anything because she’ll hate me.  I can’t have her hate me.I don’t want to lose her.”  I could feel my eyes burn with tears that I would not let out.  Like hell was I going to do that.  

“Oh, Andy. Why not tell her?” 

“How does she know?” I can feel myself pale. “Stella, you can’t... Fuck, how do you even know?” 

“Are you kidding me, Barber? Half the team knows that you have been into Leia for years. You are not sublte about it. Really, I’m surprised Luke hasn’t kicked your ass by now.”  

Fuck. I hang my head. “Then why doesn’t she like me back?  What’s wrong with me?  Fiona cheated, Leia ignores me.” Mike set another glass and I sipped it. “It has to be me right?” 

“Andy, you don’t see it, do you?” She leaned her head on my shoulder. “You’re catch. And trust me, we all know it. We just know who belongs to you and we’re waiting for her to get her head out of her ass.”  

“Who?” Stella made like she was locking her mouth. “I think you’re lying Stella.  But thanks.”  

We sat for a moment when Stella said, “you like her a lot don’t you?” 

“No,” I shook my head. “I’m in love with her.” 

Leia 

We pulled up to my house and I can see the house is dark.  Andy’s probably asleep; he said he was turning in early. As Jeremy killed the engine, I turned to him. “I had a great night.”  

“Me too.  Let me walk you to the door.” Jeremy climbed out and went to open my door.  We were at the door when another car pulled up to the house.  

“Stella?” I looked as she pulled into the driveway. She had someone else in the car with her.  “What are you doing here?” 

“Jeremy, oh thank god.  Can you help me?” She went to the passenger side and opened the door and I gasped.  

“What happened?” I watched as Jeremy helped Andy to his very unsteady feet.  I moved to the door to open it. “Put him on the couch.”  I turned to Stella.  “You went out with Andy?” My tone came out harsher than I intended.  

Stella took a step back. “No. I was hanging out with some of the trainers at The Red Line and when everyone left, I noticed him at the bar. He was four in, according to Mike. I tried to sober him up but he was too far gone already.  Mike helped me get him to the car. I was going to call Luke but thankfully Jeremy is here.” 

“Oh.” Why would Andy do this? I looked at him, passed out on the couch. “Thanks for taking care of him Stel.”  

“He’s my friend too, you know. I’m just glad I was there.” She turned and smiled at Jeremy. “Thank you for your help.”  

“Anytime, Stella. Sweetheart, can you handle him?” 

I nodded.  “I’m gonna leave him here and just put a blanket over him. Let me walk you guys out.” Stella waved as she walked to her car. I turned to Jeremy, who wrapped his arms around me. “Thank you for a wonderful evening, Jeremy.”  

“I’m happy you liked it. Can we do it again, soon?” His eyes, even in the dark, looked hopeful.  

“I would love to. Good night Jeremy.” I felt myself blush and look down.  

He tilted my chin. “Good night, sweetheart.” And he kissed me gently. God, this man can kiss. He pulled away and brushed my nose with his. “Talk to you later.”  He walked to his car and I went back in, closing the house.  I turned to Andy, who let out a soft snore. I sighed. I went to him, pulled off his shoes and threw a throw blanket over him.  I kissed his forehead.  

I want to know why he got drunk tonight, especially before a game day. Its so not like him.  

My phone chimed as i made it into my room. 

Stella: Talk to him. I think you would like what he has to say 

NEXT

Taglist:

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[anarmel]

hiya! just wanted to say i ADORE your dnd au for stranger things it is so captivating to see each art piece you've created (⁠≧⁠▽⁠≦⁠)

can i ask if there's any little headcanons or plotlines you'd be willing to share about it? I'd love to hear more but totally understand if not (⁠人⁠*⁠´⁠∀⁠｀⁠) either way i appreciate the work you do!!!

Thank you for your kind words!(i read ALL tags) And sorry it took me so long I’m bad at writing hope you’re still interested)

I have entirely too much in my head for this AU and it’s ever evolving but I’m dog at writing stuff down because my brain gets like scrambled so I always forget what I want or write down and english is not my native language so my writing is blunt and sometimes i don’t have the right words for concepts i want to communicate and I overall suck at communicating but I do want to share something about this AU with someone who appreciates it so I will try)

This is my continent map and planar map for this AU because every official planar map in DnD is too unnecessary complex for my type of worldbuild:

This table is my basic ideas and info on characters (i change it all the time because I’m inconsistent and have new ideas every week) and I fucking love multiclassing it’s more storytelly

And i have a Pinterest board for this AU with visual clues and inspiration for the characters if you want to get a feel for that take a look: Link

Worldbuilding and character ideas(completely too long wall of text but I attached some old sketches for paragraph breaks):

Worldbuilding portion

I usually don’t like to put racism in my fantasy scenarios but The Empire is based on America with all the colonization and racism and all that so its there (reason: ST has too much themes that are purely American and if you take them out it’s kinda unrecognizable and some characters lose some experiences that effect their characteristic and choices they make. And the world needs to feel violently bigoted and secretive with governments that lie and do terrible things) but don’t look for direct correlation to real events. it’s like heavily inspired by America. i don’t want to erase racism and white supremacy and how it effects most if not all characters.

This Empire is under one of god pantheon(most of the faerunian pantheon with some exceptions). As one if the main worshiped gods that effect the story I chose Torm(the god of duty, loyalty, righteousness, obedience and law) and Bahamut(the dragon god of justice and a subservient deity to Torm). Empires are so greatly represented by dragons: massive gold hoarding uncontrollable and unstoppable and really hard to defeat. And because I want Tiamat dragon cults in the story. The list of allowed worship is limited some gods are outlawed some are just weird to worship and looked down upon. Most gods that are law and order based are great to worship

The Empire came as an expansion of an already existing Empire that represents one pantheon of gods that were at war with the Fey pantheon of gods and mortal rulers are continuing this expansion on mortal plane(even if mortal plane is abandoned and neglected by the gods). During war most Gates that connected Feywild with the Mortal plane were destroyed and in their place “Divine” Gates were built. The War of Establishment ended 200 years ago

The way my gods/worshiper interaction works is not as direct as I’ve seen in other campaigns. Paladins/Clerics get their power through tapping into residual celestial power that is left on mortal plane after calamity battles many ages ago and more advanced Paladins/Clerics can tap into celestial plane directly and it’s very rare for a god to communicate with their worshipers.

