#there are one or two i almost put on the list

[lena-in-a-red-dress]

Musician Age Gap AU Pt 20 of 20

The first year, Kara knows she made the right decision. But that doesn't make it any easier. She retreats for a good week and a half before she forces herself out of her apartment to walk the streets of National City. Day after day she wanders, until one afternoon a spot of color catches her eye.

A butterfly alights on a park bench-- perhaps, Kara thinks, the same one she and Lena had sat upon-- and sits, lightly winking its wings open and closed. It seems out of place, even in the park, at odds with the industrial buildings and zooming cars. Kara sits and stares, thinking unable to help the next thought that runs through her mind.

I wish I could show Lena.

There's nothing that says she can't... the split was amicable, and maybe-- maybe they could still manage to be friends. But as soon as Kara snaps the picture on the phone, she knows she can't. They were never really just friends, were they?

She almost deletes the picture. But at the last minute, she simply slips it into a new folder in her photos app. There it lives, soon to be joined by other images she captures on her walks.

Kara sends a few to Esme, just to satisfy her trigger finger that wants to fire the thing off to Lena. On Kara's birthday a few weeks later, Esme gifts her a slip of paper with an instagram username and password. When she logs in she finds a carefully curated feed of her National City photos, with simple descriptions and minimal hashtags.

It takes her breath away, to see the images reframed not as the product of her heartache, but as hidden glimpses into the city. It makes them less her guilty pleasures, and more... a gift.

It sparks something in Kara, inspires her to continue, and expand her horizons beyond city limits. She starts hiking, first with Esme, then on her own. She buys a real camera and enrolls in classes to learn how to use it.

By the start of year two without Lena, she's hopping planes to other countries, other continents, in search of secret vistas to capture. Her instagram turns into a sister channel for a travel blog, which gains her followers and a small amount of popularity online. She's careful, though, not to put her face on it. She operates faceless, under the penname of KD, and that's enough for her.

She can't say if she hides her identity to ensure any traction she gains is for her work rather than her brief stint as a celebrity's date, or whether it's to keep her work more honest (its more rewarding to find areas on her own, to travel on her own terms than it is be sponsored or reviewing upon request). Or maybe it's simply to avoid the restrictions that notoreity had put on Lena. Not that Kara thought her site could elevate her to such a status, but... she's content with who she is, and how she is.

Every so often, the magazines and tabloids explode with news of Lena, and each time Kara's heart breaks a little-- even as it beats a little harder.

First, there's a bit of a hubbub about ownership rights of Lena's first three album masters. But then, six months later, Morgan Edge is indicted on charges of sexual assault, sexual harrassment, sexual abuse of minors, and emotional abuse. Lena isn't listed among the identified plaintiffs, but Kara knows. Kara knows, and her hear breaks.

The world is shocked when Lena testifies to her own abuse at Morgan's hands, the world is shocked, but Kara isn't.

Kara *is* surprised when news breaks of Lena obtaining new management shortly after the trial. Though the press frames it as Lillian retiring, Kara knows nothing short of a cataclysmic schism could cause a split between Lena and her mother.

And when Lena does release new music, three years after she leaves Kara in Alex's driveway, it sounds... different. Not a bad different. A good different. Kara has known since Paris that Lena's personal life fuels her songwriting, and it's clear that's still the case-- just as its clear that this album had been written in the midst of the legal battles and personal journey of confronting her abuser and coming out the other side.

When Kara listens, she hears acceptance, empowerment, and forgiveness. She hears Lena's value in herself, and a strength in herself that Lena has fully embraced. One song in particular resonates, not just with Kara but seemingly the entire planet. When Kara watches the VMAs with Esme that year, Lena performs *that* song with a full chorus of women behind her, making it a veritable anthem for victims' strength.

If Kara cries, she knows she's not the only one. It may no longer be her place to be proud of Lena, but she is. She is so, so proud.

After that, Lena becomes more visible. She takes more interviews, more guest appearances on talk shows to both advertise her new album and to advocate for victims and the charities that proceeds from the album will support. Kara doesn't go looking for these interviews, but when she sees one playing in the airport lounge she can't help but stop and watch, and marvel at the peace she can see in Lena's features.

Right around her birthday, five years into her travel-photography life, Kara readily accepts Esme's invitation to help her tour Metropolis University. They make a weekend of it, including sight seeing around the city, and even getting last minute seats to the taping of a talk show.

To their shock and surprise, the guest who walks out is Lena herself.

Kara clutches Esme's wrist, who blanches under Kara's accusatory glare. "I swear I had no idea!" Esme hisses. Her eyes are wide and frantic. "Do you want to leave?"

Part of Kara does want to leave, but she knows that bustling out now would only call more attention to themselves. So she simply shakes her head and settles in.

The interview starts just like all of the others Kara has watched over the years. Good natured banter, then a segue into the purpose of Lena's visit. She discusses her philanthropy, her album, all the usuals, and Kara sits enraptured.

Her heart flutters at the smooth cadence of Lena's voice, richer and more velvet than Kara remembers. And the Lena she remembers had always contained such coiled energy that Kara wondered how she ever sat still. But now, she's relaxed and at ease-- upbeat and engage, but with a calm she didn't have five years ago.

Towards the end of the segment, Lena asks to share something new.

"Well, some of you may have heard it, but it doesn't officially come out until next week, so it's *mostly* new. I wrote it a while ago, when a relationship was still new, so-- here's to all the people hoping for more."

A production assistant carries out an acoustic guitar, and when Lena starts to strum, Kara's heart leaps in her throat. The lyrics Lena sees are bright and hopeful... starry-eyed if a song could be such. It's a song of a crush hoping to be something more, a promise of love if only it were accepted.

Kara can feel Esme swaying to the tune, bopping just a little bit to the chipper beat, but she only has eyes for Lena. For most of the song, Lena looks either at the strings or the middle distance. But then, as the bridge leads into the final chorus, she scans the audience.

Holding her breath, Kara expects Lena's gaze to slide right past her. But with wide eyes of her own Kara sees the moment Lena catches sight of her. Green eyes widen momentarily, sparking with surprise, then pure delight. Lena's features spread into a kilowatt smile before she slides her gaze away. Kara swears the strumming gets a little more enthusiastic, Lena's voice a little brighter.

When it finishes, the applause from the audience should be deafening, but Kara can barely hear it, even when the crowd stands in ovation. She watches as Lena and the host exchange thanks and pleasantries, and then Lena exits, still waving and beaming.

Kara leaves with the rest of the audience, numb and quiet as Esme stands anxiously beside her. Had that song-- could it have been about--

"Wait!"

A vaguely familiar call makes Kara pause. She and Esme turn to see a young woman with dark hair trotting towards them.

"Excuse me!" Jess calls as she nears. "Would you come with me please?"

Esme's hand closes defensively on Kara's, but Kara responds before her brain can talk her out of it.

"Sure."

Jess leads them back past the soundstage, through a maze of turns that terminates in a cinderblock hallway lined with doors. Kara doesn't have to guess who's behind the one Jess drops them in front of.

Jess meets Kara's gaze with a smile. "It's good to see you again, Miss Danvers."

Kara can barely offer a smile back before Jess reaches out to turn the knob. The door opens.

Lena stands on the other side, a respectful distance from the door but plainly anticipating their arrival. She straightens as the door swings wide, and Kara can barely bring herself to step inside for the way their proximity has turned her legs to jelly.

Lena smiles. "Hey there," she exhales.

"I--" Kara's voice cracks, forcing her to try again. "Hey."

"Hi, Lena," Esme offers nervously. Kara could kiss her. The distraction pulls Lena's gaze from Kara, giving her the chance to catch her breath.

Lena's eyes widen slightly. "Esme?! Wow, look at you! Does this mean you're too old for a hug now?"

Esme giggles. "No!"

The two hug warmly, and Kara's amazed to see that Esme is almost taller than Lena, now.

"I loved the new song," Esme tells Lena, grinning.

"Thanks," Lena returns. Her gaze slides back to Kara. "I've been profiting off my pain and heartbreak for years. Figured it's time for some of the good stuff to see the light of day."

Kara swallows thickly. "Was that about..."

Lena nods, shifting self-consciously on her feet. "Yeah." She looks at Kara, her gaze open and vulnerable. "Did you like it?"

"Did I--? Lena, I think everyone in the world is gonna like it."

"No offense to the rest of the world," Lena says in a low voice, "but I don't care what they think."

Kara can feel Esme's eyes bouncing between them.

"Honey, could you give us a minute?"

"Yep," Esme says swiftly. "Right. I'll just go wait... It was Jess, right?"

The door closes, leaving Kara and Lena in a room charged with electricity just waiting to spark.

"Do you still feel that way?" Kara can barely bring herself to ask the question, but knows if she doesn't she'd regret it forever.

Lena shifts again, wiping her palms on the front of her jeans. "Would it make any difference if I do?"

It's a fair question. Has anything really changed? Lena is still a critically acclaimed and internationally beloved artist, and Kara... Kara pauses.

Lena's circumstances may not have changed, but Kara's have. She isn't a forty year old a hairsbreadth away from a mid-life crisis anymore. She isn't miserable in her day to day. She lives comfortably doing something she loves, something she knows she'll never give up. And though she may not have had any serious relationships since she last saw Lena, she's closer to her family than she's ever been. She isn't *alone*.

That knowledge allows her to offer the truth.

"Yes," she breathes. "It would."

Lena's eyebrows lift hopefully, an astonished smile sprouting on her lips. Then it softens to a mirthful grin. "Slower this time. Lest I whisk you away on tour again."

"Hey, now," Kara chides softly. "We had some good times on that tour. All five weeks of it."

Lena laughs, the sound bright and happy and golden. "Yeah," she agrees, before falling quiet. She gazes at Kara with soft eyes. "I've missed you, Kara. You have no idea how much."

"I might have some idea," she allows, thinking of her own life the past five years. "A lot has happened I've wanted to tell you about."

Pressing her lips together, Lena guiltily shoves her hands in her pockets. "I... I think I might have already seen some of it."

Kara blinks. "What?"

"Okay, maybe all of it? KD Photog on insta?"

"Wha... how!?!?"

"I saw a picture on insta of a park that seemed familiar, and when I looked a little closer, I found out the photographer lived in National City. I swear I didn't know it was you, I just admired the photos. It wasn't until I followed to the website that I suspected."

Kara stares at her, breathless. "Wow," she exhales.

Lena's expression falters. "I didn't mean... I'm sorry, I guess I should have-- I should have stopped reading once I suspected."

"No, Lena, it's fine," Kara reassures her, regathering her wits. "I don't mind. It's just..." She hesitates for a moment. "Esme is the one who actually first set up the instagram account. I'd sent the photos to her... so I wouldn't send them to you."

Green eyes blink at her, shocked. "Oh."

"I never thought you'd ever see them," Kara continues. "But I'm glad you did. Because I did want to show them to you. Every single one."

Lena's eyes crinkle at the corners. She tilts her head to one side. "Then it sounds like we have a lot to catch up on."

Kara nods. "We do."

"I'm actually in town for a while," Lena tells her. "Maybe... maybe if you'll also be here, we could maybe... do dinner."

Kara considers the offer. "Are you free now?"

Lena blinks, the breaks into a brilliant smile. "Yeah."

"Then how about dessert first?" Kara turns her chin over her shoulder. "Esme?" she asks totally conversationally.

There's a squeak at the door, confirming that Esme's curiosity had her pressing her ear to the door. Then, "um... yeah?"

"Would you like to get ice cream with me and Lena?"

The door flings itself open. "Oh my god, YES!"

Lena's laughter fills the room, filling Kara with a warmth she hadn't totally realized she'd been missing.

As they gather up their things to leave, Lena clasps Kara's hand gently. "Dinner...?"

"Just us," Kara promises. "If that's okay."

Lena nods, her fingers tightening on Kara's.

"I can't wait."

Stepping out into the open air of the city, Kara feels something new bloom in her chest. Seeing Lena this time feels less a whirlwind than more a simple fork in the path on one of her hikes. The paths look largely the same, except that one includes Lena holding her hand.

One thing Kelly said, in perhaps the first year after Lena, that had really resonated with Kara was that lasting romances really only required three things: the person, place, and timing.

Right now, even in these early minutes, Kara feels hopeful that maybe--just maybe-- they might finally have all three.

[heretherebedork]

Hi Francis,

I, for one, am getting a bit tired of hearing so much about green flags lately. 😂 So, can you share your top 5 red flags that you can't help but to love? I love falling for a fictional red flag. ☺️

Thanks! Love you. ❤️

lol, hey, why not? Let's see if I've got five... probably no gifs for this one, though! But also I am so picky about, like, red flags versus just 'flawed characters with yellow flags' so expect this list to be a bit... odd.

Day from Love Syndrome III tops this list for me. He is everything wrong in this world and with romance and the show knew it and the show said 'yeah, fine, but Itt likes it and you can't argue with that' and I love it.

Ziao Chin Teng from HIStory: Obsessed is an obsessive bully who lies about having amnesia and does not stop at anything in the new timeline let alone the original timeline where his lying and lack of communication drove his partner to run into traffic. This man is the worst and I do still love him.

Yi from Cutie Pie and Naughty Babe and I just have a soft spot for this poor little rich boy asshole with trauma and bad communication and just... oh, he is red but he's still fine and he's doing his best his best just happens to suck.

Kang YoHan from The Devil Judge because he is, in fact, nothing but a red flag and that's why we love him. He might be doing it for the right reason but he's also pushing every limit of morality to do it and he won't stop until he wins.

Keito from Happy of the End is the definition of a red flag characters in a show made to show you that he is a red flag and I adore him on all levels, absolutely every last one, he is deeply fucked up and traumatized and he is screaming internally at all times and he is awful but he is also exactly the person Chihiro needed to bring out his light and they saved each other, in the end.

Bonus mention:

Minato from Minato Coin Laundry. Look me in the eye and tell me he's not a red flag. This man can barely accept his own sexuality, struggles to face any form of affection, cannot actively let himself want things and will always push people away.

Honestly, I was writing this and realized that despite all of this I still can't come up with a single Jittirain characters to put on this list because they're all red flags and I hate most of them by the end (at the least the semes) and the only real red flag MAME character I could put on this list would be Tin and I might like him but he's not, like, one of my super loved characters.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Mission Control 17

Warnings: non/dubcon, violence, blood, stalking, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: Captain Hydra

Summary: a man marches into your life on a mission

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

When you come too, the pain is dull. Yet, the pulsing in your foot and leg is near excruciating. You whimper and clutch the blankets. The smell of your sweat clings to you and the bed. 

The bed shifts subtly and you look down to the end. He sits with his back to you. He raises his head and turns it as he hears you. He brings his hands up to rub his eyes then rises. He struts up to peer down at you. 

You groan as your head lolls to the side. You don’t have the strength left to do anything but languish in the agony. You grit your teeth and squeeze your eyes shut. You just want to keep sleeping. 

His weight creaks in the floor and his steps scuff around the room. He returns and looms over you as you flatten yourself to the mattress. He pokes your shoulder and grunts. You open your eyes as he holds up the notebook. 

‘You need?’ 

You would be annoyed if you weren’t in so much pain. What you need is for him to take you home and leave you alone. That’s not going to happen. As it is, you’re certain you’ll be dead of infection soon enough. 

He taps the page impatiently. 

You sigh and let out a shaky breath. “Hurts...” you murmur. “Something to... make it less.” 

His eyes search you and his blond lashes flutter. He turns and grabs a bottle from the side of the bed. He shows you the label. You squint at the small letters. 

“That’s an antibiotic,” you mutter. “Still...” you suck in air sharply, “pain.” 

He tilts the bottle to examine then puts it back. He shakes the notebook at you again. You sniff and cross your arms over the top of the blanket. You can’t really ignore him or tell him to go away. You could die without him and you hate that you have to live with him, but you’re scared. 

“Anything.” You say. “Just... something to do. There’s nothing here.” 

He makes another noise. Almost like a hum. You bring your hands up and rub your temples. 

“Why don’t you talk?” You hiss. 

He dips his chin down and turns the notebook around. He slides out the pen and scratches onto the paper. He shows you. 

‘No.’ 

“No? You won’t, or you can’t?” You huff. 

His brow furrow, he holds up two fingers.  

“You can’t,” you say. 

He nods. 

You don’t know if that makes it better. You thought it was a game. That he wanted to terrify you with his silence. He could be lying but what’s the point in that? 

He flips the notebook again. He writes slowly. You read his scrawl; ‘food’. 

You look at the ceiling and swallow, “yeah, I should eat.” 

He’s already moving as finish your first syllable. He puts the notebook down and marches out. You stare after him, slightly agitated and just as much perplexed. He set the trap, he can’t be surprised that it went off. 

You put your arms straight and as you try to sit up, the tug in the muscles of your leg throttles you. You have to smother a scream as you stop yourself. You press your hands to the bed and force your leg limp. You drag yourself up to sit with your upper body alone. 

Your tears leak out and you mop them away. You look down at the white nightgown, much like the one you wore the first night there. You reach behind you and move the pillow then lean back. Your foot is on fire. 

You can hear him through the open door. You look over at the notebook and reach for it. You drag it off the night stand and examine his jagged writing. You flip the page back. It’s a list of all the things he brought back before. It’s crooked and all over the page. 

You shuffle back through the pages and stop at the cross hatching of ink. Your likeness stares back at you. It’s you on the bus, watching through the window, looking almost peaceful. You frown. There’s a word sliced through the scene; ALONE. 

You don’t understand it but you’re starting to wonder if he does. There’s something not connected in him. He’s fractured. You should feel bad for him but you can’t. Not after all the pain he’s caused you. 

You close the notebook and drop it back on the night table. You slump and your vision hazes. You gaze endlessly at the wall. 

He returns, his shadow breaking through the blur. He has a plate in hand. He stops beside the bed and offers it. You take it and without thinking, you thank him. You could cringe. Thank you... for what? 

The sandwich is in one piece, meat and cheese juts out from beneath the crusts, and the bread isn’t aligned. You guess it’s the effort that counts. You rest the plate on your lap and brace yourself to sit up higher. He’s quick to bend over you and help pull you upright. 

You groan and let out a whine. He retracts and stands over you, watching. You try to ignore his ominous presence and focus on the food. You’re hungry even if it doesn’t look the most appetizing. 

You take the sandwich and bite into the crust. The rye is rich and the filling isn’t too bad. He even added mayo. A small thing but you can’t help but be relieved it isn’t just dry bread and meat. You chew and look up at him. You hover your hands over the plate. 

“What about you?” You ask. 

His eyes round and he blinks. He looks down at his chest then lifts his chin again. He doesn’t offer any response. 

“Right,” you nod and take another bite. 

His fingers twiddle at his side and he moves his weight back and forth on his feet. You eat in silence, hunched over the plate. When you finish, he scoops up the plate. Before you can react, he’s stomping out. 

Jesus. He’s so damn abrupt. He returns. He had a glass of water. You accept it and drink deeply. The coolness is a relief. 

He grabs the notebook and opens it. He angles the tip of the pen then writes again. He shows you as you sip from the glass. 

‘Not for you.’ 

You shake your head, “not... the food?” You asked confused. 