Empire general attitude towards different races(fantasy racism part… it’s worldbuilding okay):

Aasimar is the most respected race imbued with the divine blood most of the royals are Aasimar. Highest standing in society

Goliath are historically the giants that are the protectors of the divine. They are given opportunities other races are not. High standing in society

Humans are the basics as always. They have their hand in every pot.Mixed standing in society

Halflings were always a part of the empire. Infantilised in larger society. Mixed standing in society

Anything Fey is perceived as weird and inhuman and often fey magic and creatures are blamed for all manner of mischief and ills, ranging from petty vandalism and theft to outright murder and kidnapping.

But there’s a distinct difference between every elf group

High-elven culture is the one of the biggest ones that was crushed by the empire. Empire is built on elven ruins. Elves that didn’t escape to Feywild earned their keep in the empire by being great merchants because they knew to local surroundings and had established goods production and even with inter planar fey gates destroyed some elves had trade connections in Feywild. Being there from the beginning of the empire given some High Elves really high standing in society and more opportunities to build up their capital but at the cost of abandoning or suppressing their culture. Material plane High elves have purple/pink blood and similar skin under tones medium pointy ears(from living in the material plane for a while) Mostly culturally integrated. Mixed standing in society

Wood Elves mostly come from Beast Lands plane that lays between material plane and the Feywild and when empire conquest reached Feywild they stopped their war expansion on woods and wanted to build more of business relationship with the faerie court and the faerie court doesn’t care about the rogue elf tribes of Beast Lands that are being misplaced because they see the benefits of empire as a reluctant alliance instead of an enemy even if fey believe they could win the war if it comes to that . The Empire use the kidnapped elves as the laborers to build new empire cities across the continent. Wood elves have a distinct green skin undertones, green blood and large pointy leaf-like ears that make a Great War trophy and bringing a few souvenirs a soldier can show of is not that looked down upon. And high elves on large don’t associate with wood elves they are both seen as fey but different in “usefulness” in society. So wood elves have a low standing in the society but it’s slowly starting to change in some parts of the empire

Eladrin native to the Feywild and mostly are not present on the material plane and seen as distant trade partners.

Other elves(astral, aquatic, drow)exist but are not seen inside the empire

Gnomes is the other race that was native to the land the Empire took over they are integrated as the high elves and seen for their innovations and trade. But also they’re infantilised in society of larger races and sometimes are not seen as a full person but as cute creatures who are mostly helpful to bigger races. Mixed standing in society

Dwarfs mostly live underground in stone cities. I like Dragon Age lore for dwarfs so I’m incorporating it. True Dwarfs are not permitted to see the sky and those who do are considered sky walkers and still can serve as merchants of dwarven goods to the surface or can just go live as they want on the surface but they will never be considered true dwarfs and are not permitted in places of under mount worship of the Morndinsamman. They are not a part of the empire even if the mountains are on empire territory. Mostly seen as trade partners

Most of genasi populating empire are mixed. Air and earth genasi are the more accepted. Fire and water are not as much. Mixed status

Different Main Genasi tribes set up close to their respective elemental planar gates but those tribes all really different.

Air genasi mainly have a cloud city surrounding their gate populated by other avians but also have travel tribes that travel on cloud settlements.

Fire genasi are mainly nomadic with some preferring to live in a settlement near their gate it is considered their home base and if a fire genasi was outside it’s tradition to make their way to the gate at least once in their life

Earth genasi mainly have a permanent home under the mountain near their gate the city is populated by some dwarfs and rock gnomes

Water genasi live near their gate that is surrounded by mostly underwater country (enter a fantasy name for Soviet Union here)(?TSAR?) populated by aquatic elves, tortles, merfolk, tritons, simic hybrids and vedalken

Firbolgs are mostly nomadic small tribes and lived close to the fey gates so a lot of them were massacred during the war and there’s not much of them left. Perceived as fey and mostly forgotten because they live outside of cities.

Any half breed is looked down upon. A little anti-miscegenation in the mix to this horrible prejudiced bigoted world(just like the real one)

There’s also magic and class(DnD) discrimination

Any Divine and Radiant magic is praised so most of paladins clerics and monks are thought highly of in society

Any nature magic is looked down upon ether it be too fey of holistic and barbaric in the eyes of the divine

Barbarians if not zealots for the right gods or have right ancestors are barbaric and looked down upon

Sorcerers are usually put through governmental evaluations to find out their levels of danger those who deemed too dangerous go into maximum security prisons or are simply executed,those deemed controllable go into an educational program(less strict prison). Any sorcerer magic can only be used under strict control of a sorcerer’s keeper appointed by government.

Wizards studies and education mostly are behind walls of magistrates that operate separately from other government controlled magic institutes but for the greatness of the Empire. Arcane magic is controlled but not as strictly as sorcery

For Wizards to deepen their studies of magic there’s one option walls of magistrate a separate arm of the government specialized in arcane magics. Arcane magic is controlled but not as strictly as sorcery because it’s considered an intellectual and intelligent magic

Artificers are the inventors and move the world forward. Government gives grants to institutions of artificers for development of weapons and transportation for people without magic and such

Necrotic and blood magic is prohibited and outlawed

Character stuff(most of it is just like a starting position in the story that will never be)

Byers family. I wanted to make Joyce a merchant but then I came up with the idea of them being a grave keeper family for an old eleven graveyard, being just poor in fantasy settings is not enough for stigma they get (the monarchy class system is just too different everyone’s poor but the selected few…well not different at all but I wanted something different and more fantastical).

Joyce after escaping her abusive husband stared working for an old elven lady that owned the graveyard and not having any family of her own she let Joyce and her boys live on the property and when she left the mortal plane she left the graveyard to the Byers family. So in this world there’s a lot of stigma around anything fey but high elves are more integrated into society and Byers family looking over a spooky scary creepy and ancient fey graveyard filled with old dying magical remains can make the family ostracized and it brings a somber tone and a death theme to back up Wills story. Because usually grave keepers task is to make sure the dead stay dead and don’t turn undead. And Will is kind of undead after his stint in the upside down and that is his one more secret from his family and friends (I want a more magical and powers related secret for will to struggle with).

And Jonathan’s first iteration was a Chronurgy Wizard because I wanted to play with the theme of him capturing moments in time (like photos) but more I thought about him he is such a rogue and there’s Phantom Rogue that has an interesting trinkets system that you get by capturing souls of your defeated foes still has the same idea of moments being captured in a still object but Assassin suits too so idk. Maybe I should have made Byers Shadar-Kai instead of High elves. Maybe they as a family need a rewrite???

Hopper’s story is similar to canon grew up in Hawkins moved to a big city (W.D.C) for opportunity. Low standing Goliath have an opportunity to earn status through Arena (gladiator fights). Got married. And after losing his child and divorce he transferred back to his old town with status that earned him a position of chief.

El and Henry are both kalashtar (a compound race created from the union of humanity and renegade spirits from the plane of dreams(limbo)– spirits called quori) with the appearance of astral elves to play into the themes of alienness (E.T. glowing fingers and long glowing ears). A big meteor struck near Fort Hawkins and The Empire researchers stumbled upon a lost child named Henry (astral drifter who only looks young) that possessed powers that they wanted to research and use as potential weapons (like they use ordinary sorcerers). After some years of research Henry showed scientists where they can find more power. A research group with a military support was sent into the Astral plane they returned with several adult war prisoners and the experiments jumped a few levels in cruelty. Most “Main Experiment” children were bred and grown in a lab. Events that happen at the lab resemble what happens in the show. Some sketches of El and Henry I didn’t land yet on design that is set in stone (I don’t like how I draw their quori too literal):

Steve’s family is royalty. His dad is a king of the smallest province named Indwarim with the sit of power being in Fort Hawkins which is still not the biggest town it’s small and underdeveloped and was mostly built to separate the gate to Beast Lands from the Capital it doesn’t even have a “Divine” Gate (gate system that connects main cities of The Empire). The King of Indwarim is not known for spending time in his seat of power leaving it in the hands of his council and expects his son to take over his small province while he gets close to the emperor and climbs the social ladder closer to real seat power (Whitheirion Divine Court).

Steve is fond of all attention and admiration his royal blood and divine blessing brings but all his life he felt inadequate, people respect him for the things that were given to him by birth right and nothing he did or deserve. But who is he to complain about the easy life he lives so he enjoys all the positive attention that he can get and lets people bask in his light even if deep down he knows all they want is a crumb of prestige and power befriending a royal can give, Steve has never met a genuine person in his circles so he assumes that all people are like that everyone plays their part of court theater. Steve has his own masks so he understands them. He always had people around him that tailored him to their expectations and that keep him in check. In social circles he paints a picture of a royal you can find at all the parties that are worth attending with new arm candy every time, all masked in charm and light conversation, all surface no depth, not an intellectual but at least he’s martially gifted. He’s not fit for the system but plays it enough for it to benefit him, he’s not going to stand up to it. He doesn’t know who he is without others making him.

And I want Steve to have some kind of insecurity where he thinks he’s useless without his legendary weapon which is a stolen fey artifact that was claimed by empire and now one of Harrington’s family heirlooms (which Steve doesn’t know for a while) and later in the story he will return it where it belongs because it’s a right thing to do even if it strips him of his additional powers. (Some inspiration characters for D&D!Steve are King Arthur, Stella(Winx), Fjord(CR))

Robin is a miracle child to her older parents. They loved their little girl and given her all that they could while running a small but successful tailoring shop. I did make Robins parents fantasy hippies while well-meaning they appropriate the culture of fey creatures but don’t struggle with the stigma around it since they themselves are not fey and even benefit from it in their business because their designs perceived as exotic and “new”.

At 12 Robin come to realization that something is off about her and there’s things that happen to her that don’t happen to people around her and the desire to find out what’s wrong with her took her to the library and there she stayed studying anything that took her scattered interest. Meanwhile her parents put her into a music studies and Robin even gets to play at royal court a few times.

At 14 she come to the conclusion that she is a changeling a myth a child swap of the fey and since then she felt like she truly doesn’t belong in her family and believes that if her parents found out they would stop loving her and disown her. She keeps up her mask around her parents and doesn’t inform them about her discovery but unknowingly she keeps distancing herself from her parents.

At 17 she requests to go into a new Starcourt research center to start studying magic more seriously and spends most of her time as a scribe and even going on expeditions into the sea and forgetting her musical studies. At the Starcourt she meets prince Steve not for the first time who was sent to the magistrate to “learn humility and to appreciate his divine gifts properly and maybe it will make you more intelligent, Steve” and then it kind of follows the shows events. Some Robin sketches and a design of her parents that I’m not sure about they need to look older I think:

Eddie is a child of a warlock pirate and an elven druid. He’s a tiefling because of his father’s infernal contract that affect him physically.

In his early years he mainly lived with his mother on land with his father’s rare visits but one day his mom just didn’t return home (I want it to be ambiguous did she get into a situation and died or got murdered or raising a tiefling child alone without support in a judgment filled town got to her and she decided to run away from it? who knows? not Eddie that’s for sure and sometimes not knowing is worse especially when you have overactive imagination) Eddie is at home alone for several weeks afraid to leave and sleeps for most of the time to repress hunger. That is the state his father finds him in and has to nurse him back to health and they live on land for a month but living a stable life was never in the cards for Eddie’s dad so he decides that Eddie is mature enough to follow him in his adventures and learn what it means to be a true son of a pirate. His father has an ego and sees Eddie as a continuation of himself and his power but he does love him but never more than himself his freedom or his pursuits. Every time Eddie is trying to bring up his mother his father shuts him down like he doesn’t want to think about whatever happen to her, like she’s not here let’s move on kind of attitude. so no closure there.