His mouth slants and he turns the book up. He puts the pen to the paper but doesn’t move it. Not right away. He finally scratches into the paper then turns it back to you. He’s drawn the spike. Your foot thrums at the memory of flailing on the cold ground. 

“The trap isn’t for me,” you say. His eyes cling to yours. “But you didn’t tell me.” 

His gaze drops and his cheeks tauten. He scribbles another word. ‘Stay’. 

You puff out and nod. “I’m supposed to stay. Got it. My fault.” 

He clucks and frowns. He points to himself. He hits his chest hard then wags his finger at you. He thumps his chest again. You stare and he stretches his hand wide, staring at it. You gasp as he smacks himself hard across the face. He brings up his other hand and lays another strike across his other cheek. He starts to beat himself frantically. 

“Stop! Stop!” You squeal, horrified. He doesn’t seem to hear you. You don’t know what to do. You grip the glass and splash what’s left of the water onto him and holler again, “stop!” 

He stills and drops his arms. He looks at you, his cheeks red and scratches, a cut around his eye socket. You shudder up at him. 

“I can’t do anything. Not like this,” you gesture to your foot. “So I need you... to do it which means you can’t beat yourself up.”  

You sigh and suck your teeth. It’s exactly what he wants. You are stuck with him. You need him. 

[inkedroplets]

Leaves

The nights had grown long but Lena hadn't noticed. Her nights were already long. She spent them shuttered away in her office. Working. Immersing herself so deeply that when she finally left the office it felt like coming up for air after a very long time underwater. 

What hadn't escaped her notice was the nip in the air or the crunch of leaves beneath her feet. Autumn cold and autumn sounds that surrounded her as she walked the last few blocks to her penthouse. October had come which meant that she had been back in Metropolis for three months now. 

There had been a peculiar roundness in how her return to Metropolis so neatly mirrored her initial departure from it. How spontaneously the idea had seized her and how quickly she had made up her mind. She woke up with the idea of leaving National City already half-formed in her head and was on a plane that very evening.  She had spent the last two months dealing with the ramifications of once more pulling up stakes and moving L-Corp back to Metropolis. A headache, to be sure, but one she almost welcomed. It had kept her busy when she needed it most. Too occupied to dwell on things she would rather not think about, on people she would rather not think about. 

Each day it got a little easier to do both. And now? Things were better. Lena approached this realization with careful trepidation. As if she expected it to grow teeth or for the universe to enact its will upon her to prove her wrong. But it was true. Things were better. It wasn’t enough to bring a smile to her lips, she was too tired for that, but it was something. Like glimpsing light at the end of a very long, very dark tunnel.

A wind gusted past her, sending a shiver through her. She drew her pea coat around her (for all the good that would do). She thrust her hand into her pocket fishing around for keys when she heard the scrape of a footstep behind her. “Luthor.” She bristled as she always did when addressed in such a manner. Hello universe… “Yeah, it’s you,” he spat when she turned around and was able to get a better look at her. “Afraid so,” Lena said drolly. “Can I help you with something?” Or would you just like to call me a bitch and I can be on my way? 

“Yeah, you can get the hell out of Metropolis. You never should have come back. We don't want you here.” He jabbed a finger at her and Lena couldn't help but think of an angry parent sending their child off to timeout. 

“I think there's a petition being passed around to that effect,” Lena said. “I'm certain they'd be happy to add your signature to what I assume is already a very long list.” 

“Yeah, I bet there is,” he sneered. “So why did you come back?” 

“Well, everyone here is so friendly,” Lena said, “how could I stay away?” She spared him a glance before she turned to go, not that she expected him to simply let her walk away. At the very least he would want the last word and she would only need a couple guesses as to what that word would be. 

Words were of little consequence. What did put her on guard was the slim chance he might try and actually hurt her. Her baton (which she sometimes kept stashed in one of her heels) was in her purse. She slipped the same hand she had been rooting around for her keys just moments before into her purse and found what she was looking for at once. 

Small favors, she thought when she realized he had fallen into step behind her. She closed her hand over it, thinking she might be able to catch him on the chin with it if she were quick enough. At the very least even a wild swing would allow her some distance and perhaps make him rethink trying again. 

“Go home. Now.”

Lena turned just in time to see the man step backward so quickly that he nearly fell over, his arms pinwheeling out to keep him upright. His gaze was tipped skyward and he opened his mouth to offer what Lena had to assume was either an apology or an explanation. 

She's a Luthor, she thought, feeling that would be reason enough for some people. 

But the only thing that came spilling out of his mouth was a mess of unintelligible sounds before he did an about face and began to retreat at a brisk jog, turning back occasionally. Lena watched him go, resisting the urge to raise her middle finger as he did. “You probably saved him a hospital trip.” “I might have saved you one…” “I liked my chances.” Lena slipped her baton from her purse and tapped it against the cement. “You’re a long way from National City.” “So are you, Lena.” “I moved,” Lena said, as if this was something that she had already forgot to mention. “Surely the DEO took notice.” “I noticed,” Kara said grimly. She landed on the sidewalk behind her, cape fluttering weakly as another bitterly cold wind passed over them. “Are you keeping tabs on me?” Lena asked. “There has to be better things Supergirl can be doing on a Friday night.” “Not keeping tabs,” Kara said evasively. “I just happened to be—” “In the neighborhood?” She shrugged before Kara had a chance to answer, not much caring to what the truth might be. The silence that followed went on so long that Lena almost convinced herself that Kara had flown off, only to be proven wrong when she heard the heavy flutter of her cape sounding almost ominous in the semi-darkness.

“You just left,” Kara said, sounding as if each word was one she weighed heavily before speaking. “I did,” Lena said and before Kara could fumble her way to her next point, Lena continued. “Was I supposed to tell you?" she asked, genuinely curious. "No," Kara said, clearly stung. "We're not friends anymore, Kara," Lena said, speaking slowly. She wasn't eager to open up old wounds, especially ones just so freshly healed but felt it needed to be said. It needed to end. "I don't think we ever were." She let out a breath she hadn't realized she had been holding in. "What else is there for either of us to say?" Lena stood there a while longer, shivering in the dark before she began to walk again, once more digging in her pocket for her keys, eager to get home. Another wind gusted over her, this one warmer, the force of Kara's takeoff sending red and orange leaves swirling into the air.

[potatomountain]

Dinner and a Show

2024 Kinktober first piece! Masterlist / Main Masterlist

The request by anon! I’d like to request for Kinktober. Hongjoong and Seonghwa take turns fingering and edging y/n under the table when eating dinner with Ateez

Pairing: KHJ x afab reader x PSH (implied ot8)

WC: 1,387

AU: idol. PWP

Summary: two of your eight "boyfriends" decide to see how long they can edge you before the other six notice while out to dinner.

Event Kink list: Free use, praise kink, orgasm control, exhibitionism, multiple partners

Warnings/smut (cont): cum-eating, orgasm denial, edging, feeding, some dumbification

Honorable tags: @adelusionforyourthoughts for beta. @cafekitsune for banners. @mirohs-aurora-society for the Kinktober event list! Banner made by me

You knew, knew they had plans for this when they had teamed up to pick your outfit for the night. A skirt, no underwear. Yet as they sandwiched you in the booth, unable to escape their wandering hands under the table, you had no choice but to accept how they were playing with you. The rest of Ateez were on either side of them around the table, and despite the low lighting and the promised privacy of the restaurant for celebrities like them, you could still see the outline and blurred faces of people out past the half wall that divided the raised dias the table was on from the rest of the restaurant.

Part of your relationship with Ateez was the free use, but publicly was something that was questionable. You should’ve stopped them, but they knew your buttons so well that if you opened your mouth to stop them now the others would hear your whines.

“Food’s here!” Half the table cheered as the wait staff started setting plates down.

Hongjoong took it as an opportunity to push his fingers in faster, thumb crazing over your clit with enough pressure to bring on your impending climax. Your hands gripped the table tighter, staring at the food and biting your lip to try and keep the sounds at bay. Just as it was about to hit however, he pulled out, leaving your hole clenching around nothing and a feeling of emptiness washing through you.

You glared over at him, pouting out your bottom lip as he let out a soft chuckle, corner of his lips pulling up into a teasing half smirk. “What’s the glare for? Doesn’t it look delicious?” Just to further tease you, he brought his wet fingers to his lips, licking them off while keeping eye contact.

Right, you can’t forget he was the co-conspirator.

Dinner was the last thing on your mind and you knew he wasn’t talking about the many dishes in front of you at the moment. “You’re such a tease.” You huffed out, attempting to straighten yourself out and make yourself focus on the actual dinner.

The other members were already passing food around, getting chaotic before it was all even on the table. Still licking his fingers, Hongjoong called for them to settle down. Well, more like barking the order. Thinking you might be in the clear now, you reached for your own food.

“Aht, let me.” Seonghwa slapped your hands away gently, already grabbing one of the dishes you had asked for and putting some on your plate before you.

Just as he pulled the utensil away he was pushing two fingers in, pace slow but deep. He searched right for your sweet spot, playing with it slowly. The difference from Hongjoong’s fast and brutal pace to Seonghwa’s slow and lazy was almost agonizing.

Swallowing hard, you watched as he plated his own, hesitantly reaching for your own bite. You couldn’t even taste it, too distracted by Seonghwa’s hand now sliding over your knee and up your thigh, causing you to nearly choke.

“Careful, do I have to feed you too?” He teased, voice low as he turned to you a bit. The angle allowed him to bring his hand under your skirt better, grabbing the next bite off your plate and holding it out to your lips. He nodded expectantly, watching as you took the bite, holding eye contact. “Good girl, you listen so well.”

Especially as he timed his movements with how you chewed your food, only moving when your mouth was full. His stare hot and demanding your full attention, keeping you unaware of the others at the table… until they were calling your name.

Making a soft ‘o’ with his lips, San went back to his conversation with Wooyoung about where they wanted to go tomorrow for their free day. How easily he took the excuse had you even more flustered. They all used you like this when they pleased, and they knew it.

Pulling away reluctantly, you glanced at the others, San the one waiting patiently with a questioning look. “Are you… alright?”

Clearing your throat before you answered, Seonghwa chose that moment to quicken his pace and add his thumb to your clit, causing your words to hitch as soon as you spoke. “Y-yeah, why do you ask?”

He opened his mouth to say more, glancing between you and Seonghwa, and pulling the attention of a few others. “Um, no reason just… You look like you’re in pain as you eat. Is it good?”

“Y-yeah and I’m not in pain. Promise Sannie.” You whined his name out, cursing as he visibly stiffened and Yunho’s eyes darkened next to him. You didn’t miss the way their eyes flickered down.

“She’ll be fine. Probably just wore her out earlier.” Hongjoong threw in, causing your cheeks to burn at his implications.

All thoughts of San were dashed as Seonghwa tapped your lips with another bite. “Come on, open up for Mommy.” He drawled out for your ears only, letting out a pleased hum as you listened. Maybe he would let you cum, usually nicer than Hongjoong, but once more the hopes were dashed as just before your release hit, his fingers were pulled out.

You were making a mess of the booth beneath you, leaking onto your skirt and the faux leather that stuck to the back of your thighs. You watched in a daze as Seonghwa’s long tongue slipped out and wrapped lazily around his fingers, keeping eye contact with you just as Hongjoong did.

Oh they planned this, and it was even more obvious as Hongjoong turned you by your chin to face him and the water he held up. They weren’t even letting you eat or drink without help, and as their perfect doll you let them.

His fingers plunging into your sobbing hole, this time ripping a moan out of you that you could thankfully blame on the mouthful of food.

They took turns, feeding you as they brought you close to a climax just to rip it away with their fingers and hand you off to the other. By Hongjoong’s third attempt, tears were already in your eyes, and your attempts at hiding the whines were dashed, only the food muffling your sounds. The food you didn’t even taste or were aware of what was being shoved in your mouth.

They praised you with each bite by now, husky “good girl”s and “that’s it baby”’s which just further pushed your shame out the window.

Until Hongjoong ripped your orgasm away from you and you about sobbed out. “Fucking hell Hyung, have you let her cum even once?” San groaned from the other side of the table, snapping you out of your little head space to realize they all were watching you now.

Hongjoong leaned forward and kissed your cheek as he shoved his fingers into your mouth. “See, I was going to let her get fucked by each of us for each orgasm denied. That makes how many Bunny?”

“F-five.” You whined around his fingers, dripping at the idea.

“So five of us get to fill you up tonight, does that sound nice?” Seonghwa added, reaching down to swipe up more of your slick and bring it to his lips. “We can see if you can manage three more times without alerting the other guests?”

Mingi however pushed himself up, eyes on you. “If you keep that up she’ll be too far gone to do it once!” 

Oh… now you couldn’t wait to get home.

You didn’t think so, but you would also let them do anything to you, even right now. Your lips chased Hongjoong’s fingers, whining as they left your mouth. A few curses were shared around the table as Seonghwa and Hongjoong laugh low. “Aw, we got our Bunny so dumb already? Look at that Joong. She really is just a dumb little Bunny, a doll for us to use.” 

Whining further at his words, Mingi now motioned over wait staff. “That’s it, we’re heading back. No fair you got to play with her by yourself.”

“Yeah- we wanna play with Bunny too.” Wooyoung pouted out, shifting in his seat and his hand on San’s lap. You only took notice because of the groan the latter let out.

Taglist (continued in reblogs):

@crispybaguettes | @sugarnspice630 | @mingsolo | @isiloiale | @candypop1611 |

| @lavishloving | @thesafecafe | @meepsters-world | @mysticfire0435 | @heihaneul |

| @cloudysannie | @sanhwalvr | @plutoneu |  @sousydive | @staytinyinmybpack |

| @vannabanana1995  | @piratequeen-queenofgames | @starstruckforyou | @minheeskitten | @amphiroxx  |

| @yothangie | @fatalt | @venn-ie | @ddaeing | @therealcuppicake |

| @gugggu6gvai | @oddinaryxfever | @smally97 | @yejisuu | @apriecotte |

| @cookiesandcreammy | @atinycravings | @klllerwaifu | @joongscheese | @missweepingwidow |

| @callmemaysblog | @yunhowooyo | @amaranth1ne |  @zzzaaajaaa | @potatos-on-clouds |

[strawberry-cowmilk]

silly things I think the brothers have done

not proof read, also I did all of the things on these lists so it's kinda like the brothers as things I have done hehe ( I couldn't come up with some stuff for some of them so forgive me for some brothers having shorter or more boring lists)

alternative title: the brothers as real things I have done (I swear I'm not that insane)

-----

lucifer

use whatever the devildom version of red bull is as an 'emergency tool' to quickly stop being tired only when he really needs to (don't do this)

accidentally sent a formal important email to somebody completely unrelated because it was 3am and he wasn't sharp (poor person had no idea what he was talking about) (this still haunts me)

one time when he was at a farm a peacock kept following him and kept opening its feathers to him no matter how many times he walked away

mammon

always buys something one of his brothers or mc will like in a store when he sees it for them

bought expensive perfume and quit his job two seconds afterwards

made the mistake of online shopping while being drunk and then cried over a mini bag and bought it because it would be cute for his future child

accidentally almost burnt down a school chemistry lab because he put a plastic tube over the fire (the teacher warned him not to do that) (everything was fine the tube was just a little on fire it only had like salt water in it)

leviathan

met his favorite artist and accidentally dropped his bags right before the picture in front of said artist (the artist tried to help him but he said nono its okay while fixing the mess) (he dropped the bag 1 second after asking if it was okay to put it down) (this still haunts me I'm so sorry to the artist for having to see me fight a bag)

messed up karaoke one time when he was home alone and destroyed his voice for the next week

attended a vocaloid concert

satan

accidentally made somebody believe he has a child because he calls a cat his baby or his son and forgot to specify he's talking about a cat

saw a cat meow and paw at somebody he didn't know's front door and he felt bad for it so he rang the doorbell and asked the guy who lives there 'is this your cat?' but the cat already went inside (luckily it was his cat or else that would have been super awkward)

cut his own hair once out of protest because somebody kept forcing him to cut it (they never forced him to do anything with his hair again so it worked) (I was like 11 years old when I did this)

asmodeus

wore platform heels while hiking because he refused to wear hiking shoes (those were the only shoes he brought to the vacation too) (there was no room to bring more because he already overpacked)

when somebody was being rude for no reason over his fashion choices he accidentally said 'not my problem you're allergic to slaying' out loud (I said this to my mom I almost died)

packed a full suitcase and a big tote bag for a one night hotel stay (the suitcase had an extra bag in it too)

sent his profs emails telling them he's sick so he can go to his beauty salons (this happened more than once)

beelzebub

traveled to a different city to buy a lot of a specific type of food and then came back

sometimes has to function as an alarm clock for one of his brothers (belphie) because its impossible to wake him up

stays home with his brothers when they're sick so they don't have to be alone

tried to make an oven pizza in the microwave with his brothers because the oven was not working (don't try this) (it turned out literally wet by the way)

belphegor

planned a way to skip certain class times every day without getting in trouble to sleep more

woke up from a nap extremely disoriented and asked someone what his name is

I'm so sorry I tried to come up with more things for him but I can't its been a week of thinking

[somethingvicked]

Don't want to miss a thing

An Eddie Munson one-shot.

Inspired by an anon ask for daddy Eddie!

warnings: female reader, baby teething, fluff, references to Flight of Icarus (Eddie's mother's name)

You were awakened to a shrill cry from the other room and sighed tiredly.

You loved being a mom and loved your daughter more than anything but waking up every other hour in the middle of the night wasn’t at the top of the list of the things you loved about it.

Your daughter, Lizzie, was teething and only fell asleep out of pure exhaustion and as soon as she had slept enough to be able to feel the irritation in her gums again she woke up and screamed.

You carefully untangled yourself from Eddie, whom was sleeping soundly on the other side of you, a protective arm over your waist, his nose all but buried in your hair.

Silently you walked into your daughter’s room, seeing her little face screwed up in frustration, as she chewed on her lip to get rid of the itching ache in her mouth.

”Come on, I know what’s better,” you said as you lifted her into your arms.

She looks so much like Eddie, flew through your mind, for probably the thousandth time, as you kissed Lizzie’s forehead. She was the spitting image of him – Robin had even commented, ”were you even present at conception, Y/N?” when the whole gang came and visited you at the hospital after you had given birth.

Her eyes may have been blue when she was born, as most newborns, but they gradually darkened to Eddie’s chocolate shade after just a couple of months. Her hair was dark, the same color as Eddie’s, and already curly, and she had his smile, the shape of his eyebrows.

She had your nose, though, and you supposed you should be grateful for that, to at least have her resemble you in some degree. You and Eddie had decided to name her Elizabeth, after Eddie’s mother. Elizabeth Arwen – the last one from Eddie’s favorite book series, Lord of the Rings. He had been ready to beg to get you to agree but in your opinion it was a pretty and unique name, so you happily went along with it.

You carried Lizzie with you to the kitchen and took out a pacifier from the freezer, warming it up by putting it into your own mouth at first, so it wouldn’t be completely frozen through, and then offered it to your daughter. She willingly opened her mouth and sighed in contentment when the chill eased the ache in her gums.