When Eddie is around 10 his father goes to visit his brother with Eddie in tow for the first time. The relationship is strenuous but a favor his father asks of Wayne is just to look after Eddie when he’s gone on a big job that will change their lives. His father never returns. Eddie lives with Wayne and he feels like a burden to this man who didn’t even knew he existed several weeks ago. Wayne is a matter of fact battle hardened tough guy that was trying to find his stability after years of service (he was in an expedition to the astral sea among other things he did in the military) Wayne after his years as a sailor was recruited into a government sponsored mercenary group and he mainly joined to lift himself and his brother out of poverty while his brother chose a different path to that same goal. While in service his needs were accommodated but after the system has abandoned him with trauma and not as much money as he was promised. But with that money he got himself a small house in the least developed province of Indwarim on the outskirts of Fort Hawkins in an area named Forest Hills and got himself a job as miner the only job available to him. His settled life gets interrupted by his brother and his grand plans for a better life but this time he doesn’t try to bring him into it all he asks is to take care of his child for a while and that Wayne can do. Even if that while turns to years he’s not that bothered the child is endearing and if both of his parents are not there for him his uncle will step in as a parental figure to the best of his ability.

Oh and for his shaved off horn he has thousands of stories about that and he will NEVER admit that it was him at 13 childishly coming to a conclusion that his horns one of the main reasons he is different and rejected by society he wanted them off he wanted to look more like his uncle he wanted to fit in he wants the snide comments and dirty looks toward their family to stop. But not only was it painful as soon as he saw himself in a mirror he knew he made an awful impulsive mistake. He wants to hide it from Wayne for as long as he can so naturally as soon as Wayne gets home from his night shift he finds out. He sits Eddie down and struggles how to fully communicate to his kid that we are dealt a certain hand in life and we got to play it to its fullest potential and that his uniqueness only makes him that unique and people who don't see it through their prejudices they are the ones that are missing out. Uncle of the year. But Eddie being a kid takes it a little differently and just changes up his tactic of shielding himself. He cranks up his "uniqueness" to a 1000% and to be bigger scarier more attention garbing more repulsive than he is so no one would even try to go after him and his out of fear of consequences. He finds other street kids like him and they form a group power in numbers as they say. Hell Fire is formed.

When Eddie is around 14 years of age and alone at home old associate of his father Reefer Rick appears on their doorstep to inquire about money that his father owns to him and how will he get it when that fucker got himself imprisoned which is the first time Eddie hears the reason for his father’s absence. As Rick is mostly a smuggler and not a distributor he recruits Eddie for his plan to get his money without unnecessary harassment of his uncle and for Eddie to make some gold of his own all and all Rick know the kid and he's scrappy. All Eddie needs to do at first is leave some packages in particular places but if he wants to make more he has to get proactive and get new clients. And Eddie does want more in as he thinks the more gold he can make the more he will help to alleviate Wayne’s burden and Wayne doesn’t even need to know (Wayne will know really soon). And to make the most of his new gig he takes his bard troupe Corroded Coffin to the court as jesters and while entertaining the stuck up upper classes he makes a few sales.

Wheeler family is quite a wealthy family with their father working in some governmental transportation bureau and their mother being a stay at home mom.

Nancy became a small time volunteer agent to The Harpers the faction that she believes is good for the world at 14 as soon as she, by the power of her father's station, was allowed at court to find a husband and just live that court gossip live. Even that young she has her believes in order but she’s still a young girl who wants to live out her girlhood and build a good life for herself but that dream crushes when her best friend disappears under some suspicious circumstances and is presumed dead. Nancy's pursuit for truth takes over her life and she starts uncovering something bigger than court gossip something that she cannot take on alone even if she wishes she could. Armed with a gun that Barbara made for her and her strong principles she falls into a world of governments secretive experiments and what they lead to.

Mike…oh Mike he’s such a hard character for me to nail down. I saw a lot of people making him a paladin and I get that he plays a character that’s a paladin in the show but if I were to give Mike as a character D&D stats charisma is will not be his highest but it’s my opinion. He and Will are still childhood friends they met at the graveyard when Mikes curiosity won over and he’s gone exploring we’re adults said not to and fell into a grave where Will found and rescued him and then they became besties. Mike is situated by his father to work for a house that will help him get into a higher society and he gets to be an errand boy some days. He meets Dustin and Lucas when one of those errands goes sour and after their little adventure he introduces his new friends to Will and they form their little adventuring party

Sinclair's are a family of wood elves which is already hard under rule of the Empire but they make do and father of the family even earned himself a respected position in his hunting guild so they have it better than some but still surrounded by a lot of stigma.

Lucas has gone on some scouting expeditions with his father and likes to explore the forest by himself developing his tracking and hunting skills. One time exploring on his own he noticed smoke and what is smoke without a forest fire and went to investigate. He saw a small dwarf and a big mechanical cat on fire. After Lucas helped to extinguish the Steel Defender he met the dwarf properly he found out his name is Dustin and that the fire was caused by a failed experiment he for some reason ran in the forest. They became fast friends both fascinated by each other’s experiences and lacking any other friendships they gravitated towards each other’s weirdness. When he’s older l would expand on his relationship with Patric who is the most integrated into empire society wood elf Lucas ever met and Patric is kind of his mentor and that’s how his cleric powers find him and Lucas joins the greater divine order. He enjoys his new station and it makes him feel more accepted so he doesn’t understand why his friends have to shut his new side down and make him the bad guy for exploring himself and finding his place in this horrible world. Divine power doesn’t make you a bad person but it’s powerful and most bad people seek power and it’s unfair that Lucas’s new found power diminished by his friends by putting him in the “other” box. His people were one of the most oppressed by divine powers that be and by joining the order he wants some of that power back he didn’t create this situation he’s only trying to survive in society as best as he can and find a better life for himself and everyone he loves. It’s not the power that’s bad it’s the application.

Erica is another one of the characters that is hard to nail down for me. At first I wanted for her to be a druid that pretends to be a cleric and maybe it’s an idea that is still alive but making her rogue/ranger/monk makes more sense to me but it has less narrative I think. Because she as a character has this unearned respect for the empire (based on the quote “You can’t spell America without Erica”) She too seeks acceptance but goes around that really differently to her brother. She’s larger than life boisterous bold and even if she is unwanted she will power through it and insert herself in a place that she thinks she does belong. Fake it till you make it as they say. She’s really protective of her family and will not listen for your negative opinion of her but she will hear it and will try really hard not to internalize it. She’s still a child yet doesn’t show weakness as she supposed to through her hard exterior shell. She’s charismatic and smart beyond her years and has a clever jab for every situation. And it’s no surprise that she has a side gig as a mysterious bounty hunter information gatherer she will get you all information you need on your target and you will never know that job was done by a child (imagine puss in boots in Shrek 2 situation) she has a little bit of a reputation for being efficient and anonymous.

Dustin is half mountain dwarf on his mother’s side half rock gnome on his father’s side. His parents met when his father who works for a wealthy jeweler was send with an expedition to discover precious minerals and gemstones for a supply chain but instead of finding new deposits they stumble upon an undrermount dwarven settlement where they established a business relationship with a local gem carver and Dustin’s father established a relationship with a daughter and an apprentice of said carver. They fell in love and Claudia decided follow her love and live her life on the surface leaving the undermount behind. She is really overwhelmed by the sun and the openness of the space but with support of her husband she has a beautiful time living in Fort Hawkins. Her husband recommends her to his employer as she has unique dwarven expertise and style of making jewelry and working with gems. They make decent money and decide to expand their little family. When their boy is three years of age the father of the family passes away in an unfortunate work incident while visiting a work site a rock slide happens and takes the lives of several workers. Claudia is inconsolable but she puts herself together for well-being of her child. But every year that passes it’s tougher for her to leave the house and she slowly becomes agoraphobic the surface becomes too much without support of her husband she already worked from home and her employer doesn’t care if she is the one making the trek to deliver her product to and request raw material be delivered with the same boy she send. She has unique product and it sells.(I don’t know fully why I made her agoraphobic but the idea of juxtaposition of Dustin’s mom always being at home and available but in an unhealthy and kind of smothering way but always loving and supportive to her child despite their struggles and Steve’s parents that are never home and absent in his life is interesting to me story-wise) Dustin himself is a little engineering genius creating his first fully realized Steel Defender at age 11 despite his intelligence he’s not taken seriously in small artificer circles of Hawkins even by children his own age because not only he’s an uncommon half-breed which grants him a weird standing in society by birth but also he’s of a “small” race and that infantilizes him further so he always striving to prove himself by being the smartest person in every room he’s in which sometimes makes him insufferable and more isolated. That’s until he meets Lucas who is interesting to talk to and who is not afraid to give him shit when he steps out of line.

Mayfield's and Hargrove's. Niel Hargrove is a human noble of province Calafia his family secured most of their power through a secret chromatic dragon worshiping society (a cult) and even there he managed to stand out as Tiamat cults are usually matriarchal and Niel is not that fond of women in power. Even his first wife who is of northern aasimar clan is kind of his prisoner. After her death he took in a second wife, widow of his fallen friend Sam Mayfield, because they all together started an experiment with dragon blood and a child that Susan bore and he needs to see that thru.

Billy is half aasimar which already makes him insecure from birth like he's incomplete and unfinished but still he is superior to so many so why do the unworthy get any power at all when they don't know how to use it and some powers should not exist at all. To enhance his martial prowess his father makes him get dragon blood tattoos and to activate them and enhance his rage he needs to consume more dragon blood and he is hooked on high of that power when it streams through his veins he feels on top of the world. He feels like a King. He deserves to be one.

Max is born and its already a train wreck. Some of dragon blood in her gives her a partially scaly skin but apart from that she still looks human. Her step father tells her about her greater purpose and she goes thru brutal training she is told its to make her stronger but it only making her exhausted bleeding and afraid and from a young age she learns not to share her fears or insecurities as they will be used against her. At 13 her power gets out of control when she unexpectedly got injured in a public space and the whole family is forced to move to not get discovered as blood magic users they lose a lot of material possessions but their noble status is intact but they need to start from scratch in Fort Hawkins. After that incident Max is strictly guarded by her step brother a situation that they are both not happy with. Even before losing control like that she struggled with her powers what they mean for her and how dangerous they are if she does purse them so she pivots into developing a more controlled way to channel them which does not make her family that happy.

Basic Story

It all leads to a battle against The Far Realm (a plane of madness situated very far from the planes of the standard cosmology. This maddening realm was feared for its power to twist unfortunate visitors into gruesome monsters, and it was from here that aberrations came). A plane that Henry discovered through his talent as an Astral Drifter (someone that has traveled the Astral Sea for so long that they have lost track of the amount of time they have spent there. Aging stops in Wildspace, and it is not hard for adventurers to get lost in time during their travels. Astral Drifters have traveled to the far-flung corners of Wildspace to satiate their wanderlust. Along the way, they have crossed paths with everything from petrified gods to unspeakable monsters) So Henry got warped and combined with his quori spirit and declared himself an Aberrant God and as a being of Far Realm he seeks to consume it all and be the only power in the multiverse and he will go about it in a way that will make it final. The Celestial plane is the hardest to penetrate so at first he tried to go thru outskirts planes but it didn't lead anywhere so he found a stable connection to a mortal plane the plane that is the most interconnected with others. Limbo is his weapon. Through the plane of dreams he can influence most beings on mortal plane. He is the voice in the dark. He is the premonition. He is inspiration that comes suddenly out of nowhere. He is the Dream of greatness. He is The Voice Of God.

But mostly it's just the events of the show through a very heavy D&D lens but like with more character exploration and preferably with a more cohesive story but that's just in my head its been my night time story to myself for a while now.