”There, that’s better, hmm?” you cooed and swayed with her, even though you couldn’t suppress a big yawn.

”I can take her if you want to sleep,” you heard a voice say behind you and almost jumped from the fright.

”Jesus, Eddie,” you said, voice full of laughter. ”Don’t sneak up on me like that.”

Eddie snorted. He was dressed in his worn plaid pajama pants, bare chested, hair all tousled from sleep. Even though you were drained to the bone, you still felt your heart flutter at the sight of him.

”Come on, baby,” Eddie said again, ”you deserve some sleep, you’ve had to do most of the lifting all this time.”

That was true. Since you were on maternity leave and Eddie worked shifts at the car shop you had resigned yourself to take most of the burden when Lizzie woke at night.

”But what about work?” you wondered, bouncing your daughter on your hip.

”I’ve got some vacation days saved up. They’ll just be happy if I don’t use them all during the summer, when everyone else does. I could use a day to just be with my two favorite girls. ”

You nodded, warmth welling up inside you from his statement, and finally passed Lizzie over to him. She smiled at the sight of her dad, hands immediately going to his long hair, wanting to play with it.  You smiled too, seeing your beloved daughter with the love of your life.

”I’ll take her to her room, see if I can make her fall back asleep,” Eddie told you, stroking Lizzie’s back, as you turned around to go to your own bedroom.

You crawled into bed with a sigh, closing your eyes. Sleep was almost upon you when you heard a low, melodic sound penetrating the mist of slumber.

” I could stay awake just to hear you breathin'

Watch you smile while you are sleepin'

While you're far away and dreaming

I could spend my life in this sweet surrender

I could stay lost in this moment forever

Where every moment spent with you is a moment I treasure.”

Eddie. He was singing to Lizze.

His voice was low, it was obvious he was singing to soothe her into sleep, but it was still clear enough that you could hear him, making out the words. It brought tears to your eyes.

”Don't wanna close my eyes, I don't wanna fall asleep

'Cause I'd miss you, babe

And I don't wanna miss a thing

'Cause even when I dream of you

The sweetest dream would never do

I'd still miss you, babe

And I don't wanna miss a thing.”

Lizzie was remarkably quiet – either she had fallen back asleep or she was as transfixed by her daddy’s voice as you were.

Your tiredness  forgotten, you got out of bed and padded down to Lizzie’s room, seeing Eddie sitting in the rocking chair with Lizzie in his arms, looking down into her eyes, eyes that were a complete copy of his.

“Lying close to you, feelin' your heart beating

And I'm wonderin' what you're dreamin'

Wonderin' if it's me you're seein'

Then I kiss your eyes and thank God we're together

And I just wanna stay with you

In this moment forever

Forever and ever.”

Lizzie was awake, you saw, but she was blinking repeatedly, as if she was fighting sleep, not wanting to miss the soothing sound of her dad singing to her.

Eddie looked up and saw you standing there. ”Honey? I thought you were asleep?”

”I was about to, but then something so beautiful called me over here,” you gently teased him. ”And this sight... it was worth it. I guess I’m like you – I don’t want to miss a thing.”

Eddie smiled, the most beautiful smile in the world, you thought, at least until your daughter had smiled at you for the first time. But then again, her smile was Eddie’s, so go figure.

Eddie continued the song, Lizzie’s eyes finally closing, her intense sucking and chewing on the pacifier slowing down as her breathing evened out.

Eddie whispered-sang as he got up from the rocking chair and carefully placed Lizzie back in her crib.

You wrapped your arms around Eddie’s middle, resting your chin against his arm as you two stood, watching your sleeping daughter.

“He has a point,” Eddie whispered as he pulled you tightly against him.

“Who?”

“Steven Tyler. The sweetest dream can’t possible match up to this.”

You couldn’t help but giggle quietly. Trust Eddie to be able to make a rock reference. But oh, how you loved him for it.

“No, I suppose that’s true. I really don’t want to miss a single thing with her. Or you.

“The feeling is mutual, baby,” Eddie promised you as you two quietly walked out of your daughter’s room and back to your own.

taglist: @h-ness1944 @quinnyficsy @jenniquinn @melodymunson @pandemoniusstuff

please, like, comment and reblog!

Your likes are wonderful but reblogs expand my reading circle.

[tragedy-of-commons]

a deciduous thing.

scarecrow!boothill x gn!farmer!reader.

summary: Never in your life did you think that your peaceful day-to-day would grind to a halt after one of your scarecrows comes to life. Apparently, his name is Boothill, and he's insistent on making your life 10x harder than it has to be.

contains: modern au, comedy/crack with surreal elements, setting is heavily implied to be american (sorry), reader has depth, possibly inaccurate depictions of farming but i tried my best, country and southern things™, autumn hijinks

word count: 4.5k

taglist: @flower-yi, @moineauz, @aphrodict, @nomazee, @singularity-sam, @harque, @thestarswhisper, @wystiix, @mikashisus, @tetrachrxmacy, @mitsvriii, @akutasoda

notes: written for the @/stellaronhvnters stellaween fest. my chosen prompt was scarecrow! ao3 link here 🎃

The first time you see him, it’s a crisp October morning.

Thank the stars it’s overcast today - the fall weather is just settling in, so of course it’s still hot, but nothing like the suffocating humidity you’re normally used to. Besides that, work is work; meaning that you have to get up just before dawn to go about putting a dent in your endless list of chores. 

The pleasant breeze tickles your nose and the forearms flexed under your rolled up sleeves, aiding you in your endeavor of feeding and tending to the livestock. The hens cluck passively as they allow you to take their eggs inside, the cows and goats don’t fuss at all when you milk them, and to your surprise, baths also go well (despite how you’re covered in suds after). To have such an easy morning is rare, but you simply chalk it up to the arrival of autumn. 

Ma used to say that fall is lucky, as it signals the start of renewal. You aren’t superstitious by any means, but the sentiment has always stuck with you, engraved in fond memories of stumbling around on your chubby legs through rows of sweet potatoes and watching the colorful leaves hit the ground, balanced on some distant relative’s hip. 

Yes, today is gonna be lucky.

The sun hasn’t yet reached the middle of the sky when you drag yourself to the pumpkin patch. Normally you’d wait another day or two until the weather is sunny to harvest the rotund globes of orange, but you’re already cutting it close; Halloween is gonna be here before you know it, and you don’t want the fruit to overripen or become too bleached by the elements. Moreover, you’d like to give away a pumpkin or two to the neighbors.

Every year, it’s the same tradition. Miss Kafka and little (not so much anymore) Silver Wolf down the road have been your only companions since the farm became your sole responsibility. When the season for ghouls and ghosts is upon your little rural town, you help them hoist up gaudy decorations to show off on their lawn, politely shoving a pumpkin or three into their arms, your own addition to their festive display.

According to them, often over sheets of newspaper as you three carve crude jack-o-lanterns with switchblades, your crops can’t be beat. Not by any chain market or grocery store standards, anyhow. You take pride in that; Pa always made you promise him to never overuse pesticides or sacrifice quality by automating the harvesting process - which you honor - even if you sometimes daydream about combine-harvesters and a few other dozen gadgets to make your life easier.

The patch in question is still green and healthy, boasting vibrant fruit by the dozen. The white and orange pumpkins mesh together in a patchwork display of sunset and beige, thick vines acting as their binding agent. You’ve grown fond of the sight, despite the monotony of almost-but-not-quite tripping over each crop bigger than your leather boots. Wiping the minimal sweat from your brow, you bump open the wooden gate with your hip, glove-clad and toting around your giant pruners.

They’re a bit on the heavier side, but you found them on the side of the road for free, fixing the rust issue with a bit of vinegar and baking soda - there’s no way you’re not gonna get your use out of them. Ambling over to the first row of pumpkins, you squat down, feeling the dirt and grass cushion your knees.

The first few you inspect still look pretty good. Firm rind, no blemishes or rot, plump and tough. You decide that those’ll be the ones you give away - they’ll make fine jack-o-lanterns, having plenty of surface area to plunge a knife across, creating spooky faces that’ll scare any miscreant egg-throwing hooligans away. Well, that’s your take on things. Maybe you’re just getting too old for mischief.

The next row is even more promising, housing the largest pumpkin you’ve ever seen. You’ve been monitoring its growth for the past few weeks, sure, but it seems to have bloated overnight - to the size of two human heads! You’re still skeptical, though. If a pumpkin gets this big, this fast, there’s more room for parasites, and it could also hint at some internal mushiness that’ll make it decompose quicker. 

But here’s where your ace comes into play: the test.

You ball your hand up into a fist, knocking on the big boy with just enough force. To your surprise (and subdued delight), the resounding noise is hollow - you’d almost describe it as baritone. Even better, it withstood the force with a firmness indicating that of a healthy pumpkin! Today really is lucky, you muse, readying your pruners.

Wrestling yourself over the row, knees on either side of your pumpkin of choice, careful not to damage the fruit - you eyeball about five or six inches of stem, beginning to hack away at the vine diligently. It doesn’t take long before you free the product of your labor from its brethren, victorious.

…it’s, uh, heavier than you anticipated. Lifting it up into your arms immediately, you grunt, quickly discarding your glorified scissors onto the ground for stability. At least these days you don’t make the mistake of picking up the fruit by the stem, as tempting as that is - you learned the hard way as a tween when the patch was a new feature, your first home-grown pumpkin breaking under your mistake of yanking it up so carelessly. Ma had laughed right in your face, the traitor.

You stand there for a moment, straining, electing on what to do next. You could check on the rest of the patch after you get this big boy inside. You don’t want it to spoil too quickly off the vine. After a moment, you reckon that storing it in the drier part of your pantry, perfectly mild and unheated, should do the trick. Yeah, that’ll work just fine until you can take the time to carve your one obligatory jack-o-lantern out of this behemoth.

Alright, it’s settled. You pivot on your heel, ready to make the arduous trek back the house--

And that’s when you hear it.

Your reaction is delayed as you process what you’re hearing. It sounds like distant cursing or something close to it - a coarse voice shouting in rage. It reminds you of those aggravated drunkards that populate the only shitty bar in town, always riled up over some game of football or some argument with the Missus. 

Did a trespasser decide to test your patience today, coming onto your property and bombarding you with the same remarks you’ve always been leveled with? Why are you such a hermit? Why don’t you have any friends? When are you going to settle down and get married like the rest of us? When are you going to get over their deaths and move on?

Not today, nuh uh, no chance. Anger floods your core as you swivel around, searching for the source of your oncoming headache. They’re still yelling, so they can’t be that far. 

When your eyes land on the figure in the distance, your first reaction is confusion. The new scarecrow you’d put up a month or two ago in anticipation of harvest season seems to be writhing. Your first reasonable explanation is that a few vermin have burrowed inside of it, making themselves at home and jostling it around as they tunnel and scramble. 

That doesn’t explain the utterly human wails and the jerky, purposeful movements seizing its straw arms. You squint, heart rate picking up accordingly. It’s too far away to jump to any batshit crazy conclusions, you know that, but the intuition you were born with, the same instinct that’s saved your skin a hundred times before - is telling you that today might not be so lucky after all.

“The fuck,” you mutter, still cradling the humungous pumpkin in your arms.

You take a few steps closer, straightening up tall on your tiptoes. The scarecrow in question is stood right in the middle of the massive, adjoining field, a statue among the swaying of golden wheat. When it was time to replace the old scarecrow (it was torn to shreds by the talons of crows and other rodents), you’d invested in something cheap but durable, almost forgetting about its existence promptly after.

You’ve been faced by its back this entire time, but what happens next almost completely knocks you off your feet.

Its head snaps at a harsh angle, the left - almost a little too much to be human, but you dismiss that thought readily, sobered by the sound of the voice once more. Since you’ve gotten closer and have been taking small steps towards it subconsciously, you’re able to make out what it (he?) is saying.

“Dagnabbit! Hey, ya hear me? I know someone’s back there!” an exhausted huff followed by more futile struggling, “Y’know how fudgin’ rude it is to ignore yer fellow neighbor?”

Oh shit. Oh shit!

Without thinking, you drop everything - everything just so happening to encompass the pumpkin. It falls to the ground in slow motion, pretty much, and you barely hear the resulting Thonk! of it crashing to the ground and splattering all over your work duds, the bottom caving in despite how robust the thing was.

Your thoughts are a mess. Someone must have stolen your property, tied an unsuspecting man to the barren scarecrow post after, and then left him there as a cruel prank! Yeah, that makes way more sense. Did he just call you ‘neighbor’? People around these parts are familiar, but not that familiar; is it possible that this guy also lives down the road, but you’ve never bothered to introduce yourself? Is this his first impression of you?!

Swallowing, you dig your nails into your fists and pull yourself together. There’s never been a contingency plan put into place for a situation like this, but you’ll handle it somehow. You take one tentative step forward before launching into a sprint, almost slipping on the gooey innards of the pumpkin coating the ground, but you narrowly avoid it. You hop the fence with ease, landing in the wheat field with a thud.

“I’m comin’!” you yell, cupping one hand over the curve of your mouth, frantically surveying the area for a certain object. The man is about the same size as your (likely stolen) scarecrow, and with the force of his thrashing, whatever’s holding him there must be tough as nails. Thankfully, you find what you’re looking for - a hatchet.

Old Blade, Kafka’s friend, left it here a week ago. You asked her if she knew anybody that’d chop wood for cheap; you’ve been busy with other chores - and to be honest, lazy - so you were hoping to get someone else to do it. There were a few dead trees skirting the edge of your property, and firewood is always good to have, but you didn’t expect her to volunteer her pal’s services so readily.

Blade showed up with nothing more than a hatchet and a haunted expression that hinted at some clusterfuck of a story. Still, he was polite enough, drank your freshly squeezed lemonade, and cut down those trees faster than some kid with a chainsaw could. After he wrapped up, he left the miniature axe here. You’ve been putting off returning it for days.

Thank the stars you’re a procrastinator, you think, yanking it off the ground and testing its weight, already moving towards the flailing man again. You’ve got your own collection of tools in the shed, but making him wait any longer isn’t gonna help your case - he has half a mind to report you to the cops as an accomplice!

Finally, you reach him. The mysterious fella is donning the same thrown-together attire of the scarecrow, namely one of Pa’s old flannels and some spare trousers you found laying around weeks prior. Had the perpetrator of this crime really dressed him in these clothes?! He’s even wearing the same rustic cowboy hat, complete with a browning, frayed feather sticking out of its cap.

You round the post with a frenzied pulse, raising the blade in the air with a shaky grip on its handle, ready to cut him down from there--

“Whoa, whoa there!” he stammers frightfully as you tilt your chin up to get a better look at his face, “T-That’s a little unnecessary, don’tcha think?”

You freeze.

The man peers at you through a mane of black and white hair, facial features somewhat… faded? They look to be almost stitched on, lips and bulbous jaw littered with threadbare fuzz, his skin the same shade as a potato sack. Where his eyes are supposed to be, there are instead two X’s, accompanied by a scrawled-on fang hanging just below his mouth in toothy decoration. 

In other words: he looks exactly like the scarecrow you put up all that time ago. 

Before he speaks again, you spare a measured glance at his stretched out arms - the ones still bound to the post. They’re the same arms you remember attaching to the wooden stake, finding it weird that they were so human-like - the appendages even gave way to makeshift hands and fingers. You were surprised that the scarecrow was so detailed for its price, but you didn’t give it much thought beyond that. A steal is a steal.

But now? It’s come to life, and it’s talking to you!

“You’ve gotta be kidding,” you pale. 

He, no, it - tilts its head at you, hat sliding down just a smidge. “I’m not kiddin’. I’m Boothill.”

You don’t think twice before twirling the hatchet around and driving the blunt end of the handle straight into its too-large noggin.

It takes a moment to realize that you’re screaming, and that the… the fucking scarecrow has gone still. Can you even knock sentient dummies stuffed with straw unconscious? Are you hallucinating? Have you lost all of your marbles, slipped on them, and then fallen into a feverish coma? Is this a night terror? You have been drinking too much of that damn coffee--

Your chest heaves as you take a gigantic, gulping breath.

…then you drop your weapon, curse the heavens for ruining your perfect autumn morning, and then you scream some more.

So, things have not been going well.

Your autumn morning has turned into autumn afternoon, and your kitchen floor practically has a hole seared into it from your nonstop, neurotic pacing. It’s soothing - the only thing keeping your shot nerves at bay. Your feet ache, heeled boots grazing the raised surface of the brick over and over.

Think, think, think.

Well, that’s kinda hard to do when you had to bring him inside.

You stop in your tracks to stare at this ‘Boothill’. After he’d gone limp (and you assume comatose), you’d panicked for a little, thinking that you’d committed murder - before remembering that he is a scarecrow and that you have no qualms with ending a life anyway. Oops. You’d cut him down like you’d planned to, dragged him inside, and… sat him at your dining table.

When you freed him of his bindings, you were reminded of how light he was; despite seemingly gaining consciousness out of nowhere, he is still a scarecrow - traditionally composed of hay, leaves, rags, hell, whatever you can find. His breadth didn’t exactly make it effortless, but you hauled him to the house, up onto the porch, and right past the beaten up welcome mat. The manners ingrained in your mind from an early age stuck with you, so you welcomed the ‘guest’ to sit at the table.

But he - this thing - is not welcome! 

Boothill hasn’t, um… woken up yet. It’s been about three hours of playing the waiting game, and you don’t even know what you’re going to do when he does start to stir.

You’re not gonna call the authorities, that’s for sure; everyone in town except for a scant few already believe you to be off your rocker. Even if you did call them and they showed, what kind of media attention would follow? Paranormal investigators? Scientists? People with cameras and news trucks that’ll camp just outside your acre of land, trying to pester you with their questions? Absolutely not.

Deflating, you know what you have to do.

Would burying an inanimate object alive even work? Can you even use the symptom ‘alive’ to describe what’s going on with him? I mean, you could try putting him in the ground anyway. Your good shovel’s in the shed, and--

…and he really does look like a man from a distance. Boothill, a fitting name, if that’s what truly he calls himself, is keeled over the wood. He’s limp, but you suppose having no internal structural support will do that to you. Such an intricate, intentional design. It’s been a while since anyone’s visited, really, and a part of you maybe feels bad for whacking him earlier. 

God, is this what you’ve become? Soft?

Apparently so, because you don’t retrieve your trusty shovel just yet. Instead, you trudge over to your wall-mounted landline that you pray will pull through one more call. It was pristine white years ago, but now it’s yellowed and considered too ‘old school’ by the kids of today. Not like that hurts or anything. Definitely not.

You punch in the familiar number, gaze drifting back to Boothill. If he gets up, will he try to murder you? That remains to be seen, you suppose. He seemed pretty animated (if not a bit smart-mouthed) before you decided to temporarily ice him. Listening to the crackling static of the line ringing, you hold your breath and pray.

Pick up, pick up, pick up--

A juvenile, annoyed voice finally answers. “Hello? Geez, why are you calling us on this thing again?”

“Silver Wolf,” you sigh, relieved. “Is Kafka home? Can you put her on? And I told you, it’s ‘cause I don’t have her cell number. You can give it to me again later.”