Hope you enjoyed reading thru this shitstorm and I hope it makes some sense)

[whitefoxgirl]

🦊Culture Shock🐰 A Jungkook Series Episode 4: Holidays/Traditions

Summary: Jungkook starts a podcast with his best friend who is a foreigner to discuss different topics they were shocked culturally about.

Author's Note: Hello my beautiful readers! I am sorry I didn’t upload last week. I was out getting a job! Manifesting that I get accepted and that everything I’m manifesting comes true!

Author's Note PS: If you'd like to be tagged, interact with this. I am tagging people who reblog, but if you wish to be tagged comment or simply reblog and I will add you :)

Pairing: Jungkook x BFF!Reader (not dating, just two best friends)

Fandom: BTS

Warnings: Mentions of sex, cringy, full of crack moments.

Genre: Fluff, crack.

Word Count: 2.0k

Taglist:  @7ndipity; @yoongimentita7; @ancoraesisto; @lovemeforeternity, @hrtss4jk, @ellelabelle; @fullpaperperfection; @minpdrecs​

🡸 Previous episode Next Episode➔

[PODCAST INTRO/THEME]

🦊: *singing* Hi, it’s me again. I’m back!

Jungkook: *singing* Let’s talk ASAP. Do you have the time?

Both: Let’s talk!~

🦊: *giggles* WE’RE BACK!

Jungkook: We’re sorry we didn’t do last week’s podcast. We forgot to pre-record while I was in the States.

🦊: It was honestly my fault. I should have reminded Galletita.

Jungkook: This podcast is not under any agency or anything like that. We do everything ourselves. Just Y/N, our producer friend, and I. And we all kind of forgot *in between chuckles* about my schedule.

🦊: I got it from Sejin, besties!~ I’ll tell you know, he’s gonna go t-

Jungkook: Stop~

🦊: Okay okay~

Jungkook: Before we begin with our main topic, I would like to say that Y/N has been talking to me about a lot of different things like... *chuckles*

🦊: Doja cat situation, Lizzo lawsuit, Ariana Grande homewrecker, BUT THE MOST IMPORTANT ONE~ Jujutsu Kaisen~

Jungkook: *scoffs* I would just like to say, that our takes on the celebrity area is pretty common.

🦊: Yeah, Namjoon-oppa and I generally have the sa-

Jungkook: Well... He just d-

🦊: *screams* AH!!!! LALALALALALA!! Don’t expose it!

Both: *laughs*

Jungkook: So, there are many different things, but Y/N asked that we talk a little bit about Jujutsu Kaisen.

🦊: This is an anime we both really enjoy.

Jungkook: For sure. We’re both anime geeks. So, I got Y/N into Jujutsu Kaisen, they didn’t want to see it, but then they saw it and-

🦊: I’m obsessed!~

Jungkook: They’re crazy over the characters.

🦊: Gege put his whole Gegussy on these characters

Jungkook: *laughs* *in between laughs* Gegussy~

🦊: But then! Ask me how anything works, like the techniques or anything like that.

Jungkook: How does Sukuna’s-

🦊: I have no fucking idea.

Jungkook: *laughs*

🦊: *in between chuckles* I’m just here to be on my “Seven” era.

Jungkook: *gasps* *laughs away from the mic*

🦊: Explicit version. Moanday, Tongueday, Wetday, Thristday, Freakday, Sexday, Suckday, seven days a week.

Jungkook: *sighs smiling* *in between chuckles* WHY?!~

🦊: What do you meAN WHY?! Gojo has been everything since season 1. Same with Shoko with her eyebags~ But now they’re animating the man that I have been OBSESSED with since Gege put him on paper... *long pause* ... Toji Fushiguro.

Jungkook: *smacks his lips* *groans* Oh my god~

🦊: I’m obsessed with him! The fact that-

Jungkook: You gotta stop~

🦊: Shh! The fact that he’s voiced by Dio?!~ *squeals then giggles*

Jungkook: I love that voice actor. Dio from Jojo is-

🦊: Everything.

Jungkook: A menace

🦊: I can fix him.

Jungkook: *scoffs* Stop

🦊: He can make a single parent

Jungkook: Oh my god!

🦊: Seven days a week?

Jungkook: *snickers*

🦊: Wait, who’s your favorite?

Jungkook: Maki.

🦊: *gasps* I LOVE MAKI! She’s so badass. I... Okay, I love all of them. I’m obsessed with Choso, Sukuna, Nanami~

Jungkook: Nanami looks 45~

🦊: Does IT LOOK~ Like I care?~ I love him~

Jungkook: What abot Inumaki?

🦊: Okay, the underaged characters are, you know... Off-limits to me, because they’re children~ But I like a man like Inumaki.

Jungkook: A person with few words?

🦊: Yeah. Or like Yuta.

Jungkook: Wait, why Yuta?

🦊: Are you kidding me? He’s loyal~ He’s depressed~

Jungkook: *laughs*

🦊: He’s attentive~ A green flag~

Jungkook: That’s why you like *bleep*?

Both: *gasps*

Jungkook: Imsosorry! We can bleep it out.

🦊: Yeah yeah yeah! Daehyun, please don’t forget~

🦊: But let’s get serious! Our topic today is~

Both: Holidays~

Jungkook: So of course, Y/N is from one side of the world and I’m from another~

🦊: Yeah, strangely enough though!~ We~ were both colonized.

Jungkook: *gasps* True~

🦊: That opened your third eye?

Jungkook: *deadpan/trying not to laugh* No.

🦊: *giggles* 

Jungkook: I wasn’t culturally shocked by American holidays, like explicitly American, think Fourth of July, thanksgiving, memorial day, stuff like that.

🦊: Mhm~

Jungkook: The one that did shock me was “Black Friday”.

🦊: Oh~

Jungkook: Y/N actually took me to celebrate that day, we were at Walmart and it was like... A zombie movie.

🦊: *snickers* Yes~

Jungkook: It was crazy~

🦊: And I would just like to say, we only went because he was curious and I hadn’t been to one... EVER!

Jungkook: I had an amazing deal on electronics. 

🦊: He had to fight a Karen.