You’re honestly surprised that anybody is home at all. That family of sorts (which sometimes includes that Old Blade) is on the road traveling most of the year. The house you’re calling right now is just one of their many vacation homes around the world, left vacant for several months out of the year. But then again, maybe it’s not all that surprising… they’re usually home for Halloween. Usually.

You can almost hear her wrinkled nose and sour face. “You sound sweaty. But yeah, she just got back from shopping. I’ll get her, one sec.”

Kids these days never mince their words, huh.

The familiar muffled shouting and shuffling of her passing the phone to someone reaches your ears. You tap your foot, attempting to gather your thoughts. How are you going to explain this without sounding crazy? You come up blank, twirling the wire cord idly with your index finger.

“Hey,” Kafka greets, dulcet as usual, “something the matter over there? You never call this early.”

Ugh, if she only knew the half of it. You swallow, uncharacteristically anxious.

“Hypothetically, if one of your scarecrows came to life, what would you do?”

Silence. Actual tumble-weed blowing, deserted ghost town silence. Does she know? She has to know, right? You’ve never been particularly good at hiding things, and you swear that woman can read anybody like an open book, even if their pages are clumped together with superglue. The longer no one speaks, the worse you feel.

Finally, Kafka gives her verdict. “Hm. If it were me, I’d try to have a conversation with it.”

“You’d do what with it?” you ask, incredulous.

She chuckles, the noise broken up by the poor connection. Despite how she always catches you off guard, you certainly didn’t expect an answer like that. If anything, you expected her to encourage you to torch the thing and not look back - by the same token, she isn’t outright dismissing your ridiculous notion either.

“It’s not everyday you get to talk with a living scarecrow,” she hums. “I wonder what stories they’d have to share. Maybe we’d even become good friends, you never know. Does that answer your little riddle?”

Well, you tried.

“Uh, yeah. Sorry for springing that on you,” your grip tightens on the receiver. “Tell sweet Mx. Firefly I said hello, ‘kay?”

“I’ll be sure to do that.”

Before you can start the ‘I’ll let you go’ formalities, you hear rustling. Your head snaps back up from the floor that you took an acute interest in staring at, panicked. Boothill is moving - well, trying to, by the looks of it. He sluggishly picks his head up, and you’re met with that stitched expression once more. How can he see? Should you even question it at this point?

You hang up hastily, nearly cracking the artifact of a landline in the process.

“Uh,” you stand there, dumb. “Does your head hurt?”

Right after the words leave your mouth, the regret and embarrassment settle in nicely. Of course it doesn’t hurt! He probably can’t even feel pain--

Boothill then suddenly springs out of his seat, making your hackles raise on instinct. You don’t know what he’s trying to pull, so you stiffen. 

“Nope, I’m right as rain,” he says, stretching his arms above his head, like he’s emulating an aerobics instructor. There are no sounds of joints popping from prolonged slumber, reminding you that he’s still entirely inhuman. 

He continues, oblivious to your plight. “You scared the fudge outta me with that hatchet, though. I reckon you thought I meant you harm?” A pause. “S’nice in here. You got AC?”

He surveys your kitchen, curious and looming. Something about it rubs you the wrong way - he’s acting so familiar despite you 1) knocking him out (debatable), and 2) not knowing you at all. Well, he certainly fits in around these parts. Clearing your throat and watching him with narrowed eyes, you formulate a response and motion with your hand for him to sit again.

“Just…” you pinch the bridge of your nose and walk over to the opposite side of the table, never turning your back to him completely. “Sit down. Don’t try anything.”

Boothill complies with a halfhearted shrug. You follow suit, now staring him down at the opposite end. How do you start, and with what? You’ve never been great at talking to people, not that it bothers you.

Well, he’s not really a person, so maybe it’ll work out in your favor.

“What are you? Do you remember how you got here?”

Good enough; the former’s answer will determine how self-aware (and by extension, dangerous) he is, while the latter’s might give you the slightest context on his supernatural circumstances. Baby steps, you remind yourself. Baby steps. You and him seem to be tackling this in stride. Good - the sooner you have this conversation, the sooner you can put this all behind you.

“Ah, well…” he scratches his head with a moth-eaten fingertip, “I can’t say I remember much. Also, I’m gonna choose to overlook that first question! I’m Boothill, and those birds were peckin’ the crap outta me. I woke up at sunrise, very confused, might I add - can’t say I’ve ever been on this farm before.”

You sigh. He isn’t gonna give you any clues whatsoever, huh. “Okay, well--” Boothill cuts you off, “Well is right. Not so fast, now. I haven’t even got your name yet! Someone who’ll run an axe through ya without hesitation must be of a different caliber for sure.”

Is that… admiration coloring his tone? Even though his disposition practically screams it in your face, he’s definitely a weird one. You spit out your name, hurrying through the introduction in favor of processing this information.

He’s articulate, and you don’t mean just verbally; he idles like a 1930s toon, bouncing and animated, brimming with life. He’s more of a mannequin than a scarecrow, as if made for the sole purpose of waking up all antsy and making it your problem. With all this in mind, you blurt out your first immediate thought:

“You need to leave.”

You don’t need this burden sitting across from you, so you tell him as much; some people would see that as cruel, but it’s more fair if anything. You have your small, tight-knit group of friends that you talk to sporadically, and you have your farm. That’s it.

Boothill deflates, bravado waning when you turn the tides. “Leave? Bud, where else would I go?”

…that’s true. He has nowhere to go, no memories, no social or life skills (probably), and you doubt anyone else will have a kinder reaction than you unless they’re plain stupid. You want to tell him to get lost in that same tone you use when someone encroaches too far on your lifestyle - it works wonders. If you get loud and unpleasant enough, it’ll send him packing, you’re sure of it.

So why aren’t you getting started? Why can’t you tell this too-human-non-human to just scat already?

“I got nobody,” he hums, all too casual for the implications of those words. “Unless you count those crows that seemed more interested in havin’ me for lunch.”

He has nobody. 

This guy you barely know whatsoever doesn’t have a Kafka or a Silver Wolf. He doesn’t have any memories of makeshift tire swings and underage driving; he doesn’t have any souvenirs of late parents and old flames. He doesn’t have anything. The world is bound to chew him up and spit him out (if he even gets that chance).

Boothill reclines against the dark wood of his seat rest, as if permanently cementing his spot there. His features are a bit hard to read, but the material of his face crinkles, at odds with the strain of his smile. 

Damn this stupid, traitorous heart of yours.

“Boothill,” you hate how your house voice softens, “Can you work? If you’re going to… remain here, only for the time being, you’re gonna have to pull your weight.”

He laughs again, this time much more human. If you cared more, you’d call him out on his palpable relief.

“Guess I’ll learn, huh?” he flicks the brim of his hat. Then, surprising you once more, he hunches over, stomach pressed flush against the table.

“What--”

Boothill uses this new position as leverage to outstretch his arm to you, and by extension, his hand. His open palm, also inlaid with crude stitching, barely reaches your wary form. 

Swallowing your hesitance, you don’t leave him hanging too long. You wrap your hand around his own, fiber of his beaten up flannel (or maybe that’s just him) tickling your skin. He’s warm. 

Boothill shakes your hand firmly.

“Thank ya kindly.”

You pull away first as he returns to taking up his own space. God, what have you gotten yourself into?

“Just… whatever.”

As late afternoon arrives, you go about stress-cooking up a big meal to get your mind off of your neglected chores and this entire nightmare at hand. It’s extremely hard to ignore Boothill, though, especially when he can be compared to a lost puppy in terms of his curiosity.

(He also tries to sample some of your cooking. It does not work, on account of him not having a tongue. Or real teeth. Or a stomach. Or a digestive tract.)

It’s going to be a bumpy road ahead. You sigh.

[massscara]

DRDT SPOILERS.

Theories and headcanons about the execution of the murderer of the second chapter.

And so... Since we know the murderer of this chapter (They is innocent, believe me), I want to share my guesses about their possible execution.

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My reasoning will begin with the fact that there are executions in danganronpa that not only reflect the killer's talent, but also contain things that they don't like ( Example: Mikan Tsumiki )

In her execution, you can see the oversize objects ( You can notice a large syringe, and then a huge hand and space appear ), which she doesn't like and is afraid of. All in order to make her fall into despair.

Following from Ace's Wikipedia, you can find out that he doesn't like horses and meat. ( But this is only from material things. I'll mention the rest later )

Of course, if he is a jockey, then the execution itself is more likely to involve horses, however, I would find his execution more interesting if it involves meat ( or some other food ). Based on these words, it can be concluded that there are two possible scenarios for his execution: a horse and food.

Food:

If we go on this trail, then since Ace has an eating disorder, then he can be under tremendous pressure from himself. He will either be forced to eat something, or he will soon become someone's food ( the same meat that he neglects )

Horses:

You can die in different ways because of horses, so I've given you a list of some historical figures who died because of a horse-related accident. Here are the highlights:

« He fell from his horse onto his sword and fell to his death »

« He was thrown from his horse into cold water and suffered a fatal heart attack or drowned as a result »

« He fell in front of a horse that stepped on his head »

« He fractured his skull when his horse stumbled and fell »

In general, I understand Ace why he is so afraid of horses. I think there are at least two possible scenarios ( they are divided into subtypes )

The first scenario :

I think a horse racing option is possible.

Subtype 1:

Horse racing contains a dangerous obstacle course. Ace goes through them all at first, but at the very last moment he messes up ( It is possible that Monotv cheated by giving impossible obstacles to overcome or outwitted him )

Subtype 2:

Ace successfully overcomes the same dangerous obstacle course, but his supposed opponent cheated and won. Ace's loss may anger those who bet money on him. That's why, let's say, they started throwing stones at him.

The second scenario :

Historical events. Executions of the Middle Ages. (both that I found are very similar )

Subtype 1:

To be hanged, drawn and quartered was a method of torturous capital punishment used principally to execute men convicted of high treason in medieval and early modern Britain and Ireland. The convicted traitor was fastened to a hurdle, or wooden panel, and drawn behind a horse to the place of execution, where he was then hanged (almost to the point of death), emasculated, disembowelled, beheaded, and quartered.

Subtype 2:

The remainder of the punishment might include hanging ( usually not to the death ), usually live disemboweling, burning of the entrails, beheading, and quartering. This last step was sometimes accomplished by tying each of the four limbs to a different horse and spurring them in different directions.

If it concerns 2 subtypes of the second scenario ( 1, in principle, too ), then it will be funny to put pressure on the moment with his already fragile neck.

And I'm going back a little to the moment when I was talking about Ace's dislikes! Of the non-material ones, he dislikes the following: being a jockey and being perceived as incompetent.

We know perfectly well that Ace is a rather short — tempered personality, most often acting impulsively due to aroused emotions. It can be assumed that his own execution will carry ridicule about his lack of professionalism and frivolous attitude to the sport in which he is so famous. It is possible that his entire execution will stupidly mock his desire to escape both from the killing game and from his daily life ( It was also the case with Teruteru, who was turned into his unloved food, and also presented on the cover of the execution in the form of a pig in honor of disrespect )

It is likely that in this scenario, he will be banally pissed off, which will make him act irrationally. And these actions of his based on negative emotions will push him to a fatal mistake.

That's all!

Thank you for your attention and time, because Ace is actually alive and not dead and it was all a prank hehehahHaehEhhaHahehe....

[everybodyshusband]

kinktober ; day one, cuckolding ❤︎ rain/swiss/dew

contains: safeword use, they're all trans :3

approx. 890 words. ghostober prompt list compiled by @kroas-adtam and divider/banner by @wrathofrats!!

“...Rain, are you okay?” Swiss’ voice is soft, worried and the shift in Dew’s grip on him from harsh to gentle mimics its tone.

“I–” Rain’s head is spinning slightly. He doesn’t know what’s going on or where these feelings have come from. When they started—when Dew had (literally) dragged him away from his duties to kiss him against the door of his room, letting him up for breath only when Swiss had come knocking, asking to join—he’d felt fine, great, even. He’d been more than eager for Swiss and Dew to tear him apart until he was crying out, screaming and begging for more. They haven’t even gotten up to that part yet.

He’s propped up in between the two ghouls, Swiss behind him, arms wrapped around his waist in a way that five minutes earlier felt delicious. Now it’s just suffocating him. Dew is in front of him, almost hovering over him, holding himself up with one arm, the other hand on his strap, poised to press it inside of the water ghoul.

“I–” He repeats. “Y– Yellow, please,” he stutters out, squeezing his eyes shut as he forces the words out of his mouth.

Immediately, Dew draws back, keeps his hands to himself. Swiss does the same, slipping out from behind Rain to sit beside him, reaching out to offer his hand to hold. Rain grabs a hold of it immediately, grateful for the tether to reality, and holds his other hand out to Dewdrop, trilling happily when the fire ghoul takes it.

“What’s going on, Rainy?” Dew asks, voice just as soft as Swiss’ was.

“I– I’m not really sure,” Rain admits, averting his eyes from both the ghouls in front of him, embarrassed. Swiss squeezes his hand gently, encouraging him to keep speaking. “I was fine earlier but now…” He takes a deep breath, steeling himself as he looks up, nervous as to how Swiss and Dew will react even though he knows it’ll be okay. “I don’t want to be a part of the scene today.”

Dew nods and rubs his warm hand over Rain’s bare knee comfortingly. “What do you want to do instead, tadpole?”

“Yeah,” Swiss chimes in. “We can put on your favourite documentary if you want. Steal an unholy amount of snacks from Mount and Cir’s not-so-secret stash?”

Rain hesitates. As nice as that sounds, something feels… off. He hadn’t envisioned the scene stopping by any means, just that it would continue without him.

Dew must pick up on his hesitation, because almost immediately, he’s offering up another suggestion. “Or if it’d make you more comfortable, we could all go down to the lake and relax together that way? Or we could leave you alone for a while to let you calm down, but honestly I’m not super jazzed about that optio–”

“Let him breathe, Dew,” Swiss cuts him off, a teasing grin on his face. “The ghoul needs some space to think.”

“I… I want to watch,” he murmurs quietly.

“Watch what?” Dew asks. “The documentary?”

“No, I want to watch you,” he says, more firmly this time. “I wanna watch you two… y’know… keep going with what we were doing.”

Dew’s jaw drops, pupils blown, and Swiss’ face splits into a grin.

“Only if that’s okay obviously!” Rain rushes to clarify. “We can stop completely if you don’t want to do that.”

Swiss shakes his head, still grinning. His gaze is almost predatory but now it’s no longer directed at him, Rain no longer feels unsettled by it. “Nuh uh, fishy.  We want.”

He glances over at Dew to confirm who’s nodding very enthusiastically. “We want,” he echoes, already leaning over into Swiss’ personal space, lips chasing the multi ghoul’s for a kiss.

He whines when Swiss stops him with a simple finger to the lips. “Not yet, spitfire. Let Rainy get sorted first.” He leans forward, whispering in Dew’s ear just loud enough for Rain to overhear him when he says “Wouldn’t want to have an unsatisfied audience, would we?”

The fire ghoul shivers, a moan spilling involuntarily from his lips, head shaking as if on autopilot, like it’s natural instinct to follow Swiss’ lead.

Rain chuckles softly. “Cute,” he comments as he climbs off the bed, much to Dew’s chagrin. He makes his way over to the other side of Dew’s room, grateful that for once, the fire ghoul’s designated ‘clothes chair’ is almost free of any offending garments. As it is, the only thing left on the chair is a hoodie that Rain is almost certain has been stolen from Cirrus. Ah well, it’ll keep him warmer than nothing if he’s not moving around, he supposes. He shrugs and pulls it on and settles himself on the chair—laughing again as Swiss teases Dew about being so considerate and clearing the cuck chair of clothes before their scene today— leaning back and nodding at Swiss to let the multi ghoul know that he’s ready whenever he and Dewdrop are.

Swiss flashes his teeth at Rain, grin wide and dangerous. A shiver of anticipation rolls down Rain’s spine. The multi ghoul turns to Dew, whispering something in his ear that makes his eyes roll back in his head and Rain can’t help but shove a hand between his legs to relieve some of the ache. This is going to be fun.

[winchesterwild78]

The Mistake pt 4

Master List

Characters: Soldier Boy (Ben) x Reader

Warning: Language, mention of pregnancy loss, fluff

A/N: Just something I cooked up while falling asleep the other night. Possibly a short series. All stories are my own and does not follow The Boys timeline. It does use the characters, but is not associated with the series in any way. 

This is the last chapter and has a time jump. It's also a shorter chapter.

Minors DNI 18+ 

*Time Jump 4 Years*

It was early September and the air in the house crackled with excitement and nerves. The boys’ first day of school had come faster than you anticipated. Getting up early to make everyone a big breakfast, you were standing in the kitchen at the stove. Feeling two strong arms wrap around you and pull you close. 

“Good morning, Ben. How did you sleep?” Ben kissed your neck and took a deep breath, “Amazing because my beautiful wife was by my side.” You smiled, turned your head and kissed his lips. “Do you need any help before I get the boys up?” “No, I’m good. I just wanted to make them breakfast before they go to school.” Ben touched your arm and nodded. He knew you were feeling a little down because the boys were growing up so fast. 

Ben left the kitchen and went into the twins’ room to wake them up. His booming laughter filled the house as Ben Jr. pulled his blanket over his head in protest. “You two get up and get dressed, your mama is making you breakfast before school.” 

Down the hall the sweet little voice of your daughter filled the air, “Dada” she squealed when she heard Ben’s voice. He went to her room and he smiled. “How’s daddy’s princess this morning?” He walked over to your almost two year old daughter and picked her up. She threw her little arms around his neck and hugged him. She was definitely daddy's girl, and he was wrapped around her finger. 

After the incident that landed you in the hospital, you and Ben got married, he took over Vought Tower and moved The Boys in there to help keep rouge supes under control. Then you got pregnant, twice. The first pregnancy you lost. You and Ben were devastated. When you got pregnant with Theodora, Ben was over the moon. You were terrified. 

Theo was born healthy and full of life, and Ben fell in love instantly. Since you worked at the tower with Ben, you got to see two sides of him, the stoic, brash super hero, who didn’t take crap from anyone, and then at home you got to see the gentle, loving and amazing family man that he was behind closed doors. You loved both sides of him. 

Ben carried Theo into the kitchen and put her in her high chair, and the boys followed behind. “Good morning boys, and Theo. I hope you’re hungry. Mama made some breakfast.” Brenden was excited and sat down immediately, Ben Jr. hung back and looked at you. You walked over, bent down and looked at him, “What’s wrong baby?” A single tear slipped out of his big green eyes. You immediately scooped him up and took him in your arms. “Shh baby, it’s okay.” “I’m scared mama. What if no one likes me.” His little voice trembled. “Oh sweet boy, they are going to love you. Most of the kids in your class you already know. You went to Pre-K with them. You’re going to make so many friends.” He nodded and took a shaky breath. 

You looked over at Ben and you saw his eyes soften. He walked over and put his strong arms around both of you, “Hey, Jr, your mama is right. You’re going to have such a great time. Before you know it you’ll be back home telling us all about your first day.” You smiled at Ben. You will never get tired of seeing this side of him. 

After breakfast was done and the kitchen clean, the five of you got into the car and drove the boys towards their school. The school was bustling with excitement and families dropping off their children. You and Ben decided to put the boys in public school. You both felt it would be a better place for them to be exposed to different cultures and learn acceptance of differences. 

Climbing out of the car, you held onto Ben Jr’s hand, Ben had Brenden’s hand and was carrying Theodora. Since the two of you were heading to work after drop off, Ben had on his suit. There were audible gasps and giggles from some women. Ben ignored them, but you simply looked over and made eye contact. They quickly looked away. 

Ben Jr and Brenden were in different classes, something you and Ben felt was important for their social development. You took pictures, and the boys settled into their classrooms. As you and Ben walked out of the school, tears started to fall from your eyes. 

Ben placed Theo in her carseat and pulled you into his arms. “It’s okay, sweetheart. They are going to have a great day.” You sniffled, “I know, they are just growing up too fast. I mean Theo is almost two. Our babies are growing too quickly.” Ben chuckled, “Doll, they are starting school, not going off to war.” You smirked, “I know, but they are my first babies and it makes me sad.” 

Ben smiled and nodded. He was feeling a little sad too, but of course he couldn’t let you know that. Ben drove towards the tower and Theo was in the backseat singing some song she made up in her head. Ben had put Annie in charge of creating a daycare at the tower so people could keep their kids close. You knew he did it so all of his babies could be with him at work. The best part of his day was sneaking off to the daycare to see his children. He didn’t think you knew, but you’d seen him down there after Theodora was born, and the teacher told you he came every day, even when the boys were there. 

The day went by quickly. You grabbed your stuff, went and got Theo and met Ben at the car to go pick up the boys. Ben held your hand as you waited for them to come out. Your heart was beating wildly in your chest. Before too long you saw the boys being escorted out of the school by a teacher. They both had big smiles on their faces and you let out the breath you had been holding. 

Ben Jr came running towards you and leaped in your arms. Brenden leaped into Ben’s. “Hey my babies. How was your first day?” You asked. The boys started gushing about their teachers and all their new friends. As you were getting the boys in the car, a little girl walked past with her mom. She stopped at the car and looked at Ben Jr. You and Ben exchanged a look as the little girl started to talk, “Bye Ben, I’ll see you tomorrow.” You looked at your son, the little girl and then up at your husband. 

Ben Jr smiled and waved, “Bye Amelia, see you tomorrow doll.” Ben erupted in laughter and you shook your head. Climbing in the car, Ben’s eyes sparkled with pride. “Ben, who was that little girl?” You asked your son. “Oh, that’s Amelia. She’s my girlfriend.” You almost choked on air. You noticed your husband shift and sit straighter, pride filling his body. You looked at Ben and shook your head. He chuckled, “What? The boy takes after his father.” “That’s what I’m worried about.” You laughed. 

The drive home was filled with laughter and recounting the events of the day. Both boys were tired, but still excited about school. Ben took your hand in his and kissed it. He knew you were a little worried about Jr and the girl, so he decided to talk to both boys. “Hey guys, so now that you’re in school you’re going to meet a lot of new friends. Jr, when you’re talking to girls you have to be respectful. I call mama ‘doll’ because that’s her nickname for me. To some people it’s not respectful. I want you two to grow into strong, respectful men. You treat girls how you’d want your mama and sister to be treated. Got it?” The boys both agreed. 

Your heart filled with so much love for Ben. He was an incredible man, husband and even better father. 

As the afternoon wore on, you and Ben sat on the back porch watching the kids play in the yard. These were the moments you and Ben loved the most. You sat sipping tea and Ben a whiskey. The giggles of your children filling the yard. 

Ben was watching you and you looked over at him and smiled, “What?” You asked shyly. “You’re just amazing. This life we have is perfect, more than I could have ever asked for. Thank you for never giving up on me, even with all the mistakes and fuck ups.” You reached for his hand, “I love you Benji and there is nothing that’s going to change that.” 

Ben sat his glass down, took your mug, sat it down and pulled you up and into his strong arms. Placing a searing kiss on your lips. 

“I love you, Y/N.” “I love you too, Ben.” He turned you around and pulled your back into his chest. The two of you looking out over the yard at the three lives your love created together. Ben’s hands trailed down your body and stopped midway. 

“Are you ready for this again, doll?” His hands resting on your growing belly. You placed your hands on his, “Yeah, she’s going to fit in perfectly.” He smiled and nodded. Ben placed a soft kiss on your cheek and you smiled. Your heart filled with so much love for Ben, you three children running around the yard, and the little girl growing in your belly. 

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[bullet-prooflove]

From the bad decisions prompt list can I ask for "25. So put your high heels on and diamonds around your neck" for Terry Silver? (You can ignore this ask if you're busy. I feel like I have flooded you with asks recently, I'm sorry. You just write him and Georgia so well 🖤)

I miss writing Terry and I adore writing him and Georgia so you can submit as many asks as you want for him!

Tagging: @kmc1989 @thedeadsingforme @eddieslut69 @mia1653 @kimbergoldess

Companion piece to:

Attention - Terry hasn't been paying you enough attention

Distance - The distance grows between you and Terry.

Takes place after upcoming 5000 Celebration fic - Postcards From My Heart.

After a week of depositions Terry comes home to the scent of Marc Jacobs and the sight of you wearing nothing but high heels, one of his shirts and a necklace made of sapphires that he bought you for your third wedding anniversary. He drops everything at the door because it’s been almost two months since he last touched you and he can’t stand not being with you a second longer.

“I thought you had another few months.” He murmurs as his arm wrapping around your waist drawing you against him.

Christ you feel good, so soft, so perfect. Terry can’t describe how much he’s missed you, how he wishes he’d never stumbled across the embezzlement because of all the damage it’s done.

“I do.” You murmur, your fingertips plucking the hairtie from his hair so it falls loose across his features. “But you sounded so down so I thought I’d fly back for the weekend.”

You’d been able to tell on your last phone call that Terry’s was becoming despondent. You can’t imagine the enormous pressure he’s under with the FBI investigating all of his companies and charitable foundations. All that hard work he’s been doing, it’s being undermined because some asshole decided to line his own pockets.

“Georgia…” Terry murmurs as he buries his face into your shoulder. “That’s a twelve hour flight for twenty four hours alone with me.”

“I know.” You say as you cradle him close. “But I slept on the plane and you are worth every single second it took me to get here.”

His hands tangle in the shirt as he draws you down onto the couch with him. Your thighs part, straddling his hips as you press against him and it feels like absolute heaven.  Your hands thread through his hair as you guide his face back to yours. He moans into your mouth as you kiss him, his palms roaming underneath the shirt, caressing your bare skin.

“I’m sorry I fucked up our trip.” He whispers as your heated lips start to trail down the curve of his throat. Your teeth graze over that sensitive little spot underneath his jaw nipping it, and his hips arch compulsively.

“Terry.” You murmur into his ear as his grasp on your waist tightens. “I don’t want to waste time talking about something you have no control over when we could be doing something a lot more fun.”

“Georgia…” He breathes and you realise in the moment how lost he is, how much he’s struggling to get out of his own head. You run your hand through his hair, gripping it in your fist, tugging at the roots and he exhales at the sensation as if it’s the sweetest relief.

“Oh baby.” You murmur as you grind down against his cock. “I think you need me to take care of you tonight don’t you?”

“Please Georgia.” He whispers as your lips brush over his. “I need you to ruin me.”

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Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[writingrock]

the tale of two lovers [5]

pairing: barbarian! katsuki bakugou x reader (female) summary: a bard approaches a lone barbarian in search for a story to tell. Who could have known that the barbarian end up being such a romantic tale.

notes: fantasy au, fluff, strangers to lovers, slow burn, bakusquad, barbarian bakugou, mentions of spiritual creatures

word count: 8.3k

part list

part one: chapter list

a/n: rough week but I managed to write this up. To think this will be forty chapters kills me sometimes.

Nothing was ever calm in Niniel's Veil. The air was thick with tension, the mist curling around the trees like creeping vines, and the ever-present feeling of being watched gnawed at the edges of your mind. The group had been moving cautiously, senses on high alert. When all of the sudden, Denki went missing. It was as if he’d been swallowed by the mist, his disappearance so swift and silent that no one even saw it happen. Panic swept through the group like a sudden storm, the calm unravelling in an instant.

“Where the hell did he go?” Kirishima’s voice was tight with worry, his eyes scanning the hazy woods as if Denki might suddenly materialise from the shadows. 

“He was right here!” Mina’s tone wavered between fear and frustration, her hands clenched into fists. “Denki! This isn’t funny!”

Bakugou was already on edge, his temper fraying as he looked around, seething. “Idiot probably wandered off again! Damn it, why can’t he ever stay put?”

Mina glanced at you, concern written on her face. “We have to find him. What if something—”

But while the rest of them buzzed with frantic energy, you remained calm, a quiet steadiness anchoring you in the chaos. You had seen this kind of thing before— the way Niniel’s Veil separated groups and turned panic into a weapon. You knew it was easy to get lost here, but you also knew that losing your head wouldn’t help.

You took a deep breath, letting the cool air settle your nerves before speaking. “Everyone, take a breath,” your voice cut through the panic. “Panicking won’t help us find him. We’ve been through worse.”

The group hesitated, eyes turning to you, their breaths still uneven but slowing, just a little. Bakugou scowled but held back whatever retort was forming on his lips. Even in moments like this, your calm was hard to argue with.

“Denki’s probably just around the corner,” you continued, the command in your voice firm yet reassuring. “Niniel’s Veil is messing with us— don’t let it get in your head.”

Clearing your throat, you locked eyes with each of them, making sure your calm was contagious. “I’ll find him.”

You outstretched your left arm, revealing a singular, gold line running from your wrist to your elbow— a mark the group hadn’t noticed before, perhaps hidden by the cloak you always wore. The line was simple, unassuming, but there was something almost ethereal about it

“Didn’t know you had that,” Bakugou commented, his tone gruff but tinged with curiosity as he eyed the unusual mark on your arm.

“There’s a lot you don’t know,” you replied, your voice calm, almost distant as you prepared for what you needed to do next.

Softly chanting to yourself, the markings on your arm began to glow, casting a faint golden light that flickered like embers in the misty surroundings. Your right hand traced the line, fingertips gliding over the shimmering mark as you murmured under your breath, each whispered word sharpening your focus. 

With each syllable, the energy within the markings stirred, responding to your touch. Slowly, as if summoned from the depths of the tattoo itself, a shape began to emerge— ethereal and flickering, like it was being drawn out of another world. The air around you seemed to hum with anticipation, the form taking shape with an otherworldly grace.

At first, it was just a shimmer, a distortion in the air, but soon it took shape—a feathered being, elegant and fierce. A golden eagle materialised from the tattoo, its wings stretching out wide as if testing the air. The creature was magnificent, with feathers that gleamed like burnished gold in the dappled sunlight filtering through the trees. Its sharp eyes, a deep amber, scanned the surroundings with an intelligence that spoke far beyond a mere bird.

The eagle’s talons dug into your forearm gently, as though it had done this countless times before. Its gaze met yours, a silent communication passing between you.

“Kyrah,” you called softly, your voice holding a note of command and affection. The eagle tilted its head slightly, acknowledging your call. “Find Denki.”

The golden eagle let out a sharp, piercing chirp, its wings unfurling fully before it launched itself into the air with powerful strokes. It soared high above the treetops, a streak of gold against the deep green of the forest canopy. The group watched in awe as Kyrah flew with purpose, her keen eyes scanning the forest below for any sign of Denki.

As Kyrah disappeared into the distance, you turned back to the group. They were silent, still processing what they had just witnessed. Bakugou, though he tried to maintain his usual scowl, couldn’t completely hide the intrigue in his eyes.

“How long have you had that bird?” Mina finally asked, breaking the silence.

“Long enough,” you replied simply, your eyes still on the horizon where Kyrah had vanished.

Minutes passed, and the group began to shift nervously, their eyes darting between the trees, expecting some trick of the forest to spring on them. But you stood still, your expression calm, knowing Kyrah would return soon.

And she did. With a swift dive, Kyrah swooped back down toward you, a sharp chirp signalling her return. In her talons, she clutched a small piece of Denki’s scarf, a clear sign she had found him.

“Lead the way, Kyrah,” you instructed, and with a nod, the golden eagle soared off again, leading you through the dense forest.

This time, the group followed you, trusting in your guidance as Kyrah led them unerringly to where Denki had wandered off. Within minutes, you found him, standing bewildered among a cluster of trees that all looked the same.

“Denki!” Kirishima called out, rushing to his friend’s side.

Denki looked up, sheepish but relieved. “Uh, yeah, I... I guess I got a little lost.”

You sighed, thankful that he is unharmed. “This forest is tricky like that. But next time, try to stay with the group.”

Denki nodded vigorously. “Yeah, no more wandering off for me.”

As the group regrouped, ready to continue the journey, Bakugou gave you a sidelong glance, a grudging acknowledgment in his eyes. “Guess that bird of yours is pretty useful.”

You patted Kyrah gently as she settled back onto your arm. The bird melting into your flesh as if it were never there. “Told you there’s a lot you don’t know.”

As more time passed, more facets of your character and abilities were unveiled, particularly within the complexities of the woods where your skills were most apparent. The group grew increasingly curious by your depth of knowledge and confidence with which you navigated both the physical and mystical aspects of the forest. 

Of all the members, Mina was probably the closest to you. She was easy to talk to, and the two of you often found yourselves in each other’s company, sharing stories and tasks.

During one such moment of respite, the group stumbled upon a hidden gem nestled among the trees— a series of natural hot springs, steaming gently amidst the cool air of the forest. You and Mina quickly called dibs on the first soak, playfully insisting the guys wait their turn. The two of you slipped into the hot springs, letting out sighs of relief as the warm water soothed your tired muscles and washed away the grime of travel.

As the heat unwound your stiff limbs, Mina turned to you with a soft, inquisitive smile. "So, you’ve told us a lot about the forest and your skills," she started, her voice echoing slightly in the quiet murmur of bubbling water. "But what about your family? You never mention them much."

You hesitated, the warmth of the springs making it easier to open up than usual. "I never really knew my mother," you admitted, watching the steam rise in wispy tendrils. "And there’s not much to know, honestly. She was gone before I could even remember her."

Mina’s expression softened in understanding, encouraging you to continue.

"I was raised by my father," you continued, the memories surfacing with a mix of fondness and sorrow. "He was an elven ranger who specialised in cartography. Ever since I was born, I was always by his side. He couldn’t afford to leave me alone in the settlement we came from, and honestly, I think he preferred having me with him on his expeditions rather than leaving me behind."

"So, no school or anything like that?" Mina asked, genuinely curious.

You shook your head, a small smile playing on your lips. "No, no traditional school. My father taught me everything. Mapmaking, survival skills, how to read the stars, and even more than that, he taught me how to see the world through different lenses. He was my mentor and my guide."

Mina smiled gently, the steam from the hot springs rising between you in soft, wispy tendrils. “That sounds like an incredible way to grow up. Difficult, but… special.”

“It was,” you agreed, your voice tinged with nostalgia. “It wasn’t easy, but I wouldn’t trade it for anything. My father showed me the world in a way few people get to see it. We travelled to places most people only dream about, and I learned how to survive in some of the harshest environments out there.”

There was a brief pause, the only sound the gentle ripple of the water as you both soaked in the warmth. Mina’s expression turned thoughtful, her gaze drifting to the starry sky above. “Do you miss it? The way things were?”

You considered the question, the weight of it settling in your chest. “Sometimes,” you admitted. “But I’ve also come to realise that I’m not just following in his footsteps anymore. I’m forging my own path, and that’s something he always wanted for me.”

Mina listened intently, her eyes reflecting a mix of admiration and sympathy. "It sounds like he was an amazing man. You must miss him."

"I do," you acknowledged, feeling a twinge of pain at the admission. "Every day. But he gave me tools to survive, to thrive even, and I carry that with me always."

Mina smiled, her warmth matching the water around you. “He raised you well. You’ve got a lot to offer, you know. More than just your skills in the forest.”

You looked at her, a small smile playing at the corners of your mouth. “Thanks, Mina. That means a lot.”

The conversation lingered in the warm air, deepening your bond with Mina. The hot springs not only relaxed your bodies but also allowed a rare vulnerability to surface between the two of you. It was moments like these— simple, quiet, and deeply personal— that knit the fabric of trust and friendship tighter within the group. As you both eventually emerged from the water, refreshed and renewed, the rest of the team could sense a subtle shift, a deeper camaraderie that promised to strengthen your collective resolve for the challenges ahead.

The two of you settled into a comfortable silence, the warmth of the hot springs melting away not just the physical strains of your travels but also the emotional burdens you had carried. Above, the stars twinkled softly in the vast night sky, each one a silent sentinel in the dark. For the first time in what felt like forever, you allowed yourself to simply be in the moment, appreciating the quiet and unexpected friendship that had blossomed on this arduous journey.

As you relaxed deeper into the soothing embrace of the hot springs, a contemplative mood washed over you. Thoughts of your father drifted through your mind. You wondered where he might be at this very moment. The thought alone stirred a voiceless longing, a connection to your past that felt both grounding and achingly distant. Was he also gazing up at the skies with you? 

O’su, masse le enta.

Father, where will you be then.

Mina’s voice cut through the quiet, jolting you out of your thoughts. The steam from the hot springs swirled lazily around you, misting the air with a soothing warmth. You had been lost in the moment, enjoying the rare stillness, but Mina’s sudden comment brought you crashing back.

“Those tattoos of yours are incredible,” she said, her tone casual but laced with genuine admiration. Her eyes lingered on the golden markings that traced patterns across your skin, shimmering faintly in the dim light. You could feel her gaze travelling up your arm, tracing the delicate lines that wound their way over your shoulder and down your back.

She leaned forward, studying your back with a curious smile. “Wow, your back tattoo is stunning. It’s like—” Her words trailed off as she caught a glimpse of the faint, feathered tattoo etched into your skin. The tattoo seemed to shift subtly as you moved, alive with an ethereal quality that was both mesmerising and unsettling.

A flicker of something— fear, maybe, or perhaps discomfort— flared in you. The markings on your back were a part of you, something deeper and more complex than you often cared to admit. But they were also a part of you that you kept hidden, even from those closest to you.

Instinctively, you shifted, turning your back slightly away and drawing your towel up just a little higher. It was a small, unconscious motion, but it spoke volumes. You felt exposed, the vulnerability of being seen too closely clawing at you. You cleared your throat, trying to shake off the feeling and force a casual tone back into the moment.

“They’re nothing special,” you said quickly, dismissively, hoping to steer the conversation away from the sudden focus on the markings that felt too personal. “Anyway, how’s your training going? I heard you’ve been working on some new moves.”

Mina’s eyes lingered for a beat longer, curious and unbothered by your attempt to deflect. But she smiled, letting the subject drop as easily as it had been picked up. “Training’s been a killer,” she replied, diving into a story about her latest sparring match, her enthusiasm filling the space between you.

You nodded along, grateful for the shift in topic, but your mind kept drifting back to her words, to the way she had looked at you. It was just a passing comment, nothing more, yet it left you feeling bare in a way that the hot springs’ warm water couldn’t soothe. You tucked the feeling away, burying it beneath layers of conversation and the comfort of Mina’s laughter, but the faint, ghostly presence lingered on your back.