Jungkook: Which! She saw me, just my face, approached me grabbed the speaker. Then she saw my muscles and stuff and she just gave it to me.

🦊: For context. He was wearing a tight black shirt and gray joggers. He looked HOT~

Jungkook: Thank you~

🦊: *deadpan/trying not to laugh* That’s the only compliment you’ll get today.

Jungkook: Mmmmhm~

🦊: *giggles*

Jungkook: There are a lot of Latin celebrations that we did.

🦊: We have traveled a lot.

Jungkook: We have~ I think that’s why... Um~ Your, not really, one-sided love thinks we might be something.

🦊: Ew... For real?

Jungkook: *sarcastically* No... For fake... YES, FOR REAL!

🦊: Ew... I don’t wanna date you!

Jungkook: I don’t wanna date you either!

🦊: ANYWAYS!

Jungkook: Anyways, we celebrated a lot of Latin celebrations. Like different independence days, race days, and flags days.

🦊: When we went to Mexico we did the “Feast of Our Lady of Guadalupe” and w-

Jungkook: We wanted to see the Lady of Guadalupe so badly, but she never appeared.

🦊: Nope~

Jungkook: We also went to Bolivia in August for the “Feast of the Virgen de Urkupiña”, “Feast of Our Lady Altagracia” in the Dominican Republic in January.

🦊: The one that took the longest was the “Fiestas Patronales” in Puerto Rico.

Jungkook: Oh yeah! They start in August but end around January or February.

🦊: We did this one when there were no schedules for him or any of the BTS members. 

Jungkook: It was fun to experience traveling from town to town. All 78 of them.

🦊: And I would like to clarify that it’s not just one day per town. It’s a weekend-

Jungkook: Or maybe a whole week...

🦊: Of just carnival rides, street food, and music.

Jungkook: It was really fun. We skipped the ones that had the same performers. 

🦊: Was that shocking to you?

Jungkook: Oh! For sure!~ It was very beautiful the idea of 78 towns coming together to schedule festivals. The festival ended in one town and then it continued in another. 

🦊: I think these moments are important to realize that “culture shock” can be bad and horrible but also beautiful and fun. 

Jungkook: Exactly. I think it’s fun that we like each other’s culture and can make each other see what we grew up with and understand each other more because of that.

🦊: Aw... You’re such a softie~

Jungkook: You too.

🦊: *long pause* You’re the most amazing friend ever... *sighs softly* I’m glad and I appreciate that you take your time off your schedule to come to my country and see what it was like for me growing up and we can make fun of things together.

Jungkook: Me too... I couldn’t have picked a better friend...

🦊: Aw!~ I would hug you but the mics are on the way.

Jungkook: Yeah, no, don’t hug me. I’m meeting someone later. 

🦊: *chuckles*

Jungkook: One culture shock that I really liked was the “Noche de San Juan”. 

🦊: Oh! I loved the “Noche de San Juan”

Jungkook: Basically it’s a day that happens every 23rd of June, around the summer solstice and it’s to celebrate the taino new year.

🦊: Oh! He said it correctly~

Jungkook: Hey! Bad Bunny taught me how to say “taino”.

🦊: *chuckles* Okay! Okay! It’s one of the longest days, but at night it’s very magical.

Jungkook: Oh yeah!~

🦊: So, what we do is that at midnight we do a backflip-

Jungkook: Or swim backward!

🦊: And it’s supposed to represent letting go of bad things and welcoming new things.

Jungkook: Wait... That’s why you swam forward and told me to swim forward too?

🦊: Yep!

Jungkook: Oooooh!~

🦊: And something that I added was wishing for things. Or, even manifest things.

Jungkook: And honestly? It works!

🦊: Really?!

Jungkook: Yeah, I wished to be no.1 on billboard and it came true

🦊: Oh! *scoffs* We knew that was gonna happen~

Jungkook: *sighs* I know bu-

🦊: You trust ARMY too much but you couldn’t trust them with this?~

Jungkook: It’s not that~ I wanted to impress ARMY and the world~

🦊: And you did~

Jungkook: Thanks to the wish~

🦊: *snickers then chuckles* Okay~

Jungkook: What was your culture shock?~

🦊: The festivals too.

Jungkook: Okay bu-

🦊: They’re different~

Jungkook: Exactly. We don’t have carnivals rides~

🦊: Yeah~

Jungkook: But also, when we did chuseok.

🦊: *gasps* Oh yeah! I didn’t expect your parents to be a bit disappointed when I didn’t bring spam.

Jungkook: Spam IS very important. 

🦊: I didn’t expect spam to be THAT important~

🦊 : I made mandu, which is Korean dumplings, but his parents already made some~

Jungkook: They loved it!~

🦊: I know, but they just wanted some spam~

Jungkook: *chuckles* 

🦊: We did the 설날 festival. I wore this awesome hanbok an-

Jungkook: And I also wore a hanbok.

🦊: I did 세배 to your parents~ And it was lovely~

Jungkook: If you guys don’t know, it’s when you bow deeply to your elders and wish them a happy new year. 

🦊: And they gave me 세배돈, which I took which was a little shame because I did not expect money to be given to me because I wished my elders a happy new year and bowed.

Jungkook: It was beautiful. Y/N’s hanbok was great.

🦊: We ate 떡국~ 전~ 잡채~

Jungkook: It was awesome~

🦊: It was delicious~

Jungkook: And don’t worry guys~ I did bring spam!

🦊: I would just like to say, we’re already four episodes in, and I would just like to take the time to congratulate Jungkook on his solo endeavors. He has worked so hard you guys and... *sighs/trying not to try*

Jungkook: 울어?

🦊: *with a shaky voice* 당연히 울어! You work so hard~ And to see it blossom~ *sniffles* It’s been awesome. And the podcast is taking off too! And without any sponsors or anything. We really did this from the ground up.

Jungkook: Aw... I would just like to congratulate you too. You got 100% on the TOPIK test. You got a job ON YOUR OWN at Hybe? You’re doing amazing too.

🦊: *smacks lips* I hate you~ 

Jungkook: I hate you too~

🦊: I still beat you at Mario Kart.