As you and Mina emerged from the enveloping warmth of the hot springs, refreshed and relaxed, you found the boys lined up, towels in hand, visibly eager to dive into the soothing waters themselves. Their faces, however, shifted from anticipation to mock indignation as they saw you approaching.

"Finally!" Denki exclaimed, throwing his hands up dramatically. "I thought you two had decided to turn into mermaids and live in there forever!"

Kirishima, unable to hide his impatience, joined in with a good-natured grumble. "Yeah, were you planning on boiling yourselves or what? Some of us would like to soak before we turn into old men!"

Bakugou just crossed his arms, his scowl deepening slightly but his eyes twinkling with a reluctant amusement. "Took you long enough," he muttered, though the edge to his voice was softened by the clear relief at finally getting his turn.

Mina and you couldn't help but laugh at their theatrics, the lightness of the moment spreading between you. "Oh, relax," Mina chided playfully, her eyes sparkling with mirth. "We were just making sure the water was perfect for you princes. Besides, a little patience never hurts anyone."

"A royal treatment for our finest warriors." you added with a wink, enjoying the roll of Bakugou's eyes and the chuckles from the others.

As the boys eagerly took their turn in the hot springs, discussing who would jump in first amidst the light-hearted exchange. You and Mina headed over to the campfire to start preparing dinner. The air was filled with the fading light of dusk, casting a golden glow that made the forest around you seem almost enchanted.

Together, you gathered the supplies, the rhythmic sounds of chopping and stirring soon mingling with the crackle of the fire. Mina hummed a soft tune, adding a layer of warmth to the cool evening air.

"So, what's on the menu tonight?" she asked, looking over as you seasoned a pot of stew.

"Something hearty," you replied, stirring the pot and enjoying the rich, savoury aroma that began to fill the air. "We'll need the energy for tomorrow's trek."

As the food cooked, you shared stories and plans, the easy conversation weaving through the sounds of the forest. The chatter from the hot springs drifted over, letting you and Mina listen to every dumb detail of their chit-chat. Nothing notable, just an exchange of jokes and ludicrous topics. As the stew simmered and the boys' hollering echoed from the springs, you felt warm. You never would have thought that you’d find such comfort from guiding a group of adventurers.

By the time the stew was ready, you called the others over. They came eagerly, their spirits lifted by the warmth of the springs and the crisp chill of the night air. Laughter and light conversation filled the space, and the scent of the simmering stew seemed to heighten their appetites even more. The glow of the meal and the closeness around the fire made the night feel warmer, even in the cool evening breeze. Dinner was a lively affair, filled with casual chats and the clinking of utensils. The meal, simple but nourishing, seemed to satisfy everyone. 

The night grew darker, the stars brighter, and the sounds of the forest blended with the voices around the campfire. Despite the day’s trials and the journey's uncertainties, moments like these— simple, shared with friends— felt like treasures, precious and all too rare. As everyone finished their meal, the conversation slowly subsided, giving way to the evening's quiet chores. Kirishima and Sero took the initiative, gathering the empty pots and bowls from the group. They handled everything with care, a seamless teamwork that spoke of many nights spent around similar campfires.

You were just about to slip away to enjoy a moment of solitude under the starlit sky when Bakugou's firm hand landed on your shoulder, halting your retreat.

"You're on night watch with me tonight," he stated bluntly, his tone was serious and left no chance of argument.

You turned to face him, annoyance flickering across your features. "Seriously? Can't it be someone else tonight? I was planning to—"

"Nope, it’s you and me," Bakugou interrupted, his expression as immovable as stone. He could care less about your plans. You were on night watch with him and that was final. "Don’t whine about it. Just get ready."

You rolled your eyes, a sigh escaping you as you conceded to the inevitable. "Fine," you muttered, not bothering to hide your reluctance. His grip on your shoulder relaxed, and he gave you a slight nod, seemingly satisfied with your acceptance, however unwilling you were.

Despite the irritation at having your quiet time interrupted, you couldn’t deny the importance of the night watch. The forest around you was bustling with nocturnal sounds, a reminder of the ever-present wilderness and its unseen inhabitants. As Bakugou walked away to prepare for the watch, you gathered your own gear, your mind already shifting from the irritation of the disrupted plans to the task ahead.

The night was cool and clear, the sky a tapestry of stars that watched silently as you and Bakugou took up positions around the campsite. The fire was now a mere glow, its embers casting a faint, warm light that barely touched the darkness beyond. As the camp settled down for the night, with only the occasional crackle of the fire breaking the silence, you found yourself adjusting to the reality of the evening. Maybe it wasn’t the night of solitude you had hoped for, but perhaps, something more could come out of it.

As the night deepened and the camp fell quiet, only the occasional snore breaking the silence, you and Bakugou settled into your watch positions. The stillness of the night was a stark contrast to the day’s liveliness. The cool air nipped at your skin, but you were prepared, wrapped in a warm cloak as you kept your eyes on the shadowy outlines of the forest. Sitting across from each other, with the dying fire between you, the initial awkwardness hung heavy in the air. Neither of you spoke at first, each lost in your own thoughts. The only sound was the gentle rustling of leaves and the distant call of a night creature.

You were terribly bored. The night was unusually quiet, and the stillness only amplified your restlessness. Considering the monotony, you thought perhaps you could meditate to pass the time more peacefully. Just as you were about to close your eyes and slip into a tranquil state, Bakugou’s sharp voice cut through the silence.

“Don’t even think about it,” he snapped, eyeing you with a mix of irritation and alertness. “We’re on watch, remember? Stay alert.”

You groaned softly, abandoning your attempt at meditation. Did he have to notice everything? “Fine,” you muttered, straightening up and refocusing on the shadowy outlines of the forest.

Silence hung between you, heavy and suffocating, like the air before a storm. You opened your mouth to speak, ready to shatter the uneasy quiet, but Bakugou was quicker, cutting you off before you could even start. 

“Shut up,” he snapped, his voice low with irritation.

You clamped your mouth shut, rolling your eyes in defiance, and leaned back against a nearby tree, your gaze drifting to the crackling fire. The flames flickered, the only movement in the stifling stillness, but the quiet was grating, clawing at your nerves. You shifted restlessly, the absence of conversation making the seconds drag like hours. You needed something— anything— to break the silence, or you were sure you’d unravel completely.

Seeking to break the renewed silence and maybe learn something more about Bakugou, you decided to start the conversation, again. “So, what’s your home like?” you asked casually, genuinely curious. “You’re from a draconic kingdom, right?”

Bakugou shot you a glare, his annoyance clear. “Didn’t I just tell you to shut up?” he grumbled, rubbing his temples as if your questions were a physical headache. He let out a sigh but you didn’t back down, your persistence hanging in the air between the two of you.

Despite his irritation, you noticed a subtle shift in Bakugou’s demeanor at the mention of his homeland. A spark of pride lit up his eyes, softening his usual grouchy frown. "Yeah," he said, his voice losing some of its earlier sharpness. "It's nothing like this place. Back home, the terrain is fierce and untamed— rolling hills that catch the first light of dawn, cliffs that drop into roaring seas, and breath-taking valleys. The sky stretches wider, the stars burn brighter. It's a place where the elements are raw and wild, where every day is a test against nature itself."

He paused, a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "The air there has a bite to it— crisp and sharp, fills your lungs with fire. The rivers cut deep gorges through the land, and in winter, everything is blanketed in snow so pure it hurts your eyes. It's harsh, but it's home. Makes you stronger just by being there."

Bakugou's gaze grew distant for a moment, as if he were seeing those landscapes unfold before him. "You'd probably find it rough," he added, a teasing edge returning to his tone. "Not everyone can handle it."

You reply with a snort. Shaking your head at his comment. 

He paused, seemingly lost in thought for a moment. “There’s a place, high up in the mountains, near the edge of the kingdom— it’s my favourite. When you stand there, you can see the entire valley below, covered in a sea of clouds. At sunrise, it looks like the whole world is on fire. That’s where I go when I need to think.”

His description painted a vivid picture in your mind, and you found yourself intrigued by the pride and warmth in his voice as he spoke of his homeland. It was a side of Bakugou you hadn't seen before— more reflective and connected to his roots.

“That sounds beautiful,” you said, genuinely impressed. “It must be tough being so far from there.”

Bakugou shrugged, a slight hardness returning to his gaze. “It’s necessary. Being here, doing this— it’s part of proving I can lead more than just armies. That I can do more than what’s expected of a prince from the draconic realm.”

Understanding more about his motivations and the weight he carried added depth to your perception of him. You nodded, appreciating his candour. “It sounds like you’re on quite a journey then, not just through these woods.”

“Something like that,” Bakugou admitted, and for a while, both of you fell silent, contemplating your own reasons for being far from home. The night continued quietly, with the earlier tension easing into a more thoughtful atmosphere, giving the rare opportunity for a slow reveal of personal histories.

There was another long stretch of silence, the only sounds being the distant calls of nocturnal creatures and the soft rustling of leaves in the breeze. Bakugou seemed content with the quiet, his gaze fixed somewhere beyond the trees. You closed your eyes and embraced the stillness, feeling the night hold its breath. Then, after what felt like an eternity, his voice piped up.

“What about you?” Bakugou finally asked, his voice softer than before, almost reflective. “What’s home to you?”

The question caught you off guard, the simplicity of it somehow more intimate in the hush of the night. You paused, considering how to answer. “There isn’t really a ‘home’ for me,” you admitted as you thought back to your past. “I spent my life and childhood travelling. My origins mean nothing to me— it was just a place where I happened to be born. I’ve been moving from place to place for as long as I can remember.”

Your words hung in the air, a confession of sorts about your rootless existence. “There is no home for me. Home was wherever I found myself with my father, wherever we laid our maps out for the night. That was home, however temporary.”

Bakugou listened in silence, his expression unreadable in the dim light. The idea seemed foreign to him, someone whose identity was so tied to a place, a kingdom with borders and history.

“You never wanted to stop? To find a place to settle?” he asked after a moment, genuine curiosity threading through his tone.

You shook your head slightly. “Not really. The road, the journey—it’s part of who I am. Travelling keeps life interesting. You never know what you’ll find around the next bend. Besides,” you added with a slight smile, “Home is a person I have not yet found.”

“Travelling around taught me a few things,” you began, your voice calm as the dim crackles of the fire reflected in your eyes. “I could settle in any enchanted forest or beautiful city, but none of it would feel like home.” You paused, glancing at Bakugou. “Home is where your loved ones are.”

Bakugou seemed to mull over your words, the concept of home being not a place but the people in it— or perhaps the search for them— making him pause. Suddenly, it’s as though night’s chill began to deepen at your words.

“That’s one way to look at it,” he finally said, his voice more subdued than usual. There was a rare tone of thoughtfulness that you thought you’d never hear. “Makes sense, though, for someone like you. Always moving, always looking ahead.”

He paused, his eyes flicking toward you with an uncharacteristic curiosity. “Although, couldn’t you stick by your father’s side? You said he was your home.”

Your mood faltered slightly at the mention of your father. The warmth in your voice dimmed. “My father wanted me to make my own life. Explore at my own pace. Build my own memories— outside of him.”

Bakugou’s eyes remained on you, his curiosity still present. You sighed, looking up at the star-filled sky. “Besides, remember what I said about elves and half-elves? He’s the elven parent. He’ll live till he’s seven hundred, while I’ll barely live a quarter of his life. I think… he’d miss me too much if I stayed around him.”

You paused, swallowing the bittersweet emotion that threatened to rise. “I don’t want him to mourn me forever. It’s better if he builds his own life, one that doesn’t rely on me as its foundation.” 

Your voice betrayed how much you missed him, a wistful tenderness cushioned your words even as you tried to convince yourself that the distance was necessary. You believed it was— this separation gave you both room to grow. Besides, how else could you carve out your own adventure?

Bakugou’s gaze softened, his usual fire replaced with a sincere understanding. “You miss him?” he asked quietly, almost as if testing the waters.

“Of course,” you replied, your voice quieter now. “But we still meet when we can. Between expeditions, whenever we’re free. It’s enough to know he’s out there, living his life while I live mine.”

He glanced at you, reassessing you under this new light. “Doesn’t that get lonely?”

You considered his question, the stars overhead twinkling in the clear sky as if echoing your thoughts. “Sometimes, yes,” you admitted, the truth of your solitude seldom spoken aloud. “But it’s also freeing. There’s a whole world out there, Bakugou. Full of mysteries to unravel, paths to explore. And maybe somewhere along those paths, I’ll find what I’m looking for.”

Bakugou nodded slowly, his usual impatience subdued by the night’s quiet introspection. “I get that. Chasing something, or someone, who might make the journey feel complete.”

You smiled, appreciating his attempt to understand your perspective. “Exactly. And until then, the journey itself is enough. It has to be.”

The conversation dwindled into a thoughtful silence, each of you considering your own quests and what ‘home’ meant in the grand tapestry of your lives. Bakugou shifted slightly, pulling his cloak tighter against the cold.

The conversation faded again into a comfortable silence, both of you lost in your own thoughts about homes lost and found, the paths you chose, and the journeys still waiting ahead. This exchange, simple yet profound, seemed to shift something between you. It wasn’t a grand revelation or an obvious change, but there was a new understanding that grown over these quiet moments. Moments like this with Bakugou were rare. These talks seemed to only happen when the two of you were alone at night—perhaps it was easier to be vulnerable in the dark. 

While you were gradually learning to tolerate each other for the sake of the journey, your interactions were still marked by frequent bickering and exchanged insults. There were even times when it felt like you both had to fight the urge to kill each other. But despite the constant clashes, having a genuine, decent conversation felt like real progress. Each night, with every word shared, you were learning more about each other— more than the surface-level arguing and sharp-edged banter usually allowed. It was subtle, yet undeniable, hinting that beneath the antagonism, there might be the beginnings of friendship.

The morning sun filtered through the dense canopy, painting the forest floor with shifting patterns of light and shadow. It was beautiful, in a way— if you weren’t so busy verbally sparring with the most infuriating person you’d ever met. By morning, everything snapped back to the usual routine— good old bickering, like clockwork. 

The uneasy quiet of dawn had barely lifted before the insults started flying, as if the night’s brief reprieve had never happened. It was impossible to pinpoint exactly when the back-and-forth had started, but you were certain it had something to do with Bakugou’s relentless urge to push your buttons. Would Bakugou really start hurling insults at you just for the sake of it? Absolutely. The guy was a walking hornet’s nest, and provoking you seemed to be his favourite pastime.

So, there you were, leading the group through the tangled woods, trying to focus on the path ahead while Bakugou’s voice cut through the morning air like a blade. “Maybe if you actually knew where you were going, we wouldn’t be stuck in this shithole,” he snapped, barely ducking under a low-hanging branch.

You rolled your eyes, not bothering to hide your annoyance. “You want to get us lost faster? Be my guest. I’ll just sit back and watch you flail around like an idiot.”

His glare could have set the trees on fire. And honestly, he’s tempted to set this forest ablaze. “Who the hell asked you? You think you’re so damn smart, but all you do is waste our time.”

You scoffed, sidestepping a gnarled root without breaking stride. “At least I’m not the one barreling into traps every five minutes. But hey, I guess being an idiot is your strong suit.”

It was like a well-rehearsed dance, insults thrown like knives, each jab meant to provoke and annoy. The others had grown used to it, but the constant tension simmered between you and Bakugou like a fire that refused to burn out. Every word felt like a challenge, each retort a small victory in an unspoken war of stubbornness and pride. Yet, as much as you hated to admit it, the bickering was almost… familiar. A strange, twisted normalcy in the chaos of Niniel’s Veil, a constant that neither of you were willing to let go of. 

The group had gotten used to the constant back-and-forth between you and Bakugou; it had become as much a part of the daily routine as setting up camp or finding the next path. They expected it every day, bracing for the inevitable clash of stubborn wills as soon as the sun crept over the horizon. At some point, the arguments had stopped being just a nuisance and turned into something almost like entertainment.

Honestly, they had started betting on it. Quiet wagers passed between them as they trailed behind you, their footsteps light on the forest floor. Who would get the last word? Who would land the sharpest insult? It was like a twisted sport, with Kirishima, Mina, Denki and Sero quietly placing their bets on who would come out on top, their amused glances flicking between you and Bakugou. 

The stakes were small— a few coins, a favour, or sometimes just the satisfaction of seeing the other lose. But it kept them entertained, a little distraction from the relentless dangers of Niniel’s Veil. You could feel their eyes on your back, the quiet snickers stifled behind raised hands as they watched the two of you spar like it was some kind of show.

Mina leaned in closer to Kirishima, her voice low enough to keep it from reaching your ears. "Five gold says she gets the last word this time."

Kirishima snickered, casting a sideways glance at you before flicking his gaze back to Bakugou. "Nah, no way. Bakugou’s too stubborn. He'll dig his heels in just to win."

Denki piped up from the back, his grin mischievous. "I’m betting she lands the sharper insult, though. Bakugou’s good, but she’s been on fire lately."

Sero nudged him with an elbow, joining the quiet banter. "Yeah, but he’s unpredictable. Bakugou’s the kind of guy who’ll pull something out of nowhere when you think he’s done."

As they whispered among themselves, the tension between you and Bakugou simmered like it always did. You shot him a glare as his latest comment hit its mark, but you weren’t backing down. “You know, for someone who talks so much, you don’t say much of value.”

Bakugou laughed at your words, his lips pulling into a reluctant smirk.. “And for someone who never shuts up, you sure haven’t learned a thing.” His tone was as sharp as ever, but there was a glint of amusement in his eyes—a challenge.

Behind you, Kirishima exchanged a coin with Mina, the both of them wearing a wide grin as if they were watching their favourite drama unfold. “She’s gonna get him,” she whispered to Kirishima.

You took a step closer, arms crossed, refusing to let Bakugou’s smugness win this round. “I’ve learned plenty— like how to deal with someone who can’t handle being wrong.”

Bakugou scoffed, folding his arms over his chest as if to mirror your stance. “The only thing you’ve learned is how to get on my nerves. Congrats, you’re great at that.”

Sero and Denki exchanged grins, their silent betting war intensifying. Mina stifled a laugh, watching the way you and Bakugou squared off.

“You two should really get this settled,” Kirishima called out, amusement thick in his voice. “We’re starting to lose track of who’s winning.”

Bakugou shot a glare over his shoulder. “Shut it, shitty hair, no one asked you.”

You rolled your eyes, shooting a smirk at the group. “See what I mean? Deflection. It’s his favourite move when he’s losing.”

Mina snorted, elbowing Kirishima playfully. “Told you she’d get him.”

Bakugou huffed, turning his attention back to you with a dangerous glint in his eye. “You wish. Keep talking, and I’ll bury you with words alone.”

You raised an eyebrow, your grin widening. “Try me.”

Behind you, the quiet wagers went on, the group’s amused whispers filling the spaces between your sharp words. To them, it was a game—a battle of wits with no clear winner. But to you and Bakugou, it was just another day of clashing, each of you determined to walk away on top. And so, the insults continued, echoing through the forest like a never-ending game you were both too stubborn to quit.