Jungkook: And I beat you at Overwatch.

🦊: You’re the bestest friend EVER~

Jungkook: You’re the awesomest friend EVER~

🦊: If I ever marry... You know who~ You’re my best man~

Jungkook: *hums* I’m pretty sure he’ll ask me~

🦊: Oh my god~ Why are we like this today~

Jungkook: We just haven’t seen each other in a while... I missed my best friend. It’s not the same having a burping contest with Sejin...

🦊: Oh my god... He’s the WORST burper...

Jungkook: Very girly too...

🦊: Let’s not shame him. He’s handsome.

Jungkook: Not by his burps.

🦊: Did you also cook with him?

Jungkook: I tried but he’s so busy with my schedule.

🦊: Bendito... You know, I missed you too... It wasn’t the same to play Mario Kart with Taehyung. He already experienced the DLC so I didn’t have a fair shot.

Jungkook: Aw... Well... I’m back now...

Jungkook: Thank you guys so much for listening to the podcast.

🦊: Thank you for supporting the podcast and for all your comments.

Jungkook: And if you guys have any topics that you would like us to talk about, you guys can comment on them below!

🦊: Nos vemos la proxima vez. 

Jungkook: 여러분~ 다음에 봐요! I have to console this one~

🦊: *squeals then giggles* Ay ya~ No seas estupido~

Jungkook: I’m sorry~ *mic bumps* Let me hug you~

🦊: No no!~ *giggles* Stop~ You have a meeting~

Jungkook: You’re my best friend! I can’t let you be sad over this!

Both: 안녕히 게세요~ 

[oddlittlestories]

So I just saw a Dexter gifset about him “not having a next level” and the reminder of how his empathy was handled vs. empathy & ethics in Woe.Begone slingshotted me into ✨Meta Brain Space✨ come into my Meta Danger Circle ⭕️

Disclaimer that I haven’t watched Dexter in a WHILE and I don’t remember a lot of specifics. Also I get a bit critical of Dexter here, so if it’s your fave ever, you might just skip this meta post and go listen to Woe.Begone instead bc I think you’ll like it.

Spoilers ahead.

I’ve tagged it too so you can go blacklist it if you don’t want Woe.Begone spoilers from s1e1-4.

Okay okay so Woe.Begone handles empathy in such such such a cool way. The main character, Mike Walters, tells everything in retrospect in a detached manner, describing how he was terrified / sobbing / etc. *at the moment*. It’s actually impossible for me to tell whether this character has low empathy or atypical expression of empathy.

Like when the challenge is to kill a pig:

goddamnit! I don’t wanna kill a pig! I mean, I know, I eat meat, specifically pork, and so I’ve just been outsourcing this exact labor for my whole life. I’m a hypocrite if I’m willing to let suffering happen as long as it’s just outside my eyeline, but f-fuck it! I can be a hypocrite. I’m worse shit than that all the time. I’m a liar, I’m a bad friend, I’m a shitty podcaster. Just throw “hypocrite” on the heap, it’ll fit right in.

This isn’t a perfect example but you can see how he has a detached approach to his own flaws that I’m not sure I’ve ever seen in a character.

In episode 2, he talks about himself. How he is with people.

[Mike:] I’m not always the best guy. I remember on my freshman floor in college, a new friend was on the phone with her parents, and she was talking about everyone she had just met. When she got to me she said,

MIKE [electronic voice effect]: “There’s the dude, Mike. He’s pretty cool. He’s not nice, but…”

MIKE [normal voice]: Woof. I’d like to think that I’ve done some self-reflection since then but have I really? I tend to bulldoze over other people and their needs and problems more than I should. And more than I would like, I would add. I don’t always like myself and I definitely don’t like when I figure out that I’ve done this. So, this could just be my reputation finally catching up with me… Or it could be WOE.BEGONE.

This feels so incredibly ND to me, especially paired with the flat tone he uses in the show (it’s not monotone, in fact it’s quite engaging, but it IS flat, you should listen to it if you haven’t)

And the show REFERENCES DEXTER. When Mike cuts off his own arm, he puts up plastic sheeting, because his main real reference for the brutal gory IS Dexter.

He decides to do horrible things for the sake of the game bc he decides he wants to win. He reminds himself that a person’s life is more important than feeling embarrassed.

And he goes on a (gentle) rant about how Dexter is a ridiculous show and the only reason he doesn’t get caught is because the PD in the show is ridiculously incompetent.

But having a show make deliberate parallels between Dexter and the MC by making the MC reference the show (even if not referring to the character). And it’s a show ABOUT a clearly ND person, possibly low empathy, deliberately making both ethical and unethical decisions (by his own framework). HOLY MOLY IT’S GIVING ME THE BRAINROT

Mike unpacks the ethics around half the things he chooses to do. He cares about other people but sometimes verbally logics himself into empathy (in a way that’s often unclear to me—is he speaking that way because he doesn’t know how else to express what he feels? Or because he doesn’t feel it and has to logic himself to the moral decision?)

In some ways you could almost read Woe.Begone as a counter to Dexter. Because Dexter, too, does terrible things with (usually) an ethical framework. He explicitly lacks empathy. He’s handed the moral framework and the narrative pretty much uncritically says “he was always going to be a serial killer. so what was he going to do with that?”

And in Woe.Begone, Mike’s motives are complex. Messy. A little bit of empathy here. Curiosity there. Desire for power in the corner. Fear of consequences looming over him. He wasn’t always going to do Woe.Begone. He makes a deliberate decision. Both for every challenge he completes (as far as I know, I only just finished episode 4). And for the game as a whole. And it’s not about being good, and he claims he’s actually a kind of shitty person. And yet to me he feels like a better person than Dexter so far. Or, at least, less hollow. Filled to the brim with his own internal world.

I’d have to rewatch some Dexter to do a full cross-comparison meta, and I might. But I’m absolutely fascinated by what feels like deliberate narrative comparisons here as Dylan Griggs writes more or less a death game about what I read as a low/atypical empathy character.