The Veil could only shift so much before its patterns, subtle as they were, began to emerge, and you were the one who could read them. You had spent years mapping this place, tracing its contours, and learning its secrets. The Veil could shift all it wanted, but it couldn’t outsmart you. There were moments where the forest seemed to bend to your will, as if recognising a kindred spirit who understood its games. 

When the path twisted in on itself, you would pause, close your eyes, and almost seem to listen to the woods, recalibrating your internal map. It was uncanny. More than once, Bakugou found himself relying on your judgement, trusting that you’d find a way through when everything else seemed lost. Sure, there were moments when even you were stumped, when the forest’s tricks were almost too clever, but you always managed to regain your bearings. 

Your presence didn’t guarantee safety, though; it only made survival a bit more likely. There were plenty of close calls, the kind that left your heart pounding and your muscles aching. It was a gruelling journey, made even more difficult by a group whose instincts often clashed with logic and reason. Especially Bakugou.

Remember when you’d called him out for barreling into traps without thinking? You’d mocked him for his reckless, headstrong nature, and he’d shot back with that familiar scowl, as if your words were nothing but noise. But now, here you were again, watching him prove your point in real time.

Bakugou had done it again, charging ahead without a second thought and right into another trap—a tangle of enchanted, thorny vines that snapped around his body, pulling him off balance and leaving him struggling against their tightening grip. It would have been comical if it weren’t so frustratingly predictable. He cursed under his breath, sharp and furious, yanking at the vines with all his might, but the more he struggled, the tighter they coiled, their thorns digging in and refusing to let go.

You approached with an exasperated sigh, unsheathing your blade and moving with ease. “I swear, you have the survival instincts of a brick,” you muttered, crouching beside him. He shot you a murderous glare, but it was hard to take seriously when he was halfway tangled in greenery.

“You didn’t warn me,” he growled, more angry with himself than you, though his pride wouldn’t let him admit it.

“Firstly, you charged in before I could,” You ignored his protests and started cutting through the vines with precise, deliberate movements, each slice freeing him bit by bit. “Secondly, would you have listened?” you shot back, but there was a lightness in your tone. It’s not that Bakugou isn’t careful. He’s typically quite aware and perceptive when it comes to spotting traps. But in the Veil, the traps were expertly concealed. They weren’t easily noticed by most. Hidden in ways that only those deeply familiar with the forest’s secrets could detect.

With the last of the main vines cut, he was free to move, but a few stubborn thorns remained embedded in his skin, the severed vines still clinging to him. You couldn’t quite suppress an aloof grin as you stepped back. “Looks like they’ve taken a liking to you,” you remarked, watching as he grimaced, brushing at the lingering vines with irritation.

“Don’t yank at them— they’ll just tighten,” you warned sharply, watching as Bakugou tugged at the stubborn vines with an even more stubborn fury. You rummaged through your pack, retrieving the antidote specifically prepared for this kind of nasty enchantment. As you knelt beside him, you could feel your patience wearing thin; dealing with Bakugou when he was injured was like trying to tame a wild animal.

“Hold still,” you hissed, frustration lacing your voice as you knelt beside him, trying to administer aid. Your patience was thinning with the squirming man. The barbarian was as uncooperative as ever, wriggling like a child trying to avoid medicine. The trap he’d charged into had ensnared him in poisonous vines, leaving him with deep gashes and a nasty toxin in his system. The vicious vines were still digging into his skin, their claw-like thorns lodged deeply. Yet as you tried to help him, he acted like you were trying to poison him, not save him.

“Damn it, Bakugou, stop moving,” you snapped, your tone sharp as you wrestled with his arm. The crease in his brow deepened, and he yanked his arm away. But you persisted and tried to hold his arm again. 

“I don’t need your help,” he growled, his pride clearly wounded as much as his body. His voice was strained, betraying the pain he was in. He glared at you, his crimson eyes flashing with displeasure as he tried to yank his arm free.

“You should’ve listened to me,” you snapped back, making no attempt to conceal your frustration. You grabbed his wrist, forcing him to stay put as you pulled out the small vial of antidote. “I told you to let me lead and not to charge ahead. And there you go, charging into a trap.”

He shot you a glare that could have melted steel. “I was handling it.”

You scoffed, finally managing to pin his arm long enough to clean the wound. “Yeah, you were handling it right into a damn trap. You think you’re the first to underestimate this place?”

Bakugou flinched as you applied an ointment to the deep cut, but he bit back whatever retort was forming. His silence was telling— he knew you were right, even if he’d never admit it. His muscles tensed under your grip, and for a moment, you thought he might actually try to push you away. But something in your tone must have gotten through, because he finally, reluctantly, stopped struggling. “Tch. Fine. Just get it over with.”

You didn’t waste any time, applying the antidote with quick movements. The venom in the vines wasn’t lethal, but it was enough to slow him down, and that was something none of you could afford. You kept your touch firm but not unkind, and despite his earlier resistance, you could tell he was watching you, weighing your skills against his own unbending pride.

“This would be a lot easier if you weren’t fighting me every step of the way,” you muttered, more to yourself than to him. The vines loosened their hold, retreating as the antidote took effect, and you allowed yourself a small sigh of relief.

Bakugou grunted, flexing his arm once the last of the vines had fallen away. “Didn’t ask for your opinion.”

“Didn’t need to,” you retorted, your voice edged with a mix of irritation and exhaustion. “But if you want to make it through this forest alive, you might want to start trusting the person who’s actually been here before.”

He shot you a look, something sharp and assessing in his gaze, but he didn’t argue. Instead, he stood up, rolling his shoulder as if testing the limits of his now-healed arm. “Next time, I’ll handle it.”

You rolled your eyes, standing up to face him, the distance between you not just physical but a challenge in itself. “Sure. Just try not to get yourself killed in the process.” He wasn’t easy to deal with, but then again, neither were you.

As you finished, you met his gaze, the flicker of defiance still there but tempered by something else— reluctant gratitude, perhaps. “Would it kill you to listen to me sometimes?” you said. “You know, you could try not to make my job harder than it already is.”

He grunted, clearly displeased with the whole situation, but didn’t argue. “You wish,” he muttered, but there was a faint, almost imperceptible hint of something lighter in his tone. Maybe it was just exhaustion. Or maybe, buried deep under all that bravado, Bakugou was beginning to see that having you around wasn’t such a bad thing after all.

He didn’t say much more, just gave you one last lingering look before turning away. As he walked off, you could almost swear you saw the corner of his mouth twitch, like he was fighting back a smile. Maybe you had proven yourself after all— or maybe he was starting to realise that you weren’t just some mapmaker tagging along.

Apart from the constant bickering, Bakugou couldn’t deny that he was relieved you were guiding them through the Veil—though he’d never admit it out loud. It hadn’t always been that way; in the beginning, he was all too eager to dismiss your instincts, convinced he could handle the terrain on his own. He learned the hard way, of course, after charging headfirst into traps and dead ends, his stubbornness getting the better of him time and time again.

Now, every time you expertly navigated the group around hidden dangers or found paths where he saw none, he begrudgingly acknowledged, in his own silent way, that you were good at this—better than he’d given you credit for. It was irritating, but also oddly reassuring, knowing that as much as the two of you clashed, you always had the group’s best interest at heart. And deep down, past all the insults and glares, Bakugou was glad to have you at the helm, guiding them through the unpredictable, treacherous maze that was Niniel’s Veil.

The day wore on, the journey through the dense forest draining the group’s energy until finally, they made camp for the night. The forest was quiet, save for the occasional rustle of leaves or distant hoot of an owl. The fire crackled softly, casting flickering shadows as the team settled down for the evening. One by one, they turned in, seeking rest before tomorrow’s trials. But Bakugou and Kirishima remained by the fire, the only two still awake as the night deepened.

Kirishima, being talkative, broke the silence first. “So, what do you think of our cartographer now?” he asked, his tone casual but laced with curiosity. He didn’t look at Bakugou, fiddling with a loose thread on his tunic as if the question was just something that had casually crossed his mind.

Bakugou grunted, his gaze fixed on the fire as if it held all the answers he needed. “She’s fine,” he said, the words clipped and dismissive.

Kirishima wasn’t fooled. “Just fine?” he prodded, raising an eyebrow. “Come on, man, you’re usually quicker to form an opinion.”

Bakugou’s scowl deepened, but he didn’t have the energy for a full-blown argument. “She knows her stuff,” he muttered. “I wouldn’t have brought her along if she didn’t.”

Kirishima hummed, clearly not satisfied but willing to let it slide— at least for a moment. “She’s got guts. I see the way she handles you. Not many people have the nerve to stand up to you.”

“Tch. She’s just doing her job,” Bakugou snapped, though the memory of you pressing that quill to his throat flashed in his mind. There had been no fear in your eyes, just determination. That had thrown him off balance, more than he liked to admit. You weren’t just competent; you were sharp, resourceful— annoyingly so.

The conversation tapered off, the fire’s crackle filling the silence as the two friends settled into a companionable quiet. But Bakugou’s thoughts kept drifting back to you— your determined eyes, your steady hand, the way you navigated the forest with a confidence that made him bristle with a mix of admiration and irritation. You were a pain in the ass, no doubt about that. But you were also someone he felt that he could rely on when it counted. And in the shifting, shadowed depths of Niniel’s Veil, that was exactly what they needed.

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a/n: do you guys like birds? Too bad if you hate em, you have a bird now. @chocogoldie @devils-adversary @l0kisbitch @miikii0 @onlyisaa @sleepisfortheweakpooh @helena-way07 @enzstr

border credits: @/enchanthings & @/adornedwithlight

[https-milo]

ILYILYILY YOUR MEGUMI INSTA POST WAS BEAUTIFUL I NOW NEEEEDDDDD A YUUJI ONE 🙏🙏🙏🙏

YUJI FANGIRLS RISE UP!!! indie I LUV YOU TOO!!

DATING YUJI ITADORI INSTAGRAM!

details!

instagram posts w/ comments while dating Yuji Itadori!

a/n OBVIOUSLY these are just pictures off of pinterest, reader can be however you imagine!

a/n Americanizing this one because my homecoming is next week and I think Yuji would be such a good hoco date

a/n Yuji plays football and track/cross country((idk the difference, sue me)) (GO WITH IT.)

a/n modern!no curses!AU

m. list

aoi.todo replied to your story: the friendzone is a terrible place for my brother. luvfromy/n: huh!?! No way! Yuji doesn't like me like that there's no way!! We're just super best friends! aoi.todo: oh I see. aoi.todo: Say, Y/n, whats your type? luvfromy/n: uhhh well... selfless, enthusiastic, and incredibly kind people. someone who's like the sun aoi.todo reacted "👍" to this message

yuujithetiger replied to your story: No need to thank me for hanging out with my favorite person :DD luvfromy/n: :D Being with you is my favorite part of my day yuujithetiger: same here!!

yuujithetiger · 9w

430 likes Liked by megumi.fushi, barabara, and luvfromy/n

yuujithetiger She was the first to run on the field after I got a PR!! :DD I luv my best friend!

luvfromy/n I luv you too!! I'm so proud and happy for you! yuujithetiger luvfromy/n THANK YOU!!! i think I did better because you were cheering for me... just saying! luvfromy/n yuujithetiger well I'm glad I could help then! :DD

barabara nice job loser

aoi.todo THATS MY BROTHER!! choso.kamo aoi.todo 🤨🤨🤨

luvfromy/n · 6w

1.2k likes Liked by yuujithetiger, barabara, choso.kamo, megumi.fushi, and togetalks

luvfromy/n two weeks before homecoming! Had to cheer yuji on at his practice <3

yuujithetiger i always perform better when you're in the stands luvfromy/n yuujithetiger guess I'll just have to keep coming 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️ yuujithetiger luvfromy/n guess you do :/// (:DDDDDD)

barabara tell your man to put a shirt on 🤮🤮 luvfromy/n barabara HUH? MEAND YUJI ARENT DATING!?!?!??! barabara luvfromy/n oh! that's interesting...

okkatsuyuta its like hes a machine when you're cheering for him! please keep coming to our games and practices!! luvfromy/n okkatsuyuta wouldn't wanna be anywhere else! I'll always be cheering for Yuji!

luvfromy/n · 6w

1.4k likes Liked by yuujithetiger, megumi.fushi, aoi.todo, barabara, and choso.kamo

luvfromy/n I almost CRIED! I'VE LITERALLY WAITED FOR THIS FOR SO LONG!!!

yuujithetiger MY HEART WAS POUNDING SHOWING IT TO YOU. I'M SO GLAD YOU SAID YES luvfromy/n yuujithetiger WHY WOULDNT I???? yuujithetiger luvfromy/n I THOUGHT I WAS IN THE FRIENDZONE! luvfromy/n yuujithetiger I THOUGHT *I* WAS IN THE FRIENDZONE!!

megumi.fushi finally barabara megumi.fushi literally. choso.kamo barabara listening to him talk about her nonstop was giving me a headache 😭😭

aoi.todo THATS MY BROTHER.

yuujithetiger · 5w

510 likes Liked by megumi.fushi, barabara, choso.kamo, aoi.todo, and togetalks

yuujithetiger the most beautiful girl in the world <3

luvfromy/n the most handsome boy in the world <3 yuujithetiger luvfromy/n homecoming was so fun! It felt like a dream being with you luvfromy/n yuujithetiger NO REAL! I was so nervous the whole time!! but being with you made it better (as it always does) yuujithetiger luvfromy/n I'm glad I could make you feel not so nervous :D luvfromy/n yuujithetiger you really are the sun <3

© https-milo. please do not repost, steal, copy, or modify my works!

Thank you so much for reading <3

[gothlcsan]

꒰ MADE FOR ME ꒱ 유타

Yuta is a videographer for your adult lingerie site. Which within itself is ironic due to the fact you’re a virgin. A virgin with a rather large crush on him.

genre smut, non!idol yuta, fem!reader ⠀⠀⠀⠀

tws pet names, fingering, virginity taking, lingerie, slight degration, no protection towards the end.. not proofread ⠀⠀

author’s note welcome to day one of kinktober! i hope that you enjoy my contents this year > < using @dreamlandcreations prompt list ! xo ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀

word count 2612

“And.. scene!” Your videographer, Yuta, says as he turns off the camera. You climb off the bed, fixing your robe to cover up your exposed body, slowly walking beside him staring at the camera in curiosity.

“Did they turn out nicely?”

“It’s you, of course,” Yuta cuts himself off, thinking you see a blush across his cheeks but shrugging it off as he finishes his sentence. “You work really hard and are photogenic.”

He gives you a double thumbs up which makes you snort, patting him on the back as you walk back to bed to flop down with a yawn. Your muscles melt nearly instantly as you grow comfortable, closing your eyes listening to Yuta putting away the equipment. You must’ve dozed off feeling a slight shake of your shoulder, your name being softly called, opening your eyes to see Yuta hovered over you.

“Mm?” You hummed questionably.

“I’m going to go ahead and head out alright?”

A pout forms on your lips, grabbing his wrist without second thought, dropping it in shock.

“Sorry..” you trailed off, a blush forming on your cheeks, looking anywhere besides his face.

He stares at you with an unreadable expression, looking down at his wrist then back up at you, tilting his head.

“Why are you sorry?”

“I didn’t mean to grab you like that, I-“ You cut yourself off, chewing anxiously on your bottom lip, trying to formulate how to explain yourself properly.

Yuta sits down on the edge of the bed, his intense gaze making you shift anxiously not knowing what to say.

“It’s late, do you want to stay over?” You finally managed to get out, waiting for him to reject your offer. To your surprise he accepts, shrugging off his jacket and placing it onto the edge of the bed next to him. He doesn’t say anything for a minute until he asks if he’s allowed to share the bed with you, blushing as you made room for him, laying perfectly still as he shifted until he was comfortable. Having Yuta laying next to you made your stomach erupt in butterflies, listening to his breathing, knowing he was still awake trying to focus on slowing your heart that was hammering against your chest. His cologne engulfed you beautifully, the familiar making you feel warm every time you caught a whiff, unintentionally touching Yuta with your knee as you shifted to get a better look at him.

“You okay?” Yuta questioned, freezing as you gave him a tiny smile, nodding.

“Sorry..”

He places his hand on the back of your head, petting the hair there, your cheeks inflamed.

“There you go again, apologizing for nothing. It’s okay, do you want me to move for you to be more comfortable?”

Shaking your head almost too quickly and eagerly, you cleared your throat and asked if you two could cuddle instead. Struggling to make the excuse that cuddling something helps you relax better. Yuta seems to buy it, exhaling through his nose as he scoots closer, offering his arm as a pillow for you to curl up on pressed into his side. His scent was stronger now, intoxicating, pressing your nose into the side of his pec hoping that it looked innocently enough.

Groaning, you sit up and turn your head to look at your alarm clock, the soft glow of the numbers showing it was just barely past two in the morning. Your small nap felt much longer than that, your dream flashing across your mind making you quietly slap both of your cheeks, shaking your head trying not to think about it. Ignoring the wetness between your legs, you close your eyes trying to settle back down to sleep, biting your lip as your hand thoughtlessly travels down between your legs. You shouldn’t do this, not with Yuta directly next to you, but your dream made you feel insane. The images of Yuta going down on you causing the sensation between your legs to grow almost painful. Being careful not to make any noise, you push your fingers down the band of your panties, your fingers pressed against your clit. An accidental gasp escaped your mouth, halting your hand, turning to face Yuta to ensure he hadn’t heard, your heart racing. He seemed to be asleep, his breathing the same, covering your mouth with your free hand to keep your sounds from escaping, focusing on slowly moving your fingers on your clit. The pleasure shoots from your thighs, curling your toes, wanting so badly to moan but knowing better, knowing that you’d just get the edge off and never do this again.

“What are you doing?”

Hearing Yuta’s voice makes you nearly leap from your body, your hand shooting out of your panties and onto your stomach, fear nipping at your stomach.

“Nothing..” you stammered, your heart racing so hard you thought it’d explode.

“Nothing, yeah? So you weren’t touching yourself while I slept next to you?”

It felt accusatory, which.. he wasn’t wrong but he didn’t need to know that! Shaking your head slowly he lets out a hearty laugh, pulling the blanket off you to expose you.

“Gotcha.”

“I’m sorry, I, I’m sorry.”

You felt disgusted suddenly, Yuta noticing the shift in your tone, tears starting to well up in your eyes, as he pulled you back down to lay on him. Chests pressed together, he wiped away the tears that had made their escape, shushing you as he tried to speak.

“I didn’t say that you had to apologize, did I?”

You were unable to speak without fearing you’d burst into tears, Yuta giving you a sigh as he laid you back on his arm, shifting so he was leaning over you. His hand cups over your lingerie top, the entirety of his hand being able to hold your breast, your eyes wide in surprise.

“Is this what you wanted? For me to touch you?”

You don’t respond.

“Touching yourself as I lay next to you, sleeping may I add. I bet you didn’t even try to be quiet, hoping I’d wake up and touch you.”

His degradation made you clench your thighs close together, Yuta clocking that instantly with a laugh.

“I’m not too far off I see. Tell me, what did you want so badly you had to touch yourself, hm?”

You know he was expecting an answer but you couldn’t muster up much, whining as you tried to peel off your top, Yuta chuckling with a roll of his eyes.

“What a needy little thing.”

He pulls down your top, the fabric rubbing harshly against your sensitive nipples as your breasts spill out. He collects one in his hand, a whine pulled from your throat, adrenaline pumping through your body as he licks his lips like a starved animal.

Yuta’s tongue swirls around your nipple, covering your face with your hands, eyes scrunched in pleasure that you’ve never felt before. The lewd sounds of his tongue lapping at your skin whilst his lips kissed your soft skin made you embarrassed, reaching to halt his progress down to your cunt.

“I haven’t showered yet..” you mumbled embarrassed.

A snort comes from Yuta, his hand gently swatting yours away, his long fingers curling around the last bit of modesty you held, exposing your drenched cunt. He sounds satisfied as he sighs, glancing up at you with a smirk that makes your toes curl.

“This wet from having your nipples played with?”

He plants a teasing kiss agaisnt your slit, your face scrunching up, whining wanting more but you don’t know what that entails. Simply knowing that the desire for him was greater than anything else.

“I’ve always wanted to touch you, this pretty lingerie hugging your figure. Fuck.” Yuta rambles on, your skin ignited like a fire, growing needier and wetter at his words.

“Mmpft, Yuta..” you paused, taking a deep breath trying to muster up the last bit of courage you had, exposing yourself fully.

“I’ve never, it’s my first time.”

Yuta seemed frozen for some time, anxiety sparking throughout your entire body as you anxiously asked if you had ruined the mood, Yuta snapping back to. He leaves his spot to reach up, cupping your face (choosing to ignore your wetness being transferred from his fingers onto your chin) apologizing as he gives you a tender kiss.

“I didn’t mean to make you panic, I do want to ask if you want to do this - with me, I mean.”

You can hear the uncertainty in his voice, but you can also feel his erection firmly pressed up on your thigh, a little proud that you made him that way. Nodding, you initiated your first kiss, pulling him closer. Pulling apart and watching the last string of saliva break between you two, you allow the sudden surge of confidence to guide your hand down to cup his erection. It’s more than your hand is able to hold, wondering how he can possibly fit inside of you, brushing off the thought you smile at Yuta.

“Please take my virginity, I want you so bad.”

Feeling him twitch in your hand, makes you clench around nothing, gasping as Yuta attacks your neck with kisses and soft bites. Your head grew cloudy with desire as he used one hand to open your legs wider, feverishly pulling your panties off your legs. Everything felt heightened due to this being your first time, you read about this in novels, giggling in excitement and nervousness as Yuta pulls his face out of your neck. His hair framed his face handsomely, the bangs either stuck onto his forehead or hung off his face, lips bruised a cherry red. Watching his every move you blush as he pulls a condom from the bedside table, his voice shaky as he rolls it up his dick with a string of curses. Placing his hand lightly around your thigh, he asks if you’re still wanting this, nodding before giving him a whiny yes (your heart fluttering with his constant need for consent). Yuta rubs his thumb against your clit, your body reacting instantly with a jolt, the pleasure maddening. Touching yourself was entirely different compared to how he was, his fingers seemingly knowing what made you tick.

A single finger is slowly pressed into you, your toes curling as it sinks in with little to no resistance. That earned a “good girl” from Yuta, your cheeks red while your cunt exposed you by clenching around the pet name, Yuta making sure to call you out on it. There’s no point in denying it because he’s pressing a second finger in your cunt, a surprised gasp coming from you as he scissors his fingers. The pain is pleasurably satisfying, never been this stretched out before, split around his fingers lewdly for him. He takes his time with you, stretching you out with his fingers until he feels satisfied with your progress, whining in annoyance when he pulls his fingers out from you. Watching Yuta lick you off his fingers nearly kills you from embarrassment, his raspy voice complimenting how sweet you tasted against his tongue.

“Breathe, baby,” Yuta ordered, brushing your hair out of your face. He let you adjust to him, taking a few deep breaths until you felt comfortable enough to continue, giving him the go ahead.

His movements started off slow, your body feeling every inch of him move in you, a little twinge in your stomach made you swear that’s where he ended. Yuta was big, bigger than any of your toys, moaning as he reached down to rub your clit in time of his growing thrusts. Covering your mouth, tears pricked the corners of your eyes, staring down to watch his dick pump in and out of your cunt, groaning deep in the bass of your throat. It felt incredible, the sound of your wet cunt causing a warm blush to blossom across your body, whimpering as Yuta removes your hands from your mouth.

“Be loud, baby, I want to hear how good I make you feel.”

Getting permission unlocked something in you, grabbing hold of Yuta’s forearms moaning loudly, not caring who heard. He felt amazing, filling you out in ways your toys never could, eyes rolling back as his tip abused your sweet spot. Your cries became louder, closer together, as the knot forming in your stomach felt as if it’d unravel at any moment.

“Want to, please, fuck,” you babbled between a mix of cries and moans, clawing at his arms, watching intensely as he pushes himself into your cunt repeadtly.

“What’s that, baby?”

Yuta is taunting you, wanting to hear you beg to cum, the knot growing harder to subdue, a string of pathetic begging ripping from your throat, your lips pursed as you focus. He laughs, tightening his grip on your hips, rocking his hips so that your thighs harshly meet, the skin growing red and sore.

“Please, I want to cum, it hurts.” You manage to scream out, your cunt wrapped right around his dick, gasping for air as your nearing orgasm made your toes curl.

He leans down so that his lips are brushing against your ear as he speaks, deepening himself in you, your eyes rolling back.

“Cum on my dick, baby, you’ve earned it.” Yuta urges with a smirk, planting a kiss against your sweaty cheek. He sits back up to better his thrust, growing rougher with each one, his breathing heavy as his own orgasm grew near. Your body tenses up, digging your nails into his arms as the knot falls apart, cumming hard around him.

“Oh, fuck, that’s my good girl-,” Yuta loudly groans as he cums, your clenched cunt hugging him being his breaking point. The orgasm left you dizzy, thighs trembling as you tried to catch your breath, whimpering as he pulled out. The two of you lay next to each other, catching your breath until Yuta makes the first move, pressing a kiss onto your sweaty temple.

“You did so good for me, let’s get you cleaned up.”

His voice is hoarse but still soft like usual, melting into his arms as he carried you into the bathroom, blushing as he gently washed your hair. Before he grabs the shower head to rinse your hair, you sit up onto your knees in the tub, turning around to face him, wrapping your arms around the back of Yuta’s neck.

“Thank you,” you pause, blushing with a smile. “It was really nice, you know for my first time and all.”

Yuta pulls you into a kiss, breaking your embarrassed rambling, leaning so you’re pressed together on his lap. Pulling away, you try to catch him back into the kiss, giggling as he kisses you across your collarbones until he reaches back up to your nose.

“You don’t have to thank me, doll. Let’s get cleaned up and back to bed, hm?”

With a nod, you allow him to finish what he started, your eyebrows scrunched together as he pushes his fingers into your cunt, quote on quote “being sure to get every spot.”

Maybe it was his intention to make you needier, climbing onto his lap, passionately kissing as he guides you down onto his dick, forgetting to sleep entirely.

Ignoring the reality of the sunrise peeking through your curtains, as the two of you made love in your bed, not having had bothered drying off from the bath you shared.

You were becoming addicted to him, not caring about anything else but how Yuta made you feel. Blushing as you two somehow confessed your feelings between short breaths and deep kisses.

[lostloveletters]

All You Have To Bring Is Your Love of Everything (John Egan x OC)

Summary: Don't recall what we were singin'/But I remember swingin'/With my hands caught in the curls of his hair (AO3 link)

Note: I got caught up listening to Married in Mount Airy by Nicole Dollanganger and this happened. Anyway, I really love Bucky and Holly and I enjoyed writing this a lot🖤

Word count: 2.4k

Warnings: Sexually explicit content. Do not interact if you're under 18.

Holly’s wedding dress spent almost four years hiding in a dust jacket, brought out into the light as pristine as the sunny Wednesday afternoon she bought it. Set her back a hundred dollars, then, but who could put a price tag on a lifetime of love? She supposed it ended up being a good investment in the long-run rather than a starry-eyed splurge, because she was just about the only woman she knew who wasn’t getting married in her Sunday best.

The billowy cream swallowed her body, her coppery hair almost pink in the soft light of her girlhood bedroom, a dewy-eyed pastry of a woman staring back at her from the full-length mirror on the wall. A weak sigh broke from between her dry lips when she glanced at her mother, who assured her the dress could be altered to accommodate the weight she lost since she left home and hadn’t quite managed to gain back yet—if it weren’t for that, her mother would’ve assumed she was pregnant with how quickly she and Bucky were getting married since arriving in DC less than two weeks prior.

She had let Stan see her in the dress, back then. Had to show off, hear him tell her how pretty and perfect she looked. Maybe that was the beginning of the end. Bad luck to let your fiance see you in the dress before getting to the altar. Bucky didn’t mind waiting, not when they stayed up half the night in her parents’ kitchen, pouring over brightly illustrated brochures for hotels that promised newlywed bliss—swimming pools, heart-shaped beds, on-site entertainment. The hotel they settled on, nestled away in the Blue Ridge Mountains, offered quiet and seclusion and charged an extra $2 per night for weekends. The manager who answered the phone when Bucky called in the morning informed him that the place was booked out for the following two weeks, and rooms were going fast. Better to make a reservation than arrive without one and find no vacancies. 

It left them with a little under a month to plan their wedding, and the list of people who couldn’t make it was longer than those who could. But Woody, her beloved best friend and maid-of-honor, would cut off her own arm to make it, with John Brady as her plus one. Gale’s RSVP had been written in Marge’s neat script, excitedly informing them they’d be in attendance. Bucky’s mother and sisters would be coming in from Wisconsin, which meant Holly would only be meeting her future in-laws the evening before she married into their family.

Every venue they called was regrettably booked up for even longer than the hotel had been. When they nearly decided to forget it and drag her parents along to the local courthouse, her father’s supervisor offered to let them use his house’s sprawling backyard in Arlington for the occasion if they ordered the wedding cake from his daughter-in-law, who was trying to get a bakery off the ground.

Her parents scrounged up tables and chairs for the guests, borrowing mismatched card tables and folding chairs from neighbors and relatives. Half of the decorations had been sitting in boxes for about as long as Holly’s dress had been in her closet. Having spent the better part of four years itching to decorate for her daughter’s wedding and absolutely taken with her future son-in-law, Cathy Dean took it upon herself to transform the unassuming backyard into a proper venue while they applied for their marriage license and Holly filed for a name change—Holly Dean Egan on her driver’s license, her social security card, her passport.

But wedding planning with Bucky was breezy otherwise, “I’d marry you on the side of the road,” he had said, and she knew he meant it despite the laughter in his voice, the corners of his eyes scrunching at his own joke. She almost couldn’t believe she was lucky enough to have him love her so much. Up until the day of the wedding, she expected some other shoe to drop, that she’d never get the happy ending she so desperately wanted, the one they deserved after everything.

The hazy evening with its peachy sky felt too much like a dream for her comfort, and when her father was supposed to walk her down the aisle, makeshift but nevertheless beautiful with her mother’s creative touch, she ran—her bouquet of Tiffany roses discarded on the ground as she bounded toward Bucky until he was within reach. She threw her arms around him, carding her fingers through his curls, her nose brushing one of the Oak Leaves on his collar. His soft reassurances drowned out the shocked and amused murmurs of the guests behind them.

With his steady hands on her waist, he pressed his lips against her forehead, holding her close until the officiant cleared his throat. Every vow, every promise they could have possibly given each other had already been said upon their reunion in England, and Holly couldn’t manage much more than “I do” through her tears when it was her turn to speak.

She hated crying, in general, but especially in front of other people. The pads of Bucky’s thumbs brushed her tears away before he kissed her, their first as a married couple, his lips soft against hers. She lifted a trembling hand to cradle his jaw, allowing herself to bask in his tenderness for a few more moments before pulling away to the gentle applause of their wedding guests.

The contingent of guests who’d been at Thorpe Abbotts with them were the life of the party—rowdy and excitable, as Holly and Bucky were among the first of them to get married and actually have a reception afterward. His mother covered half the cost of hiring a band for three hours, who were told by the best man that under no circumstances should they let the groom sing, but Bucky wouldn’t let himself be denied the pleasure on his wedding day, dedicating a warbled yet enthusiastic serenade to Holly, who blushed and giggled as if he were Frank Sinatra.

The two-tier strawberry shortcake towered over everything else on the head table when it was brought out—generous puffs of vanilla frosting and strawberries shaped into blossoming flowers that looked too beautiful to eat. Holly almost felt bad when Bucky cut into it, until he fed her a forkful of the spongy cake, its icing turned baby pink from the strawberry jam oozing between the layers.

Before she could wipe the excess frosting from her mouth, he leaned in for a kiss—passionate and sweet and so uniquely him, she’d know it with her eyes closed. His tongue brushed against her lips, so teasingly that she nearly retreated for decency until she remembered he was her husband—her husband, and she loved the way the mere whisper of the word felt, the promise it carried, till death do them part and even beyond it, she didn’t care how many people were watching them.

“I love you,” her voice a pleasant hum.

He kissed her again. “I love you too.”

As the sky grew darker, the paper lanterns her mother had hung from the branches of the big, shady trees lent a soft, starry glow to the reception as guests slowly filtered out, leaving Bucky and Holly with hugs and well-wishes. The band packed up around eight, signaling the end of the celebration for the dozen or so people who lingered. 

They rushed inside to change out of their wedding attire before the drive, their suitcases already in her father’s car which he was letting them borrow for the week as a wedding gift. That much was specified on the invitations—no gifts—but a few guests took it upon themselves to slip them envelopes when they thought no one else was looking.  

A little over two hours to the hotel, just outside of Shenandoah, if they didn’t stop. Bucky had scrawled the details of their reservation on the back of the brochure—who he’d spoken to, the length of their stay, what type of room they’d be staying in.

“Why’s this circled?” she asked. “The ‘Honeymoon Deluxe’?”

“That’s what I got us.”

Her eyes widened—an extra $20 on top of the cost of the hotel for the week. It included a dizzying list of offerings and amenities: a bottle of champagne, a chocolate-covered fruit platter, room service, and since the pool was closed for the season, two complimentary drinks for each of them in the cocktail lounge for every night of their stay. 

“You didn’t have to.”

“Sure I did. You’ve been waiting a long time for this.”

“You were worth waiting for, every second.”

He reached over, intertwining their fingers, the gentle scrape of their wedding bands against each other as he brought her hand to his lips.

The car radio played low, and every now and then, when there was a lull in conversation, she’d look out the window at the blur of dark trees and road signs and let her mind wander.

‘I’ll have to ask my husband,’ she’d say when she returned home. Or even at the hotel, where she figured they’d be the most charming couple there, surely they’d get invited to have drinks, but ‘Me and my husband already have plans.’

My husband. My husband. My husband.

Bright red, neon-kissed letters proclaimed from the roadside, ‘Love Lives Here!’ as Bucky pulled into one of the parking spots in front of the lobby. A sign in the window indicated there was someone on duty behind the desk.

“Can I help you?”

Bucky smiled, squeezing Holly against his side, “Reservation for Mr. and Mrs. John Egan.” 

Holly’s stomach flipped. It sounded so natural the way he said their names together, for her to be so intimately part of him.

The night manager looked down at the ledger in front of him, grunting in affirmation before sliding it across the counter to Bucky. “Sign here.”

Bucky and Holly exchanged a glance before he picked up the pen to sign his name next to the reservation.

“You want two sets of room keys?”

“Yes, please,” Holly said.

“There’s a fee if you lose ‘em.”

Bucky slid the ledger back over, his jaw clenched, giving his smile a disconcerting edge. “Then we won’t lose ‘em.” He took the keys and a matchbook. “Is there anything else?” 

“Your room’s on the other side of the building, so you should move your car over there.”

“Thanks, have a good night.”

“Sure, you too.”

“Some hospitality,” Bucky mumbled when they got outside. He pulled a loose cigarette from his shirt pocket, lighting it with one of the matches, housed inside the small red matchbook with the hotel’s name in a heart. “I mean, not even a ‘congratulations’?”

“Maybe the daytime people are nicer,” she said.

“Don’t plan on finding out so soon.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Means I’m gonna make sure you’re sick of the wallpaper before we even think about leaving that room.”

“Promise?”

“As your husband,” he said, emphasizing the word with a kiss, “I promise.”

“As your wife, I’d like to see the room now.”

The entrance on the other side of the hotel was next to the closed pool, which Holly glanced at it for a wistful moment while Bucky brought their suitcases inside. A quick elevator ride up, then a left down a dimly lit hallway that smelled of snuffed out cigarettes and fresh roses until they reached room 348.

“Here we are, heaven on earth,” he said with a wink.

He unlocked the door to reveal the room, as if they’d been transported to a perfumed, powder blue Neptune—save for a clear vase packed with pink roses on the table in the corner, next to a bottle of champagne, two glasses, and an empty ice bucket. On this planet of their own, an exorbitant cost for a corner of the universe, he lifted her off of her feet to set her on the edge of the bed, her weight creasing the neat satin bedspread. 

Each article of clothing removed, each part of her body exposed to their honeymoon suite was welcomed with the caress of his fingertips, his mustache tickling ever so slightly as he brushed his lips against her bare skin, taking his time with her as if she wouldn’t go insane in the eternity he seemed to take before finally undressing himself. 

She tugged at the pin holding up what was left of her bridal hairdo, throwing it aside with misplaced aggression.

‘Something wild,’ he had called her the first time he saw her curly, unstyled hair cascade over her bare shoulders and down to the middle of her back. She didn’t deny it, not when she could finally feel her heart beating behind her rib cage again, brought back to life like a cheap imitation of Snow White the first time they made love. 

She could have lived on the heat in his eyes as he stared her down, filling her with a lycanthropic urge to mark, to maim, to devour. His pulse thrummed beneath her tongue until she sank her teeth into his neck, soft like saltwater taffy in her sun-bleached summer memories—not hard enough to break skin, but to pull a syrupy moan from his throat that she could practically taste on her greedy lips.

Her need achingly difficult to ignore between her legs, she steadied herself, hands splayed across his chest as it rose and fell beneath her manicured nails, the ring that caught the low light in the room. Straddling his hips, she reached for his cock, stroking it until he begged for her with a whine that rang in her ears more sweetly than if the wedding bells had chimed for them. 

Guiding him inside her, she trembled at how he filled her, close to too much but never enough. She wanted all of him, slow and deep and completely hers with an intensity that made it all flash behind her eyes as she rode him—pictured herself there so clearly, certain he’d give her rosy cheeks and a round belly and a big window to see powder blue out of while his hands squeezed her tender breasts on their way to her hips.

His thighs tensed against her own. He groaned her name in worship and warning before coming inside her, and the sight of his parted lips, his eyelids fluttering shut in ecstasy, made her guts twist at how deliciously obscene her husband could be. Her husband. Her breath caught in her throat as she came with a cry, throwing her head back, digging her nails into his chest because he was hers. All hers.